Nobody cared that the show was a copycat – if they did it was never brought up in her company, but out here in the far south of Surenth, where the Gambler’s Den never travelled previously, the locals found it refreshingly new.
Despite the dangerous circumstances and morbid nature of such an ordeal, Misu’s death was the best thing that ever happened to her. ‘You’d be surprised how liberating dying is.’
‘I’ll have to give it a try sometime. There’s plenty that I would love to leave behind in an empty grave. Not that I need to explain that to you …’ Corinne’s smile dropped.
The conversation had struck too raw a subject, so Misu guided it back to work. ‘Good performance tonight. For a moment I honestly believed you were going to sink a knife into Colette’s skull. As did all of our onlookers.’
With a flex of her fingers, Corinne seemed to be recalling every detail of her exhibition, remembering the weight of the blade in her palm. ‘I’ve never missed a throw before. That little one worries too much. Like I say every time, as long as she keeps still there’ll be no accidents. She just fidgets when nervous.’
‘On the account of the sharp objects flying in her direction no doubt. It makes one a tad touchy. I can’t imagine why.’
Misu produced a silver cigarette case from her inner jacket pocket and a matchbox, offering a smoke to the kindly woman beside her whose company was appreciated. Both were lit and the pair leant on their backs, staring at the fissure of night sky between the tall gothic buildings that enclosed the station. Stars sparkled, with the merriest hint of the moon painting its lustre across a line of roof tiles.
Nothing was said. Gentle, patient puffs of smoke wafted between them in turn, carried on by the warm breeze that drifted across the train tracks. It was a tranquillity that scrubbed the grime and the effort that the show inflicted. Muscles didn’t seem so aching, bones not as sore. For the shortest of moments, the dangers and difficulties that this life brought Misu – and indeed all on board – felt non-existent.
And then Corinne had to go and ruin it all.
She withdrew her cigarette between scissored fingers, its butt painted with red lipstick, and she squinted at the stars. ‘You’re doing good, you know? Franco would be proud.’
There was never going to be a good time to draw attention to any of that, now maybe less so than any other. Simply hearing his name caused her heart to sink to some dark sea within her, struggling with the thoughts, the feelings, the memories, every facet of the circumstances that had brought about her being the Morning Star’s caretaker. It rightfully belonged to another, one more suited to the theatricality, who had made a life of doing so and most importantly knew what he was doing. She was lucky – lucky to be here at all, let alone to have stewardship of such a spectacle, and she was damned if this would be an opportunity wasted. It would be easy, preferable even, to simply draw the whole show to a close and pack it up for good.
But Misu owed Franco a tremendous debt. Some debts, he once informed her, can’t be repaid. It doesn’t mean that one should stop trying to do so, though.
Misu drew a touch longer on her vice before responding. ‘Let’s hope he sees it that way.’
Corinne nodded, swinging herself up after giving a minute for the mood to pass. ‘I’m going in. I miss that bed of mine too much, little luxury that it is.’ She moved to the carriage side and took a foot to each rung over and over, pausing to say her last piece: ‘I’ll be sure to mention to Ferry that you’re up here tonight. We wouldn’t want him mistaking you for a prowler now, would we?’
Misu’s throat closed up momentarily, refusing a decent reply any sort of momentum. Instead, she swallowed the words away and gave substitutes. A wetness that coated her eyes was blinked away and her gaze remained fixed on the black void high above. ‘Goodnight, Corinne.’
‘Aye, goodnight to you too.’
The carriage doors shunted to a close leaving Misu truly alone. Once upon a time she would have been content with that.
But Franco had convinced her otherwise.
* * *
Misu protested in the strongest terms at this idea. She had turned back more times than she could count, forcing Franco to convince her and take her by the hand in an attempt to share his courage. It wasn’t working of course. Her stomach danced around as if somebody was playing a drumbeat upon it. The sun-drenched streets of Windberg were far from busy at this early hour but still there were enough people to give the pair suspicious glances. Almost all assumed them to be partaking in some lovers’ quarrel, a good-natured one but a quarrel nonetheless.
‘This is the very height of ridiculous ideas,’ Misu protested, hiding beneath a large-rimmed hat that protected her from the sun, as well as other things. Her dyed blonde hair had been tucked up beneath the hat, its owner paranoid that somehow those passing could easily identify her. This wasn’t the case of course but for someone classed as deceased, the possibility of recognition was always a concern.
Franco did his best to ease her worries once again. Unlike her, he walked confidently to their destination, smartly dressed in a plaid suit, waistcoat, and tie, with his eyes hidden behind green-lensed sunglasses.
‘Last night you said it was good. Perfect, even! You’re changing your mind now? I said we both had to be completely in agreement. You agreed. I distinctly remember you agreeing.’
‘I remember the bottle we emptied, not necessarily any decisions being made.’ Misu pouted.
‘We’re here now. There’s no turning back.’
They both stared at the front of the establishment. Sandstone pillars forged high archways, the patio beneath lined with well-polished square tables. Behind the glass to the inside, glowing lanterns could be seen, hanging high above lines of bigger tables, congregating around the kitchen that was positioned in the centre of the room. The kitchen itself was enclosed by the bar, making it a communal centre, where patrons would watch meals being prepared, converse with the staff and drink bar-side if need be.
Fastened to the wall was a perfect metal sign, embossed with the name of the restaurant itself: Blue Sky.
‘Yes there is,’ Misu contested, turning on her heels once again. ‘There’s the opportunity to turn back right this very moment. See, I’m doing it now.’
Franco snagged her arm and pulled her beside him. ‘Back you come – come on. We’re doing this.’
‘What if they’re angry?’
‘They undoubtedly will be.’
‘You left that part out when convincing me this was a solid plan.’
Franco led her slowly to the door, one step after the other until reaching out and placing his hand on the handle, despite the closed sign hanging on the glass. ‘You never asked. Ready?’
From inside, figures went about their business, quite content to go about the daily routine, unaware who was about to stroll through their door.
‘No?’
‘That’s a shame.’
Franco heaved the door ajar. The gentle tinkle of a bell caught the attention of the women inside, especially the one in the middle of the kitchen who was jabbing at something boiling in a large pot. In a flurry, Colette advanced on them, waving the pair out.
‘The sign says closed. Did you not see it? Out please, there’s another hour to go until …’ Her eyes squinted in thought at the man and the woman who meekly hid herself beside him. This simply wasn’t possible. ‘Oh no. There is no conceivable way you … you …’
By now the others had taken notice of the confusion and they too questioned what it was they were witnessing. Someone dropped a glass in shock. The woman in the middle of the kitchen fainted in disbelief, taking a pan to the floor with her, which was, thankfully, not hot.
‘Kitty!’ someone cried out and rushed to help her.
Collette still couldn’t believe what was happening. Her heart pounded furiously and tears welled up, causing any other words to fumble out.
‘Franco? Is that really you?’
The owner of the Mor
ning Star removed his sunglasses and smiled his best. ‘Not just me,’ he said. The woman beside him was adamant to shield herself from attention. Finally Misu raised her head, removed the hat, and braced herself for the worst.
Hands covered mouths. In the back, some began to sob.
Katerina staggered out from between the congregation, silent, and stood before Misu whilst examining her face. Suddenly she grabbed her old manager and embraced her tightly, letting some tears fall.
‘Your hair looks nice,’ Katerina said, muffled by Misu’s coat.
In reply the woman choked a thanks, reciprocating the gesture.
* * *
This moment was suddenly shattered, as was the ashtray that had been launched at the wall nearest to the arrivals. It burst into pieces, dotting the ground with chunks of glass. Misu shrieked as it exploded. Franco stood firmly in his place, unflinching.
‘That was uncalled for,’ he firmly stated to the culprit.
Corinne, situated at the bar, lowered her arm, furious and quite disgusted at the pair.
‘Am I hearing things or does the ghost before me actually have a line that defines when things are inappropriate? Because that would be ridiculous to the point of downright tragic,’ she seethed, all a fluster. This remarkable revelation was welcome – of course it was, as every day since the tragedy she had thought of those who were killed – but it wasn’t a tragedy now. It was a lie. A horrid two-year lie made at the expense of those who loved them. Jacques was right: the girls had all been used.
‘I told you …’ Misu whined under her breath to him.
‘It’s a pleasure to see you too, Corinne. Dramatic as always but still, a pleasure.’
‘I wish I could say the same.’ She glared, suppressing the desire to insult him further. Her gaze now fell to Misu who shuddered at the realization.
‘It’s your turn to say something,’ Franco whispered beside her.
Misu elevated her hand and weakly smiled. Corinne rolled her eyes in response.
‘Try actual words,’ Franco insisted. ‘It might help.’
Corinne waited patiently for the gesture to be made.
As Misu attempted to quell Corinne’s understandable outrage, Franco was mobbed by the rest and many tears were shed at the sheer relief of both he and Misu being among the living. They all gathered around to hear the dramatic tale of how the pair survived though the latter months were only touched upon.
Corinne eventually rejoined the group, stony-faced but willing to hear them out, much to Misu’s considerable relief. When Kitty had come around, Colette stood beside her, fanning her with a dishcloth. Whilst everybody came to terms with what had transpired, the girls insisted that they both tried the house special – a pecan pie that Kitty proclaimed was the best ever concocted. She wasn’t wrong.
‘This is all yours is it?’ Franco asked, waving his fork around before succumbing to another bite of the dessert.
‘The best place for eats you’ll ever find in Windberg. Fine décor. Spellbinding staff. Amazing food. Best in the city according to some of the papers,’ Kitty proudly stated, her chef whites impeccably crisp despite the earlier mishap.
‘I can’t knock that,’ Misu agreed, polishing her portion off and sucking upon the fork until clean. ‘Something like this must be a dream come true for you.’
Her words tapered off as she and Franco glanced at one another.
‘I take it you two have been keeping a low profile.’
‘Something like that. We’ve been in Eifera mostly, waiting for things to cool down.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Well …’
Corinne, who leant over the back of a chair at the rear, found it all painfully apparent, especially for someone with their ear to the ground as much as her.
‘You don’t even have to answer that. The Morning Star is yours, right?’
‘Is it that obvious?’ Franco laughed, partially from nerves, curious considering the company.
‘A ballsy loco like that rolls in – of course people are going to talk about it. It’s all they were discussing at market when I was collecting the meats. A train like that is only suitable for transporting royalty – or one of your shows.’ She played with the gold rings on her fingers, turning them this way and that. ‘And I sure don’t see a crown on either of your heads. You using a second chance to get up to your old tricks, Franco?’
‘No tricks, I promise you.’
‘This isn’t a catch-up is it?’ Corinne stated with arms tightly folded.
‘I don’t get what you mean.’ Kitty was quite dumbfounded at the accusation. ‘What are you on about?’
Franco leant back. That old cocksure smile he saved for special occasions used to fill Corinne with dread as it was an introduction to something genius, or something foolish being shared. He didn’t even need to speak. She was on to him.
‘Oh hell.’ Corinne strangled an exhausted, disbelieving chuckle. ‘This is a recruitment drive, isn’t it? You want us back, don’t you?’
‘Franco is planning on creating a new venture.’ Misu attempted to field the question but Colette interrupted.
‘You’re doing the same thing as before?’
‘Not exactly.’ He nudged Misu beside him who suppressed a smile of her own. ‘Our goal will still be entertainment, only … bigger. Better.’
‘There would be new contacts, the terms flexible and open to discussion for both the individual and the group.’
‘And what would your role be in all this, Misu?’ Corinne asked, getting directly to the point.
‘I’ll be fulfilling the same role. Everybody who accepts the offer would be reporting to me directly. I’ll manage all the day-to-day running, just like on the Gambler’s Den.
Kitty scrunched her face up to its fullest extent. It was an expression seen on two occasions before. The first was when she thought about what to name the restaurant and spent far too long obsessing over it. The second was when she mixed up the peppers in a dish and didn’t expect her soup to almost melt her tongue to nothing.
‘I’ve got a question. If you’re doing the same thing, won’t people notice the similarities to the Den and start asking questions of a why-aren’t-you-dead nature?’
That old sparkle danced across Franco’s face, a tell-tale giveaway as if he knew a secret that was not to be shared.
‘I promise you, what the Morning Star will be providing, nobody will be able to make that comparison. The Den was just a prelude to what people are about to witness. We were spoken about before. Excited rumours and so forth. But this … What we will be doing will go down in literal legend. That I can promise each and every one of you. Now you’ve asked us questions that I have entertained, so I’ve got one for you all.’ Franco leant forward and folded his fingers together, sweeping his eyes across the faces before him. ‘Who’s in?’
Chapter 3
Out of the gates
There were occupational hazards when living nomadically in this region. Firstly, good food, hot water, and a warm bed were difficult to find so when possible, one should indulge in them. Secondly, those with money will always be sought by those without it, so one must always be wary.
And lastly, as was the rule of the desert, despite vigilance one will always be caught off guard.
Leaving Landusk behind it, the Morning Star travelled the arid landscape, which the sun baked and the rainclouds shunned. The train puffed along quite happily to its new destination, where a new show would be performed and profit made.
Before this was to happen, before the splendour and pomp could be supplied, they would need to pass through one of the many checkpoints that interconnected the various territories throughout the region. They ranged from well-funded operations to ramshackle outposts, their effectiveness normally in direct correlation to their budget. The idea was that contraband could be seized and any unscrupulous types could be arrested, ensuring the flow of traffic was in accordance with the law. Sadly those who maintained these o
utposts were so far from decent settlements that they were practically a law unto themselves.
Crossing out into the Sand Sea corridor, the large lawless expanse that ran from north to south would require passing through these points from the main rail routes and were, for the most part, unavoidable.
Misu stepped out of her private carriage, locked the door, and checked the handle, twice. There was normally no reason to be so meticulous with security but recent events ensured that this had to reviewed. Misu could do without any unnecessary complications. She trusted her employees, that was certain, but she would hate for curiosity to get the better of them.
She ventured through each carriage in turn, nodding hellos to those she passed who gave equal gestures of respect. The variety of carriages all had luxury in common, outfitted with heating that ran from the train’s own boiler and oil lamps. The sleeping car that acted as the showgirls’ own private residence was immaculate as always, with every bunk pristinely made, a routine she vigorously enforced. The dining car entertained a number of women enjoying downtime, or the closest thing to downtime they enjoyed. Some played cards, some read books from a makeshift library that lined a wall, containing tomes of every type including poetry, history, and fiction.
From there Misu crossed to the engine cab and stuck her head out of the cab window. The checkpoint was a good couple of miles away, a squatting wooden collection of buildings with a rather bulky red painted length of wood acting as a barrier positioned across the rail line. Warning signs whipped past demanding anyone approaching to lower their speed.
The driver, Ferry, rested his girth against the cab side, occasionally spying down the track and making changes to the train’s approach accordingly, flicking his strained eyes to the woman opposite. Misu wasn’t ignoring him. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that it gave that impression.
‘For a moment I figured you wanted to sit this one out. I’ve got no problems getting us through here if you want to stroll on back and close your eyes. We all know that you need it,’ he gruffly offered though a thorny black bush of a beard. It was a polite offer that was made out of genuine concern though he seemed all too aware what the answer would be. When she finally paid him attention, it was given with an expectant sigh.
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