He grimaced at the mangy horse that had been his ride, watching it scavenge for scraps of dry grass. A bottle of single-malt whisky, quite cheap and questionable in content, was placed to his dry lips. A trickle spilt down thick bristles, patting between his feet. Where was this contact of his? A folded piece of paper at his hip gave the time and the place for their meeting. There was nothing out here. The individual was either late or he had walked right into a trap.
There was no end of enemies who would relish the thought of getting payback for his wrongdoings. The scalper who he stole from. The loan shark who he had escaped. The dealer he hoodwinked. The loser in one of his countless bar fights. Either one could have arranged the surprise of a bullet from a rifle to break this monotony.
His neck craned upwards, patiently waiting for the crack of a gun. Seconds slipped by. The sun beat down. There was nothing but the calling of passing crows.
Let it be a bullet, he wished.
Jacques was left wanting.
Then something unexpected caught his eye.
A plume of smoke had begun to rise up out of the gorge to the north. He hadn’t noticed it before as the canyon walls were too sharp and high and it had dissipated before reaching the top, but not now. Between the crease, the smoke’s origin escaped the landscape’s confines and straddled the line upon which he stood aside. Already tremors were beginning to rattle the coins collected in his pockets. The train advanced, along the line which Jacques stood beside in his stupor.
The man spluttered out a cough, following it with a thick spit to the ground. A scratched gold pocket watch was removed and its lid snapped open.
Ten-fourteen. Right on time. Well, I’ll be damned.
This wasn’t quite what he expected. The black carriages with gold accents glittered marvellously on their approach, the protruding gold star on the face of the boiler ebbing ever closer. He strolled out onto the tracks and stood, welcoming the train’s thundering approach in the blinding sun. The black plumes of steam grew thicker and thicker, its sequential puffs arcing into the blue, growing larger and larger. Part of him wanted the engine to run him down. For what he had been through recently, it would be a mercy.
The train hissed and wheezed, gradually reducing its speed before him.
He took a last swill of bad courage, drew the back of his hand across his lips, and tossed the bottle in the air behind him.
As the train came to a halt before him, an enormous burst of steam erupted out from underneath in a long, drawn-out hiss. Jacques stared at the nose of the train and narrowed his eyes in disgust. He read its number and recognized its colours on approach. There was nothing else quite like the Morning Star and he knew this far too well.
At least there wasn’t any more.
A woman walked through the steam, relaxed in her saunter. Her approach was patient and her head bowed, with blonde hair tied back. Behind, the bear of a man that was Ferry stood with his blunderbuss over his shoulder. Old colleague or not, he insisted on being present and the firearm was a reminder that someone else had taken the role of bodyguard, official or not.
Sizeable, Jacques concluded, but all men bleed the same no matter the height. Jacques flinched as the woman raised her eyes, a brilliant pair of azure pupils staring right through him. His shock subsided, eroded by something else, something raw and foul.
Misu waved the steam away, presenting herself to him. There was no need for introductions.
‘It’s been too long,’ Misu called over the train’s din. ‘And it’s good to see you again. I see you got my message.’
Jacques approached. He assessed the vehicle before him. It wasn’t the Gambler’s Den. Of course it wasn’t, how could it be? That now only existed in damned memories. Yet it was only right to check. This was either a trick or the crudest of dreams. If the Holy Sorceress was a just deity, She would wake him any moment now.
The crows laughed as they passed overhead. Mocking bastards.
‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been on the tracks. I’ve not seen a sight like this for as long as I can remember,’ Jacques said roughly. This was all too real. Still no relief came.
‘I hope it’s a pleasant one.’
Jacques’s only response was a sharp right hand across the woman’s face.
* * *
The surprise delivery caught Misu off guard, she fell to a knee, though braced herself so she did not fully fall. Ferry stepped forward but was held back with an outstretched hand.
‘It’s okay,’ Misu wheezed, pulling her jaw back into place. ‘That was called for. We’re square.’
The sting ratted around her skull, a blaring trombone that gradually dissipated. Jacques shook the sting from his knuckles. ‘Two years and nothing,’ he grunted in disgust. ‘You could have done something. You could have let me know. A letter, a sign for Goddess’s sake! Two damned years!’
‘It was too dangerous for everyone involved. If they found out we were alive …’
Jacques’s eyes went fierce and emotional.
* * *
There was more anger to let out but Jacques withheld it for reasons unclear to himself.
‘I mourned you,’ he said, trying not to stick on each syllable before the rage rose once more. ‘Both of you. I did so plenty. I put my life on the line to keep the girls safe, to keep my promise to the man! And then I hear that someone was doing our old gig. The Morning Star! Making such a name for itself, but to me it was nothing more than a shadow filling the gap we left with no shame. A shadow! A copycat! And all the while it was you behind it? I was ready to jack this train and ride it, ride it into a gorge! That on account of your memories! You’re lucky I didn’t do something stupid.’
‘I’m hoping you may change your mind on that.’
‘What do you mean, and where is that lying son of a bitch who pays your wages? Where is he, huh?’
Jacques paced past, looking to the train cabin and calling for her cohort. Ferry was ready to do the needful, though – intelligently – waited for the command to do so. Jacques attempted to brush him aside with a shoulder as he passed, but Ferry was steadfast, weathering the impact.
‘Where are you, you bastard? Get out here!’ Jacques called, spying the showgirls behind shifting curtains. ‘Franco! Do you hear me?! Stop hiding behind a woman’s skirt for once and look me in the eye! You owe me that much!’
There was no answer. The desert was quiet apart from his accusations that did nothing but turn the heads of some scavengers. Misu followed his enraged footsteps and enlightened him on events, calmly.
‘You misunderstand. I am the owner of this here enterprise that you stand before. I hold the papers. I have the keys. But it is Franco who I need to speak to you about. He’s in trouble, Jacques. Way more than he can bargain his way out of and I need someone, someone who knows us, someone trustworthy who couldn’t be on a payroll to get him back.’
‘Whose payroll?’ Jacques asked, regaining some composure.
‘Wilheim Fort’s.’
‘That bastard?’
‘Unfortunately so. They took him. I’m taking him back.’
‘What are you waiting for then? Let’s get going.’ He strode on past.
‘You don’t need to hear more?’
Jacques waved the question away. ‘Not at all. That’s all I needed to know. But in Her name if you lie to me once more, so help me, I will strike you again.’
Chapter 23
Back to what you know
In the past Windberg had a considerable problem with the criminal element. But no longer.
Once a bastion of illicit behaviours, the aggressive pursuit of justice carried out by Sheriff Juniper crushed all sense of criminality, an action climaxed with the incarceration of Wilheim Fort. Despite his shocking escape, the city thrived with this newfound peace. Its people slowly pursued the ambition to better themselves. In Misu’s two-year absence, things had changed on a grand scale. Most noticeably, Juniper’s promotion to Regional Marshal spelt trouble.
Now, there was no border he could cross in the Sand Sea that didn’t fall under his authority. Giving the likes of him an almost limitless jurisdiction was a nightmare scenario for the Morning Star. His reputation for dealing with culprits harshly may win favour with the locals, but it all came at a price. Some considered him to be no better than the hooligans he subdued; the only difference was the façade of a badge.
The Morning Star chugged through steep cliffs before falling into a narrow, winding valley. It was here where Misu had passed the splintered, distressed wreckage of the former train many a time. After it had skipped the tracks, the Gambler’s Den boiler had exploded, causing the assumption that Misu and Franco had perished. The reality was that she had scrambled to safety, with his help no less, and they were sheltered enough from the explosion.
The Gambler’s Den had been moved and left to rot trackside, soon covered with affectionate letters from well-wishers who made the pilgrimage this far to pay their respects. Word had reached her that a year ago there was quite a substantial gathering on the anniversary, a few thousand apparently though there was no way of validating that number. Misu hung herself out of a carriage window with the others, all gazing along the tracks for the sight of the wreckage in dutiful solidarity. Nothing was spoken. Even the wind seemed to hold its perpetual motion for a spell in respect.
The Morning Star approached and indeed passed the site of where the Gambler’s Den was left but today, this time, there were no mournful glances. In fact, there was nothing at all.
Because the derelict train was missing from its usual place.
Instead was just the interrupted ground where it had been resting, stained with the blackness of fire and the occasional chunk of protruding metal. The absence was heart-wrenching. Misu had prepared herself for its sight and everything that came with it, but not this. Never this. Had it been cut up for scrap? Had it been removed by souvenir hunters? Did the city simply consider it too much of an eyesore and have it destroyed? Nobody knew.
Voices whispered behind Misu. Phantom smells that were replicated on the Morning Star though noticeably different filled her nostrils and for a moment she believed she felt the breath of Franco upon her neck. Tears began to well so she slid back inside, having endured the ghosts of the past for as long as she could tolerate. She heaved the window to the outside and the past firmly shut. This wasn’t the time to break, she reminded herself. She had a job to do.
* * *
Windberg basked in the midday sun. Crooked angled rooftops punctuated with smoking chimneys, fed brickwork down into the tight, snaking streets. The normal bustle of people ebbed and flowed with the daily routine. High Market, the common name of the gold quarter, was routinely busy, where rows of cramped jewellery shops competed against one other with wares cluttered in windows. It was this routine that was alarmingly broken with a pair of gunshots.
Like a stone dropped into a lake, a flood of people rippled outward in alarm. The cause, an individual in a thick cream duster jacket, long-lipped hat and with scarf covering the lower part of their face, began kicking shards of glass from the window they had just shattered. Instantly they began to scoop whatever they could into a cloth sack, the revolver still tightly gripped. Trinkets scattered onto the concrete underfoot. Witnesses cried out in shock.
‘Hold it!’ a lone Bluecoat called, brandishing his weapon with all the courage he could muster. In a second, this could all go south and he was prepared, at least in mind. The rattling revolver told otherwise.
‘Now put all that on the floor!’ he demanded, correcting himself when the movements were too fast for his liking. ‘Slowly now! Otherwise I’ll be putting a hole through that thieving person of yours without fuss or care!’
The figure adjusted themselves, relinquishing their half bag of loot slowly and the weapon in the opposite hand. Both landed with a clatter.
‘Step back. Hands up, all the way!’ the officer demanded.
The robber complied, just as slowly, raising their arms as desired. The scarf slid down their face revealing her apple red lips.
‘Now, now, lawman, there’s no need to be all frisky,’ she said in soft reassurance. ‘I ain’t going anywhere.’
Misu locked her fingers together and held her hands around her head, paying her captive a long, slow smile.
‘You’ve got me dead to rights.’
* * *
Criminals were treated with disdain out here. Marshal Juniper ensured their swift detention and sentencing. As a result, holding cells rarely remained populated, though the newly built prison on the outskirts was quite the opposite. The cells themselves were spare, with very few amenities in the way of sitting. Instead, Misu slumped herself against the outer wall, quite enjoying the cool of the shade. She rubbed her wrists, bound with thick iron cuffs that weighed a considerable amount, checking to make sure their rubbing had not broken the skin.
A single mouse took it upon itself to slip through the large pitted bars that ran from floor to ceiling, scampering with utmost caution. It burst into a sprint, detecting a crust of bread that had been carelessly dropped and set upon it as if it would be its last meal. Misu only removed her eyes from her new companion when the surly guard with a truncheon struck the bars. He only spoke two words, words that forced Misu’s compliance, as he unlocked the cell.
‘You!’ he barked. ‘Up.’
A grandfather clock ticked over with each second. The spring inside wound to a coil and when released, announced the time. When it finally settled, Misu slouched back down in a chair. The ticking continued once more as she took stock of the room: a well-decorated office that she guessed few were invited into. The walls were lined with crude photographs, newspaper clippings of arrests, shelves adorned with a combination of awards, some garishly ornate, others small and easily overlooked.
Between them various collections of taxidermy protruded, visages of animals in violent poses and mounted. A long-eared owl perched on varnished wood. A desert elk stared vacantly out from its home on a wall. Misu stared at the false eyes set inside a mountain lion, its maw set to a permanent, vicious growl. To Misu it didn’t look scary. It just looked dead; though she found her attention drifting to it when turning away, causing a degree of discomfort. Her duster jacket and brimmed hat had been added to a clothes stand by the windows that overlooked the city high street.
A patting of feet grew louder, stopping just outside before their owner pushed the door open, forcing Misu to jolt and sit straight.
Alex Juniper closed the door behind him, hesitated for a moment, and then flicked the latch to lock it. For a moment he struggled with what he was to say or do in this situation. Part of him wanted to drag Misu through the streets by her wrists. How dare she show her face here, so brazenly, with such disrespect for the law, his law?
He paced around his desk, looking down on the woman who sat, quite contentedly, with leg crossed over thigh and hands resting atop, clad in handcuffs. When he finally made eye contact, she smiled with a delightfully fake smile that did nothing but irritate the marshal. He snorted, poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter, and landed himself in his large, bulbous chair that creaked under the impact.
He had brought in a charge sheet and a couple of typed-up witness statements, flicking through them slowly in turn. Every time he glanced over the top of the paper, Misu’s beaming face shone in reply, as if she was preparing for a photograph to be taken, hands folded daintily in her lap.
Alex Juniper narrowed his eyes. Dragging her through the streets was sounding more and more of an attractive prospect. Finally, he put the papers down, crossed his arms, and spoke.
‘I never thought you would be stupid enough to come back to my city, Misu, or whatever you call yourself these days.’
‘It’s still Misu.’
Juniper scoffed.
‘Those deemed to be dead usually go by something different. It could be anything you want, but you’re still the same runaway, just with different hair and h
iding behind a mask. Not completely the same mind you, as you seem to have had a sizeable promotion.’ Juniper tapped his fingers on his desk, muffled by the papers that contained a second report of noticeable interest. ‘The Morning Star. What a grand old title. My, Franco must have hidden his money well. I had to check myself to see if the wreckage of the Gambler’s Den was still on the outskirts when I heard you were operating.’
‘I’m sure you put paid to that blemish on your oh-so perfect city.’ Misu narrowed her eyes, the smile subsiding. ‘And we are very much in business thank you, despite the change in name.’
‘Indeed. The last time I passed that old shell it was almost completely buried.’ Juniper slapped the papers between them. ‘Almost, but not all of it. No surprise to you as you were the one who dug its grave, if what I heard was correct.’
Misu swallowed her response. It was a baited statement and she refused to stoop to such unpleasantness. Juniper continued.
‘You should have known that someone would have noticed the similarities between yourself and the Gambler’s Den. I did the math, the profoundly simple math, as it were. Almost insultingly so. I’ve had men watching since you pulled in, though I’m surprised you slipped past them to get this far. Some said I should go out there and drag you back by your hair when I found out. I had to remind them that since Wilheim’s conviction, there’s nothing on you. You were, technically, a free woman.’
‘So what do you call these then?’
The thick handcuffs rattled with a shake of her wrists.
‘Insurance. What was with the stunt you pulled in High Market this morning? I suspected you would have avoided such attention. Business not so good these days? Painfully brazen wasn’t it?’
‘Wrong on both accounts, sir. It was an assurance to see you in person.’
‘I should be thankful you’re so accommodating. With this stunt, I get to throw your dirty associates behind bars. I’ll have the lot of them turning up in the next few minutes I’ll wager. Additions to the chain gang should I have my way – and I usually do.’
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