by J. Stone
April ran back towards the shed she had been working in, but passed it and turned the corner. Erynn and Tern followed quickly behind her, and when they turned the corner, they could see the motorbike in the distance. Solak stood beside the vehicle, dropping something onto the seat before vanishing again.
What followed was a terrible explosion, launching Erynn, April, and even Tern backward. They each landed in a separate pile of filth and discarded items within the junkyard. Erynn’s vision went fuzzy, and the back of her head ached from the rough landing. She could see the crimson and black figure slowly approach her, and she struggled to stand and defend herself. No matter how much she struggled, however, her body simply wouldn’t cooperate.
Another blurry figure lunged at the black and crimson assassin, pushing him aside slightly. Blinking her eyes several times, the second figure revealed themselves as one of Fiona’s pets.
Erynn finally willed herself to stand, while she watched Solak defend himself against the rabid attacks of the undead man. With a minor hobble, she walked to where Tern had landed after the explosion and ascertained his condition. The automaton managed to stand just as she approached him, pulling a long pipe out from his midsection.
“Zzft… Systems are functioning… zzft… at a 26% success… zzft… rate,” he informed her twitching his head to the side with every few words.
“Can you still fight?” she asked him.
“Combat algorithms… zzft… functional,” Tern replied.
Erynn looked back to Solak and what had been one pet attacking him had turned into about a dozen, all clawing and slashing at the assassin with bestial vigor. Several dead bodies of the pets were strewn across the junkyard, having already been dispatched by Solak. He looked to be holding his own quite easily in the fight, and it would only be a matter of time before he finished the remaining ones. In the distance, Erynn thought she saw a familiar woman looking down at her from the top of a factory, but when she looked again, the woman had vanished. She refocused back to the junkyard, where something jammed into one of the piles of junk caught Erynn’s eye.
When April approached her, she was still staring intently at it. “Those… things… aren’t going to hold him forever,” the mercenary pointed out. “What are you looking at?”
Erynn looked back at her and replied, “It’s not what I’m looking at; it’s what I see.”
With a confused look plastered over her face, April asked, “Well, what is it you see then?”
“Just give me a hand,” Erynn said.
She began picking through the junk, pulling out pieces and handing them to the mercenary. Among the items she retrieved was a long metal pipe, two energy couplings, a counter stabilizing recalibrator, and a self-galvanizing energy generator.
Having acquired what she needed, the chromesmith turned to April and said, “I need tools.”
With a frown, the mercenary looked from the supplies she awkwardly held in her hands and back to Erynn. After a moment, she sighed, and replied, “Follow me.”
The three of them ran back to the shed where April had initially been working, passing by the confrontation with quickly dwindling numbers. April flung down the materials on an old worktable and indicated up to a set of tools hanging on the wall.
“Whatever you’ve got in mind,” she began, “you’d better hurry.”
April walked back outside and watched the fight from a distance. Erynn, meanwhile, began assembling the pieces. She situated the curved energy couplings at either end of the long pipe and placed the generator and recalibrator on opposite sides as well. Powering on the generator, a wave of electricity shot out from one of the curved couplings and into the other. She did, however, have her hand in the wrong spot and it shocked Erynn’s fingers.
“Ow!” she shouted, shaking her hand at her side.
“What?” April asked. “What happened?”
“Don’t worry,” Erynn replied. “It’s meant to do that.”
Erynn looked back out the window to the fight between Solak and the infected, and she hurried to finish her work. She turned off the generator and readjusted the recalibrator at the opposite end. Flipping the switch back on, the energy raced through the coupling and reversed itself back to where it had begun. The result was a sword-like weapon that generated a steady loop of energy traversing the outside of the device.
“Tern!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, zzft… debugger?” the automaton replied.
“Take this,” she continued, pointing to the energy weapon. “If you hit the assassin with the electric charge, it should slow him down.”
“Affirmative, debugger,” Tern said.
Tern entered the shed, picked up the heavy weapon with ease, and then left toward Solak. The assassin had whittled the pets down, until only one remained. Just as Tern neared him, Solak finished off the last of the undead minions with a slash of his sword and turned to face the automaton. During the fight, the assassin’s trilby hat had come off, and what could be seen over the brim of his large coat collar was a deep black, metallic mask covering his face. Through glossy, oblong lenses, Solak stared at Tern, holding his blade out horizontally toward his opponent.
Tern rushed forward, despite his injuries, and fiercely swung his weapon at the assassin. Solak dodged the first blow, as he stepped backward, but he met Tern’s next strike with his own blade. The sword collided against the thick pipe, but also sliced through the flow of electric energy and gave the assassin a small shock.
Solak noticeably jolted at the conduction of the electricity, and he sidestepped Tern’s attack, pulling his blade back to him. The attack, however, slowed the assassin down more than he seemed to realize. Tern quickly swung the weapon again, hitting Solak in the back with the energy force followed swiftly by the blunt pipe. The strength of Tern’s hit, knocked Solak forward, and he stumbled until landing on all fours on the ground.
The assassin attempted to endure and resist the electricity flowing through his body, but it became too much for him. He gave out and collapsed on the ground, while Tern approached him from behind with the weapon extended. He used it to flip over Solak’s body, giving him another slight jolt of energy. The assassin’s overcoat had come unlatched as well, and Erynn could now see that not only was his head encased in the mask, it was actually latched on and sealed with a complex padlock that hung just under his chin.
Erynn approached the fallen man with her tools still in hand, noting his troubled breathing through the respirator of the mask. “Who sent you?” she asked.
He merely continued to breathe heavily and look up at her through the black, glossy lenses.
“He can’t tell you,” April said from behind her.
“What do you mean?” Erynn asked.
“He’s a slave,” April informed Erynn. “Councilor Rhinehart’s personal assassin. When the Cultwick Corps conquered Ankalara, she took him and his guild of assassins as her personal reward. She had all their tongues removed and sealed them inside these masks.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” she asked. “It’s not like he wants to kill me. He’s just their pawn.”
“You kill him,” the mercenary responded.
“You’re suggesting I sentence this man to death for the crimes of someone else?” Erynn asked.
“It’s the only way,” April replied. “If you don’t kill him, he’ll keep coming after you. And, eventually, he’ll probably kill you.”
“No,” she replied. “There’s been enough death in my name.”
She kicked Solak’s weapon away from him and knelt down at his side. Inspecting the device at his neck, she could see that not only was it locked, but it was sealed with explosives and designed to detonate if tampered with. She began to use her tools to tinker with the device, prompting April to take a few steps back.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “That thing’ll blow us all.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Erynn replied calmly.
After a few minutes, she
successfully broke the padlock under his chin without triggering the explosives and took off the mask. His skin was dark tan, his hair a wavy dark brown, and his face was covered in an intricate web of black tattoos. She stood and gestured for Tern to step back as well. Solak slowly stood, still suffering from the effects of the electric weapon.
“You’re not a slave anymore,” she said. “Choose your own path.”
Solak bowed before Erynn and reached into his pants pocket, retrieving a small, tarnished coin. He handed her the coin and quickly disappeared with a flash. Erynn inspected it to find that it had the design of a cracked dagger etched across one side and a skull on the other.
“That was stupid,” April said. “You’ve no guarantee he won’t simply come back to finish the job.”
Before Erynn could reply, a sudden pain shot through her whole body, and she fell backward, dropping the coin and landing in the dirt. “Tern!” she yelled. “Injection!”
The automaton retrieved a syringe from a compartment at his wrist and approached Erynn with it. Before he could give it to her, however, the lights behind his eyes dimmed; and his body slumped, as he expended the last vestiges of his power. In agony, Erynn could not stand to collect the syringe, so instead April grabbed the needle from Tern’s hand, examining it for a moment. She looked down at Erynn and then handed her the syringe. Erynn took it and jammed it into her thigh, injecting herself with Rowland’s treatment and relieving herself of the pain of the genotoxin.
“I feared our alliance might have run its course,” Erynn said, pulling the needle back out.
“Eh,” April began. “You’re not my enemy. I had a job. I did that job. I just hope you don’t hold grudges.”
Picking the coin up and standing, Erynn continued, “Let me recharge my automaton and tell me where I can find Pearl, and I’ll let it go.”
Curling a smile at the side of her lip, she said, “The recharge shouldn’t be a problem.
“And the other?” Erynn inquired.
“Wish I could tell you,” April replied. “All I know is the middleman’s name.”
“And that is?” she asked.
April turned and faced Erynn. “Konstantine Deckland.”
Chapter 19. Isabelle and the Stables
Under a layer of warm blankets, she awoke in a pool of sweat and sat upright. The nightmare that plagued her sleep was beyond horrible, but as she sat there trying to remember what it was, the dream slipped further and further from her. She wiped the beads of sweat from her brow and stared out the window, still trying to piece it together. With each passing moment, however, her interest in the nightmare dwindled, until she gave up any hope of remembering it.
Isabelle threw the blankets off and realized what day it was. Her husband, Owen, intended to throw her a party later that night to celebrate her recovery. The accident had left her laid out in bed for some time and had even wreaked havoc on her memory. Thankfully, she thought, she was beginning to regain some of her memories. She recalled meeting her husband, falling in love with him, and then getting married in a whirlwind romance, but strangely, she didn’t remember much else. Even the events of the previous day were foggy.
As she stood, Isabelle looked down at her wrist. There, she found a strange metal bracelet. For the life of her, she was unable to recall where it had come from or when she had placed it there. She did find it to be very beautiful, yet its sight instantly saddened her; and she realized, as she was staring at it, that a tear had begun to slide down her cheek.
She wiped away the tear with a slight laugh, saying to herself, “That was… strange.”
Isabelle walked toward her window throwing open the curtain. Outside, fresh snow had fallen and covered the courtyard. Putting a palm to the glass, she shuttered, as a chill overcame her, exacerbated by the layer of now cold sweat coating her skin. Behind her, a knock rapped on the door.
“Come in, Gwen” she announced, knowingly.
The door creaked open, and the maid entered the room, closing the door back behind her. “Mrs. Sloan,” she said. “Feeling better today?”
“I am,” Isabelle replied. “The headaches have ceased, and I feel my memory is returning to me.”
When Gwen came closer, she noticed Isabelle’s sweat and said, “Ma’am, you’re absolutely drenched. Shall I draw you a warm bath?”
“Yes,” Isabelle answered. “That would be lovely.”
Gwen went into the bathroom and began preparing the bath, while Isabelle stared back out through the window at the untouched white landscape outside. After a few minutes, she joined Gwen in the bathroom, where the water had nearly filled the silver-colored tub to the brim. The maid turned the knob, stopping the flow of water and laid out a towel on a bar next to the tub.
“I’ll leave you to it, ma’am,” she commented. “Shall I have the chef prepare you breakfast?”
“Please,” Isabelle politely replied, and Gwen left the bathroom, closing the door shut, as she went.
Isabelle slipped off her nightgown, placing it inside a laundry hamper, and then slowly dipped a toe into the waters. After she adjusted to the warm temperature, she plunged the rest of her foot into the bath, until she rested it on the bottom of the tub. She moved her other foot into the water before submerging herself in the comforting heat of the bath. Isabelle rested her neck on the brim of the tub and closed her eyes, allowing the warm waters to soothe her body.
She lost track of the time and even began to doze off again, slipping down into the waters and scraping the back of her neck against the edge of the tub. As she did so, a sudden pain emanated from the area she had grazed. Sitting upright, she swept a hand across the back of her neck and felt a warm, wet liquid under her hairline. Returning her hand to the front of her face, she saw a smear of blood on her fingertips.
“Must’ve broken my stitches,” she said aloud.
Collecting a pool of water in her palm, she cleansed the blood from her hands. She then carefully dipped the back of her head into the bath to wash away the remnants of blood from her neck. Isabelle quickly finished her bath and dried herself off. Once dry, she used the white blanket to dab the wound at her neck. After leaving it there for a moment, she brought it back to where she could see and found a small, horizontal streak of blood staining the towel.
Picking up another towel, she wrapped it around her naked body and left the bathroom. She patted the bloody area of her neck with the former towel, until the stain grew insignificantly smaller and left the linen in a nearby hamper.
In her walk-in closet, Isabelle looked through a large collection of dresses, until she decided on a long, white and dark brown striped cloth dress. She let the towel drop to the floor and slipped on the dress, while someone again knocked on her door. Isabelle picked up the towel and leaned forward, allowing her hair to fall down toward the floor. She then wrapped the towel around her head and swung back up, walking toward the door. Opening the door, Isabelle saw Gwen standing there with her arms folded behind her back.
“Your breakfast is ready when you are, ma’am,” she said.
“Thank you, Gwen. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Isabelle replied.
Closing the door, she finished getting ready before finally going back to the bathroom. She retrieved a small mirror from a drawer and then faced away from the mirror hanging on the wall, positioning herself, so she could see the back of her neck. She pushed the hair out of her way allowing her to see, as she traced a finger along a perfectly horizontal wound. She wondered to herself how her injury could have produced a perfectly level wound like that, but Isabelle ultimately decided to not pay it too much attention.
Leaving the room, she found that Deckland was waiting there for her in the hallway. She was a bit startled when she saw him, as she had not expected anyone to be there. He grimaced at her when she walked past, and she felt extremely uneasy around him. She could not say why, but she felt as though she could not trust the man. She did, however, know that Owen simply wanted to protect her, so sh
e would have to tolerate him for the time.
She continued down to the kitchen and picked out a small plate of food before carrying it into a breakfast nook, where she could look out at the falling snow. As she was finishing her meal, Owen greeted her wearing a heavy coat and carrying an extra black, fur coat folded over his forearm.
“My love,” he began. “How would you feel about joining me on a walk to visit the stables?”
“The stables?” she repeated, trying to force herself to remember what it was he was referring to. “That’s right,” she said, recalling. “You keep several racing horses.”
“That’s correct,” he replied with a smile. “I see your memory is returning to you at last.”
“I suppose it is,” she happily agreed. “I’d love to join you, dear. Just let me take my plate back to the kitchen.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “We have staff for that. Gwen,” he called behind him, snapping his fingers and turning backward. “Clean up after my wife.”
“Of course, sir,” she said, joining them and taking the plate and glass back to the kitchen.
“I could have done it,” Isabelle noted.
“Yes, but you didn’t have to and, more importantly, you shouldn’t have to,” he said. “It is beneath you, and we have people for such tasks.”
“I suppose,” she hesitantly agreed. “I’m just used to cleaning up after myself.”
“Mmm,” he murmured, holding out the coat hanging from his arm for her to wear.
Isabelle allowed him to help her into the warm, fur coat, and then she clasped its buttons closed. She turned back to him and wrapped her left arm around his right, as they exited the house through the kitchen door. Behind them, as always, Deckland plodded along menacingly. The stables were several minutes’ walk from the house, and the snow would cause them even more delay.
“Are you looking forward to the festivities tonight?” Owen asked.
“I am,” she replied. “I… remember… you… bought me a dress for it!” she exclaimed, happy to again remember something.
