Den of Shadows

by Christopher Byford

  ‘You have my personal assurance that Corinne will make you your money back five fold. If I’m discovered to be a liar, well, may I fall down one day and break my neck.’

  ‘Exquisite.’ He grunted, adjusting his trouser belt.

  ‘Ain’t she just?’

  Without warning, the individual turned in his seat and diverted all of his attention to the woman beside him. His mind had obviously roved elsewhere, to places that made her uncomfortable.

  ‘And you? How much are you?’

  ‘That’s a silly thing to ask,’ she scoffed, amused.

  ‘Why?’

  Misu shuffled herself on the seat, quite averse to this question. It only came up a handful of times but it still charmed a disturbing chill down the back. The answer was always delivered to prevent misinterpretation. There was no playing hard to get. There was simply the truth.

  ‘Because I cannot be brought.’ Misu spoke flatly, watching Corinne deeply bow and make her way behind the curtain. ‘Us here, this side of the stage, we’re Wilheim’s own. We are not to be handled or bartered. That is not our task. Our designs are grander. It’s best that notion be forgotten, sir. For the best. We are his workers, his busy bees who buzz around and bring the honey to the hungry.’

  ‘And if someone breaks that rule?’ he asked, placing an unwelcome hand on her thigh. It was removed, by the wrist, and dropped back into the man’s lap. She glanced behind to see if Wilheim had taken notice of this development.

  Wilheim sat contentedly on his throne, puffing away quite happily on a stogie. Those at his side waited for his commands, showing no emotion in response to the torrid display on stage, desensitized to flesh and fancy. Upon noticing Misu’s turn of the head, Wilheim paid the slightest of nods in acknowledgement, assuring her of the fact that he was always watching. Even if he wasn’t, there were plenty who would talk to gain scraps of favour. The club was a cage. Only the lucky ones left and the conditions under which they did so were far from dignified.

  ‘Then Mister Fort ensures you will be stung. And you do not wish to be stung sir; I promise you that.’

  Before the last of her drink found its way to the rest, Misu examined its glass, delicately held in view by thumb and fingers. In its visage her face turned and warped with the contours, dipping down every recess and rising back to the surface when the angle and light saw fit.

  The likeness laughed.

  ‘Not on your life,’ she added.

  * * *

  A chorus of sobs rattled out from around her, though Franco remained expressionless. It was quite the story, but it excused nothing.

  ‘See?’ Misu whined. ‘I told you that you wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Franco growled. ‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could endanger everyone here on the Den because of your history.’

  ‘If I told you that very day when you took me on, that I had the spectre of this man hanging over me, can you truly say that you would have been so eager to usher me on board? You were practically salivating over my shoes!’

  Franco went to speak, but instead Misu raised her hand.

  ‘Let me finish that for you; don’t bother wriggling your way out of it. No, you wouldn’t. You would have brushed me aside for a prettier face, one lacking such traumatic baggage and complications. It would have spared you all this, right? Lucky, lucky you.’

  Franco had given her much of the floor to explain herself but heard nothing of the sort – just a tale of bad dealings and horrid individuals. There were no excuses for this, though a part of him wished that one could be tendered, making this affair entirely justifiable. What hurt the most was her attitude regarding his reaction.

  ‘You could have explained the situation to us, to me.’ Thunder rolled off his tongue before calming. ‘I have to put up with you acting aloof for days, sneaking off to congregate with cronies, all under my nose! I was right to have Jacques shadow you. You didn’t come to me when you needed help. Me. Of all the people out there. I dare say we could have worked something out.’

  ‘Because you’re such a damn beacon of charity to those who wrong you,’ came the defiant roar.

  ‘I trusted you dammit!’ Franco retaliated, just as sharp, causing the others to step back.

  ‘Oh and who could have ever trusted me but a fool?!’

  * * *

  Misu stared him down, noticing the shock that decorated the faces of the others. Jacques was fluent in bad moves but even he had to turn away from this one. Her tone retreated to something more manageable but the damage was already done. Some semblance of guilt pierced her chest, but sheer stubbornness refused to reveal as much. Misu’s eyes finally flickered.

  ‘I … look, besides …’ she fidgeted ‘… it wouldn’t have been possible to bargain.’

  ‘You’re right. Not anymore it isn’t.’

  Alarming everybody, Franco took Misu by the arm and hurried her, forcefully, back to the carriage door. There were weak protests from the showgirls but none were heeded. They hurriedly followed their pair, almost stumbling over trails of silks and lace. The protests quickly became louder.

  ‘If you cannot respect the simplest of rules, then you’re gone. As is the case here.’

  ‘Wait! Please, I’m begging you, please don’t!’

  Misu sobbed, clambering at Franco’s vest collar in desperation at the carriage doors. She scanned the faces until reaching Corinne, who stood quite dismayed at what had just transpired. Yearning eyes pleaded for an intervention but the weight of the treachery left her powerless. Multiple apologies were ignored, and for her penance Misu was pushed backward, banished from her home and exiled by her friends. All because of bad judgement.

  Misu sat in a heap on Platform 4, holding herself in an embrace, sobbing violently. The gulps became so thick that words failed to emanate. The others would have, even despite this, rushed to her side, tended to her, for that was their way, but Franco barred the doorway with his presence. There was nothing else to be said.

  ‘We had an agreement, and that goes for each and every one of you on this train as I’ve told you: everyone is the same. You put the Den in danger and you’re out the door. No second chances. No pardons.’ Franco turned to address Misu who still remained in a crumpled heap. ‘Now go! This ain’t your home any more. Katerina, go into her room and pack up her things. Quickly with you.’

  Katerina protested weakly, succumbing to tears.

  ‘I said do it! Get the whole lot, her clothes and all and toss them in the street! She’ll need them where she’s going.’

  ‘And where would that be?’ Misu wailed aloud – a last, desperate attempt to change already set minds.

  ‘Anywhere but here.’

  Franco had done all he needed to do and punctuated this fact by slamming the carriage door behind him.

  True to his request, Katerina had packed as much as she could into a pair of tan leather suitcases and stepped onto the platform with the others to console their manager. The girls embraced another, forming a cocoon of affection and arms. Sure, they remained angry with Misu but this wasn’t the answer, not at all. This was far too excessive and they said as much through choked words.

  They picked her up, as she had done for each of them many a time. They dusted her dress and rearranged her hair to make it presentable. Trails of mascara were wiped away, lingering hugs given, and kisses on cheeks administered. Goodbyes were spoken, emotionally, until the showgirls retreated, all watching from their carriage windows.

  When her sobs were stifled enough, Misu found strength in her feet once more. She left the station and stepped out into the night’s chilled embrace.

  * * *

  Back on the Den, however, the showgirls finally found their voices. Whatever the cause of this deception, Misu didn’t deserve such treatment. Nobody did. As Franco stormed back through the carriage, after bolting the doors from top to bottom, it was Katerina who challenged him first. The o
thers followed in pursuit.

  ‘You can’t do this to her!’ Katerina objected.

  ‘It’s unfair!’ Kitty chimed in.

  Franco spun in a roar. ‘Did you just tell me what I can do on my train?’ he questioned, ferociously.

  ‘Franco, please! See sense. She’s scared. Are you are just to throw her out with nothing?’

  ‘She didn’t have nothing. She has things.’ He was referring to the graciously given suitcase and packed clothing. He didn’t have to do that – something that was clearly being forgotten in their overfamiliar tone.

  ‘You don’t know what he was doing to her!’

  ‘And you do?’

  ‘Well no, not exactly.’ Katerina pleaded for him to see sense, or logic, anything. ‘This is absurd, Wyld’s stashing stolen goods in the cars and you’re kicking Misu out for some old guy who wants her as a pet? Why isn’t the desert rat getting the boot?’

  ‘Wyld knows the risks. It’s why she’s not seen in public with us. It’s why she operates with discretion and she knows better than anyone: one slip-up and she’s out of here. Tell me, what if Misu brought a gunfight to us on account of all this, and half of you were shot dead?’

  Corinne felt a bout of frustration rise in her throat. More than the others was she familiar with Wilheim’s cruelty, but this wasn’t the solution to someone driven to such desperation. Not by a long shot.

  ‘Then you would be out of pocket.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Franco called.

  ‘Isn’t it? Isn’t it always what it comes down to? Money rules your head, Franco. I’m sure if it came to that grim circumstance you would find faces just as pretty to replace us.’

  ‘You’re out of line.’

  ‘No. You are,’ Corinne coldly delivered. ‘She’s family.’

  ‘When have I ever said that we were that?’

  ‘It didn’t need to be said. And you’ve clearly forgotten what that means.’ She gave a turn and ventured back down the carriage, shunting between seats with the clicks of her heels ebbing to nothing.

  * * *

  Not long after, the women performed an exodus en masse, finding somewhere, anywhere, to be than on than the Den. They desired far less stifling company and when they had taken their leave, all that was left was Franco and Jacques on a very empty train.

  Without noise, without heaving company, the Den was a shell of its intentions, the silence hugely foreboding. Franco looked around the carriage, the rows of empty seats, half-drunk drinks waiting for their owners to return. Despite the clutter, it felt sparse and soulless.

  Franco sighed wearily, sliding deeper into his leather seat, hoping it would swallow him whole. The two double bourbons inside him gave empty comfort.

  ‘And what about you? Was I too harsh?’

  Jacques examined the hands of cards on the table before taking a sip from one of the tumblers, finding the contents far too sweet.

  ‘Not my place to say, boss.’

  ‘Drop the formalities.’

  ‘I understand why you did it, for sure.’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘I don’t quite understand your logic though.’

  ‘You think keeping everyone safe is some sort of blight?’

  ‘No,’ Jacques exclaimed. ‘I thought we were all family, and you toss her out. Goes against the whole family thing doesn’t it? I thought your Pappy said those he rode with was family. Considered it at least.’

  ‘This small detail may have escaped you but I’m not him.’

  ‘That you’re not,’ Jacques agreed. ‘You’re your own man with your own notions on the subject. But you have to admit, he had some bright ideas for what passed for camaraderie.’

  Franco sat on these words and nodded slowly to himself in agreement. ‘You think I was too harsh.’

  ‘Making orphans of our own isn’t family-like to me.’

  ‘Have you forgotten the part where she’s thrown us to this individual to cover her own ass?’

  ‘Who are you trying to convince with that?’ Jacques queried. ‘You heard her talk. On all accounts this Wilheim character is nasty to the boots and you’re dead set on punishing her. I think you’re under the assumption that she had something resembling a choice.’

  ‘She did! Don’t use the excuse that fear prevented her from making any sort of better outcome. Misu is the furthest thing from weak. There is nothing that woman can’t do. I know her.’ The glass landed heavily on the veneer as he trailed off. ‘Or at least I assumed I did.’

  ‘I don’t know, Franco.’ Jacques stretched himself to take his leave. ‘Fear does something to a person; I’ve seen it with my two own. Makes them not see quite right. Can’t blame a person for acting rash. With no way out, who knows what any of us would do?’

  * * *

  Franco slept stretched across a seat one would assume only a cat would find comfortable. His rasping snore became a monotonous routine, one that would have woken Jacques, if it he wasn’t already fully awake, eyes staring into darkness as he lay with his hands behind his head for a pillow. He turned, murmuring in irritation, verbalizing every thought in a monotone grunts.

  He rose, in the darkness, to a bang and a thump. It was not in the lounge car where they were situated. It was the sound of a trapdoor banging from the next carriage down, a noise that echoed through one of the cluttered storage cars.

  Half-dressed and bleary-eyed, he moved to the door, silently stepped out into the night, and then eased open the handle to the next car along. He moved inside, to enquire after the owner.

  Wyld was not around when Misu had been expelled from the train. In fact, she had been missing for a good few hours beforehand, gallivanting with whatever criminality she needed to. Now, she had slipped in the under trapdoor, beneath the car, securing its bolt with a slap. Her eyes snapped to Jacques, assessing his entrance. The man stepped further in.

  ‘Most people knock you know.’ Wyld narrowed her eyes. ‘I may be unaccounted for, but that doesn’t mean I don’t exist. A little consideration if you please.’

  ‘And for that, I apologize. This is important.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Jacques cleared his throat behind a fist. ‘Misu is gone.’

  * * *

  ‘Gone, gone?’

  ‘Franco kicked her off. She’s been seeing some men without our knowledge, sneaking out at night, things like that.’

  ‘Men.’ Wyld pouted, silently alarmed at this news. ‘I didn’t think Franco was the jealous type. He doesn’t own her. I didn’t even think they were a thing.’

  ‘They’re not. You misunderstand,’ Jacques corrected flatly. ‘Not men like that. Wilheim Fort’s men.’

  Wyld’s face fell in shock. Instantly Jacques was upon her. The reaction had given him all he needed to challenge her. ‘I knew it. You know something about this.’

  ‘I don’t, I swear!’

  ‘Don’t lie to me!’ Jacques stormed across the floor, every hollow thud of his boots a death knell.

  ‘I’m not! I know nothing about that woman Misu, nothing at all! I tried to speak to her a couple of times, but it was if she looked right through me. I accept those notions from you people. I know I’m not exactly the wanted type here. I know I’m expendable and the moment trouble breaks you’ll hand me over in a second to save your own behinds!’ She snapped her fingers in anger, surprising even herself at the venom.

  ‘You really think that?’

  ‘I’m disposable, right? We all are. Franco just proved it. If you think I somehow know whatever game Misu is playing, because of the company I have to keep, you can think again.’ Wyld’s voice broke as she trailed off. Her blazing eyes momentarily softened.

  ‘But?’ Jacques probed.

  ‘But …’ Wyld turned and strode towards him. ‘I can tell you what I do know, and you only had to ask. When I sold something off, I had a long conversation with a buyer who told me everything. I kno
w all about this Wilheim Fort character. You don’t do what I do without finding out the lay the land. I know plenty about who he is, his dealings – and I’m telling you, from what I’ve been told, you do not want to get tangled up in that mess. Wilheim is more shades of wrong than you could ever know.’

  Jacques, now deflated of his anger, wearily sat himself on a crate of supplies where she quietly joined him. They both sighed, silently, before Jacques nodded in agreement to himself.

  ‘Then tell me everything,’ he said.

  Wyld did so, elaborating on every piece of fact and hearsay that she had acquired. Muddick, shuffling stolen goods through his premises, was the first to warn her of Wilheim’s presence when she arrived, cautioning her that the city was not to be trusted. Eyes were everywhere, as were knives, and encroaching on his operations ensured your disappearance. Businesses, hangouts, even individuals who were being bribed to ignore such things, Wyld had a treasure trove of information to divulge and did so, at length, until dawn cracked the sky to a pale glow.

  Chapter Eleven

  Show of Hand

  The night was cool, heavy with the day’s dissipated heat. The streets were empty apart from the occasional cheering of drinkers from the taverns that Misu passed. She walked in a slouch, shoes dragging over path and road. Drifted sand collected in deposits, forcing her to step around, each step slowly advancing down the road, though she had no idea where it would lead her.

  In the oldest district of Windberg, where buildings had been built on top of one another in ramshackle fashion, instead of being demolished to make way for cleaner developments, Misu stared at the local inns, hoping that one window wouldn’t be populated with a no vacancy sign.