‘I’m not sure,’ Misu answered, pondering in the moment. It was her turn to repeat herself, much louder this time. ‘I’m not too sure. Is there one?’ she asked, challenging the brave to step forward. There was, understandably, a lack of takers in this action.
Weaver laughed, conveying what an absurd situation he thought this was, all over a harmless little comment. He tipped his hat and signalled his men to vanish into the alleyway. Checking his jacket toggles were fastened and shirt cuffs neatly straight, he made his own excuses to leave. Their transaction was done and now the situation had changed. There was no reason to linger further.
‘Perish such a notion. I think we’re done indeed. Time is pressing on. A pleasure to meet you, miss, and a shame we can’t continue doing business.’ While his words spoke of defeat, it was impossible for someone of his nature not to have the final say. The alleyway became empty apart from Misu and Ferry and what passed for an offer between them with Weaver’s last words: ‘But if you change your mind the proposal stands.’
* * *
Ferry escorted Misu back. She seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet on the whole affair. This wasn’t the first time that his manager had gone missing and his curiosity found her in an unfavourable situation. It was an action that Misu had warned him against, and indeed reprimanded him for, despite being acting security for their little entourage.
Anyone else would be thankful that his intervention prevented escalation. Not Misu. She insisted that he remained on the Morning Star at all times. She preached that if security was needed anywhere, it was at the show. Shadows receded to gaslight as they came out onto the tracks, walking closer to the increasing roar of celebration. Music played through the air, mingled with cheers of success, wails of defeat, and everything in between.
‘What was all that about?’ Ferry asked with the weight of his weapon still resting over a muscled shoulder.
‘Nothing in particular. Our friend there was under the impression that we were interested in buying some knocked-off ammunition. Naturally I declined, told them to move on by, but they attempted to convince me. Like I said: nothing.’
Ferry cocked a brow. ‘It didn’t look like nothing. You should remain where I can keep track of you all. I’m no use stretched so thin. That is why you need to have security, so you don’t have to endure that. I can drive the train, but I can only do so much to protect its occupants.’
‘That’s not your job.’
‘I don’t see a vacancy for the position so in the meantime I’m going to have to do.’
Nothing. Misu remained flat-faced, wearing the same thoughtful scowl she had embraced since his entrance.
‘Shall I go back? Convince them to behave themselves?’
He didn’t even receive a smile.
‘That’s unnecessary. Things are fine.’
‘Fine or not, the set is ending soon, so you’re going to be needed.’
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t need the reminder, knowing this full well.
‘How about I tell the law that these animals are sniffing around instead? A night in the cells would teach them some manners I’m guessing.’
Immediately Misu dismissed the idea, perhaps deciding on a much more suitable punishment for Weaver and his brigade.
‘No, leave them be. Let them wallow in the gutter where they belong.’
* * *
The end door to carriage three was opened swiftly, causing Corinne to leap in surprise. Music that crackled through conical speakers engulfed her yelping but she almost crashed onto the floor in a half-dressed state. She was one of the last to change her attire. With Misu missing, yet again, somebody needed to direct the other showgirls to their positions.
Bodies had trickled onto the platform, mingling with the patrons with warmth. Their expressions were tender and kind, though this was something far from Corinne’s mind when their manager crashed into the carriage. Corinne was already half inside a frilled gold and red satin dress that barely clung to her shoulders, though this was secondary to her outburst.
‘Where have you been? We’re due to close in the next fifteen minutes and nobody could find you!’
Ferry lingered momentarily for the response until he returned to his duties on the platform for crowd control. The door clattered once more, leaving just the pair of them, allowing Misu to talk freely.
‘It was nothing. I went to check on the carriages for peace of mind.’
‘During a show?’ Corinne bunched her hair up and slipped in pin after pin after pin to retain its shape. The face in the mirror before her was flushed, though beyond that was striking perfection. ‘Zip!’ she requested.
Misu had already stripped herself to the waist and began to button up her more formal tunic, almost military in appearance, tight across the bust with gold tassels on the shoulders. With a single sharp inhalation and jerk from Misu, Corinne relaxed herself into the dress, adjusting her bosom firmly.
‘During a show,’ Misu affirmed. ‘I just figured someone may have used the noise we make to break in. It’s always worth being attentive to these things. That way one is never caught out.’
Corinne scooped up Misu’s top hat with floral flair and placed it over its owner with a pat.
‘Never happened before.’
‘Don’t want it to happen ever but I am a cautious sort.’
‘Ain’t you just.’
‘It’s to my credit. Keeps us all alive, dear.’
‘I’ll leave the scolding to Franco. He’s the one who wanted everything to be regimented. What would he say about such things?’ Corinne paused whilst changing her earrings to tap the pinned piece of paper on the wall. It was another telegram, sent a few weeks back. Its edges were rough and worn but the message was still encouraging. Corinne insisted it be placed there for all to see. To inspire the others, was her excuse. It became a lucky charm of sorts, birthing a superstition that if the showgirls touched it before their performances things would go faultlessly.
She smiled with enthusiasm, reciting the typed sentiment like she had done many times before. It was bright and encouraging, kind words to the showgirls that lit the fire in their bellies to excel. It had become a mantra to most beneath the roof. Corinne finished enthusiastically narrating Franco’s correspondence.
‘He would be less tolerant than I,’ Misu conceded. ‘Consider my wrist slapped.’
Corinne and Misu both assessed one another, ensuring no collar was crooked and no hair was out of place. When each was satisfied with the other’s appearance, and nodded to one another in approval, they took to the door to greet the waiting audience.
‘Let’s put this one to bed, shall we?’ Misu asked.
‘Let’s.’
Chapter 6
The unchecked hand
It wasn’t Misu’s bed. It had never been hers, not since the day it was built and not even now as she spread herself across the satin and sank into its folds. She reminded herself that she was only leasing it for a time until its owner returned.
Misu rolled on her side, quite unable to sleep. Instead her head buzzed with Franco’s scent, still painted on the linen and prone to making her heady. The walnut-clad bedroom was filled with his collection, trinkets and souvenirs from places visited in the far west, exotic things that could have been put behind glass and spectators charged for viewing.
Misu flicked her eyes between them, spying each in turn. Necklaces constructed from various metals and wood hung from a bust of an individual she didn’t recognize. Lacquered bowls with exotic motifs, depicting beasts and humans together. A collection of fine bottles of alcohol, one a pale yellow complete with a curled-up animal within, a snake of sorts from what she could identify. Wooden masks of various effigies, painted with vibrant colour, were hung in a row, the last recognized of a deity worshipped in the grasslands of the north, with flashes of yellow and red struck against the cheeks of the likeness.
As much as this clutter was comforting, there were also things missing. The perfo
rmance suit he wore was absent from the hanger beside the wardrobe. The silver rings he routinely put by his bedside after each show were gone. The pocket watch inherited from his father, a sore point of conversation and unlikely lucky charm, was absent from its usual place beside a framed photograph of himself and his grandfather.
These little details were telling, painful to dwell on. It did no good thinking of them for all it did was drive pangs of guilt deeper into an already struggling soul wrestling with a multitude of what-ifs. If only she hadn’t ventured out with the showgirls that night with the attitude to prove him wrong. If only she had listened to her gut and retreated from conversations that dragged on, were forced almost, to take their time while the deed was done. Maybes and possibilities gnawed away, forcing her to scrunch her eyes up and tell herself once again that it wasn’t her fault.
It was a good lie.
A phantom of Franco eased itself behind her, constructed from – among other things – Misu’s considerable guilt. His hand drifted over her waist. His hot breath at the back of her neck sent firecrackers over her skin and a deep sigh of her own. Shockwave whispers clenched her thighs together before a tear fell. This wasn’t him – she knew that. It wasn’t even a memory. They had never done this, never got close enough, interrupted by a million excuses and a million causes from others. No, they had never done this. It was just the cocktail of his smell, unsatisfied fantasies, and nagging responsibility. It wasn’t real, she repeated to herself. It wasn’t real.
Bravado had no place here. There were no masks that needed wearing between these sheets. The show was outside of those carriage doors.
Trembling lips finally broke into sobs as Misu pulled the sheets around her into a cocoon and cried herself to sleep. She hoped that here, among her dreams, she would find respite. Instead she was only plagued with memories.
* * *
‘You told me you couldn’t play,’ Franco contested. He looked once more to his hand of cards, mentally calculating his chances of this one being yet another loss. A loss he could deal with, losses were commonplace with the amount he played, but liars irked him. This one in particular was troubling.
Since making it this far out into the Sand Sea he had played cards at more joints than he could count. This place fell into the more respectable sort at least; the bouncers wore holstered iron and looked clean enough to have not been scarred much from the job. Inside the tables were tidy, the bar was adequate, and the other waitresses busied themselves with professional decorum. This was all a huge difference to the usual dives his role took him to. While it looked like he was simply indulging in a few hands of poker to pass the time, Franco was, in fact, watching all.
The sights and the smells of the finest game house in Nostromi, allegedly, had impressed him. For the other patrons chancing their weekly wage on a roll of dice, Nostromi seemed to be a swift-handed whore, robbing them of good fortune.
Not for Franco though.
Franco witnessed the organization of those employed: mostly women though the men seemed to manage the bar and the muscle here. For the most part they buzzed between the tables, providing drinks with faultless smiles. It was a talent that was hard to come by these days. Most in this line of work only smiled when offering a whispered extra outside for a larger tip. Here, though, the atmosphere seemed more relaxed and so the punters gave coin more willingly.
Franco was, in a word, impressed.
So impressed in fact, he had decided to speak to the woman who was front of house. A slender, raven-haired thing with eyes to drown in and an authority that could not be faked nor bought. Not that this made her any less of a liar.
No, the actual act was that whilst entertaining the scores of people who passed on through these doors, the faux virtue she assumed was worn like a mask. This was a woman who was in the very business of lying, of seducing the hands and the eyes of the weak-willed, who raised their stakes to impress and walked away empty in pocket, only to feel the urge to return. Franco had conversed with many undesirables and all had the decency to do their trades out of sight. Yet here she was, plain as the sun in the sky, radiant to those under her spell and just as unforgiving the longer one was exposed.
This was his good fortune. This game house wasn’t worthy of one such as her. Why she had decided to settle where the term ‘grotty’ would have been a generous description was beyond his reasoning. It was simply not befitting of her talents. There were plenty of places down south that would have relished her skills. Fortunately for him she had yet to be wooed by them by the looks of things.
The entertainment that he was constructing, travelling entertainment at that, would be an incredible affair but Franco couldn’t maintain it all by himself. She was exactly what he required, a manager of sorts to control the day-to-day running of the women who would perform beneath her. Her acceptance to join him, and his accomplice, at their table was a perfect opportunity to confirm his preconceptions.
He had invited her to his table, ensnaring her interest by the amount of money he displayed. It was a cheap tactic certainly, but Franco had been around enough to know when he was marked by someone as easy fare. The real fun was turning the tables, playing the player and bettering them at their own game. That’s what his grandfather taught him, at least. She was good, Franco believed, perfect in fact, for the role at least. Brilliant at cards too – that much was obvious from how much had been taken from him already. Could she outsmart him though? That was the burning question.
The woman watched for his reaction as she politely and patiently waited for him to decide on his next move, all whilst coated in paper innocence, which Franco had witnessed since walking through the door.
* * *
‘Apologies, sir,’ Misu corrected in fabricated innocence. ‘You must have misheard me. I said I didn’t know how to play well.’
‘Then it looks to me that you lied on both accounts. I fold.’
His hand of cards was released to the table as if he were disgusted at their sight.
Misu collected her winnings from her seat with a gentle smile. It was a smile that withheld ambition and keenness, and the more they played the more Franco came to understand her. It had been half an hour now. Both time and money had run short and this game was at an end – on all accounts.
Misu flicked through her prize with suppressed pleasure, instead opting to address Franco, and the man who had accompanied him and silently watched this all play out, with pity.
‘You see, now I’m feeling the tinge of guilt. Can I buy you handsome gentlemen a drink? It would be a shame to see you leave so soon. The afternoon is long and needs to be accommodated somehow.’
Franco’s entourage had remained unusually quiet through this whole affair. Even when addressed in passing comments, he did nothing but grunt in affirmation. Unlike Franco who was well dressed in his finery, like a peacock attempting to court a mate, Jacques was quite the opposite. His attire was rough and dusty, like an animal trapper from the south would wear. His leather duster was covered with patches and stains, matching everything else like he had spent the last few hours wrestling a pig in the sands.
Every so often he had leant over to Franco and whispered from his unshaved maw into his boss’s ear, words that Misu could guess at though lacked affirmation. All the while Jacques played with a toothpick, digging at whatever he could find. At Misu’s suggestion he stopped doing so and narrowed his eyes in response.
‘With our money?’
‘Technically it’s my money now, or the money of the house I should say,’ Misu said. ‘I’m gracious enough to put it to good use.’
Jacques leant back in his chair to an almost slouch. He raised his eyes to Franco.
‘How very generous.’
With a snap of her fingers, one of Misu’s serving girls glided alongside them, a silver tray tucked into her armpit. Her brilliant green eyes complemented the shock of dark hair from her crown. She was tall and authoritative. She said not a thing, instead waiting for Mis
u’s order.
‘Corinne, be a dear and fetch us some drinks will you? Whisky and water for me.’
She nodded in return. ‘Of course, ma’am. And you, gentlemen?’
‘Whatever ale you deem best. Your choice.’ Franco offered a wink, graciously accepted by the server.
‘Very good. And yourself?’
‘What’s the water-down?’ Jacques asked, much to Misu’s chagrin. Why he wanted to swallow some of that stuff when he could have literally anything in stock was beyond her.
‘Coffin Varnish, sir, but we have much more quality choices of –’
Jacques interrupted. ‘That’ll do.’
‘Of course.’ Corinne sauntered back to the bar.
‘Your friend likes to live dangerously.’ Misu collected the cards back to the deck.
‘My friend can be foolish at times.’ Franco gave a much rawer opinion with his words.
Jacques chuckled, finally putting his toothpick away, smacking his lips together. ‘I have a taste for the nastier stuff. Comes with living on the rails I suppose, hopping from these dirty joints gives you a craving for the rougher things from time to time. It does nobody good to spend so much time around so much finery.’
‘Quite.’
‘You’ve convinced me. One last game it is, then,’ Franco agreed, keenly leaning forward. ‘Your company has been so entertaining. I’m eager to keep it going, though my colleague here is getting anxious and we must prepare to take our leave.’
‘Very well, I will have to be content with just the one.’ The cards were skimmed over the table’s surface as requested. ‘But satisfy me. I already have your money. What more could you lose?’
Corinne made her way over and placed each drink on the table in turn. For Jacques she amusingly wished him luck. He toasted her and sank the vile liquid in one dry swallow.
‘You assume to have it all.’ Franco grinned.
‘Do I not? Your jacket hangs light, so unless you have another pouch stashed down your trousers I would conclude as much.’
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