Killers, Traitors, & Runaways: Outcasts of the Worlds, Book II

by Lucas Paynter

  “Uh, hi there,” she asked. “Are you Brinnegan?”

  “The current one, aye.”

  “Ah, here it comes,” a patron groaned.

  “You see,” the bartender started, “Granddad was a Brinnegan. Built this pub with his own two hands some sixty-five years back. Had a son. Named him Brinnegan, passed the pub to him when the time was right. While later, Brinnegan the Second had a son.”

  “So you come from a long line of bartenders?” she asked.

  “That I do.”

  “And your son? You’ll be passing it to him eventually?”

  “Don’t have a son,” Brinnegan replied. He then clarified, adding, “Do have a daughter.”

  As Zaja was deciphering this, Poe suddenly intruded, irate at being kept waiting.

  “Watch it, tosser!” another patron complained.

  “We did not come to query your family history,” Poe said. “We are in search of one named Jean. Last night she was here, stirring up a fight among your patrons.”

  Brinnegan looked queerly at Poe. “You alright, lad? Looking dreadfully pale.”

  “I have a skin condition,” he said sharply.

  Brinnegan gave Poe’s attitude no mind, and snapped his fingers in recollection. “I know which lass you’re talking about. Haven’t seen her tonight, but she was perched at the bar for a while last eve before joining Vackie.”

  “Vackie,” Poe acknowledged, and stepped promptly away.

  “Uh, thank you!” Zaja added, before following him.

  Even if the other patrons hadn’t been helpful, Vackie was the kind of person who made himself known. “—and you believe those fucks ’ave the balls to send us to fucking Bheln after what the Cavos did ’ere? Got ’alf a mind to sail right past to Briss just to help them cut the sods down!”

  His comrades eagerly agreed and were clinking glasses by the time Poe placed his hand on the table. As the glasses settled and the table took notice of their visitor, Vackie began laughing out loud. “Mates, mates, look at this bloke ’ere. This sort, you can tell ’e was hiding ’neath the bed when his draft note came.”

  “Seems he only just crawled out from under!” another added.

  “Stark white as a sheet!” a third jeered, before she took another drink.

  Zaja expected Poe to lash out, but he remained perturbingly calm as they ridiculed him. Poe allowed the laughter to subside, as Vackie leaned over to break the ice, still chuckling. “Sorry, guv, sorry. Never seen one pale as you.”

  “It’s fine,” Poe strained. “You’re Vackie, yes?”

  “What’s it to you?” Vackie asked as he leaned back in his seat.

  “I’m looking for Jean.”

  Vackie gave pause, then shrugged dumbly. “Don’t know a Jean, never met one.” He looked to his right, “Kistoff, you know a Jean?” He looked to his left. “’Ow ’bout you, Cienna? Got a Jean you ’aven’t told me ’bout?” Then he returned to Poe. “Sorry, mate. No Jeans here.”

  “She was with you last night,” Zaja piped in. “The bartender saw you.”

  “Oh! Oh, well! Bartender saw us—!” he looked to his comrades, “Get that, mates? Ol’ Brinnegan saw me with a bird last night—”

  “Eh, eh, Vackie: Weren’t you?”

  Vackie cracked up and began snapping his fingers in recollection. “Oi, right. You know, was with a bird last night. Red hair, bit of a tall one?”

  “That’s her,” Poe replied with stretched patience.

  Vackie emptied his glass and grinned smugly as he stared Poe right in the eyes. “Took her back home and I fucked her. Now what’s it your business, coming to bother me ’bout it?”

  Zaja instinctively stepped back as Poe drew the Dark Sword in one deft motion and cut both front legs of the table away, causing it and the drinks upon it to crash to the ground. Though his comrades scattered back, Vackie himself was seated at the other end and hadn’t time to move before Poe planted his boot on the slanted table, jamming it and Vackie both against the wall. Zaja looked around in a panic, certain their cover was blown, but half the patrons only seemed eager to watch, and the other half were scurrying to the bar as Brinnegan yelled, “Place your bets!”

  “Let me … go … tosspot,” Vackie grunted, struggling.

  “Where. Is. Jean. Now?” Poe’s cold tone chilled Zaja.

  “Right, right! Odd girl, that one! Hardly gave eye contact even after I covered her fucking drinks! Gave a bit ’bout not knowing where to go next, maybe catching a boat! Woke up this morn, was already gone! ’Aven’t seen her since, I swear!”

  It was enough to satisfy Poe, who pushed off the table, causing one last grunt to escape Vackie. While the soldier’s friends hurried to help their comrade up, Zaja hurried after hers, before they could come looking for revenge.

  “So, wait, that’s it?” she asked.

  “Jean is too preoccupied with her vices and agendas to spare ours any concern,” he replied. “If she has forsaken us, so we forsake her.”

  Zaja wanted to argue on Jean’s behalf, but even if Poe were willing to disregard recent activities as a sign Jean had no intention of returning to them, they had no trail to follow after the pub. Jean was lost to the wind, and though it hurt to admit it, it may have been time to say goodbye.

  *

  Alicea Bagwell had done her part, and so left Belsus alone, weary and unrested. She rushed out of town in the chill of night, still hours to dawn and afraid that her ship would leave without her. She feared standing on that port, branded a deserter, knowing word would spread among her comrades until it reached her brothers on the other side of the world. She feared what waited for her even if she was on time; success or failure only meant different kinds of death, and in both, she knew she was a coward.

  “Shea!”

  She slowed at the sound of her name. Flynn was hurrying to catch up, and hunched to steady his breath as he reached her. Even so, he found enough to say, “I’m coming with you,” and to her surprise, Shea’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Don’t owe me anything,” she told him. She was afraid that if she spent any more time with him she wouldn’t want to leave.

  “Never said I did,” he replied. “But I want to see you back to Selif. You said this morning that you just wanted my company. Happy conversation, was it? I’m giving it to you now.” She wanted to tell him to go back, to tend to his friends, to give him any reason to leave.

  “Long walk ahead.”

  The road was dark, and her lonely thoughts were the worst sort of company. So she let him walk with her for some time as they shared past experiences and anecdotes. She asked nothing of his friends, for too many worries cluttered her mind to allow for who they were and where they came from. She was bound for war, she reminded herself, and when the rising sun was prepared to kiss the eastern sky, they returned to the site of the massacre at the bluffs.

  “Shea, I’ve been wondering,” Flynn asked. “Why did you help us?”

  “Just … wanted a few memories for back at the front,” she confessed. “Not what I expected. Ask my mates what they did, get the effect of ‘got pissed, passed out.’ Ask me? ‘Helped this bloke and his odd-duck friends plot a trip to Thoris.’ Tell now, who’s got the better story?”

  Flynn smiled and nodded, and Shea was pleased in turn.

  “’Fore we go our ways, Flynn, tell one thing.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Shea glanced at his backside and asked, “Where’s your bloody tail?”

  He looked back at her, studied her for a moment. Shea felt her own tail curl up behind her leg. “I was born without one.”

  “That’s it?” she laughed. “Figured a scuffle or some—I mean, were I missing mine and some tosser made a thing of it, I’d keep a better story lined up. Not like the twat gets to see the damn stump.”

  “Didn’t want to take the chance you might see later on,” Flynn replied. “How, then, would I explain my lie from earlier?”

  “Cheeky. Even were I up for
a tumble, time’s about up.” She checked his backside one more time, then admitted, “Wouldn’t have hurt to lie. What memories you give, I take with. Rather fancy kind ones.”

  Selif called from the distance. There wasn’t time to dawdle, but Shea knew she would make her boat.

  “I’m just saying what you want to hear,” he confessed.

  “Why be honest now?” She almost didn’t want the answer.

  “Whatever you carry with you, whether it’s what you fight for or what you’re fighting to come back to, it shouldn’t be based on a lie,” he replied. “If it was, I’d say I’d be waiting.”

  For the first time, as Shea looked at Flynn, she knew there was something wrong with him. What it was she couldn’t place, whether it be little imperfections of his features or something more savage she hadn’t realized before. For a time, she’d assumed he had roots from a distant country, but that reasoning no longer satisfied her. Afraid of what she might learn, Shea turned away from him as she had his friends, to avoid spying some detail she’d be unable to escape.

  “Didn’t come with just for me, did you?”

  “There’s something I need to do while I’m here,” he replied. “Something worth leaving the others to check. Even so, I wanted to give you a proper farewell. I know what it’s like to suddenly have someone you care about vanish from your life.”

  Shea nodded. There wasn’t any more time; she had to go.

  “Right, then. Farewell.” She spared him one final, fleeting glance. It was all she’d ever have.

  “Safe sailing, Alicea Bagwell.”

  With that, Shea left, racing down the road to meet certain death.

  *

  As Flynn walked down the forest path to den Vier Manor one last time, he realized that he had never been so alone in his life. Before he had been irreparably changed, he was entirely self-interested, and felt nothing for the plights of others. Now, he worried. For Mack and Leria, and what fate had befallen them on Breth. For his remaining allies, scattered across Tryna.

  He hoped they were safe. He hoped they would wait.

  As Flynn passed the fountain littered with sodden cigarette butts, he worried that nothing awaited him across the threshold. True to his fears, the manor was just as they’d left it. There were no signs of life but the ticking clock that Zaja had repaired in the dining hall. It chimed with the hour, and Flynn turned away. It was time to leave.

  “Flynn?”

  He stopped, planting his palm on the doorframe. She came down the stairs behind him, her steps timid at first.

  “Scared the shit outta me.”

  Jean was wearing a bonnet that covered much of her face. She clutched her jacket in one hand, her mace in the other, and Flynn worried she’d only come by to collect her things.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “Yeah … same here, man.” She swayed unsteadily, in search of something to say. “Look, I had some shit to work through. Thought I might come back, y’know? Wasn’t meanin’ to ditch, just … couldn’t make up my mind for a time.”

  “What changed?”

  “Well, ya know…” She shrugged. “Where the hell else was I gonna go?” She tried to laugh, but Flynn couldn’t share in her joke. “Mostly drifted, kinda like I used to. Got smashed, fucked around a bit … but, really. Where the hell am I gonna go? Hang around here and sooner or later, I’m gonna get noticed. There’s no place for someone like me.”

  “There’s still one.”

  Jean swallowed her pride. “Shouldn’t have run off.”

  “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had no other choice,” he replied. “I’ve walked dangerous paths all my life, and I’ve only ever played to win. Sooner or later, we’ll find ourselves in danger again, and I’ll have to do something unconscionable to keep us alive.”

  “So how’m I supposed to know what to do when it happens?” she demanded. “How do I tell if it’s a goddamn ruse or not?”

  “There’s never a ruse,” he scoffed. “I don’t make threats that I’m not prepared to follow through on, and I don’t look to hurt someone unless I’m certain of the outcome.”

  “Ya mean back at the tunnel?”

  Flynn nodded apologetically. “I didn’t want to, but you were losing your mind. It was the lesser evil.”

  Jean sneered at that. “Still evil.”

  “Maybe so,” he agreed. “You’re still one of us. And I didn’t tell you before, so I’m telling you now: I trust you, Jean.”

  She began to smile, but stopped herself. “I know how ya get inside people’s heads. Fuck do I know you ain’t just sayin’ that to get in mine?”

  “That’s for you to decide. You’ll have to trust me back.”

  Jean shot a contemplative look, and it took Flynn a moment before realizing it wasn’t meant for him. Down the path he’d come from, still distant, two figures approached side by side. He shooed Jean away and stepped out to meet them. They were Trynan soldiers, with insignias suggesting they outranked Shea. They stopped side by side as Flynn greeted them at the battered entrance.

  “Gentlemen?”

  “This your place, sir?” one asked.

  “Just passing through,” he replied, reaching out to shake hands. “Flynn Carolina. What can I do for you?”

  “Looking for a soldier, didn’t show up for port this morn,” the other replied. “Private Alicea Bagwell. Got reports from her comrades that she fancied coming ’round here. Hoped we might catch her.”

  “Is she in trouble?” Flynn asked.

  “Er, momentarily, no,” the first man replied. “’Course, depends on how she takes our approach. Turns out she was just late, well, already missed her ride to Bheln. Have to pair her with the 9th and go in south through the Hebre Sea. Messier patch, that, but she survives and gets back to the 13th, no harm I suppose.”

  “And if she resists?”

  “Imprisonment, to start. Tried for dereliction, could be treason. Point being, have you seen her?”

  Flynn smiled cheerfully. “Actually, I have. I was with her all day yesterday, straight through the night. We went for drinks and had a roll in the sack before I sent her on her way.”

  Something crashed in the manor. Flynn resisted the urge to wince, but knew Jean had been eavesdropping, and that his ‘admission’ had startled her.

  “Who’s there?” one of the soldiers immediately demanded as he reached for his pistol.

  “Just a friend of mine,” Flynn commented dismissively. “Have a look.”

  “You any idea where she’d be now?” the other soldier asked.

  “We walked the south fields for a spell,” he lied, adding, “There was an old tree with a large rock beside it. Her idea, said it was a favored place. Try there.”

  By this time, the first soldier had met with Jean, who gave a terse, “Yo.” He said, “Sorry, ma’am,” and backed out, before exchanging a few whispers with his partner. They thanked Flynn and went on their way. He watched in silence as they vanished on the horizon.

  “You really got laid last night?” Jean chuckled.

  “Oh, if only my life were that simple.” They waited another moment to be sure the soldiers were gone. “We need to get moving.”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.” She scrambled to pull her jacket on. “Where the fuck did you send those guys? You and this Ali chick actually hang out at this rock-and-tree place?”

  “No, but if they look hard enough, I’m certain they’ll find one that matches my description.” Flynn tried to remain silent, but as they left the manor, he was compelled to ask, “That bonnet was your whole disguise in Selif?”

  “Yeah, what of it?” she asked.

  “Looks terrible.”

  “Fuck off.”

  *

  Someone was coming. Shea quavered in her burrow, for with Belsus gone, few had reason to travel the northern road. She had tried to be brave, even as her heart pounded all the way back to Selif. Her mind had throbbed from the clamor of weapons fire long since
gone, her skin perspiring at the memory of fires that had blazed through the city. She had returned with time enough to spare, to sail across the world and meet those horrors again.

  They were coming closer. Just a scavenger, she prayed, reaching for her pistol. The barrel shook, and she retreated deeper into the cold mud to avoid notice, feeling it seep through her coattails.

  If it was another soldier, would she have the nerve to shoot and run? Better men and women had been taken by shots meant for her, and it meant one more would die when she didn’t deserve to live. No one’s seen me, no one’s seen me, she reminded herself again and again. She nestled deeper into the shadows and hoped they would pass by.

  “Wait here.”

  Shea’s heart froze. They had stopped outside, and one pair of footsteps was coming near. Her arms stiffened, her index finger flirting with the trigger; the shadow of a man was cast over her light. Wait. Just wait, she urged herself, her heart threatening to burst through her chest.

  “Shea.”

  The instant she heard her name, Shea’s pistol discharged. He hadn’t even come close enough to graze, and the shot flew clear past, embedding itself in the hilly soil ahead.

  “Oh, fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her pistol fell from her hands and she twisted, scrambling to pull her second one free; the hammer had gotten caught on the holster strap, and as she fought to untangle it, her pursuer stepped inside the half-buried wagon she’d been hiding in.

  “It’s me.”

  “Flynn?!” she gasped in disbelief. Her shaking hands lost hold of the pistol, leaving it hanging halfway in the holster. “Shouldn’t be here.”

  He nodded in agreement. “I came back for you.”

  Shea’s whole body trembled. She reached down, found the pistol she’d discharged, and wiped the mud from it on her coat sleeve. As she returned it to its holster and straightened out its pair, Flynn asked, “Why’d you run?”

  “Why?” She almost laughed. “‘Why’ was why. Why am I fighting? What for? For some islands our lords think we ought to have? So my brothers aren’t ashamed of me? So…” Shea clutched the right breast of her coat and felt the papers inside crush in her hand. “So someone knows who I am when I die?”