Jobs were numerous, though expertly dangerous with casualties a common occurrence, but to follow this industry was to ride the brink of a trend, hopefully to the point of fruition. Money was to be made, big money, for those who participated, no matter the dangers.
Evans and Son was a shipyard company that constructed freight ships for transport over the Sand Sea. Like any manufacturer competing in a cluttered marketplace, they would accept any job deemed profitable. In particular, they gained a substantial reputation for modernizing some freighters crossing the desert with accompanying small transports, or more efficient engines. Each of the site work docks was normally flushed with the sparks and steam and noise of industry. Those involved swung back and forth while they traversed the high girders that constructed a sparse frame around the current erection.
Dock 6, however, was still. Unlike the others, Dock 6 was too close to the material depots and the accompanying rail yard for it to have grown in identical size. Instead it remained the same, a bespoke clutter of pulleys and cranes far too small to work on sand ships, but more than ample to build various steam vehicles. Demand for vehicles this size was small due to the cost. Steam-powered carriages were exceptionally extravagant considering that a pull of horses cost a fraction of the price, discouraging most from commissioning. Status or necessity was the basis of such production.
At Dock 6, the furthest end of the outside yard, hidden beneath a glass and steel enclosure, covered by a shroud of canvas, was the product of both.
The canvas tethers were cut away one at a time by knife, revealing the treasure beneath.
A steam locomotive, snubbed at its nose and of utterly modern design with a square boiler casing shone brilliantly with an untarnished paint job. A heavy black base coat running down its side was accented with red and white flair, and proudly the train announced itself with a motif of white stars and accented flicks of every letter in its name:
The Morning Star
Its owners, a well-dressed pair in the utmost finery, observed their commission with silent awe. The gentleman removed his top hat, patting the hand of the blonde woman who stood beside him. She nodded silently, flexing her fingers around his momentarily.
Franco Del Monaire, showman, businessman, and escaper of death, breathed a sigh of relief. For him, despite putting money into the endeavour and overseeing every step of construction, he never expected this day to come. Delays had been numerous and costs rose too sharply, but in front of him were the results and boy they were pretty. It had been more than a year since the destruction of the Gambler’s Den. By now the shifting sands had all but consumed its remains and the services it provided were reluctantly forgotten. There had been nothing since that captured the imagination and excitement of the people they visited. Nobody dared to compete with a legacy as weighty as theirs, maybe out of respect, it was hoped, but more than likely the cost was the main factor.
Franco’s heart sank when he saw the engine explode. It was lucky that he had managed to crawl away from the wreckage and to take cover before the boiler had overheated and split itself in two. His wounds were many and if he hadn’t found a stray horse out in the desert, whose rider was far too deceased to find it of any further use, his story may have ended there and then. But under the shadow of night, and with an unconscious waif of a woman between him and the reins, he managed to find treatment and lodgings until they could move on.
The woman beside him nodded, brushing her dyed blonde locks behind her ears, and took in the spectacle once more. Her cherry-red lips parted with an exhalation, just as relieved as Franco beside her. For her, a weight had now been lifted.
* * *
Misu could have cried in delight, could, but didn’t, the only hint being a trembling bottom lip. Being legally dead, the pair had created new identities after the destruction of the Gambler’s Den and had stayed out of the public light. Living incognito was a different experience for them, where a monotonous daily routine was adopted and showmanship was shunned. But the call was too great, and Franco especially had needed time to build the vehicle before them.
Now all his secrecy made sense. Trust me, he would repeat when asked what was robbing his days away, and why he was absent at night. Trust him, after everything Misu had done? Nights were spent shuddering awake, fearful that she would find herself abandoned, something that only subsided over time.
‘This is the surprise you’ve been talking about? How did you manage this?’ Misu asked, placing the flat of a hand on the cold steel surface. She looked past, counting the identically designed train carts set behind. ‘Where did you find the money for all of this and how many carriages? Six?’
‘Seven,’ Franco corrected. ‘The Gambler’s Den was insured for quite an amount. Wyld also made good on her word. She put aside my cut of the sale for all of her treasures, so when the heat died down it didn’t look suspicious.’
‘That is quite the surprise. Didn’t the bank question a dead man emptying his account?’
‘Not in the slightest. The beneficiary for Franco Del Monaire was his brother. His twin brother.’
‘Clever.’
‘Isn’t it just?’
Misu chuckled before wiping her eyes. ‘So what do we do now? Look at your new shiny and reminisce about the past? Are we thinking about the glory days now?’
It was an attractive prospect, but they both knew he had a plan in mind. You didn’t just commission a vehicle like this for getting about. There were no glory days or good times to reminisce about. There was only the life that drove them, this life, the life they had been silently impatient to begin anew.
‘There’s always a new show to put on,’ Franco said. ‘I’ve missed being the centre of attention.’
It was the answer she wanted. ‘We’ll need staff.’
‘The showgirls are working in a joint across the Sand Sea. I’ve been keeping tabs on their comings and goings. By all accounts they’ve been doing pretty well for themselves.’
‘Have you been spying on their affairs?’
‘Heavens no. I have connections keeping me abreast of news. Spying, perish the thought. We’ll go and pick them up, assuming that they missed our time together. I suppose you can convince them if things get difficult.’
‘I can try.’ She smirked, not knowing if he was serious. ‘It’ll be nice getting everybody back together. To be a family again.’
* * *
There was that word. Its stigma had subsided in the last year, where the comfort of company became a missing factor in his life. It was a primitive yearning to do good by those who mattered, to assist and protect, and maybe he did fail once in a while and the repercussions were difficult. Maybe his decisions were selfish and not for the best every single time. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers.
But he gave it his all, and that was more than enough for those who had ridden the Gambler’s Den to appreciate. It was their company, in turn, that gave the business worth.
It was true that Misu had wounded him and grievously at that.
He would be lying if he had forgiven her, as some wounds never heal – not entirely – and the scars she put upon him were reflected upon from time to time. It kept him sharp. It kept him focused.
But in an act of unparalleled mercy, he did, honestly, understand why she had betrayed him. Whilst that was not, by any measure, grounds to give thanks, Misu promised that if he gave her the opportunity, she would prove herself. She believed this wholeheartedly and in this time together they had grown close. Not as a couple, but slowly, closer than friends.
And the word family, these days, didn’t seem so harsh.
Franco did not say the word, but instead paused, contemplating its meaning, before agreeing. ‘Indeed.’
‘Let’s just hope they don’t die from shock when ghosts like us walk through the doors. What about Jacques?’
‘We’ll find him. He’s not really that hard to miss.’
‘And what do your con
nections say about him?’
Franco slicked his hair back with a hand and replaced the hat upon his crown. ‘That is a story all in itself.’
‘And of course, we’ll need a driver.’
Franco pulled the gloves from his hands; fine, well-crafted leather ones, which a speck of soot would no doubt damage. After all, dirtying them would be inappropriate. ‘That honour is most certainly mine.’ Excitement crept over his face, a boyish sparkle that Franco yielded to. ‘For the time being at least.’
* * *
Misu placed the flat of her right palm against the panelling to convince herself of its legitimacy. Despite being brand new, something stirred within her, warm and unmoved. It felt as if these months were nothing more than a hiatus. She hadn’t been starting a new life away from the business of entertaining. She was waiting for it to begin anew.
She was, in her mind, finally home.
‘The Morning Star, huh?’
Franco raised a brow expecting fault to be found with the name, so her response came as a surprise.
‘I like it. It feels right,’ Misu stated, giving a turn. ‘I guess we’re back in business, aren’t we?’
Franco set a foot between the platform and the first of the passenger cars. He unlocked the door with a ring of virgin keys, glancing to the splendour hidden inside, but before entering he looked behind him.
Placing his fingers around the handrail, he reached his other hand out, offering Misu his support.
Her slender fingers enveloped his.
‘After you,’ Franco offered.
Join Franco and Misu on their next adventure, aboard the Den of Stars coming soon from HQ Digital!
Copyright
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Christopher Byford 2017
Christopher Byford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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E-book Edition © May 2017 ISBN: 978-0-00-825748-4
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