Arc I

Chapter V

Rendezvous / Good Deeds

"He was old and wise, which meant tired and disappointed..."

T.E. Lawrence — Seven Pillars of Wisdom

The girl in the larder smiled, her body allowing him to travel a distance he had never dared to imagine before. Jessica. Her name was Jessica. She moved near him and started to unbutton his trousers, finding his underwear and his precarious sense of manhood waiting for her, calling her on. He stretched his arms above his head yet his hands were still unable to touch the ceiling. He was sweating, panting nervously, unsure of what to expect but imagining a glorious outcome.

Knock, knock.

She moved her hands in such an exciting way the young boy experiencing those sensations for the first time couldn't help but succumb to the urgent need of moving slightly, almost spasmodically, closing his eyes to anticipate pleasure, trying to take it all in. Her hands were everywhere, now colliding against the infatuation waiting to be released; his senses working overtime, his brain on strike. If the word 'puberty' had existed back then, it would have saved him so many questions about the things he was feeling. He wanted to run, and hide beneath his bed but he also had a powerful wish to stay, to grow roots from his feet and just stay there, in that larder in the dark, with her hands teasing him in all the right places. Jessica. Her name was Jessica. Or was it Mandy? No. Amanda, never Mandy. But that was definitely Jessica, and now she was on her knees, giving him the naughtiest smile he would see in a very long time.

Knock, knock.

Amanda, never Mandy, was a whole other story. She never got on her knees, granted, but she never really needed to either. By the time he met Amanda, he was already fourteen and she was just a couple days younger than him. Beautiful, sweet, diaphanous Amanda. She was the daughter of the local banker, a widower who became a regular patron of the saloon trying to find comfort in the company of strangers shortly after his wife had passed. Amanda was engaged to the barber, a man who was almost thirty years older than her, and she had the stupidest idea ever: she didn't want to marry the man, she thought she was too young to become a wife, a mother; she said she wanted to see the world - whatever that meant, and she was convinced that a woman was only supposed to marry a man because she loved him, not because his father was forcing a deal to get rid of a daughter with an uncanny resemblance to her defunct mother.

The man was having a hard time coping with the loss of his wife, they would say.

They all were having a hard time coping with a variety of tragedies, according to Amanda; and she was right.

A short time after meeting Amanda he came to the stage of realizing that there was another kind of pleasure in this life; another sort of thrill that has nothing to do with the longing for physical intimacy, with the desperation of wanting to belong inside someone else, with that hunger so peculiar; so significant, so fiercely capable of feeding the soul with only the ashes of a carnal paradise. He understood that there was more to life than having another body toying with his, though he ultimately had the chance to explore her body – once. That was around the time when his mother got sick. Those were tough times.

He buried his mother on the same day Amanda got married to the barber – that flame she had ignited, never fully extinguished. How long has it been? He should have stayed; he should have been there for her instead of just leaving town and settling down for mere crumbs and rumors.

"Her father nearly killed her; she wasn't a virgin anymore when she married the barber, the man claims he never even touched a hair in her head before the wedding night…"

"It must have been that boy, that one, you know? From the saloon, the singer's son. Poor kid, so troubled…"

Beautiful, sweet, diaphanous Amanda; the prettiest girl in town. Amanda, never Mandy – she truly became a breath of fresh air for him during his darkest hour. They should have run away together. They should have seen the world together; whatever that meant.

Knock, knock.

I heard you the first time.

Knock, knock.

But Jessica, let's get back to Jessica; let's not go places we don't want to go, Black. She was on her knees and the need was out of control, his sex on fire, pleading her to touch him, to open the gates and finally welcome him to a world that felt so close for the very first time - so close, that it made him feel like he belonged there, in a universe full of thrill and sensations he could not put into words no matter how hard he tried.

Knock, knock.

What now?

Knock, knock.

Damn.

The lone cowboy opened the door of his private chamber to find a guard standing in front of him; his expression was blank, unreadable. The man handed him the two golden coins then lowered his eyes involuntarily only to find Black's erection, impossible to disguise, pressed hard against his underwear.

"Never saw one of these before?" Black retorted, upset by the guard's intromission but not ashamed in the slightest.

"These belong to you, Mr. Black." The guard answered quickly, blushing under his skull mask, regretting that such an indiscretion could have offended Black. Even though the mercenary was the owner of a certain reputation that placed him among the cruelest of womanizers in town, they all knew there were definitive lines not meant to be crossed.

Erron scratched his forehead for a second; trying to understand the hand he had been dealt. As a matter of fact, he was not programmed to say no to money – ever, but those two coins could only have come from one place. He inspected the unevenly shaped, tiny, shiny pieces of metal and asked: "Where?" The tone of his voice was distant and cold, instantly dismissing the shame the guard was still feeling.

"One of our prisoners told me those were yours. She had them in her pocket." Black's eyes widened involuntarily but he quickly outran the surprise that had taken the shape of those two coins now resting in his hand.

There's a she.

Damn.

"Earthrealmer?" Black inquired the guard once again, his face expressionless, his manhood returning to a more neutral state. "Pale, red-haired, blue eyes, huh?"

The guard nodded quietly - "Do you know her, sir?"

Erron raised one of his eyebrows then gave the guard a diminishing look, slamming the door in his face -"Yes. She's a pain in the ass," the cowboy spat under his breath, his words endorsed by a combination of feelings so alien to him he couldn't place them; dissect them, shatter them into a million pieces.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He put on his black trousers and grabbed a pack of smokes and a little box of matches from one of the drawers in his wooden desk; the treasures he would collect every now and then from different confiscations and aborted illegal operations. He leaned against the door for a while, debating briefly whether to go see her or not. How did she manage to get herself captured after all? It had to be them, the rebel-seekers, he thought, but instead of killing her themselves they were allowing the rightful laws of Outworld to do the dirty work they didn't want to do with their own hands. Black sighed, frustrated, his naked back still glued to the door.

He waited for a while to make sure the guard was gone – then he placed the coins in his pocket and opened the door, taking a good look at both sides of the empty corridor. There was not a single sound, not a single voice interrupting the nightfall landscape of the now asleep palace. Just one pistol with a single bullet in its chamber was all he would need. Of course, there would be the night guard standing at the dungeon's gate but that would be a minor problem for the mercenary. He walked, barefoot, flipping one of the coins with his right hand, perhaps determining her luck, or maybe just her lack thereof.

He stood at the gates of the dungeon, the weather was colder down there somehow and there was a chill giving him goosebumps all across his torso and forearms. The night guard was asleep, leaning against a gunpowder barrel. How very western of you, the gunslinger thought as he approached him. Black took the handful of keys the man had hung up in a protuberance in the rocky wall behind him, then entered the prison – with a little bit of luck the inmates would be asleep as well. He wandered among the cells cautiously, trying to be as stealthy as possible, knowing that most of those criminals had been incarcerated down there as the result of his services to the Kahn.

Thief.

Thief.

Murderer.

Thief.

Rapist.

Rebel.

Thief.

Stupid Earthrealmer.

There she was - sleeping in her cot, her orange hair acting as a lighthouse for his tired eyes, making her visible, distinguishable from the others.

"You tend to trust people a little too much, don't you?" Black asked, raising his voice so she could hear him. His left arm was airborne as he was holding the two golden coins with his fingers, exhibiting them as if they were a trophy.

"I didn't know," she retorted, not leaving the cot. "And you left." Alex's voice ricocheted through the dark side of the small cell. She stood up and walked towards the door, eyeing him at the other side of the bars.

"My bad." He said as he opened the gate. She tried to escape but he shook his head and walked inside the cell, closing the door as he came in but not locking it. He reached for the pack of smokes hidden in his pocket.

"You want one?" he offered.

"How do you…?" she asked, curious.

"I know a guy who knows a guy," he said as he stroke a match against the wall.

"That knows yet another guy," she added, nodding mockingly, "I can only assume,"

"And this guy knows a guy that knows some other guy," he finished, blowing out smoke. She shook her head rejecting the offer. He moved near her, and stroke another match to light the small torch placed against the cot.

"God, you look like shit," he told her the second the light reached her features.

"Charming as ever."

Her response was dry yet she knew he was right – the dampness and the coldness of that place were making a mess of her already damaged appearance. Gone were the days when her hair would glow like a bonfire. Her skin, far from being the captivating sight of sheer delicacy it used to be was now covered in dirt, polluted by a thick layer of dried sweat.

Black sat on the cot and she followed, sitting right beside him.

"These were Harry's actually. I guess they are yours now," the mercenary said as he placed a couple of golden coins on the cot right next to her, in that almost invisible spot separating his legs from hers, that parenthesis where his body ended and hers began. The orange light emanating from the torch was exposing each and every one of the bruises and small cuts she had scattered all over the visible parts of her skin. He couldn't help but wonder if those wounds were the outcome of her interactions with the rebel-seekers, considering that he had also seen the same bruises and cuts all over Harry. She looked away, ashamed – surprisingly enough she hadn't felt so ashamed when his eyes were traveling her body the night before; those eyes so full of lust and need were nothing in comparison to the look he was giving her now – a look full of pity, and perhaps, even remorse.

"Why are you here?" Alex demanded.

"I am here to perform my good deed," Black answered, his pistol now resting in his right hand. "I can end you now; you don't have to go through the execution, the shame – that's no way to have your life handed to you." He put out the cigarette and stood up, placing himself right in front of her, his shadow towering over the woman. "You saved my life; I get that - so this is my offer: I end you. I think it's a good way to go. It's quick, it's simple – and more importantly, it's honorable."

She raised her eyes to meet his as if waiting for the punch line – but it never came. Alex embraced herself with her own arms, the fact that he wasn't joking sent a shiver down her spine.

Oh, crap.

"Then wager, woman or you'll be dead this time tomorrow," Black yelled, his roaring voice was testing a new pedagogy.

She said nothing; her eyes still clinging to his; the shock of her imminent death was paralyzing her.

"You gotta be shitting me," he mumbled as he grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her violently: "what do you want from me?" he was almost screaming, "last night I threatened to end your life and instead of defending yourself you tended to my wounds and let me use your bed - I shouldn't have lived to see another day, anyone would have tried to murder me in my sleep but you didn't -" he paused, taking a deep breath and letting go of her, noticing her eyes were full of fear. "If you are so interested in keeping me alive then there must be something you want from me in return; something you want so desperately that you're willing to overlook the danger," his tone was calmer now yet she could see he was about to lose control, "why did you protect me?" he asked her, his tone was demanding, "you lied to them for me, they killed your partner; you sacrificed him so they couldn't get to me. Why?"

Her lips were sealed, she was unable to speak.

There's no use. Kill her, kill her now.

"I want to go home." She finally managed to say, her voice weak, almost sobbing.

"You can't go back there." Black retorted quickly, unable to see the true tenor of her words.

"No. I want to go home. I want to go back – to Earthrealm."

Shit.

Alex moved near him, her voice still trembling: "Some time ago, a neighbor got hurt. We should have stayed out of it but I'm a doctor, so I helped him. I tended to his wounds and we took care of him until he got better – but the more he stayed with us the easier it got for him to notice we were Earthrealmers. So we made a deal: heal them whenever they would need our medical services and in exchange, they wouldn't sell us out. As you can see, we didn't have much of an option, really. Then there was you," she paused, regaining her composure, "and I thought you could help me get back home – it was stupid, I know, but you were the closest thing to an exit I've had ever since I set foot on this place. I couldn't risk it, I couldn't risk you. That's why I protected you, even at the cost of Harry's life," she paused, though only briefly, "that's what I want from you, Black, to help me get back home."

Black lowered his head and leaned against the bars, finding it hard to believe. All the subplots and intrigues he had imagined were fading, all those juicy secrets he had been trying to extract from that woman were mere castles in the air, disappearing at the slightest blow. He sighed, disappointed. He pointed his pistol at her, his finger on the trigger, aiming ruthlessly for her head.

"Use me. I can help," she pleaded, playing her last card.

Don't be stupid, she knows. Kill her. Kill her now.

The mercenary tilted his head, "speak," his mouth betrayed him.

"You could use a doctor… Because I know you're not going to stop - I know you'll go after whatever it is that attacked you; you're hot-headed, it's in your nature – I helped them before, I can help you now," she said grinning softly, timidly, even though she had never felt so low before, "I know it's not much, but it's the only thing I have left to offer."

Black placed his gun in its holder again and sighed once more, she was just a frightened child wanting to go back home – no Mata Hari, no rebel in disguise, no nothing.

"I can't get you home," he said coldly, as he reached for the door.

"You can't or you won't?" She asked bitterly but he didn't answer. He just turned around and started to leave.

"That's it? You didn't even lock the door you moron," Alex retorted, almost offended to see that the only response to her story was pure, absolute indifference from him.

"I know,"

She left the cell and ran towards him, Black stopped marching and moved near her and put his hands at the sides of her waist, "Lei Chen Mountains," he said, and those were his only words. Then he took a step backward, letting go of her, and left.

"How I am supposed to get there?" Alex yelled, standing helplessly in the corridor.

There's only so much I can do.

"Not my problem," the gunman whispered to himself, as his silhouette disappeared in the dark.