by C K Burch
He didn't hesitate. “Five thousand British pounds.”
“Done.”
“Up front. With another five thousand when we return from our expedition.”
“Done.”
Dust frowned. “You're making this too easy.”
“My father has a rather ridiculous sum of money.” Jack tapped her fingers together. “Please make no mistake, Mister – Dust. I am not carelessly throwing pounds about. My goal is the lost world. The discovery of a lifetime. And, hidden within it, prehistoric creatures and the source of Amrita itself. I know through my research that you are the man to help me achieve this goal. I will put almost every pence I have at my disposal into whatever you desire to see this through. But I must – ” She sighed defeatedly. “I must have my brother along. Therefore, I need more than just a simple treasure hunter's employ. I am in need of the best. So I am asking the very best to journey with me.”
Dust grinned. “If your research is half as good as your compliments, we'll find your lost world easy.”
Jack perked up. “Then you'll agree to the terms?”
“For ten thousand pounds, hell yes. You just hired Dust McAlan.”
A round of applause lit up in the background; Kalthoum's performance was over. Dust always did manage to have good timing.
Jack held out her hand. Dust accepted it.
“Welcome aboard,” Jack managed through a massive, relieved smile across her face.
“Be my pleasure. Although the pleasure might be dampened still, depending on how I meet with your brother, uh, what was it again, Thomas?”
“Yes. Thomas. And, um, while I may have the desire for a lack of formality, my brother does rather fancy his title.”
“I'm not exactly one for titles and fancies.”
“Neither am I. But father gave him the checkbook.” Her voice was apologetic.
“Ah.” Dust clicked his tongue. “Lord Thomas, it is then.”
Jack raised her eyebrows in a gesture of I apologize for my brother already, and gathered both her map and her journal. “If you'd care, then we'd best go inside and give my brother the news of your acquisition. We shall also gather your first payment so that our business can be sealed.”
Dust gave an imaginary tip of the hat. “Lead on, my lady.”
As they stood and made their way into the Santi cafe, Dust was immediately hit by the scent of cigarettes and liquor, mingled with spices and leather. Quiet serenity outside changed into cacophonous laughter and shouting; one had to be quite loud in the Santi to be heard, unless dealings were going on that required a softer voice. These were usually noted by the sight of men leaning closely together, their faces nearly touching, the look of greed and want in their eyes. Such conversations were not for eavesdropping on, and were rightly ignored by the rest of the cafe visitors.
The cafe itself was an array of dark, ruddy colors that reminded one of the sand in the sunset, arranged in high arches and intricate designs. Solid, round tables served as for both visiting and card games – often times both. Thick, hazy waves of white smoke drifted like thin gauze over the crowd. Behind the bar were rows of bottles which glistened in the flickering electric globes suspended from the high ceiling. Hot and humid, even moreso than the outside, Dust found himself pleasantly sweating within moments of entering the cafe. Although, he was more accustomed to tighter quarters, as many of the cafe's guests were.
Jack pressed forward, nodding her head apologetically as she was forced to wedge herself between the tightly-packed crowd. For lunch, the Santi was standing-room only. Especially on a Saturday, which it was, in which case the usual crowd of diggers and locals hired by excavationists were taking a well-deserved break from the heat and strenuous work of exhuming the valley of the kings. Dust smiled and nodded, catching as many eyes as he could while Jack led the way. He knew a great many of the workers here, men and women both, and he nodded and smiled, shaking hands here and there. Those who made eyes at Jack's fair skin would then turn and see Dust behind her, only to turn away with haste. Everyone understood that anyone with Dust McAlan was off-limits to unsavory activity. If only it was that way with everyone who came through these walls. Despite the saying, there was no actual honor among thieves; only the promise of retaliation if one were crossed.
Dust looked around, desperate to discover “Lord” Thomas before someone else decided to attempt to pickpocket his checkbook. He leaned forward and shouted at Jack. “Where is your brother?”
Jack, for her part, was also straining to look ahead. Then, magically, her body went taut and she pointed towards the bar. “There! In the white coat!”
White was a bit of an understatement on her part: Lord Thomas Blythe-Wight leaned his back against the bar, laughing with overly exaggerated gesticulations at the commentary of someone beside him, whom Dust couldn't see. Thomas' coat was white – so white, in fact, that it appeared to gleam even in the dim, smoky lighting of the Santi, as though it radiated some force with which to repel any and all dirt and grime. The patrons of the Santi all had a decent amount of wear and work about their attire, partly because of employment and partly because of the desert, but Thomas' clothes made everyone else look downright filthy by comparison. Beneath the coat was a white button-down with a black, smartly-knotted tie, tucked into a pristine white waistcoat. White trousers with white shoes completed his look. Thomas' auburn hair was nearly as long as his sister's, but had been brushed back with a pomade so as to make it immobile. His skin appeared as soft as his sister's as well, so impossibly smooth it was as though he'd either shaved with cream, or he'd never grown a beard in his life. As Thomas laughed continuously at some very funny joke, he waved the glass in his hand wildly about, but did not spill even a drop onto his clothing; this appeared to be a practiced skill. Everything about Thomas spoke money, and importance, including the very lazy, impossibly relaxed pose he held while leaned against the bar. Fitting in with the commoners. This, Dust began to realize, was going to be a very long journey indeed. He did not like the showiness of those with titles, nor those with much wealth to display. His hopes had gone up with Jack's impressive lack of formality, but now he saw that this humility did not run in the family.
“Do you see him?” Jack inquired.
“Unfortunately,” Dust bemoaned.
Then, as the crowd parted slightly, Dust saw Thomas' companion, and the implications of the sight became even more unfortunate. There stood a man: burly, rough, wide with muscle, wearing a sand-colored shirt with a dark green vest over it. Strapped to his thigh was a large hunting knife, held in a brown leather sheath, which stood out against his dark green pants and boots. Leather bracers were tied firmly over his forearms. Ruddy, crisp skin covered his face and arms, the look of one who'd been out in the sun too long and yet had gone back out in it to work again. The man had a thick, flowing mane of blonde hair that was tied back as neatly as possible, while his strong face was covered in a layer of golden beard. One ragged, ugly scar wound from the man's temple down across the bridge of his nose and to the right half of his mouth. Were it not for this, the man might be considered quite handsome. And were it not for the man's reputation, he might be considered approachable.
Dust groaned.
Thomas Blythe-Wight was having an engaging conversation with Lincoln Ryder.
The day was getting better by the minute.
***
II
“Son of a bitch,” Dust muttered to himself.
“What was that?” Jack turned and looked rather confused.
Dust pointed at Lincoln Ryder. “That man your brother Thomas is speaking to is a maverick named Ryder, and I'll bet my paycheck he's trying to smooth talk some info about where we're going.”
Jack looked further confused for a brief moment, then turned to look at her brother, then turned back to Dust with an awful sort of realization on her face. “Oh, bollocks.”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you think you can discover a way to distract this, um – �
�
“Lincoln Ryder. He's a former trapper, turned treasure hunter. Not one to underestimate.”
“Bollocks. Can you distract him?”
“Maybe. Probably. He's smelled the money already, so it's gonna take a trick or two.”
Jack nodded as a look of contempt and dismay crossed her features. She said nothing more and turned back towards the bar.
As they approached, Thomas looked up and smiled all-too-widely for comfort or care; he could not mask his disgust for his sister even with the most effortless of effort, and Dust immediately disliked the man. Ryder, for his part, smiled politely at Jack, but when he saw Dust his eyes bugged out and tensed. The feeling was quite mutual.
“Sissie!” Thomas exclaimed. He looked over her shoulder and squinted. “Who's this, my dearest?”
Jack glanced over at Ryder and hurriedly looked away. “This is Dust McAlan, corsair treasure hunter. He's agreed to assist us to, uh, our destination.” Nerves slipped into each syllable as she spoke, and Dust gathered the impression that her confidence was not very well established when speaking to her brother.
“Ah!” Thomas said. He reached past Jack with brusque authority to shake Dust's hand. “A famous one! I've read of you in the comics. Wild stuff, that. You're shorter than they make you out to be.”
Ryder snickered.
Dust plastered a smile on his face and gripped Thomas' hand with a strength he reserved for villains. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Thomas.”
Thomas nodded and winced as he pulled his hand away. “Devil of a grip you've got there, my man. No doubt we're in good hands, eh?”
“None whatsoever.” Dust turned and glared at Ryder.
Ryder nodded, ignoring the implication. “G'day, McAlan.” His Australian accent was thick and hearty, positively dripping with pleasantries. He looked Dust up and down. “You've thickened up a bit since last we met, mate. Trying to impress the boys with some muscle, eh?”
Dust considered this. “Actually, yes. Good to know it's paying off.”
Ryder began a retort, but wisely silenced himself. Instead, he turned to Jack and took her hand. “Lincoln Ryder, mum, at your beck and call.” He kissed the back of her hand briefly. Some snakes are more charming than others.
Jack casually slipped her wrist away and then turned to Thomas. “May I have a word with you, brother?”
“Oh of course, dearest,” Thomas said, gulping down another swig of what smelled like bourbon. “But first, please, now that you've met Mister Ryder here, treasure hunter and best trapper in the business, I can formally announce that he will be our ride to Shambhala!”
Firstly, Dust began to reach out to hush the idiot's voice. Saying something like that with such volume in a place like this would only result in trouble. Secondly, Dust then started to reach out to punch Thomas in the face for hiring Lincoln Ryder, in what would respectfully be the worst bloody decision to be made yet in this enterprise. Finally, Dust retracted his wandering limb and placed his hand gently on Jack's shoulder, and chuckled as he did so.
Ryder, for his part, placed his palm flatly on Thomas' chest. “Quiet down, mate, you don't want to go advertising that. Bad ears everywhere in this cafe.”
“Hmm.” Thomas raised his glass and downed the last of the bourbon. “Quite right. Clumsy of me, old man. I appreciate your conscientiousness.”
Jack meanwhile, was staring at Thomas with the thinnest of smiles on her face. She was clearly displeased.
“Brother,” she said slowly, “may I ask what you mean by 'ride'?”
“What I mean,” Thomas replied, mocking his sister's voice, “is that I've stumbled upon a touch of luck here, Sissie. This Mister Ryder is, accordingly, one of the best trappers in the business. Now, I understand that Mister McArdle here – ”
“McAlan,” Dust chided.
“Good lord, I'm getting it wrong already.” Thomas shook his head. “Sorry, man. Anyways, I'm sure Mister McAlan here understands treasure hunting, but Ryder here has a ride. An airship! A beautiful one, rather long and full of everything necessary for a journey such as ours.”
“Very much so, mum,” Ryder agreed. “The Venture is a fine ship, ready for wherever you need go, however quickly you need get there. And my boys'll not let you down for service. We've spent a bit being ready for all the dangers the world can throw at us and we've come back all every time.”
“I understand,” Jack began, “but it was agreed that I'd be the one to make arrangements. I'm – ”
“Oh, hush, love.” Thomas patted the top of Jack's head. “I'm simply ensuring the best for my sister's expedition, is all. It'll go well. You'll see, eh?”
Jack began to say more, but she quickly closed her mouth. Dust put his hands behind his back.
Thomas looked up at Dust and smiled. “So, old boy, what's your fee, then? Are we paying you up front, or after?”
Dust smiled. “Both.”
“Oh.” Thomas sniffed. “Well, how much to begin with?”
“Five thousand.”
Thomas blinked. “Up front?”
Dust continued to smile. “Up front. And after.”
Ryder stepped forward as if to argue, but Dust held up his pointer finger and waved it. Ah-ah, it said, you wait your turn.
“Ahem.” Thomas dug into his waistcoat and felt for his checkbook. “I seem to have misplaced my wallet.”
“Right pocket,” Jack said through her teeth.
“Yes.” Thomas discovered his checkbook at last, along with an ink pen, and turned to the bar. After writing out the check, he held it out to Dust, not looking impressed in the slightest. “I'll trust you're worth every pence.”
“That and then some.” Dust accepted the check.
“I look forward to the evidence.” Thomas nodded at Ryder. “Listen, you've both been paid and paid well, so shall we table this conversation til the morrow, then? I've a need to retire and convene with my dearest sister here. What time, uh, Mister Ryder, when?”
“One o'clock,” Ryder announced.
“Yes, we'll meet at the Venture at one tomorrow.” He smiled tightly at Dust. “You shan't be able to miss it, quite a beautiful craft.”
“One o'clock it is,” Dust confirmed.
“Yes.” Thomas took Jack by the arm. “Come along dearest, we've discussions.”
Jack looked at Dust briefly. “I appreciate you joining our expedition,” she said.
Dust nodded. He was sure that she was. No doubt she would doubly need someone in her corner now.
Thomas gave a petty wave, and together disappeared from the Santi with Jack.
Dust and Ryder immediately turned on each other.
“Son of a bitch – ” Dust started.
“Get stuffed,” Ryder sneered. “I heard about this well before you came waltzing in here like a prize stallion, but you'll be the drongo on this one. I got in first, I'm taking the lead of it.”
Dust grinned. “I had a mark on this before you heard of it, and I'm sticking to it. After all, I've been given a check already.”
Ryder whipped out a check of his own. “So've I. Must be delicious to not be the one on top of the stick, eh?”
“I'll show you the bottom end.”
Ryder frowned. “Come again?”
Dust pondered his choice of words. Probably sounded better in his head than aloud.
Ryder's hand gently slid down and rested on the hilt of his knife. Such a casual movement would have gone unnoticed by anyone not looking for it. “If you think for one moment I'm going to relax off of this like one of the hussies you keep in every port, then we've a right toss on our hands.”
Dust's hand was already clenching the handle of his bullwhip. He smirked. “Give me a reason.”
“Gentlemen.” The bartender leaned forward across the counter. “It's only the afternoon. Please. Let us wait until at least six o'clock before there are any fights.”
Dust and Ryder looked at the bartender, then back at each other, and slowly releas
ed their respective weapons simultaneously.
Ryder chuckled and stretched his neck, all tensions eased. “So, then. How'd you get pulled into this?”
“The same way you did. Desperation.” Indeed, Dust imagined that Thomas had hired Ryder simply for the same reasons that Jack had hired her choice: out of a need to have some control over this expedition. As if holding onto the money wasn't enough.
“I haven't been desperate for money in a long time,” Ryder sneered, reaching for a shot glass that smelled of rum.
“I don't mean you and I,” Dust huffed. “I meant them. They need people, and quick. The best, at least in some respects.”
“That we are. I'll toast you on that.” Ryder lifted his shot, and drank. He made a face. “Alright, McAlan, here's how we'll play this. I'll be fair with you, you be fair with me. Neither of us needs to like this, but there's coin involved. I figure if we both give it a fair suck of the sav, then perhaps we'll have even more coin by the time this is done, eh?”
Dust rolled his eyes. “You really giving me the rookie speech?”
“Suppose I am. For the sake of utmost clarity.” A mildly thoughtful look appeared on his face. “You really believe that we're to find dinosaurs and the nectar of immortality, eh? Sounds suspect to me.”
Dust shook his head. “Honestly, I'll put that one up in the air. I've seen things enough to know there's prehistoric descendants milling about here and there, but an entire lost world has me skeptical. Just like I'm skeptical of your involvement.”
“I'm being paid an awful lot.” Ryder's smile was sinful and slithery. “If you think you're getting a wallet full imagine how much I'm landing from this. And, if we are to actually find ourselves some terrible lizards, I've been assured that I get to bag and carry home at least two.”
Dust blinked. No wonder Ryder was so quick to calm down – he had extra reason to play nice and see this through. “Lady Blythe-Wight might have something to say about that.”
“Maybe. But she's not holding the money, is she?”
No. In fact, she wasn't. And now Dust was truly beginning to regret agreeing to any of this. But, the first of two checks was in his hand already – all he had to do was get to the second check, and perhaps snatch one or two precious relics from the hidden city as they went.