Black Recluse

by Anna Bowman

  Rayn cocked her head to one side.

  “If it requires me to dress like that and parade around unarmed, I don’t want any.”

  It was easier than saying she didn’t have any friends at all. People were complicated.

  “I can see that.” Solomand eyed her revolver.

  “Why do you care whether I told her off, anyway?” Rayn laced her fingers together as she stretched her arms overhead.

  “It’s best not to burn all bridges in our line of business.”

  “You mean smuggling or piracy?”

  Solomand pinched between his eyes, accentuating a sigh. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He glanced around the city with distaste. “Come back inside, will you.”

  Rayn recalled the conversation from the night before. Was he considering her a part of his crew? After living in relative isolation, the thought of being part of something—anything—gave her a strange feeling. She liked it more than she cared to admit.

  “It so happens that I have a little business to attend to in Blackpool.” Solomand frowned. He kept his voice low. “And it’ll have to wait ‘til…after hours.”

  “After hours, huh?” Jank scratched his head.

  “Yeah.” Solomand hooked his thumbs on the edge of his belt. “I have to retrieve something from the bell tower of St. Marten’s chapel.”

  “What?!” Jank’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You mean the old Krishtaren chapel? In the center of the square? Have you gone ace-high mad!” He animatedly waved his arms. “Someone will damn-well see us!”

  “There’s no us, Jank.” Solomand took off his overcoat and tossed it atop a crate. “Zee will be on the ship, waiting to gun it when we get on board. All you have to do is stand watch and let me know when you see anything suspicious, preferably before bullets start flying my way.”

  “Oh.” Jank rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, then.”

  “I knew I could count on your stellar bravery.” Solomand gave him a grim smile

  Traces of grease smeared in Jank’s reddish-brown hair as he combed a hand through it. He scowled, his eyes dropping to his scuffed boots.

  “And what about me?” Rayn felt left out.

  Solomand rubbed his chin and hesitated.

  “Well. The thing is, Rayn, this isn’t something you should get too involved in.”

  Oh no, you don’t!

  Rayn squared her shoulders, preparing an argument.

  “I’d feel better if you stayed on the ship.”

  There it was.

  I will not!

  Rayn had had enough of being left behind.

  “I’m part of the crew, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to stay on the ship!”

  She bit her lip to keep it from trembling with anger. She was mad at Solomand for dragging her into this in the first place, making her want to be here. But more than anything, she was beginning to suspect, she was mad about being dumped in that godforsaken skyport by the man who ran away to Grishtanburg.

  Solomand took a step back, holding up his hands in alarm.

  “Fine. If it means so damned much to you, come then. ‘Bout time you start pulling your weight, anyway.”

  He meant it as a joke, but still took a step back after speaking.

  Rayn’s eyes flashed. “I can pull your weight off a cliff.”

  She tilted her head back, trying to look threatening. It was too late, though. Her fury stifled by Solomand’s agreement to let her come along, it was difficult to suppress the joy she felt.

  “Yes, well, see that you don’t pull it off a tower tonight, eh?” Solomand did not look happy.

  Jank, whose face was twisted as he tried to hide amusement, managed a straight expression as Solomand turned to him.

  “Be at The Pint an hour before dusk.”

  “What time ‘s that?” Jank scratched his head.

  “When it’s about to get dark.”

  “Thanks for being specific,” Jank said, rolling his eyes. "Why the hell can't you learn to tell proper time, Sol?"

  Solomand grinned, pretending to take his sarcasm as a compliment.

  “You’re welcome. Stay on the ship until then, this place is crawling with Pelicans.”

  Jank groaned.

  And Rayn said, “Pelicans?”

  “Airmen. 201st blowhards—off duty, but dangerous nonetheless.”

  Jank stalked away, casting Solomand a begrudging look before he disappeared into the engine room.

  “Rayn, you an’ me are going to do a little recon of the area since you want to be involved.”

  “Recon?” Rayn adjusted her collar.

  “Reconnaissance—military term. Means scout out for possible dangers.”

  There was a suspicious look about him. What was he trying to do, scare her? It wasn’t going to work.

  “Fine by me.”

  “Good.” Solomand breathed in slowly, his brow furrowed into a serious expression. “We need to have a talk.”

  Rayn’s confidence melted. She followed him into the streets of Blackpool, trying to sound disinterested.

  “About what?”

  “Grishtanburg.”

  Her stomach turned. The Northland city was a world away. Her chest felt heavy as the certainty of what she wanted became marred with conflicted feelings.

  “This is where you’ll be flying out of—once you’re ready to take the trip. I can get you passage there. Not trying to rush you, but it’s something you need to think about."

  She only half heard what he was saying.

  “Rayn.”

  He stopped, waiting for her to catch up. What was that in his eyes, sympathy? Rayn looked away.

  “He could have had a good reason for running away,” Solomand said, his voice softer than usual.

  “Yeah?” her face was dark. “It’d better be one hell of a good reason.”

  Her braid fell over her shoulder as she bent over to adjust the straps on her boot. When she stood back up, Solomand was smiling at her. The crushing feeling lifted, and she felt trapped in the intense gaze of his eyes.

  “Rayn storm. I wouldn’t want to be your S. L. when you find him.”

  The spell, or whatever it had been, broke, replaced by a throbbing in her left temple.

  “Don’t call me that,” she muttered, pressing the palm of her gloved hand against the ache in her forehead.

  They walked on in silence. Rayn’s dark mood blurred her perception of the pleasant city, stirring up an uneasiness. Maybe it was the way all the women dressed in the same fashion. No one made eye contact with them as they pushed through the crowded streets, but she still felt like someone was watching them. Her eyes happened to trail up the side of a building in time to see grey shutters slam shut.

  “Solomand?” she walked faster. “How much further?”

  The path turned into a stone staircase as they followed the cracked steps into a courtyard, away from the bustling main streets. This part of the city was old and empty. Sheets hung in the windows, flapping in the breeze. A flock of pigeons took to the sky, filling the air with the beating sound of their wings. Rayn’s hand flew to her revolver, her heart in her throat. She relaxed, wondering why she was so high-strung. She glanced at Solomand. He hadn’t noticed her jump or didn’t let on that he had. His eyes were fixed on the church in the center of the courtyard.

  “What is this place?” Rayn asked.

  Her words echoed in the empty air, and she gulped.

  “St. Marten’s. It’s a Krishtaren chapel.” Solomand lit a cigarette. “It’s abandoned. Not many people believe in much since the war ended. And even if they did, Governor Jackass makes it hard to follow anything but him.”

  There was reservation in his voice.

  “Governor Jackass?”

  Too quiet.

  Rayn didn’t like it here.

  “Stefan LeFrost.” Solomand spit after he said the name. “He’s the governor of Corcyra. Black
pool ‘s just one of the cities under the Coalition’s control.” He glanced sideways at her. “You really do need a history lesson.” He took a pronounced drag on his cigarette. “I’ll have to let Tristan see to it when we get back.”

  He took one last look around the courtyard, his eyes lingering on the bell tower.

  “What exactly is it you have to retrieve?”

  Rayn leaned closer to him as she whispered.

  Solomand ran a hand through his hair.

  “Better that you don’t know,” he finished his cigarette in one long breath and flicked it aside. “Let’s go.”

  He left it at that.

  Great.

  Another unanswered question to file away on her list. They returned to the airship and waited for dusk before going to the place he'd told Jank to meet them.

  The Pint was a crowded bar, and in spite of the pretense of a civilized city outside its doors, it managed to be like any other bar. Smoke curled around the stools in a dense fog, blending with the smell of sweat and liquor.

  “Why the hell did we have to come here?”

  Rayn turned her nose into her shoulder, coughing.

  “To get soaked.” Solomand unbuttoned his coat. “After hours work is best not left to the sober.” He nudged Jank with his elbow. “Don’t go overboard.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jank pushed his way through the crowd to join a rough looking group in a game of cards. Solomand took an empty table in the back of the room. A woman dressed in a tight skirt, and a corset that might even make Minuet blush, set a drink down in front of him and took a seat on his lap.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Men!

  Rayn rolled her eyes. They were all the same. She planted herself on an empty stool at the bar.

  Sweat glistened on the bald head of the stumpy bartender.

  “What’ll it be?” his beady eyes watered in the smoky atmosphere.

  “Black rum,” Rayn said. The man stared at her, toying with his greasy mustache. “Is there a problem?” Rayn leaned forward on her elbows, his suspicious stare rousing her more than she already was.

  “That’ll be two coppers.” The bartender said, his nose twitching.

  Muttering to herself, Rayn dug in her pocket for the coins, considering the best insult to deliver them with.

  “Permit me, Ma’am.”

  The voice was clear and pleasant. She glanced up as the tall, uniformed figure tossed a bill on the peanut-littered counter. His cropped hair was dark brown color, matching his eyes.

  He smiled shyly, “That is if I'm not too forward.”

  The perfect way he filled out his uniform was not lost on Rayn. The black stripes matched the buttons on his jacket, offsetting the navy blue.

  “May I join you?”

  Anger surged through her as she thought of Solomand behind her, carousing with a bar trollop.

  “Sure.”

  A pleased smile spread over the gentleman’s face, and he spoke with a highborn manor of speech.

  “I’ll have the same as the lady.”

  The bartender’s suspicion dissolved into a pleased smile. He presented them with their drinks.

  “It’s on the house, Sir.” He bowed his head and left them alone.

  Looking somewhat embarrassed, the gentleman pocketed the bill.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Reginald London.” He held out his hand. Rayn gripped his hand in a firm shake.

  “Rayn,” she said, then, out of habit, “Just Rayn.”

  “My pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rayn.”

  His brown eyes never left hers as, instead of releasing her hand, he bent over and kissed it.

  Hmm. No sarcastic comment—such as Rayn storm.

  She stirred the ice around with her finger and sipped the chilled rum. Solomand's laugh rose above the loud conversations and yelling, and she took more of a gulp than a sip this time.

  “So, what brings you to Blackpool, Rayn? I have not seen you around.” She imagined the suspicion on her face was evident as Reginald quickly added, “I would have remembered seeing you…you’re different.”

  “Different?” She brushed loose strands of hair from her eyes.

  “In a good way,” Reginald said, turning crimson and cleared his throat. He gulped down a swallow of rum. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m rubbish at this.”

  His shoulders slumped in defeat.

  Rayn smiled.

  “It’s alright.” His clumsiness somewhat reminded her of a confused puppy. Solomand’s drunken carousing with prostitutes managed to grow louder than everyone else in the bar. Rayn scowled.

  “I’m passing through…” More yells from Solomand. She rolled her eyes. “With a couple of morons.”

  She didn’t really feel angry at Jank, but it wouldn’t be fair somehow to leave him out. She took another drink.

  Reginald London leaned closer. His shoulder pressed against her own.

  “Would you like to go somewhere quieter?” His cheeks flushed again. “I’m sorry…I meant for a…walk or…” He cleared his throat and finished the glass of rum.

  Rayn found his blundering had a certain charm to it.

  I’d love to.

  She couldn’t say it. The initials S. L. and the city of Grishtanburg brought her brief moment of enjoyment to a stale halt. She laid her hand on his.

  “It’s alright.” There was a hitch in her voice. “I wish I could.”

  He couldn’t hide his disappointment, but he smiled anyway.

  He certainly knows how to lose gracefully.

  “Well then, let’s have another drink together, shall we?” He held out his glass, which the bartender had already refilled.

  Rayn clinked hers against his and gave him a brief smile.

  “I’d like that.”

  For a fleeting instant, she wasn’t some sad, empty person who didn’t know who she was but a girl enjoying a drink with a gentleman.

  The room erupted with the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood. She and Reginald turned at the same time, and Solomand slammed in front of the airman.

  “Jump in front of me, will you?”

  Solomand punched Reginald in the face, knocking him across the bar, spilling the rum all over Rayn and the floor. The startled airman bolted back, but in his energetic swing, missed Solomand entirely.

  The whole bar was in an uproar amid screams of the bartender for them to get out. Rayn, unsure of what was happening, felt a hand on her shoulder. Her fist raised, but it was only Jank.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  He nudged her towards the door. A few moments after, Solomand and the airman were ejected by the wild crowd, still taking swings at each other.

  “What. The. Hell?”

  Rayn flung her hands in the air as she and Jank watched the fight continue in the streets. Jank gave her a sheepish shrug. Could Solomand have become this stupidly drunk in so little time? He didn’t seem to be. His attack on the airman was too methodical. A vein pulsed in the side of his neck and there was a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes.

  Reginald did not fare as well in the fight as Rayn assumed he would. He may have been an inch taller than Solomand, with a more muscular build. But Solomand was the more experienced of the two. It was all over in a matter of moments. Once free of the crowded bar, Solomand lunged upon his opponent, kicking him in the chest. He flew down the street, landing on the pavement with a thud. Solomand was on him again, dragging him to his feet and avoiding his feeble blows. One last swing and Reginald fell to the street in an unconscious heap.

  Solomand took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles.

  “Gag him, Jank—can’t leave him lying about.”

  “Excuse me?” Rayn barged between Jank and the bloodied Airman. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “He’s a Pelican, Rayn,” Solomand said as if it was apparent what he was doing. He pulled her out of the way and stooped to help Jank drag the man off.

  Rayn stormed after them into the alley.


  “What I mean, jackass, is what the hell are you causing trouble for in the first place?”

  Huffing, Jank dropped the man’s legs to the ground. Without excessive gentleness, Solomand dropped the rest of him and drew a knife from his boot. The blade glistened in the moonlight.

  “Hold on!” Rayn maneuvered herself between Sol and the downed airman with a wild leap. “

  Look, you can’t just go killing people in the middle of the street!” Her voice raised.

  “Pelicans aren’t people Rayn,” Solomand retorted, edging past her. “Everyone knows that—even them.”

  “His name,” Rayn hissed through gritted teeth, “is Reginald London, not Pelican.”

  “Reginald London,” Solomand mocked, kicking the man’s spotless boot. “What a pretentious name. Suits his puffed-up, swank head.”

  He sniffed.

  “Why do you have to be such an ass?” Rayn glared at him.

  “He’s with the 201st.” Solomand twirled his knife in hand, the corner of his eye twitched. “You have no idea what they’re capable of.” There was wild savagery in his eyes. Then, it faded. “If you recall, they blew your shop sky high and destroyed your precious rifle.”

  Rayn crossed her arms.

  “That was your fault.”

  “Ah…well…best to leave the past in the past.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you care so much what happens to Mr. London here, anyway?” He motioned toward the man’s limp form cringing with disgust.

  Rayn stepped toward him, jabbing a finger at his chest.

  “Because I was having a drink with someone respectable and you destroyed a bar to ruin it…and now stand in an abandoned alley trying to murder him!”

  Solomand shook his head.

  “Drinks with strange Airmen. Really, Rayn. What would S. L. think?” He clicked his tongue.

  Rayn’s eyes widened and before she could even think, her hand had swung to smack Solomand. Her hand stung, and she could feel the heat of her cheeks. In the pale light, she made out the tears it brought to his eyes.

  “I fail to see how an Airman could be worse than drinking with hookers,” she snapped.

  Solomand wiped a tear away as it rolled down his cheek.

  “Hookers, as you like to call them, often hear useful information that others do not. Airmen, not so much.”