Jacques bowed his head and hid a smile though it was picked up immediately. ‘We have plenty more,’ he stated.
‘Quite the boast. Tell me, is it hoarded in that train of yours, which you arrived in?’
‘Oh. Saw it did you?’ Now it was Franco’s turn to feign innocence.
‘The Gambler’s Den was it? Everybody saw that thing when it came in. It’s not a big town, sir, and the arrival of such a beauty gets tongues wagging. Quite the grand beast. Plenty to brag about I would say.’
‘I’m glad it impresses.’
‘Impresses for sure. But you’ve yet to tell me the stakes of this hand.’
‘Two hundred.’
Misu froze. Her soft eyes flickered for a moment before falling still once more. She stared, trying to deduce if this was a trap of sorts.
‘Two hundred?’ she repeated. ‘On a single hand? That’s …’
‘Ludicrous,’ Jacques agreed. ‘You can’t be drunk at this time of day. Stupid, most definitely, not drunk. Come now, let’s leave before you do anything more idiotic.’ Jacques kicked his chair back, though Franco refused to withdraw his offer.
‘I’m sorry, was it a little more than you were expecting?’
‘Considerably.’ Misu placed the cards back down with a scowl. Clearly this man wanted to flaunt his wealth and maybe it ensured the bedding of lesser-willed women, those whose scruples had left them in the east no doubt, but not here. Not under this roof. ‘And you well know that the house can ill afford that price. There is a limit, which your suggestion exceeds.’
‘I’m sure the house could make an exception due to your expertise. Would you like me to give you a minute to ask someone more senior? Does someone need to give permission? I thought you were, you know, in charge of this joint.’ Franco winked.
Misu frowned. She replied flatly, shuffling the deck with confidence. ‘Two hundred it is.’
Franco interrupted, ‘There’s more, hear me out. Two hundred for this hand. That is if I should lose.’
Misu’s brow fell lower.
‘But if I win, I don’t want money. I want you to work for me. On the Den.’
She paused before the cards continued. ‘Doing what exactly?’ she asked.
‘I’m setting up a venture. Think of it like this fine establishment here only entwined with the train. And cleaner. No offence.’
‘Plenty taken. Raise.’
Franco smiled in delight. He kept the cards quite flat on the rough table surface and beneath his palm and tossed another chip forward.
‘I raise. I can see your concerns but I promise you there will be nothing sordid. It’ll be strictly business. Travelling entertainment, venturing to where we see fit. Games and liquor. No secrets, honest work. Or as honest as it gets.’
‘And I would be …?’ Another chip clattered between them and still Franco refused to see what he had been dealt.
‘You would be … well, front of house I suppose. Same as here. I need a pretty face with a keen eye and a smart head to accompany it. That and anybody else you deem fit who may be of use to run the tables. You would be someone I could trust, to make sure those beneath you work smoothly and without hassle. My second, in a sense. I raise once more.’
‘You’ve only just met me. I could be a despicable person for all you know. Personally I think you take too many risks. It’s a bad trait in an employer. I call.’
Misu flicked her hand over with a snap of the wrist and showed the straight that fortune had given.
Franco kicked his chair back and adjusted his coat. He slid his cards forward, still face down. Jacques followed suit.
‘We all have our character flaws, miss. I embrace all aspects of my personality. It’s what makes me so damn irresistible. We’re at Platform Two and depart at seven-thirty sharp. We’ll see you then.’
Misu looked at her hand once more, before watching the pair take their leave, tipping the barman on the way out and casually strolling out to the street. She crossed her legs and grinned, finally exhaling a laugh of disbelief. How utterly brazen of him, she thought, taken aback by such an attitude. It was an attitude to get oneself killed, or at the least beaten by someone unsavoury. After all, she was the expert in such matters.
And yet still she smiled.
Misu took to her feet and made her way to the bar. The tips of her fingers skated over the table veneer before settling parallel to Franco’s five cards. Her fingers drifted to their edges and whilst she began to turn them over, she smiled to herself and, in a content moment, thought better of it.
The Gambler’s Den sat at Platform Two, proud and magnificent. Curiosity seekers loitered nearby, watching its owner converse with the local constabulary with Jacques in company. They asked questions. He gave aloof answers. Franco had just made the last of his small talk when his eye caught the approach of a pair of figures, carrying a suitcase each.
Misu paused momentarily and took stock of the vehicle before her. Its boiler was already burning, semi-regular blasts of ashen cloud launching from its chimney. She had to be mad, packing up like this, leaving everything behind. It wasn’t for the first time for sure, but she had dug herself into a nice little hole here, so why leave now?
Misu knew why. The constant looking over the shoulder, the suspicion of each and every unknown who conversed with her – it all collated to a horrid existence of anxiety. The danger never felt far from her person. At least this way she could attempt to outrun it.
* * *
The Gambler’s Den’s daunting line of gilded carriages seemed all the more imposing so close, quite brilliant and clearly expensive. Corinne shuddered from significant trepidation, mumbling plenty of reassurances, though the words reached other ears.
‘Worried are you?’ Misu asked, placing her luggage on the floor to relax its strain.
Corinne followed suit, adjusting her travelling gloves for a better grip. Unlike Misu, she wore more comfortable travelling attire: a loose blouse, corded trousers, and sensibly flat shoes. Her slick raven hair was plaited down between her shoulders. It was a stark contrast to Misu who had dressed with the impression that she was perpetually glamorous with little effort. Her dress was rich with creams and blacks, ankle-length, and cut across her collar with wooden buttons. Corinne had worked with her long enough to know when one was being put on show, despite suggestions to the contrary.
‘Not worried at all,’ Corinne objected. ‘But are you sure about this? I mean, really sure.’
‘It’s perfect.’ Misu blocked the sun from her eyes, taking in the sight of the locomotive resting against the platform. ‘We go where the train goes, place to place, all random-like. We don’t stay still for too long, ergo we don’t get caught. Like I said. Perfect.’
Corinne bit into her lip, not quite as sure about this plan as her cohort. Sure, it made sense in theory but it was an unpredictable solution.
‘Do you think Wilheim will manage to track us down on that thing? It’s not exactly inconspicuous, is it?’
‘If he’s looking for us still, to which I have no doubt, it won’t be long until he corners us where we are. You’re keen to avoid that as much as I. This right here, this is the best course of action. We’ll always be on the move, won’t we?’
Misu was right. Of course she was right. She had a tendency to be right whenever hard decisions needed to be made, which is how they had ended up on the run in the first place. It was her suggestion to escape the man’s thuggish grasp, with Corinne in tow, which caused an uproar. It was difficult, yes, but still the correct thing to do.
‘Don’t be so concerned. It’s just like staring down a well. You never know what is at the bottom until you send down a bucket.’
Franco approached with welcoming, outstretched arms.
‘And we both know what’s at the bottom of this one,’ she whispered quickly before painting her face with a sunbeam smile.
* * *
‘Ladies. It is an absolute pleasure to see you once again.’
&nbs
p; ‘The same, Mister Monaire.’
‘Franco, please.’
‘Franco it is,’ Misu corrected herself. ‘Though do forgive my candour. I am wondering how you are to be trusted. I mean this with the least amount of disrespect but you’re far too much a rogue for my liking. We are taking quite the chance here on your word and I have no idea how valuable it actually is.’
Franco tutted. ‘My dear, anyone who isn’t straight-laced is trying to sell you something. Out here in the Sand Sea, good people are few and far between. I promise you that whatever you think of me, a liar and a charlatan I am not. Of that, you have my word. I am honest and if you confuse that with one who sugar-coats their words then you shall be disappointed. I have no stomach for deception. Can I assume that your being here equates to you taking up my offer?’
Misu flicked her eyes to Corinne and back again. ‘You can.’
Franco clapped. ‘Splendid! Splendid indeed. Our venture is looking healthier by the day. Please, allow me.’ He relieved the women of their luggage and handed the bags to Jacques who muttered something about being paid for menial work. He took a step into the first carriage, recently outfitted with new leather-clad seating and tables. Its opulence took Misu by surprise, expecting the interior to be skimped on, but she welcomed her expectations to be wrong. Franco led her past the seating to a bar with numerous racked bottles. He relieved a bottle of Thom Major Sparkling of its cork and filled a trio of glasses.
‘Ladies, a toast if you please.’ He took his own into hand and gestured to each of them in turn. ‘Allow me to welcome you to your new home: the Gambler’s Den. May we have every success together.’
The glasses struck one another in high tone.
Misu couldn’t help but smile as the glass was put to her lips, hidden somewhat by the alcohol.
Success, she thought. After my recent bad luck, wouldn’t that just be the prettiest damn thing to have?
Chapter 7
The Riverjack House
Two days after, the Morning Star arrived at the next stop of its journey – Ponderdan. Before breaking across the Sand Sea to the north, it was essential to make a stop and ensure sufficient provisions were acquired. Making such an exhausting trip unprepared would be certain suicide. Broken-down trains had been discovered, the occupants inside savaged by the local wildlife, or murdered by chancing bandits. They remained as stark reminders of the dangers that this nomadic life wrought.
Ponderdan itself was classed as a dustbowl by the locals, and rightly so. Sandstone houses squatted with flat rooftops, following streets that seemingly snaked out between clustered districts, segmented with tight alleyways. It was uninspiring as a place could get and its inhabitants knew that all too well, unless you were part of its higher society.
When the Morning Star pulled in to a station, a commotion usually followed. Whilst its shows were the talking points, there were other instances where the business gained local attention. For example, it was customary for the showgirls to leave as a singular group when errands were undertaken, even when shows were not performed.
These appearances meant more than just gaining the necessities – they were a form of advertising. Even when seemingly off duty, the allure and presence of those on the Morning Star was maintained by their appearance when venturing out. Maintain a prim and proper composure, watch the language, and present yourself accordingly. Those instructions were the written into the contract of employment. In truth, this never needed to be said.
The showgirls welcomed the attention that they caused by simply venturing out together through high streets and markets. People, usually besotted men, flocked around them as if they exerted a form of gravity, frequently offering presents to win favour. Of course, proposals were made, most decent, but some less so though these were always rejected. Fraternizing with locals in this fashion would court disaster.
At least that’s what Franco always preached.
Misu had taken a different approach. She had decided that organizing meetings with parties did much to increase their influence, especially if it was before a performance. Better favour resulted in better takings and, like Misu constantly reminded her staff, they were a business and the constant need to make profit was overwhelming.
That’s not to say the Morning Star wasn’t doing well financially – it was – but there was always further need to fill the coffers in case fortunes dwindled. That involved always keeping things fresh. If the Morning Star was to be a spectacle then it would have to be so in every facet. It had to be grander! It had to be almost magical!
These changes kept every show unique, personal to those who watched and thus drew in scores, which enforced its blazing reputation. The Gambler’s Den capitalized on being a curiosity that had now been elevated to legend, but the Morning Star was a dazzling extravaganza. Like a firework it would forever be climbing upward, illuminating all things with the most magnificent of spectacles.
But that all came with a cost.
It was why Ferry made it his business to attend tonight, just on the off chance that some folks found it impossible to keep their hands to themselves. It was rare that he ever got to dress himself up, normally finding his clothes saturated in oil and smoke from the engine cabin. Tonight, in a tweed waistcoat and a decent pair of shoes, he drew the playful compliments of the showgirls who insisted he had to join them more often. This came with the stipulation that next time he tidied up his thick black beard.
The showgirls wore formal attire, all frills and buttons, almost identical in dress with a few approved individualities. Somebody had to provide muscle when needed, seeing that Misu was curiously lax about enforcing security.
The Riverjack House was illuminated with strong gaslight and from the outset had a wonderfully welcoming disposition. Caramel streams of light emanated from its windows, setting the cobblestone street awash with pitted illumination. The timber-framed building bent wider through the street than anything else surrounding it, two-tiered with angular apexes straddling every second-floor window. Smoke puffed from its chimneys, the scent of roast pork and wood fire riding the wind.
Groups of evening revellers gawped at the splendour that passed. Some cheered loudly, others whispered their observations, afraid they should be heard despite being complimentary.
They were clad in their masks, the depictions of animals half covering each face with the exception of Ferry. Predictably, he had never needed one. Elizabeth’s suggestion that he wear Franco’s vacant showpiece was immediately shot down and considered in bad taste, not that she understood why. He was elsewhere, not dead.
Their attires of black and purple flowed with movement in the twilight. From coat-tail to dress train, their transit was so mesmerizing that some of the more inebriated revellers considered it almost supernatural.
Walking the streets in a procession, Misu lead the showgirls inside, taking stock of the interior. An invite had been received by letter early on in the evening, requesting Misu’s company with some of the better-suited gentry about town. She agreed and sent word back to expect them all, and expected they were. A large oak end table had been decorated with lace and vases of wild flowers at the far end, clearly reserved from the locals who had all begun to murmur at their appearance.
They were met quickly by a server, who trotted out from behind the bar with tray underarm. He bowed repeatedly and after a few stammered welcomes, encouraged the new arrivals to follow him. With Ferry trailing behind, the women took their seats.
Ferry strolled onward, accidentally knocking some patrons sitting nearby with his elbows. When he finally seated himself he ordered a beer, and a large one at that, to curb the unease of his own spectacle.
Before Misu had time to place her own order, she was immediately flanked by black-suited gentlemen who had hurried out from a side room, its opening wide and surrounded by ornate pillars. They offered, quite insistently, that she join them in the back room, where private conversation happened with more distinguished persons. When sure t
hat those in her company were comfortable, secured by a flick of Corinne’s wrist, she went to play nice with the rich folk.
The back room itself was comfortably opulent to Misu’s tastes. Large, high-backed chairs padded with good leather were positioned near large open fireplaces accented with marble. Decorative displays of paintings littered the walls, sandwiched between wall lights. Faces of important figures – lawmen – stared from the walls within gold-leaf frames.
She seated herself in a comfortable chair as the gentlemen slouched into theirs. They each began to puff in turn on pipes, filling the air with a pale, acrid haze. Misu took the offer for a drink, requesting a large brandy that was delivered in a bulbous glass. She sipped it, daintily, matching the eyes that swam in its surface upon tipping the glass and paused before giving approval.
It was difficult to not be swallowed by the surrounding affluence. The people in some places, especially the more remote locations they had pulled into, could live for a month on the cost of what these drank in one sitting. Fat men slumped over decadent décor, plump with prosperity. They only had to look outside at the street beggars who pulled at passing coat-tails for a momentary reprieve to rearrange their priorities. Not that something like this would ever happen of course, but this was the way the game was to be played. Image was everything.
And Misu was exceptionally good at it.
‘What a venture!’ one man barked. ‘I toast you, madam, for making a brave business in an unsteady region. It’s to be admired.’
A sherry glass was raised in her direction to which Misu motioned with hers in return. Heaving old men, intakes of breath thick and raspy, grunted in conversation. Those who spoke did so in turn, abiding by the invisible hierarchy that existed here.
‘I would suppose you have quite the life of adventure, young lady. I dare say if my wife ever found out she would rattle on about independence and some such.’
Misu relaxed a cigarette from her lips before tapping the ash into a tray that rested on the chair’s arm.
‘Is she a flower?’
Den of Stars Page 11