‘I beg to differ.’
Franco coughed something suspiciously solid into his lap, mustering few words. ‘Damn you for this, Fort.’
‘Not for you, Franco. Not for anyone.’
‘There’s no way in hell you’re going to let me go, is there?’ he groaned.
‘That would ruin the surprise now wouldn’t it?’
Concern followed. ‘And Misu?’
Wilheim pondered this for a moment before replying with a left hook. ‘Nobody gets away from me. Not ever.’
Reality left Franco in the violent manner he had become accustomed to.
Chapter 26
Necessity in all its forms
Stepping down from the train, Jacques sauntered down the drift of loose sand, his footing becoming unsteady on more than one occasion, sending flows of yellow downward. A thick brown bottle was held by the neck, a quarter empty already. His swigs were sloppy but treasured. It had been far too long since he had enjoyed a drink of such quality.
Before him a line of showgirls pointed their revolvers at makeshift targets constructed of whatever could be found in the stock cars that wouldn’t be missed. Each revolver popped with gentle puffs of smoke escaping from the barrels, which were carried away by the wind. Out here in the wasteland, the noise would go unnoticed, far enough from any settlement to prevent suspicion.
Wyld walked along the line, giving advice. She raised the arms of some and readjusted the grip for others, helping their aim become considerably more accurate. She taught them to reload at speed, over and over, with fingers exhibiting mastery over her own weapon’s cylinder. For those who doubted themselves Wyld explained that patience was all one needed to land an accurate shot. Haste was one’s enemy and this was spoken from experience. One had all the time in the world, demonstrating with a calm, relaxed pull of the trigger, sinking lead into a makeshift mannequin.
Jacques watched until he had his fill. He approached Wyld though almost tripped over a rock in the process.
‘That’s a sight and a half. Never thought I’ll see the day that these girls would be lined up for … well, what would you call it? A war?’
Revolvers cracked on the order of a hand wave, their din lost among the dunes. Wyld looked at the man, then the bottle, then back to the man once more.
‘May as well be. It’s as good a word as any.’
‘They’re not soldiers though,’ Jacques pointed out, taking a slobbery swig.
‘They don’t need to be. They’ve got what they need to see this through.’
‘Have they now?’ the man mocked, gesturing his drink to the woman among them with a flare of red curls upon her head. ‘I’ve seen Katerina shoot. I’d be more worried to be behind her than in front.’
Katerina lowered her firearm to object but before she could do so, Wyld placed a hand on her shoulder.
‘Hold!’ Wyld ordered. The women stopped firing immediately. When quiet, she addressed the woman beside her. She walked down the range and retrieved a perforated tin can, holding it up in display.
‘Katerina, if you would,’ she called aloud. The woman complied, checking her ammunition first, then holding the gun to eye level.
The can was tossed high up into the midday sky. Katerina kept the sight line straight, compensating for the bullet drop and the distance and pulled the trigger. The gun fired twice. The first shot knocked the can sideward in the air. The second launched it into a spin before landing with a thump into the sand.
Wyld retrieved the target, sauntering quite proudly, pressing it against Jacques’s chest as an I-told-you-so trophy.
‘You’ve been away too long.’ Wyld teased. ‘They’ll do just fine.’
‘And I suppose you’ve been here since the beginning, right? You were a stowaway, kid. I’m wondering why you would put yourself in harm’s way for anybody on board.’ Jacques grunted, his booze-drenched breath causing her to wrinkle her petite nose.
* * *
Misu came up from behind to review how the shooting practice was going. ‘She’s got her reasons,’ she stated, her hand slipping along Jacques’s waist and relieving him of the bottle that he had taken – without permission – from the bar. ‘And you have no reason to be doing that thank you very much.’
Jacques protested, loudly, but was quickly cut off as Misu gave him a look of thunder. On his next word she upturned the bottle and let the contents drain into the sand.
‘You don’t drink on my train. End of story. My train, my rules. From today you’re going sober. If you object to that then you can hop on off. I’m doing you a kindness.’
He limply pitched the pitted can aside to let it drop onto the ground once more, this time for good.
‘I remember a day it was your pretty behind that got tossed from a train. I also recall that it was you who I saved in a pinch or does that account for nothing?’
‘Yes it does, which is exactly why you’re going dry. You’re too good to live pickled. Look at the state of you.’
Jacques tugged on his jacket lapels and stuck out his chin. ‘I look respectable, like.’
Misu approached, annoyed at even entertaining the excuses that emanated from this disgrace. Of all the difficulties she juggled with, it was inconceivable that he would be the most difficult. Whatever happened to the proud sentry of the Gambler’s Den? He reeked of a pungent odour, like a warm dung pile left in a brewery. The clothes he was so proud of flaunting were filthy with numerous tears hand-stitched. The knees on his trousers were worn thin and his shoes were so cut up it was hard to identify their original colour. He was haggard, plagued with drink and who knows what else.
‘You look like you’ve been living in a barn, under the horses at that,’ Misu spat. ‘And you smell like it too. What’s actually wrong with you? You’re somehow happy to be dragging yourself around like a corpse, stinking up the place? Pissing people off with this … whatever this attitude is. That’s not the man I knew. It’s not who any of us knew.’
Jacques attempted to rise to this, though he stumbled over any word put forward. Misu cut him off with her hand.
‘Not another word – you can’t even talk straight. It’s embarrassing. If you’re quite done looking like death then I propose that you sort yourself out. Go and get yourself cleaned up. The washer is two cars from the front. I’ll get someone to bring you some new clothes.’
Defeated, Jacques lazily took in the line of women who watched. Their precious practice time had been interrupted and rather than offer an apology he simply kicked his feet through the sand as he made his way back to the train. Relieved, Misu could finally focus on the matter in hand.
‘How are they?’
Wyld rubbed her chin in thought. ‘Not completely terrible which is a bonus. I’m surprised how well some of them can shoot. You’ve got a couple of decent eyes in your midst. They’ll prove valuable. I would suggest putting them to the front for the first wave. I would say given the time constraints we have, they’re as good as we’re going to get.’
‘So we’re done?’ Misu asked, slanting her hips.
Wyld pulled off her cream leather gloves and tucked them into her belt. ‘For all intents and purposes I would say that, yeah, we’re ready to take on Wilheim.’
‘What about you? Are you ready for your task?’
‘Breaking in is what I do, darling,’ Wyld quipped, attempting to quash any rising nerves with humour. ‘You don’t got to worry none about that.’
Chapter 27
Riding dark
With the sun now set, the Morning Star traversed the Badlands, ebbing ever closer to Low Dashi and their quarry. The cloud cover of the night did plenty to blot out the moon, thus drenching the landscape in nothing but inky black. To prevent detection the locomotive ran dark, with not a single lamp or candle lit, with even the engine’s headlight disabled to prevent anything that could prematurely announce their arrival. They needn’t have to travel to Low Dashi itself, only to a tunnel through a mountainside, one that housed a curio
sity that would hopefully swing fortune in their favour.
As soon as the train vanished into the mountainside, it slowed to a crawl, with Jacques jumping out and running alongside it. He reached the track change lever and gave it an almighty heave before locking it back in place. The Morning Star trundled upon its new diversion, a disused line within the tunnel itself, which in turn opened up to a large space dotted with rusted mine carts.
The Morning Star lit up once again, radiantly bathing the rock surfaces with light, revealing three lines of cart tracks running horizontally into the mountain, barricaded with a partition of wooden slats. A handful on board disembarked, surveying the surroundings, a number of the Bluecoats were ordered to break down the barricade, which they did easily.
Marshal Juniper unfurled the first of a number of hefty rolls of paper, laying it across the yard floor, weighing it down with whatever debris was to hand. Wyld was dressed in a blackened outfit, her hooded poncho all matching the deepest black that they could muster with shoe polish and rubbing coal dust into the material. She stood beside Misu, observing the paths that twisted across the paper. Juniper began.
‘Low Dashi is an old mining town. A couple of decades ago people up and left when it dried up, leaving the surrounding settlement a ghost town. From what your informant revealed, Wilheim has set up shop here, which causes us considerable difficulty. These outposts dotted near the track route – signal boxes, watchtowers, farms, all of these are to be considered hostile. Wilheim will have men there watching out for anybody who intends to approach.
‘Make no mistake – if we go in early, we’ll be seen and Franco will no doubt be killed. Equally if you’re detected and the alarm is sounded, Franco dies. Try not to dispose of anybody unless you have to. If people are missed, suspicions will be raised. Again, Franco dies. Nobody wants that. There’s no reason for the mines to be occupied so you should have a straight path through and out. As for your exit you’ll have to make it out on your own accord. If the elevator fires up there’s no chance it won’t be noticed. That is, if it’s working at all.’
The marshal unfurled the next roll, keeping it in place with a number of rocks.
‘This is the mine that the town was built upon. This is where fortune is with us. It runs deep but this shaft right here –’ he pointed to the newly revealed entrance ‘– is an adit. It feeds the workers with oxygen. It leads to the vertical shaft that houses an elevator, slap bang in the middle of the town.’
Misu tapped the precisely drawn lines. ‘As soon as you emerge, it’s important that you get to cover and stay there. You’re there to observe and report back. No heroics, no matter how inviting it may become. Don’t do anything that could jeopardize the plan.’
‘This ain’t my first rodeo. I know full well what’s required,’ Wyld declared, checking her equipment for the umpteenth time. The knife was well fastened to her belt. She checked her revolver once more, spinning the cylinder with a number of rapid clicks.
‘You don’t need that,’ Misu flatly protested.
‘Better to have it and not need it and all that …’ she mumbled, clipping it to its holster as the next map was loudly placed down.
‘When in Low Dashi itself, there’s a number of key structures that could be Wilheim’s base of operation. The refinery here, the shipyard here … I’ll be honest, he could be anywhere, as could Franco. This is just speculation so you’ll be snooping about finding out whereabouts. Our success depends on this information, got it?’
‘Got it.’
‘Because without it, the plan is sunk. As are any chances of getting our man out alive.’
Wyld nodded. ‘Since when have I let anybody down?’
‘Don’t start now. I would be most displeased.’ Misu tried to remain stern. The odds were against them, something that made her considerably uneasy. The plan, she was told by some, was practically suicide, nothing but chance dressed up in the fanciness of hope. Misu disagreed but their concerns were beginning to be make her question her own decisions. Were they right? Was this all a foolish endeavour?
Misu patted Wyld on the shoulder, handing her a small oil lamp. It wasn’t much but it would provide some illumination on her journey.
‘You need to be out before dawn. You’ve got about six hours, give or take. Any more and you’re really risking it. It’s not like we’ve got the resources to rescue both of you from there.’
‘Not a problem.’ Wyld held the lantern steady as Misu lit it with a match, fiddling with the burner to adjust the luminescence. In turn the match was set upon a cigarette hanging from Misu’s lips before being shaken out.
Misu withdrew her smoke. ‘Good luck,’ she stated, easing it back.
‘Watch out for Knockers,’ the marshal suggested, half in jest though the moment he did, he turned red-faced. The old tale of creatures rapping on mine walls to coax cave-ins was a bedtime story, one miners told their children to make their jobs more exciting. Nobody took them seriously.
‘I am surprised. I never took you for the superstitious type, Marshal,’ Misu said. ‘They’re the product of bedtime stories designed to scare I wager, nothing more.’
‘Superstitious nothing. I figure it’s just good practice that your girl here is prepared for any eventuality, no matter how outrageous.’
‘Please, Marshal,’ Wyld stated confidently with a broad grin. ‘You don’t know me like her, but let me tell you something. Because of the things I’ve seen and done in this lifetime, anything scurrying around in the tunnels should be concerned of me.’
Wyld wasn’t one for a lingering goodbye. She took to the entrance of the mine at a jog and before long the glow of her light was swallowed by the darkness inside. As she did so, Juniper reflected on the dangers that lay before her, before all of them in fact.
‘Think she’ll pull it off?’ he asked, rolling up the maps one by one.
* * *
Misu sized him up for a moment, with a staggered inhalation. Wyld’s ability wasn’t in question and she had long proven herself to be an ally. The Bluecoats on the other hand were unpredictable. The passionate nature of all lawmen concerned her. Bullets could fly early. Hell, some could even have been bought outright without him knowing. It was difficult not to entertain these possibilities.
‘It’s not her I’m worried about, Marshal,’ Misu replied, strolling back to the train.
Chapter 28
Digging for clarity
The tunnels reached on like wizened fingers, probing deeper and deeper into the ground in the search for wealth. The dark never scared Wyld, not even when she was a waif of a girl. She had lived in the night, was raised in the shadows. As a teenager, she would venture into places like this for fun. Fear wasn’t down here. Danger was, most certainly, but not fear.
There was perfect quiet. Not the quiet one would be subjected to on the outside, where the animals called now and again and the wind interrupted possible tranquillity. Being under the ground subdued all noise except the ones Wyld made herself: her breathing and her heartbeat. The black tunnels absorbed what little light the lantern projected, broken only by supporting batons and beams, of wood in both good condition and rotting.
Parts of the tunnel became wet with the rock seeping moisture, causing puddles and the pungent stench of dank. The light shimmered on the walls. The first junction she reached from the portal was noted by a tin sign bolted to a wall. It warned in red and black stencilling as to the delicacy of the surroundings.
She waved the lamp down the junction, only to be greeted with an incline of rubble from a previous collapse. Thankfully the laid cart tracks prevented any possibility of getting lost. Pulley chains rattled gently as she nudged past. Her breath quickened. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears over and over. This was not a pleasant place to be.
How long had she walked? An hour? Two? Wyld couldn’t tell. There was no frame of reference down here. She had memorized the map, not that there was much to that, simply to keep moving forward. That she did, relent
lessly. Her feet began to ache some time ago. Her boots weren’t used to such awkward terrain but still she persevered. Still she walked, past abandoned machinery, squeezing around it.
Then, in the gloom, there was the dullest glow. Angles of metal were highlighted by the gentle lantern and as she approached, finally, the elevator shaft became visible.
As did the corpse by her feet.
Wyld gave a sudden yelp, quickly muffled by the blackened glove she placed over her own mouth. She had seen plenty of dead bodies before, admittedly much fresher than this but it was a surprise seeing that she was so alert for the slightest sign of trouble from the living. She skimmed the glow over the bones, still decorated with scraps of perforated clothing. They were curiously ill equipped for being down here, no light, no tools, no weapons, though a quick examination of the legs explained why. Both had been broken, the left in three places, which must have been agonizing for the individual.
Wyld’s attention then moved to the edge of the shaft, where the faint blow of air tumbled down from above her. She turned the knob on the lantern and flooded the area with light, recoiling at what she saw. It was too deep a shaft to see everything, the bottom especially of course, but Wyld could easily pick out the numerous bodies on the ledges below and opposite her. All contorted and twisted, all in various states of decay. The one beneath her was considerably more fresh, with its features clearly pronounced, picturesque one might say, though the upper part of the skull was missing.
Wyld looked up, making out the passing clouds in the sky outside, knowing full well what this wasn’t just a mine. This was a place to remove inconveniences, to silence those prone to talking and to make potential complications disappear. This is where people were sent to die.
She lowered the lamp’s light once more and examined her surroundings. Ledges of rock were accompanied by rickety wooden platforms, some haphazardly joining one another or in various states of disrepair. Whilst the cage elevator hung suspended above the drop, Wyld instead took to an emergency iron ladder bolted into the shaft’s exterior, leaving the lantern behind to anticipate her return. It was a hell of a climb for sure, but she forced herself on, remembering what she was doing this for with the grab of every rung.
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