Black Recluse

by Anna Bowman

  It felt almost good to admit it out loud. Almost.

  “Do you even think about what your parents taught you as a child?”

  Solomand’s throat went dry, and he swallowed.

  “I have a lot on my mind these days.”

  Silence. More mice, or roaches, skittered along the wall.

  “Why do you not use the name of your people?”

  Solomand’s whole body tensed. He knew he didn’t need to answer. The old man must suspect it was because Solomand was not going to acquire a black reputation with his Kree name. And, maybe, more importantly, he resented the Kree and their carefree way of life—the life his mother abandoned to marry a blue-eyed pilot named Silas Black. Then, when they settled down to a new life, tribulation followed. Even thinking about his parents caused his lungs to constrict. He needed to get out of here.

  “Let it go, Zishay. My name is Solomand Black. I walk my own path. Not that of my father, or my mother.”

  “Alright.” Zishay’s voice was resigned, even satisfied.

  Somehow this only made Solomand feel more on edge. His hands clenched at his sides.

  “Where is it?”

  “In the bell of St. Marten's.”

  Amusement washed over Zishay’s face in the pale light of the torch.

  Solomand’s shoulders slumped, a hand going to his strained face.

  “Should be easy for a man with your reputation to retrieve.”

  Now you’re just mocking me.

  Solomand shook his head.

  “Thanks for nothing,” he mumbled.

  “Farewell, Solomand Black.” There was a distant sadness in his eyes. “I pray you find what you need, if not what you seek.”

  “How do you know they’re not the same thing?”

  “They rarely are,” Zishay said, smiling as he blew out the light.

  The darkness engulfed him, but the burning of his words remained, working their way through Solomand in a way that was difficult to ignore.

  His excuse ready, his thumb rubbed against the warm metal medallion and stepped outside. But Rayn was gone. He looked up and down the street.

  “Rayn?”

  There was no answer. His alarm intensified as he heard muffled cries of pain down the next street, and he sprinted toward them.

  Chapter 18

  Rayn

  Rayn could hear voices: one Solomand’s, the other one of an old man. They spoke in a language she did not understand, but it seemed oddly familiar. Her toe tapped on the pavement, and she began to pace, her fingers drumming on her arms. Why was she so nervous? It was an impossibly long shot, and she had her doubts whether Solomand would manage to gain any useful information based on a solitary piece of forged silver.

  What if he did, though? Her stomach fluttered at the possibility, and her mind wandered like it had many times before when she thought about who S. L. was. She imagined him as a tall man, muscular, with worn hands from working. Eyes of smoky brown and short, respectable hair the color of burnt umber. He would be happy she came, taking her at once in his arms to ask why she didn’t wait.

  Why didn’t you come for me? Rayn’s fantasy dissolved as the empty feeling rose to the top. He couldn’t be a coward.

  No matter who she may have been before, Rayn was sure she could never love a fainthearted cur. Another question came to her, small and desperate. She asked it to the hollow space inside her where S. L. stood.

  What did you run away from?

  Rayn was so lost in thought she didn’t realize she was not pacing anymore, but walking down the street, her hands shoved deep in her pockets.

  A hand was on her mouth before she had time to react, firmly pressing down so she could not hope to yell for help.

  Dragged off of the street into an alley, Rayn struggled to free herself from the grip, not bothering to waste energy on a stifled scream. There were two of them, one forced her to her knees, holding her arms behind her back as the other tied a gag around her mouth.

  Adrenaline rising at a steady pace, she stopped fighting and began to calculate. The man behind her was tying her hands, cinching down the rope, so it burned and cut into her wrists. His partner surveyed her with black eyes, a dark, brown scarf covering his head and face. The robes he wore were of the same color and a style she had never seen before.

  Slave traders.

  A dark look spread across her face, and she gave it to the robed man, plotting her next course of action.

  Try and take me, will you?

  The bastard would wish he hadn’t. The man behind her unbuckled her gun belt and tossed it to his companion, speaking a few obscure words. His hands ran under her coat, up her torso, searching for more weapons. He found a handful of extra rounds and a pocketknife in her coat pocket, then jerked her to her feet.

  Neither of the men seemed concerned—a mistake they would soon regret. On her feet, Rayn waited until the man who held her passed her belongings to his companion to look away. Then, she feigned a stumble to the side, tripping the hidden switch on the heel of her boot. When he put his hands on her this time, she twisted to the side and kicked.

  The man cried out in pain, releasing her as he hopped on one foot, leaning down to grab his injured leg. When his friend lunged for Rayn, she fell onto the ground, pushing her leg into his stomach as he stopped to take hold of her.

  His black eyes widened as his hands went to his middle and her gun belt fell to the ground along with the bullets and knife. Rayn dropped to her knees, bending back so her bound hands reached the toe of her boots, and sawed through the ropes on her wrists with the blade sticking from her boot.

  “Rayn!”

  She looked up to see Solomand running toward her down the alley. When he saw the two men, they were bleeding and scrambling to get away. His jaw clenched.

  Her hands free, Rayn ripped the gag off her face and spit out the taste of dirt and kerosene. Solomand held out his hand, and she let him pull her to her feet.

  “You alright?”

  “Yeah,” she sneered at the retreating slave traders, rubbing her wrists. “Jackasses should have known better.”

  Solomand’s hand was on his revolver, his finger twitching. She thought he meant to shoot them, but his face darkened, and he spit out the name.

  “McKlane.”

  Wait!

  Rayn wanted to yell at him to stop, but there was no stopping Solomand. All she could do was reset the blade into her boot, pick up her revolver and hurry after him.

  “McKlane!” Solomand’s voice carried through the building as he stormed inside.

  Rayn was hooking on her belt as she tried to keep up. There was no sign of the old man, and Rayn didn’t quite know why she breathed a sigh of relief. If he had sold her out, then he deserved whatever Solomand had in mind. Still, the feral look in his eyes that surfaced…she didn’t want to see what he might do.

  Looking around at the tables of McKlane’s wares, Solomand’s brow furrowed, and he kicked them over one by one, his chest heaving. When he was finished, he re-holstered his gun and cracked his neck, surveying the wreckage.

  “Dodgy old, goat-faced son-of-a-bitch.” He breathed out. “I hate slavers. And anyone that does business with them.”

  A little breathless, Rayn didn’t say anything at first. She followed Solomand out. His boots found anything that moved, making the gears of the mechanical spider crunch beneath his heel. Rayn tiptoed around the items.

  “You sure it was him?” she asked quietly.

  “Oh, it was him.” Solomand dragged a hand through his hair as they stepped out of the warehouse. “For his sake, what I ordered better be on the docks.”

  Shaking his head, as if waking from a dark dream, he turned to Rayn and tossed the medallion back to her.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 19

  Solomand

  “Wh-what did he say?” Rayn stammered, clasping the medallion in her hand before returning it to her pocket.

  The hope in her eyes crushed hi
m. He tried not to look at her as they stalked out into the street. Movement on the roof caught his eye. He jerked his head to see a sleek falcon watching him, its head tilted to the side. Blue feathers shimmered in the rays of sun that managed to reach the roof’s peak. A tiny scroll of paper was bound to its leg.

  Solomand gulped, breaking into a cold sweat. The bird’s screech cut through the stillness, and it took flight. He pulled his gaze away as it disappeared beyond the buildings into the clearing grey of the sky. That was no ordinary messenger bird. Only one person used a myst falcon for communication that he knew of. He spoke to Rayn as they made their way back toward the docks at a pace she struggled to match.

  “A gentleman commissioned this, and a separate piece to go with it. He picked up this one first—the second was delivered to the northbound passenger ship, Natasha.”

  His heart pounded in his ears as he repeated the carefully rehearsed words.

  “Wait. Northbound? What does that mean?”

  Rayn was trying to keep up with him.

  “Your charming S.L., more than likely, was headed to the city of Grishtanburg. It was a popular place for people to run after the war—still is, actually.”

  “Why?” Rayn grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and look at her.

  A tingling sensation crawled up his spine at the touch of her hand. He took a deep breath and met her eyes.

  “Because it’s so damned cold up there even the airships would rather dive to an explosive, warmer death than freezing to death while chasing ghosts across the ice.”

  Rayn’s hands fell to her sides. As he looked at her distant gaze, the green of her eyes seemed to fluctuate, growing darker, then lighter. The stony look fell for an instant, leaving her looking lost and alone. A pain stabbed at Solomand’s heart.

  “Sorry,” he said more softly. “It’s where people go to disappear.”

  The guilty stabbing grew worse until it was an actual pang, throbbing in his chest, refusing to go away. They walked in silence. Rayn did not seem eager to talk about it any longer, much to his relief.

  Enough lies for today.

  He worked his finger in between his shirt collar, longing for the clear valley air.

  Solomand cleared his throat, praying she would not ask him anything else. He felt sick. In spite of what anyone may have thought, he hated lying, especially to her.

  Jank and Zee were already waiting for them. Zee sat on top of a huge wooden crate, swinging her legs and munching on an apple. Jank held a pocket watch with a scratched-up face. He squinted to read the time.

  “Almost had to send out a search party.”

  Solomand gave him a dark look which banished the sarcastic grin on his face.

  “Everything in order?”

  He pried open the two smaller crates and examined the contents. He pulled out one of the ten transmitter cuffs and squinted at the burnt-out control panels.

  “You sure you can fix this?”

  Jank looked offended.

  “Of course, I can fix it—long as I’ve got the right parts.”

  Solomand dropped it back into the crate and wiped grease on the side of his pants.

  “Good. Did you check that you have what you need?”

  Jank rolled his eyes.

  “’Course I checked.”

  He crouched in front of his toolbox, sorting through wrenches and grumbling to himself.

  “And?” Solomand’s head tilted, and his fingers drummed on the side of his leg.

  Jank looked up, the circles under his eyes looking darker as his complexion paled. He dug out a rolled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Solomand.

  “It’s sent.” He said, unusually short.

  Solomand stuffed the scroll in his pocket. At least one thing was going as planned.

  “Good. Nice work, Jank.” He clapped the engineer on the shoulder. “Didn’t kill you, either, did it?”

  Jank gave him a withering look and shrugged free of his grip. His silence was always a sure way to tell if Jank was actually furious with someone or being his usual volatile self. His seething glare assured Solomand forgiveness for making him send this message would come at a price. He sighed, wondering if Jank would team up with Ivan to take him out while he slept.

  “Let’s get these on board and get the hell out of here.”

  Solomand gave a last, distasteful look at the docks behind him as he bent over and shoved one of the crates up the ramp into the cargo bay.

  “Well, well. Solomand Black. Not leaving without me, are you?”

  The syrupy voice made his skin crawl.

  Oh, hell. Just what I needed.

  Chapter 20

  Rayn

  Rayn turned to see a tall brunette sauntering up to Solomand as he slowly stood and turned around. Her hair was silky, done in a glamorous up-do; not one strand was out of place.

  How is that even possible?

  Rayn's hair was frizzy and uncontrollable in this humidity.

  The woman’s arched eyebrows were perfect and dark against her spotless complexion. Her corset was drawn up around her thin waist, pushing full breasts further into her revealing neckline. She smiled at Solomand with full lips.

  “It has been such a long time since we kept each other’s company, don’t you agree?”

  She hooked gloved arms around Solomand’s neck and pursing her red lips toward his.

  Prostitute.

  Fists balled on her hips, Rayn glowered at the woman.

  To his credit, Solomand drew back, removed her arms from around him and eased away from her.

  “Hello, Minuet,” he said, his voice dry.

  Rayn noticed Zee was crouched on the crate, her head lowered. She looked like she wanted to spring forward and pounce on the woman. Jank threw his arms up and groaned.

  “Oh brilliant, the fu—.”

  “That’s enough, Jank,” Solomand cut him off. “There are ladies present.” He gestured to Rayn and Zee. “And Minuet, too.”

  He turned his attention back to loading the crates on board.

  Ha!

  Rayn almost laughed out loud, reveling at the agitation on Minuet’s face. She gave Solomand a mental high-five.

  Minuet followed them into the cargo bay.

  “What have we here, Solomand? Found a new toy?” Minuet flashed Rayn a condescending smile as she looked her up and down. “I thought your type was more…blonde.”

  She shifted her weight to one side.

  Ugh! What a…

  Rayn couldn’t think of anything beyond her first assessment.

  “Still…” Minuet tapped scarlet-tipped fingernails on her lips and tipped her head to one side. “She would clean up rather well.”

  That. Is. It!

  Rayn’s chest puffed out, her hand dropping to the hilt of her revolver. Solomand stepped between them.

  “Anything other than you is my type, Minuet,” he said, fists resting on his hips. “What do you want?”

  “Well, I happen to know you are heading to Blackpool, and it so happens, I am in need of a lift.” Her eyes lifted playfully. “Lucky you.”

  “You’re going to…hell?” Solomand feigned a look of confusion and pulled out his pocket watch. “Sorry, I’m not headed that way myself for another…six months, looks like.” He snapped the watch shut and swung the chain around his fingers.

  Minuet smiled sweetly as she bent forward.

  “Nice try, Captain Black. But that goes against our little agreement, doesn’t it?”

  Solomand crossed his arms, stone-faced at first. Then, to Rayn’s utter disappointment, Solomand relented.

  “Fine.” He jabbed at the control panel and the doors closed off the sunlight and foul smell of Trader’s Cove. “Show yourself to your room.” He started up the stairs, raising his voice and saying, “I’m sure the rats will like the company.”

  “Thank you, Sol, dear. I knew you wouldn’t mind.” Minuet turned to Rayn. “You and I must have a girl chat later.”

  S
he winked before gathering the dark silk of her skirt and sauntering up the stairs. Her high heels clicked on the metal, grinding on Rayn’s nerves. Her mouth was hanging open plastered with an involuntary, disgusted expression.

  “Excuse me?” She glanced at Jank and Zee and held a hand to her chest. “Was she talking to me?”

  Jank cast a menacing glance up the stairs and kicked a crate to the side.

  “Well she sure as hell wasn’t talking to me—or Zee,” he grumbled.

  “Who the hell is she?”

  Jank untied the sleeves of his jumpsuit and slipped them on.

  “A ‘transportation agent,’” he made air quotes. “For the Coalition. She steals passage wherever she wants and in exchange, doesn’t report our ‘suspicious activity’ to the Coalition,” he started mumbling and jerked a wrench out of his rusty toolbox.

  Rayn crossed her arms.

  “Why don’t you throw her overboard?”

  Jank slammed the toolbox shut and laughed.

  “Would if I could.” His face and shoulders fell at the same time. “Sol won’t let me,” he said in a mournful tone and stomped off towards the engine room.

  Zee scampered after him.

  The engines roared to life, and Rayn knew, from past experiences, she had better retreat to a more suitable place for Solomand’s takeoffs. The image of the prim Minuet flailing around in her cabin made her smile with satisfaction.

  I hope she gets knocked out cold.

  She darted up the stairs and down the corridor. The airship shuddered and shook as it lifted away from the dock. Rayn made for her cabin.

  Wait.

  She had to know how long she was going to be forced to endure Minuet’s presence. Rayn rushed down the hall until she reached the intercom. She pressed in the red switch and put her mouth next to the speaker.

  “Uh, Solomand.”

  There was crackling, then, “Yeah.”

  “How long is it to Blackpool?”

  More garbled noise.

  “Three. Days.” He was speaking through clenched teeth in an agonized tone.

  Three days.

  Rayn bit her lip and pressed her head against the hull. The rivets dug into her forehead. Her finger hovered over the button before she jabbed it down.