Desa Kincaid- Bounty Hunter

by R S Penney

  Marcus replied with a cheeky grin and a nod so slight it was almost imperceptible. “You needn't worry about that,” he promised. “The man respects his guests' privacy.”

  “You can be sure of that?”

  “He caught me in the middle of Infusing some bullets,” Marcus explained. “Said he had no interest in what I did with myself so long as I didn't trouble the other guests.”

  “I suppose it will do,” Desa mumbled.

  An hour later, Tommy was stretched out on a soft feather mattress with hands folded behind his head, smiling as he stared vacantly up at the ceiling. It was good to get off his feet for a while. Aches that he had forgotten about were now leaping to the forefront of his mind.

  Sebastian was at the window with his chin clasped in one hand, stroking his jaw as he peered through the glass. “We should go exploring,” he said. “I bet we could stay here a month and still not see all of this city.”

  “I don't think Mrs. Kincaid would like that.”

  Sebastian's head whipped around, and his gray eyes were like hot pokers stabbing through Tommy's chest. “Do you let that harridan make every decision for you?” he spat. “I thought you had a mind of your own.”

  “Desa saved our lives.”

  “No, she saved your life. You were the one stupid enough to choose the gallows.”

  Tommy sat up and became very much aware of the dull ache in his shoulder that he had been ignoring. “And what was the alternative?” he asked. “Let my brother sell me into slavery. A day of that life would have destroyed you, Sebastian. I know that much.”

  “I wouldn't have gotten that far,” Sebastian muttered. “My plan was to escape.”

  “You're a fool.”

  Their fight was interrupted by a knock at the door, and before either of them gave him leave, Marcus poked his head into the room. “We'll be having dinner in ten minutes,” he said. “I suggest you join us.”

  Tommy supposed the man didn't need permission to enter the room – after all, he was sleeping here as well – but Marcus knew about him and Sebastian. The man probably wanted to respect their privacy.

  “We'll be down shortly,” Tommy assured him. He gestured to Sebastian but the other man seemed intent on pretending that he hadn't heard one word of that exchange. Well, let him sit up here with his hunger if he was so inclined.

  It wasn't very long before Tommy found himself sitting at one of the long wooden tables in the hotel's saloon. Daylight through the two front windows provided more than enough illumination for him to see the serving girls bringing food and mugs of ale to the various guests.

  One set a mug down in front of him.

  Tommy looked up with a shy smile and nodded to her, “Thank you,” he said. The girl – a pretty young lass with waves of long blonde hair – blushed and then moved on to the next table.

  Miri was across from him with her elbow on the table, her chin resting on the back of her hand. “I do believe that she likes you.” Her twangy accent was gone, replaced by crisp, clear enunciation. In fact, she sounded a lot like Desa.

  Now, it was Tommy who blushed and lowered his eyes, nervously scratching his head. “I'm spoken for,” he mumbled.

  “And I suppose you don't like girls.”

  The question left him feeling a bit taken aback. He supposed he had never given it much thought. Did he like girls? He remembered being smitten with Darcy Miller, back home, when he was twelve, but he had never found the courage to talk to her. And after that, he had become infatuated with Robert McGregor. “I suppose,” Tommy said, “that I wouldn't be averse to it.”

  “Then maybe you should go talk to that girl.”

  Tommy grimaced, shaking his head. “I couldn't.” He sat forward with his elbows on the table and laced his fingers over the top of his head. “Besides, I love Sebastian. I could never betray him.”

  When he looked up, Miri was watching him with pursed lips and a stern expression. “That's a shame, Lommy.” Her ridiculous nickname was even worse without the twang. “Because Sebastian will betray you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That boy is trouble.”

  “No...He's just angry at the world.”

  “Well, I can understand why,” Miri said. “Life isn't easy when the world hates you simply for being who you are. But there is a difference between you and Sebastian.”

  “And...And what's that?”

  “When the world told you that you were despicable,” Miri began, “you looked deep within yourself and realized that they were wrong. But Sebastian believed them. He hates himself. But more than that, he hates that the rest of us don't.”

  “Hate ourselves?”

  The grim resignation in Miri's eyes made him shiver. “Indeed,” she said. “Look at the way he treats Desa.”

  Clamping a hand over his mouth, Tommy shut his eyes and breathed in through his nose. “Why does he hate Desa?” The question had vexed him for some time. “I've never seen someone with so much animosity toward someone who saved his life.”

  “It's simple,” Miri said. “Desa Nin Leean is a woman with power, and everything Sebastian believes about the world tells him that shouldn't be possible. So, he calls her a witch. If he can explain away her power as something evil, it will no longer threaten his manhood.”

  The serving girls brought them a meal of roast duck, buttered carrots and broccoli, and Lommy wolfed it down...Tommy! His name was Tommy! It was a good meal, but he hardly took time to savour it. Eating was mechanical for him, done out of necessity and nothing more.

  Miri said nothing more on the subject of Sebastian's impending betrayal, and she tried to engage him in friendly conversation on other topics, but he wasn't feeling all that talkative. He just wanted to eat and sleep and forget everything that had happened since Desa took him away from his little village.

  No, that didn't go back far enough. What Tommy really wanted was to forget every day that had passed since his father caught him and Sebastian in the hayloft. What a fool he had been to think the world would allow him even a morsel of happiness.

  The meal ended with a mug of beer, and he was about to slink back to his room, but a man with a thick dark beard came in to play guitar, and Miri seized the opportunity to pull him into a dance. At first, Tommy resisted, but when others started dancing, he chose to just go along with it. The alternative was resuming his fight with Sebastian.

  They twirled around in circles, and Miri laughed at his fumbling attempts to recall the steps to any dance he had been taught. Eventually, she patted him on the cheek and said, “You're a fine man, Lommy. Don't waste yourself on a wretch like Sebastian.”

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Tommy turned around and shuffled away from her with a smile on his face. Maybe this wasn't so bad, he thought. It did me well to get a few moments away from-

  He looked up to find Sebastian standing at the foot of the stairs and watching him. That cold stare made Tommy want to groan. How long had the other man been there?

  And how much did he hear?

  Chapter 10

  Morning sunlight through the window made Desa feel uneasy. Normally, she liked mornings, but this dawn brought with it the prospect of following Marcus to his bank and using the radio to contact the Synod. She stood before a rectangular pane lined with dark brown muntin, watching silver rays bounce off the slanted black roof across the street.

  A knock at the door startled her.

  Desa stood with her hands clasped behind herself, hanging her head at the sound. “You may come in,” she called out. “I am the only one here.”

  She turned in time to see the door swing inward, allowing Marcus to step into the room. He was dressed in brown trousers and his long duster, and he carried his hat in one hand. “I trust you're ready to go.”

  Desa shut her eyes, breathing deeply to calm herself. “I would remind you that this is a terrible idea,” she protested. “The Synod cannot hope to fathom the danger without seeing Bendarian's atrocities
with their own eyes.”

  “You agreed to speak with them.”

  “But not to abide by their decision,” Desa said raising a single finger. She felt her eyebrows climb as she studied him. “And the only reason I agreed to that much was the faint hope of enlisting other Field Binders to our cause.”

  Marcus leaned against the door-frame, folding his arms, and scowled as he shook his head. “Aladar cannot spare more Field Binders,” he said. “Losing you was a blow to the economy.”

  “Perhaps we should train others.”

  “Blasphemy,” Marcus spat. “These primitives wouldn't even be able to grasp the most basic principles.”

  Cocking her head to one side, Desa blinked at him. “I disagree,” she said. “I have begun instructing young Tommy in the art. He shows considerable potential.”

  Marcus stood up straight, and his face became as grim as a rumbling thundercloud. He took two cautious steps forward. “You revealed the secrets of Field Binding? That is a capital crime, Desa.”

  “I've never agreed with that law,” Desa countered. “Field Binding does not belong to Aladar. It is the birthright of every human being.”

  “You would empower our enemies?” Marcus bellowed. “Give them the means to destroy Aladar?”

  Desa looked up to match him stare for stare, then narrowed her eyes. “They are not our enemies,” she insisted. “And I am not the one who left advanced technology in their care.”

  It disappointed her when Marcus rested a hand on the grip of his pistol and glared at her like a sheriff who expected a criminal to run. “You will come with me to speak to the Synod.” It wasn't a question or even a demand. From Marcus, it was just a statement of fact. “And you will answer for your...decisions.”

  She went without protest, though she wasn't sure how long she could do so. It was all too likely that the Synod would demand her immediate return to Aladar, and if they did, Marcus would not relent. A cold feeling settled over Desa when she realized that she might have to kill him and Miri as well. The woman would not take it kindly if Desa killed her brother.

  Though it took longer, Marcus decided to walk and leave their horses stabled. Desa wasn't sure what to make of that. Did the man believe that she would have an easier time escaping with Midnight? Still, a longer journey meant more time to consider her options.

  The bank was on the other side of the Vinrella, which meant crossing a bridge that was full of people even at this early hour. A group of young women in colourful dresses strolled toward them; several of them eyed Marcus, and when they passed Desa heard soft giggling.

  The steady clip-clop of horse hooves told her that a carriage was coming up behind them, and when it rumbled past, the coachman – a spindly fellow in a gray coat – actually lifted his top hat in greeting. It was a beautiful morning with a clear blue sky and the sun hovering just above the eastern horizon. Even now, the day was beginning to grow warm.

  In tan pants and her brown duster, Desa walked with hands in her pockets and kept her eyes focused on the ground. “You realize that if we decide to go,” she began, “we will be leaving these people to Bendarian's machinations.”

  Marcus was on her right and staring grimly into the distance. Was he deciding what to do if Desa decided not to follow the Synod's directives? “They are not our people,” he said. “We have other concerns.”

  “That seems callous.”

  “It is the simple truth.”

  Desa looked over her shoulder, squinting at him. “You were never interested in the world beyond our borders,” she said. “But now you seem eager to watch it burn. Tell me, did something happen while I was away?”

  It made her uneasy when Marcus put a hand on his gun, but he seemed to be doing it without thinking. His chest expanded as he took a breath, and then he nodded once in confirmation. “Too much has happened.”

  That felt ominous, but Desa chose not to press the point. Her mind was filled with images of Eradian troops laying siege to Aladar, of Field Binders tearing through armies of men on horseback, of the roar of cannons.

  It made her sick to her stomach.

  When they finally arrived, the bank was just opening. A gray, stone building with an arch-shaped overhang framing the wooden front door, the place looked very imposing to Desa's eyes. Almost more like a church than a bank. Perhaps, that was the building's original purpose before new management purchased the property.

  An older man in a long black coat with silver buttons on the cuff of each sleeve slid a key into the lock with a shaky hand. He jiggled it several times and then grunted as he pushed the door open.

  Finally, the man turned around.

  Tall and reed-slim, he was more than presentable with a cravat around the collar of his white shirt. His leathery face was lined with creases, but his silver hair remained thick and full. “Mr. Von...Von...”

  “Von Tayros,” Marcus corrected.

  The banker closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose, and then nodded to Marcus. “I assume you wish to retrieve your equipment,” he said. “A pity. Two dollars a day is as much as most guests pay at a fine hotel. I'm loath to part with the income.”

  Baring his teeth with a hissing breath, Marcus stepped forward and tried to skin the other man alive with his glare. “I pay you for discretion,” he said. “I trust that you haven't gone poking around my property.”

  “No need for such theatrics,” the banker assured him. “A contract is a contract, and if I wished it, I could have the City Watch here in minutes. Your thinly-veiled threats may intimidate the ruffians that you hunt for bounty, but I can assure you that they shall have no such effect on me.”

  Marcus hesitated as if he were surprised by his own display of hostility. Desa was certainly startled by it. The young man she had known in Aladar had been grim, but this Marcus was a stick of dynamite just waiting for a spark. Twice now, he had reached for his pistol while in the grip of anger, and Desa was becoming more and more afraid of what he might do if she refused to go back to Aladar.

  “Just take us to the vault,” Marcus grumbled.

  “As you wish.”

  The banker shambled through the open door, and when they followed, Desa found herself in a large room with a vaulted ceiling of gray bricks. A clerk's desk was placed just inside the front entrance, and a man in his shirtsleeves worked in the light that came in through an arch-shaped window.

  He was a portly, bespectacled fellow who looked up just long enough to squint and then grunt when he recognized Marcus. “Mr. Von Tayros,” he mumbled, opening one of his books and leafing through pages of ledgers. “You're paid up to the end of the month, sir. Do you wish to retrieve your equipment today?”

  “I do.”

  “And may I inquire as to the identity of your companion?”

  Marcus shot a glance in her direction, and for some reason, his lips curled into the thinnest smile. “This is Desa Nin Leean,” he said. “She will be accompanying me.”

  The heavyset man stood up and fished a ring of keys out of his desk drawer. That done, he moved off toward a metal door built into the back wall. “If you'll please come with me,” he said without bothering to see if they were indeed following.

  Marcus turned to Desa.

  She offered an apathetic shrug and then gestured to the fleeing clerk. “Don't look at me,” she said. “You're the one who insisted on coming here. If I must endure the Synod's condemnation, I would just as soon be done with it.”

  They walked through a central aisle with thick stone pillars on either side, passing desks where bookkeepers worked diligently. Most didn't even bother to look. Everything about this place seemed designed to evoke thoughts of religion. The architecture included all the visual motifs that she had seen in the few churches she had visited, and yet there was no pulpit. Churches generally didn't have vaults built into them.

  Pressing her lips together, Desa felt creases lining her brow. “This place,” she said. “Was it always a bank?”

  The portly c
lerk halted in mid-step and looked back toward her. “You are no doubt referring to the architecture,” he said. “Mr. Phillips commissioned the great Jian Castelli to design this building. He said that he wanted something awe-inspiring, and this is what he got.”

  Desa resisted the urge to make a comment about men and their seemingly endless need to command respect through the construction of large, obtrusive monuments to their power. Only a money lender would choose to imbue a place of commerce with religious significance.

  The clerk slid one key into a hole in the vault door, and with a forceful twist of his wrist, he unlocked it. The door groaned as it swung outward to reveal a place that looked very much like a cell-block inside.

  Desa stepped through with lips pursed, shaking her head. “Cages for people,” she said. “Cages for money. Funny how they should look so very similar.”

  On either side of a narrow corridor, barred doors looked in on stacks of gold bullion or piles of bank notes tied with thin ribbons. The fortune contained here could probably feed a city for at least a year.

  Marcus followed her into the vault, then shut his eyes and exhaled. “It was the most secure place I could find to store the radio,” he said. “If you please, Mr. Hatch, I'd like to inspect the equipment I left in your care.”

  The portly clerk made no complaint as he pushed through the tight space between Desa and Marcus and stalked off down the corridor. He led them to a smaller door at the very end, then unlocked it.

  Inside, they found a simple table that supported an ornately-carved wooden box with a grill in the front and two antennae sticking out of the top. There was some other device attached to it by wires.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hatch,” Marcus said. “That will be all.”

  The clerk folded his arms and gave Marcus a disapproving stare. “I am required to supervise your movements so long as you remain in the vault,” he said. “But if you wish privacy, I'm sure Mr. Kent's office will suffice.”

  “No, thank you,” Marcus said. “You may remain.”

  He strode to the table and retrieved something from his pocket. It looked very much like a small metal button with three prongs sticking out of it. Lifting the radio to expose its underside, he plugged those prongs into slots made to fit them. “An Electric-Source,” he said. “Infused with enough energy to last for nearly a day of continuous use. This should only take a moment.”