Black Recluse

by Anna Bowman

  “Move it, Jank,” Solomand’s booming voice made the skinny engineer jump.

  He promptly slid over as Solomand eased Rayn onto the bench.

  “Will, some dinner for our guest here, if you don’t mind.”

  Will nodded, crossing the floor in one step, and placed a bowl of steaming stew in front of her. Rayn glanced uneasily around. The room had gone awkwardly silent.

  “As you were! You’re bothering the lady.” Solomand’s voice was louder than necessary but broke the silence in a welcoming way. He set a glass of water in front of Rayn as he sat down across from her. “Sorry, we don’t get visitors much. And when we do, they’re usually not the most desirable company.”

  Jank snorted, his mouth full of food and mumbled, “Phtubid coalithin prophtitute!”

  Rayn’s squinting as she tried to understand what he had said.

  Solomand laughed nervously.

  “Never mind him.”

  He reached across the table and smacked him across the back of the head. Jank choked on his mouthful of stew, and leaned over, coughing.

  “Where are my manners?”

  Solomand grinned, ignoring Jank’s coughing.

  “I never properly introduced you to anyone. This,” his hand motioned to the Jank, “is Jankyn Fleet, our resident engineer. We just call him Jank. He’s great at his job, but never mind much of what comes out of his mouth. Right, Jank?”

  Solomand took another swipe toward the engineer’s head, but Jank managed to duck this time.

  “That’s my first mate, Will Ennea,” he said, thumbing toward Will. “And that’s Zee over there. She's somewhat of a navigator.” He motioned to the girl. “And that’s almost everyone.”

  Rayn looked sideways at Jank who had retreated to the counter and was shoveling spoonfuls of stew in his mouth while giving Solomand hateful looks. “Almost?” She asked.

  Solomand leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head.

  “Yeah. Almost.”

  He motioned to the food in front of her.

  Rayn shrugged, the savory-scented steam drifting into her face. She no longer cared about the curious looks and shoveled the soft chunks of potato and beef into her mouth. While she ate, Solomand went to the counter and spooned some stew into an empty bowl before passing it to Will.

  Will ducked out of the kitchen, taking the stew with him. Jank left, yawning and dragging Zee by the arm; the girl kept her eyes on Rayn until she disappeared with the engineer. Solomand leaned against the counter, cleaning his fingernails with a pocketknife. She scraped the last bit of stew from the bowl and looked up to see him staring at her.

  “Look, Rayn, I’m sorry about your rifle.” He closed the knife before returning it to his pants pocket. “The last thing I wanted to do was drag you into any of this.”

  Wait.

  There was that alarm going off in her head that sounded too late.

  “Drag me into what, exactly? Rayn asked.

  Guilt dug its hooks in again as she saw the traces of dried blood on his face and his nose of varying purple shades. She almost thought of telling him that it was alright. She had, after all, planned on leaving the dismal little ridge town, anyway.

  Of all the crow-headed things to do.

  She leaned back in her seat, a hardness setting in. No, she would not let him take away her desire to hate him just yet. After all, she wasn’t even sure how much of a mess he’d dragged her into.

  “I know we never really got the chance to discuss payment for the job.” He cleared his throat. “Obviously more would be in order after what I’ve put you through.”

  “Obviously,” Rayn said between bites.

  “But, along with your payment, what can I do to make it right?”

  His eyes bore into her, unblinking.

  Rayn licked stew off her lips and downed a glass of water. Her head was feeling much better now. Her eyes fixed on Sol, but her hand moved to her pocket. Aside from any doctors, she never spoke of her lack of memory with anyone, and she did not particularly want to reveal her secret to Solomand Black, who seemed to have attracted the interest of undesirable people.

  Her fingers closed around the rim of her most prized possession, and her insatiable need to know swelled, drowning her desire to keep it from him. If anyone could help her find the answers she craved—even a man like Solomand Black—Rayn was willing to take the risk.

  Eyes hardly set on him, she dragged the medallion from her pocket and slid it across the table.

  “I need you to find someone for me.”

  Solomand reached for the medallion, and Rayn’s fingers held it for an instant before allowing him to pick it up.

  “Have to do with this?”

  He squinted, working his thumb across the tarnished metal as he turned it over.

  Rayn hesitated.

  “Yes.”

  “S.L….” Solomand looked at it one last time before handing it back to Rayn. “So, who is this S.L.?”

  Rayn’s fingers tightened against the medallion like it was a part of her and not merely a trinket she was getting back.

  She turned away her head lowering as she mumbled, “I’m not actually a hundred percent sure on that.”

  Solomand’s eyebrow raised.

  “How sure would you say you are, then?”

  Rayn scowled.

  “Can you find him, or not?”

  You owe me, you rifle-murdering pirate!

  Rayn was not good with people, but she thought the last thought was best kept to herself.

  Solomand crossed his arms, looking like she had challenged his reputation. “

  Of course, I can. But I'll need to know everything about the person to make it an easier search. Otherwise, it could end up being a bit of a needle in a haystack search.”

  “So, you’ll do it, then?”

  “Of course.” He squared his shoulders. “I told you to name your price, didn’t I?”

  Completely straight-faced, Rayn said, “I have no idea who S.L. is.”

  Solomand’s shoulders slumped, and he was quiet for a moment, his eyes locked with hers.

  “Right. Needle in a haystack search, it is.”

  Rayn rested her elbows on the table.

  “Truth is, I’m not really sure who I am, either.”

  It sounded strange saying it out loud after so long. She felt certain Solomand would squirm out of his agreement now. He leaned back, scratching the stubble on his chin as he listened to her explanation.

  “I don’t remember anything past six years ago. I woke up in a bed in Port Ashbury. There was a doctor there. He told me I was in an accident and that my memories were not likely to recover. The shop I was in, was mine, he said. After I recovered, I started working as the town gunsmith.”

  Solomand leaned back.

  “You don’t believe that story though?”

  Of course not.

  Rayn thought of how dull it was, and the fact that everyone eyed her as though she were some sort of dangerous viper. There was not one person she could say she missed. The only solace she ever had there was when she was working, which wasn’t often; there wasn’t much call for fixing guns in a peaceful port like Ashbury.

  She shrugged.

  Solomand raised his head, a distant look on his face.

  “Ever been to Corcyra?”

  “No. Where’s that?”

  She stopped, dragging a hand through her tangled hair, realizing that she couldn’t say for sure.

  “Well, not that I know of. Why?”

  He rubbed his thumb along the side of his mouth.

  “Shitty desert city in the Plains. A lot of nasty weapons manufactured there during the war. I don’t suppose you remember any war though, do you?”

  Rayn shook her head. She’d heard of it well enough from passing travelers and bar-hoppers that drifted in and out of Port Ashbury. In the beginning, plenty of dodgy-eyed veterans came into her shop asking her to fix the service rifles they couldn’t bear to part wit
h. They were illegal, of course, but Rayn repaired them anyway.

  Solomand seemed to be taking her story well. She had thought he would believe she was ace-high mad.

  “Wait…what kind of weapons? Did they affect a person’s memories?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Solomand sprang up.

  “Questions better answered by a friend of mine.”

  “Who?”

  Rayn’s hand moved to her side as she stood.

  “The rest of my crew, er.” His face scrunched like he remembered something. “Almost the rest. Tristan.”

  Chapter 8

  Rayn

  Rayn leaned against the gritty plaster of the wall as she followed Solomand up the stairs. He was telling her that there was a room for her on the second floor, where everyone slept, except for Tristan. She was only half listening, her hand pressing against her side as the burning sensation intensified. At least her head felt clearer. Solomand hurried past a half-open sliding door and arrived at the end of the hall. Without bothering to knock, he turned the knob and shouldered the door open.

  Rayn took in the room with a quick glance. It was much larger than she expected. Shelves lined most of the walls; some were filled with alphabetically ordered books, others contained unusual devices that looked like they belonged in a hospital or laboratory. A desk sat in the corner, a neat stack of paper and an odd-looking machine with switches and levers Rayn supposed was a typing machine.

  Solomand stepped up to the bed where the man she guessed was Tristan lay. His eyes were closed. Sunlight spilled in from the propped open skylight, pooling on the olive-green blanket, making Tristan’s fair hair seem almost white. He had a narrow face, with angular cheekbones. A leather book with cracked pages lay open at his fingertips. Even in his sickly appearance, he looked younger than she and Solomand but not by much.

  “Tris, you awake?”

  “Ah, Solomand!”

  Tristan spoke in a warm, steady voice, much stronger than Rayn expected due to his frail appearance. A smile formed on his lips, but his eyes did not open right away. “The very instant I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.”

  Raising one eyebrow, Solomand glanced at the title of the open book and Rayn followed his gaze: Shakespeare.

  “Save that garbage for your lady stalker,” Sol said.

  “Come now, you know I only have eyes for you.”

  Solomand bit back an amused smile and rolled his eyes as Tristan continued.

  “Have you found someone else? After all we’ve been through.”

  Solomand leaned over and flicked his friend on the forehead. Tristan jerked a hand to his head, chuckling. Eyes as blue as the sky opened and fell on Rayn.

  “Ahh.”

  His pale face brightened, and he gave Solomand a knowing look.

  “I believe I shall manage to get over you.”

  Solomand’s eyes narrowed, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

  “This is Rayn.”

  Tristan eased his legs off the bed and grabbed the cane which leaned against the wall. He leaned forward, both hands gripping the curved handle.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Rayn.”

  He glanced out of the skylight as a breeze stirred the trees overhead. Rayn felt a strange fluttering in her stomach when he smiled at her.

  “I have always thought Rayn to be a wonderfully poetic name.”

  “Know a lot of Rayns, do you?”

  She sat on the bed next to him. His charming smile made her feel at ease like she was talking with an old friend.

  “Only you.”

  Solomand reached over and jabbed Tristan in the side, causing his friend to double over with a pained groan.

  Solomand’s response was instant. “God, I’m sorry, Tris. Are you alright?”

  His eyebrows drawn together, he grabbed Tristan by the shoulders, pulling him up. Tristan raised his head, a sly grin spreading across his face.

  “Of course.”

  He held a hand to his mouth as he coughed. Solomand’s back stiffened, and his face flushed red as he stood rigid.

  “Ass.”

  Tristan tilted his head back as he laughed.

  “Oh, Sol. I truly am sorry.”

  Rayn couldn’t help but notice that his hands, white against the cane handle, had a slight tremor.

  Solomand glared at him and ran a jerky hand through his hair.

  “Rayn has a rather unique problem,” he said, avoiding Tristan’s gaze.

  “Oh? May I guess what this problem might be?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up as he glanced at Solomand, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. Solomand crossed his arms, his glare intensifying. Tristan gave a resigned sigh and shrugged.

  “Perhaps it would be best if you told me yourself.”

  He turned his attention to Rayn.

  Rayn had been rather enjoying how Tristan was getting under Solomand’s skin.

  “Alright.”

  She cleared her throat. She did not mind retelling her story to Tristan, who appeared deep in thought the entire time. While she spoke, she noticed his every breath in was almost forced. When she finished, he closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He looked tired, she thought.

  “You can remember nothing at all before six years ago?”

  Rayn thought of her strange dreams. No matter how much she longed for them to be pieces of her past, she realized, with a twinge of sorrow, that she couldn’t be sure they were anything more than the unconscious workings of her mind.

  “No,” she said.

  Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat again. She leaned her head back.

  “Except that I’ve never got a gun I couldn’t fix, and I don’t remember learning the trade.”

  “That is a rather unique skill set, isn’t it?”

  Tristan was looking at her hard, studying. His fingers drummed on the cane, which made the tremor in his hands less noticeable.

  “Do you remember having any neck pain when you first awoke—any type of puncture, a mark which might be mistaken for an insect bite?”

  Rayn rubbed the back of her neck.

  “Maybe.” Her throat felt dry again, and she swallowed. “Sorry, I don’t really remember.”

  Tristan breathed in again, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “E.X Solution…nicknamed Empty by the ones who tested it. It was a favorite weapon towards the end; administered by means of a tiny dart.”

  He held his thumb and forefinger up to show the size.

  “Empty?” Rayn rubbed her forehead.

  “Yes. Because it’s intended purpose was to empty a person’s mind.” Tristan tapped on the side of his head. “In the early stages, it did its job far too well.”

  A distant look crept into his eyes as he spoke.

  There was the sound of breaking glass, and Rayn turned to see Sol fumbling with a pile of broken glass on the shelf closest to the door.

  “Do I need to send you into the hall to keep you from tampering with my things?”

  Solomand dismissed Tristan with a wave of his hand, muttering to himself inaudibly.

  “Anyway,” Tristan turned back to Rayn. “There was a counter solution for the empty, one which would allow the Coalition forces to administer their own desired memories…sort of recreating that person, so they would work to the Coalition’s end, rather than their own moral convictions.”

  A chill run up Rayn's spine like an icy wave. The thought of anyone having their life stolen in such a way, and then turned into a weapon against their will, was horrifying. Her heart pounded faster, wondering if it was possible.

  “The Doctor never said anything.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Tristan reached out and lay his hand on hers. His fingers felt like ice.

  He tilted his head to the side and said gently, “Even if he knew, he would not have mentioned it. E.X. was, and still is, considered to be a secret the Coalition would rather not have expo
sed.”

  His face was paler now.

  “Who would even think up such a weapon?”

  Rayn felt even less sure of who she was now.

  Tristan’s brow wrinkled, and he drew his hand away from her.

  “I am sorry. Still,” he brightened, “there is the chance that yours is an unrelated case of amnesia and everything I said has no bearing on your past at all.”

  She could tell he didn’t believe this. Her lips pursed together as she thought of her shop, the scar on her stomach and the dreams. Maybe it was the shock of hearing everything at once that made her shrug. What the hell. It’s not as if it would change anything, would it?

  “Yeah. It could have been anything.”

  Except it all happened a little too close to the war’s end to be a coincidence.

  “Yes,” Tristan said, smiling weakly.

  He broke into a fit of coughing that drove the discussion from Rayn's mind. She stood, as Solomand rushed to his friend's side, staring at him with such seriousness that Rayn's heart sank with alarm.

  “You should rest,” Sol said, taking the cane from Tristan's hand and propping it against the wall.

  Tristan’s face was strained as he slumped onto his pillow.

  “Only because you asked so nicely, Captain.” The joking expression returning as his eyes drifted shut. “Rayn?”

  “Yes?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  Rayn stood up, an unfamiliar tingling sensation in her chest.

  “I enjoyed seeing you. Please come again—and don’t let my jailor keep you away, eh? Promise?”

  “Of course.”

  Would he be there later? Her chest felt suddenly heavy.

  Tristan opened his eyes one last time to smile at her.

  “I shall count the minutes 'til we meet again.”

  Rayn forced a smile back.

  “I’ll be back later,” Solomand said, reaching into his pocket.

  “Bring me a cigarette, will you?”