Black Recluse

by Anna Bowman

  “Oh, I could tell you wanted to. His mouth turned up in his crooked smile.

  “There’s a reason I call you that, you know, Rayn Storm.”

  Chapter 60

  Solomand

  Solomand rolled onto his side. Something felt torn deep in his right shoulder blade, forcing him to keep his arm close to his body. Tristan was right, as usual. He would be lucky if it ever returned to normal. He watched as Rayn shook Jank and Ivan awake, handing them each a canteen of water.

  “Where the hell are we?” Jank mumbled, drawing one knee up as he sat. Before anyone could answer, he jerked his head back, glancing around. “How the hell ’d we get here?”

  He held a hand to his bandaged head, then, dragging a hand down his dirt-smeared face, he went pale. Solomand poked him with the toe of his boot.

  “He saved your life, Jank—all our lives.”

  Jank cleared his throat, took another drink and began to mutter. “Still a body snatcher… shithead 201st.”

  Ivan stared at the ground, listless, barely drinking. Something in his eyes worried Solomand. Ivan’s gaze raised for a moment, catching his. The Slav hated losing; Will and Zee’s loss would be something he took personally. But there was something else, something Solomand had never seen before. He suspected it had something to do with LeFrost’s criminally insane bodyguard.

  “What’s wrong, Ivan?” he asked.

  Ivan’s brow was furrowed. Dried lines of blood covered his face.

  “Is Frost’s bodyguard…”

  “Noticed he was giving you a hard time.” Sol took a drink of water. “Who is he?”

  Ivan rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders tensed.

  “Aleksei. I was his, how you say, protégé.” His hand tightened around a hand of sand. “He is no bodyguard.” He shook his head slowly.

  Sol dug into his pocket for his cigarette case, cringing all the while.

  “Lots of Ice Wolves rent themselves out with jobs like that down here.”

  He pried the case open with his fingernails. There were four cigarettes left, wet and squished.

  Damn.

  They were still smokeable. He sat up, passing one to Ivan and Jank. Rayn held her hand out, giving him a hard look. He grinned and gave her the last one.

  “Not Aleksei.” Ivan held the damp cigarette to Sol’s lighter, puffing until the damp paper finally caught fire. His hand was shaking.

  Shit Ivan, what’s wrong with you?

  “He is not just Ice Wolf. Aleksei was Alpha.” He shook his head again. “Frost will regret having anything to do with him.”

  He finished his cigarette. The others had barely started on theirs.

  “He’s why you left Grishtanburg?” Sol asked quietly.

  Ivan had never been forthcoming about his past, and they had never asked. They all had graveyards share of skeletons stuffed in the closet, why should he be any different?

  Ivan nodded.

  “Is not good he is here. If not for him I could have got Zee back.”

  He looked angrier than usual.

  Sol leaned forward, savoring the last bit of tobacco. It tasted like dirt and river water.

  “Let it go, Ivan. Will knew what he was getting himself into, and Zee? That’s my fault.”

  Will. Damnit. Why did you have to get hit by that damned thing?

  A thought entered his mind that it would have been better had it been a real bullet, then he hated himself for thinking such a thing. And Zee? She was probably scared to death, sure as hell, he’d get her out.

  “The cost will be too great…” he muttered. Tristan and the priest had been right: both had warned him.

  “Did it even work?” Jank spoke up, trying not to sound defeated. “How the hell are we supposed to know?”

  Solomand took a bit of the kanji fruit. “Minuet,” he answered, his mouth full.

  “Why wait?” Lemuel’s deep voice interrupted. Jank jumped, causing The Falcon to survey him with amusement. The silky bluebird was on his shoulder, its head jerking back and forth, eyeing them all with suspicion. He held up a rolled newsprint in his hand before tossing it on the ground in front of Solomand.

  Sol gulped, almost afraid to read it. Rayn picked it up, reading as the others crowded around her.

  “War Criminal Captured. Long presumed dead war criminal, Tristan Highcourt, was captured trying to enter Corcyra last night. Son of the famed Dr. Galin Highcourt, Tristan shocked the entire allied forces when he chose to betray his family and fellow Corcyrans for the cause of the rebels. It is uncertain how many lives he could be held directly responsible for, but his actions are enough for Governor LeFrost to call for the highest capital punishment: public execution not seen since the end of the war. Though it may be some time before the younger Highcourt sees his sentence carried out, as he was injured during his savage attack of Corcyra’s finest. He is currently under the care of his father until he is well enough to face the consequences for his ill choices.”

  “Horseshit!” Jank spat. “He never attacked anyone—he could barely walk.”

  “It’s just propaganda, Jank.” Solomand squinted, pointing to an article further down the page. “Lady St. Sebastian injured by an unidentified invader. She is to be awarded the highest military honor…”

  “That propaganda too?” Jank sneered.

  Rayn shifted uncomfortably. “No. I shot her.”

  “What?” Jank’s mouth dropped open.

  Rayn shrugged. “She told me to.”

  Jank raked hands through his hair, groaning, “Why the hell didn’t’ she ask me—I’d have done it years ago.”

  Solomand took the paper now, ignoring Jank’s groaning. He thumbed through the pages, searching.

  Nothing.

  His heart sank, and he tossed the newsprint aside. Zee must be terrified, believing beyond all doubt they would be coming for her. And here they were: battered, licking their wounds and in no shape to save anyone.

  He glared up to see Lemuel looking at him.

  “What’s wrong, Sol? News not to your liking?”

  “More what it didn’t say.” Sol clamped his eyes shut as a wave of misery hit him.

  “They wouldn’t very well mention Will now, would they? An Olbian mercenary who they turned against themselves with their own weapon.”

  “No,” Sol mumbled.

  “He knew the risks. You shouldn’t hold yourself responsible.” That was typical of Lemuel—no—The Falcon, with his emotional detachment from everyone he worked with.

  “Zee didn’t!” he snapped bitterly.

  There it was: the look he couldn’t turn away from.

  “She is not in any immediate danger, as you well know.” Lemuel’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t afford to dwell on any distractions.”

  Anger rose in Sol. “Zee is not just a...”

  “You know what I mean.” Lemuel interrupted. “You barely got this far, and the hard part is just beginning.” He paused now, his shoulders relaxing. “I can get you an airship, but I can’t help you with anything else.”

  Solomand pushed himself up on one elbow and ignored the pain in his side.

  “Like you couldn’t help us this time?”

  Lemuel regarded him like he was a child who had no idea what he was meddling with.

  “This is different.” His voice changed, filled with gravity. “Ivan is right about this Aleksei. He is ambitious. He will be more trouble than you know.”

  Lemuel had always gone on about a bigger picture. He never was interested in pawns—still hunting the king in some maddening game.

  “Still after your chess piece?”

  Lemuel’s smile was sympathetic.

  “More like a puppet master.”

  “While we play with the puppets?” Solomand sighed.

  It doesn’t mean your job is any less important. We all have different parts to play.

  Lemuel’s past words echoed in his mind.

  “I know,” he stopped Lemuel from repeating the same gem o
f wisdom a second time.

  “My business is not yours,” Lemuel said, his eyes narrowing. “A war is coming.”

  Solomand kicked at a rock.

  “It’s already came, Lemuel. And went.”

  The Falcon didn’t seem to hear. He continued to have that look about him as if they were all children in over their heads.

  “You must finish what you set out to do,” he said.

  “The Falcon is right.” Ivan stood, clutching his bandaged side, a rare wave of emotion on his face. “Toch stalon, to stalon (what’s done is done).” He stiffened, and he recovered his determined, murderous stare. “We waste time here.”

  Rayn stood next to the Slav.

  “I’m with Ivan.” The steadiness in her voice stilled the swirl of emotions inside Solomand. “Let’s get them back.” She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, and he found himself believing it would be.

  Once her mind was set, there was no swaying her. LeFrost would never know what hit him.

  “Alright,” Solomand forced himself to sit. “Get us to your airship, Lemuel. We’ll do the rest.”

  The Falcon crossed his arms, his eyes glittering.

  “That’s more like it. This is the Black Recluse I remember.”

  Sol glanced at Jank. He was the only one who, uncharacteristically, didn’t have an opinion. The engineer was hunched over, his haunted gaze fixed on the ground. He slowly raised his head. Sol knew what was bothering him. Jank was one of god knows how many sleep walkers The Falcon had used to accomplish his goals. Most people had no idea what he looked like, only that he was an assassin, lethal and deadly. Benjamin didn’t like him because he used means which he deemed ‘unnatural.’

  He was able to pick someone that had a sleepwalker gene, as he called it, and put them into a trance. He could cause them to go where he wanted. While they thought they were only dreaming, they were really wherever he put them and were actually engaging in whatever he wanted them to, which usually was assassinating some high-brow target. It was a hell of an advantage, but one Ben didn’t think was worth using. He especially didn’t like how Lemuel left his victims to suffer the consequences.

  He had made a mistake with Jank, though. He allowed himself to care. Wherever he was from, he had no family who would miss him. Lemuel took him to Ben, saying he would owe him for taking the boy in. When Jank found out what happened, he was terrified of The Falcon and his body snatching abilities.

  “Professor.” Jank stood. “I want to do it.” His voice quivered. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Jank, don’t,” Sol said.

  The Falcon surveyed Jank pensively. He bent down, rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a battered, leather book and held it out to Jank.

  “My sketchbook…” Jank’s hand trembled as he took it. “You saved it from the wreckage…” The look of mixed fear and loathing softened.

  “You don’t need to sleepwalk, Jank. That is my way. Find your own.”

  Jank’s shoulders shook as he hung his head.

  As Lemuel walked past him, he said, “Thank you.”

  “No need.” Lemuel grinned. “Just don’t let me lose my wager.”

  Chapter 61

  Rayn

  Lemuel had a ship for them by nightfall. They followed his falcon, nervously, out of the maze of the canyon. They had to go slow enough, so Solomand wouldn’t strain himself too severely. He did anyway, limping alongside Ivan and refusing any help. Sweat glistened on his face in the pale moonlight. The Falcon waited for them, a ghostly shape against the star-studded horizon. He stood in the shadow of the airship he had procured for them. Rayn’s jaw dropped. “Holy hell, Lemuel!” Sol breathed out sharply. “Where did you get that?”

  It was nothing like the rudimentary cargo ship Solomand had managed to procure. The Osprey had been the kind of craft only a penniless band of desperados would appreciate. This ship, however, would make even the most land-locked individual on a dock turn their heads in admiration. The shape was similar to ancient, fossil-fueled-powered airplanes—sleek and aerodynamic. The outside deck was lined with a dull copper, offsetting the flat black which coated the rest of the ship. The bow curved in a narrow nose-shape with two propellers mounted on either side. Three wing-like airfoils angled forward on either side, connected in between by steel beams. At the aft, two shafts containing propellers of tapered length were mounted on either side. Gunner stations were mounted on the top of the airship. Rayn noted they were not equipped.

  “That, my young friend, is my business.” Lemuel strode forward. “You’ve got your map?” He gave Sol a meaningful look. “Cross the minefield. You’ll be safe for a while.”

  “Why can’t we go back to The Castle?” Rayn asked, scraping sweaty strands of hair from her face. She adjusted the grip on her rifle.

  Sol was pale.

  “Because of Will.” There was a pain in his voice. “We don’t know what he might tell them. It’s not worth the risk.” He leaned forward, panting.

  Will.

  It was hard to imagine a scenario where the mild-mannered Olbian might turn on them.

  “What about the Kree?”

  “Don’t let their simple appearance fool you. The Kree have their own ways of vanishing.” Lemuel clamped a hand on her shoulder. “Take care of him, will you? You see what happens when he’s unsupervised.”

  “Yeah,” Rayn nodded.

  “Very funny.” Sol clenched his teeth together. “I’ve been doing just fine without your help, thanks…Gah!” He cried out as Lemuel took him by the arm and escorted him inside the dark cargo bay.

  “I can see that.”

  “Really, Lemuel, I’m not a damn child—I still have one good arm.”

  Lemuel ignored him. He turned to Rayn.

  “There’s enough medicine on board. Keep him patched up. Keep yourselves patched up.” He turned to Sol, a distant expression returning to his face. “Sol…Aminaksew. Miijen nkoiti wabi maji sipihkwash.”

  Solomand grew somber, and he bowed his head. “Miijen nkoiti wabi maji sipihkwash, Lemuel.” May stars see you home.

  “See you later.” He tipped his hat. Then, The Falcon ducked out of the cargo bay doors, whistling his lyrical call to his pet. The bird answered as it swooped down, catching his shoulder. Rayn watched them vanish into the darkness, feeling like he was more a mystery than when they first met. Still, she trusted him.

  Jank hit a button on the control panel by the open doors, and they wheezed shut. Dim lights flickered on.

  “The map, Rayn.”

  Jank held his hand out, and she handed him the scrap of paper Minuet had given her.

  “Better make sure he holds onto something.”

  He took the paper from her and began to twist the dials on the spherical device they had received from the bell tower.

  “Ivan, give me a hand, will you?” Ivan followed him without a word to the cockpit.

  “I’m not an infant, Jank!” Sol yelled after him, rolling his eyes. “I know how to strap myself in when you’re the one flying.”

  “His flying better than yours.” Ivan’s voiced answered him.

  Sol scowled. “Ice man.”

  Rayn stifled a laugh, and Solomand gave her a reproachful look.

  “You too, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He looked injured at her sincerity. The engines came to life with a soft buzzing noise—much quieter than the Osprey.

  “Come on,” Rayn said, brushing against him on her way to the stairwell and caught the look of pain in his eyes. “Sorry.” She cringed in sympathy.

  “It’s alright,” Sol half spoke and half groaned, limping up the stairs ahead of her.

  The airship lifted, and she suppressed the urge to tell him to move faster. If they ended up slamming against the hold, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have happened in the past day.

  He lurched forward, landing on one hand.

  “Come on.”

  She slipped her shoulder under his arm and shuffl
ed with him leaning on her to the first cabin door. Once inside, she dragged him to the bunk.

  “Lay down, Sol,” she pleaded, sitting next to him.

  “Do I look that bad?” he asked, sinking back. He tensed as his back hit the coarse blanket.

  “Yeah. You look like shit.”

  Rayn lay the Drakon next to him and unbuttoned her jacket.

  Sol laughed, then groaned, his jaw tightening.

  “Don’t make me laugh.” He settled back, his smile fading as he stared at her. “Are you really alright?”

  Rayn shrugged.

  Sol raised his hand and brushed her cheek with his finger. His eyes flickered shut.

  “I’m sorry…I’m sorry for everything…” His head shifted back and forth on the pillow. “Bad things happen to the ones I love, Rayn. Your father’s men, they thought I was bad luck. Maybe he should have listened.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Rayn shoved him. “My father can’t have been wrong; I may not remember, but I’m never wrong. And I probably take after him.”

  Solomand managed a smile.

  “It’s alright if you don’t remember. That just means I can reuse all the love sonnets that I used to get Tristan to help me write, and you’ll be none the wiser.”

  Rayn raised an eye.

  “Love sonnets?”

  Sol cleared his throat.

  “Shall I compare thee to a Medved, straight and true and faithfully there when I need you.”

  “Ugh—that’s awful. No way Tristan helped you with that.”

  Rayn’s ribs ached as she laughed. Then, a still look of sadness fixed on her face. Without a word, Solomand laced his hand through hers. As he pressed his head against hers.

  “We’ll get him back.” He whispered. And just like that, Rayn knew they would. She squeezed his hand and nodded. “They’ll never see us coming.”

  Epilogue

  Lemuel walked through the desert, his boots noiseless on the gritty soil. Moonlight faded and brightened as clouds drifted forward, propelled by a strong breeze. Left hand in his pocket, Lemuel found the tarnished, silver ring with Kree markings and returned it to his finger. He never wore it around Solomand; the boy would ask prying questions. Solomand was always the boy in Lemuel’s mind.