Den of Stars

by Christopher Byford

  At the top, Wyld surveyed for any signs of lookouts before heaving herself out of the pit and rolling onto her back, gasping for breath and with sweat running down her neck. A good rest would have to wait but those sweet moments of pause felt wonderful. Quickly, Wyld got to her feet with her mission in mind. Now came the tricky part.

  Low Dashi, a small mining town, was built upon a hill, with the mine itself constructed in its centre. The hillside accommodated a flow of buildings, and whilst the night covered most things, points of rooftops were visible in the dullness. Makeshift watchtowers protruded from the between nests of buildings, all manned, all scanning for signs of trouble. The rooftops themselves were devoid of movement from what she could tell, with lookouts mainly confined to patrolling the streets, or strategically situated to look over the desert.

  The night was cold. Much colder than it had any right to be. Instinctively Wyld scrambled up the closest structure, taking to its roof much like an owl would. She looked all around, soaking in every facet. Her mind was abuzz with details big and small. This was what she excelled at and the word at this angle made sense. The sentries seemed to take each step in slow motion and their much-touted alertness was to be commended. How many were there? Even in the gloom she picked out ten and there would be plenty more sleeping, so sixty would be a good estimate, give or take.

  That was a concern.

  A smattering of buildings were lit, but none so much as the factory looming over the entire town. It was a good seven floors high, maybe more. Built next to the headframe, its purpose was to refine the coal dug from the rock in whatever form that took. Like anything else, it was run down, though judging by the activity at the windows it seemed to be of considerable interest.

  Wyld prowled over the rooftops, fixing her attention on two of the guards taking a smoke break. They took random breaks, they broke from patrols, they were late when changing shifts. Most importantly though, they gossiped. They were a bunch of misfits. Dangerous misfits, but misfits to the core. Wilheim’s much-touted discipline was lacking outside. This would be easy.

  Wyld crept in close to the flat roof’s overhang with feather-light feet. Beneath her the two grunts shared banter, rifles slung over shoulder and clearly unfazed by the possibility of any potential attack.

  The more they spoke, the more candid they became. Crude remarks about the opposite sex were dotted with boisterous tales of their exploits before discussing work, though the term was loosely used. They spoke about their grievances, detailing their dislike for some of Wilheim’s more brutal loyalists, outlining their pleasure for murder. For instance, one spilt, the poor bastard tied up in the train shed beside the factory had been there for ages. Why not straight-up murder him and get it over with, they asked. At this point it was just sadistic.

  Bingo.

  Wyld scurried away, leaping over the small ramshackle rooftops, and made her way to her destination, having to jump down and climb across a bevy of stacked crates. The train yard roof was an angular steel affair with windows coated with so much sand that it was impossible to see inside, no matter how much of the coating was wiped away. There was, however, a section where the roof had collapsed inward, revealing the interior.

  She carefully distributed her weight on the steel beams and peered inside. The moon took this as its moment to penetrate the clouds and illuminate things. Wyld couldn’t make out much: boxes, walkways obstructing the view of some sort of machine. She didn’t need to see their prisoner clearly. She could hear him.

  Franco was isolated from the dotted cargo, bound to a chair. He managed to conjure an attempt of a response to someone who seemed to take joy inflicting pain upon his person. His cries of pain were unmistakable. The shot, decidedly simple.

  Wyld instinctively removed her revolver and took aim. No wind to compensate for. Downward angle. From this vantage point there would be minimal danger to the hostage. This was an easy kill, even without a rifle.

  The chatter of the pair nearby reminded her that this wasn’t what she was there to do. Observe and report back – that was the plan. No heroics. Wyld sheathed her gun. It was a damn shame she wasn’t off her leash. In ten minutes she could have him out of here.

  Instead, she made mental reminders of outlooks used by those who were visible from the rooftop. She climbed down and hugged the shadows until reaching the mine once more. There she slipped over the side, unheard, unseen, and began her descent to return to the others.

  * * *

  ‘She’s late.’ Colette hung from one of the carriage windows rocking a beer bottle in hand. Misu attempted not to pace back and forth outside, but nerves were getting the better of her. She had faith in the plan of course but that didn’t stop the cracks from appearing. The other girls watched, half on the outside, the others copying the Songbird. The Bluecoats congregated around their own carriage, keeping a significant distance. Juniper demanded this was done to prevent any distractions for both parties.

  ‘How can she be late? We don’t know how long it would take to get through the tunnels so we can’t even guess at something like that!’ Misu exclaimed, passing them once more so their heads moved in unison.

  ‘How long is it to daybreak?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Another two hours give or take.’

  ‘That’s late in my book. Considerably so.’

  Jacques jogged his leg up and down as he sat, feeling the uncomfortable craving for a drink. His nails dragged down his arms as she looked to the tunnel for the umpteenth time. No Wyld. No light. No nobody. Nothing.

  ‘Think she got caught? Those folks would do nasty things before killing someone outright,’ he put forward. It was a perfectly rational assumption of course but far from what Misu wanted to hear at that moment. She snapped her head to the side, glaring furiously.

  ‘Really? You honestly believe that’s the correct thing to come out with at this moment in time?’

  ‘I’m just saying, is all.’

  ‘Then stop saying.’

  ‘Yeah but … what if she has? It’s, y’know, a viable thought. I don’t know why you don’t want to entertain that. You gotta plan for if she doesn’t make it out …’

  ‘I swear I will hit you if you continue on with this,’ Corinne snarled, demanding an end to this foolishness.

  * * *

  Wyld staggered out of the darkness, struggling with every breath. She placed the rail lantern aside and sat herself, quite loudly, upon the concrete floor.

  ‘What are we talking about now? I heard shouting.’

  ‘Your death apparently.’

  ‘Oh.’ Wyld wheezed in air as deeply as her lungs could take, waving weakly to Jacques. ‘Sorry to disappoint you then.’

  Wyld fell backwards with a grunt and spread-eagled herself. Finally her legs could relax a moment. Her feet sent messages of pain, ones that she attempted to ignore as best as possible.

  Misu leant over her and smiled. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hey,’ came the exhausted reply. ‘Just so you know, I’m not inclined to do that again. That’s a hell of a trek.’

  ‘No arguments on that front. I’m going to ask you questions now.’

  ‘Can’t I at least have a drink first? I’ve earnt one wouldn’t you agree?’ Wyld whined.

  Misu reached her hand out and lifted her back onto her feet. ‘Get this woman a drink!’ Misu called to the staff, helping her to the train. One of the heads at the window vanished back inside in compliance.

  ‘Ah, now we’re talking!’ Jacques clapped his hands together.

  ‘Not for you,’ Misu retorted.

  He returned a sour-faced pout.

  ‘Did you find him?’ Misu cautiously asked the woman.

  ‘Yeah I found him.’ Wyld took the steps to the carriage, using the handrail for much-needed support. She glanced over a shoulder. ‘I’ve seen the place and eyed it plenty. It’s a good thing you’ve brought an army with you because, darlin’, we’re gonna need one.’

  Wyld took to a barstool and was ha
nded a crystal glass of brandy. Not just any brandy. The good stuff. She tossed her drink down her throat and beckoned for another. Colette, who tended the bar, complied, setting up another for her manager who seated herself beside Wyld.

  Juniper soon joined them upon getting wind of Wyld’s return. She modified the map of the town as accurately as she could, adding the locations of lookouts and patrol routes. She spoke, at length, about the surrounding buildings, or at least as much as she saw in the limited light. Finally she detailed the yard building, especially the damaged roof, and together the three began to formulate a plan.

  * * *

  Misu eventually took ownership, keen to direct the Bluecoats where she saw fit given that it was her perseverance that had got them all this far. She was adamant to see this through to its end and stated as much with gusto.

  Come the dawn, the Morning Star came to life. The tunnel provided ample cover for the vehicle until everyone was ready for the off. Breakfast was eaten, though the dining carriage was cramped, forcing the overspill to find seats elsewhere in the vehicle. Misu made her way through the morning commotion with her coffee. She was too anxious to stomach anything, deciding to nurse her caffeine kick and trusting it to see her through the upcoming tempest. She sidestepped stretched-out feet and traversed between bodies, all indulging in anything except noticing the show’s owner attempting to pass.

  Wyld had stepped outside for a breather. No doubt crowds made her anxious, especially those made of persons she didn’t know and especially persons of the law. Misu had seen her from inside and decided to provide some company.

  ‘How’s the head?’

  ‘Sore,’ came the reply. ‘I don’t do well with a few hours’ worth of sleep.’

  ‘I did say you didn’t need to be up until noon.’

  ‘With that racket going on?’ Wyld thumbed behind her. ‘You’re lucky we’ve not been heard already. Those Bluecoats are a noisy bunch even with Juniper holding their leashes.’

  ‘Let them have their moment. I would rather have them relaxed than wound up to the nines. Not everyone will be making it back alive. I owe them at least that much.’

  Wyld contemplated this.

  ‘That’s a downer.’ She gave a confused chuckle, obviously regretting it immediately as inappropriate. Misu didn’t mind in the slightest. It was true and summing the situation up so bluntly did nothing to cheapen that. She turned back and spied the congregation through the windows. Plenty of the girls found the new arrivals entertaining to mingle with and the Bluecoats who had endured Juniper’s oppression had found a brief moment to let down their guards. A number of them were laughing, actually laughing of all things. It was nice to see.

  ‘I saw what they were doing to him. He’s not going to last, I mean if he hasn’t … Franco doesn’t have much time left is what I mean.’ Wyld brought the conversation back to the task in hand.

  ‘I get that.’

  ‘It’s bad.’

  ‘You’ve already said that.’

  ‘What I’m trying to say … is that I’m keen to get this done. He needs us to pull him out of this mess, all of us. And me? I’m ready for this, Misu. I’m telling you, I’m ready.’

  ‘Not like that you’re not,’ Misu disagreed, eyeing her from top to toe.

  Wyld scrunched her face up in question. ‘Pardon?’

  Chapter 29

  Looking the part

  ‘Oh no. No no no!’ Wyld vigorously protested, storming inside Misu’s carriage. Her hands were flailing in disagreement, very much horrified at the suggestion put to her. When she had paced about enough and had her fill of tutting, the woman loudly exclaimed, ‘I am not wearing a dress!’

  Misu closed the door behind her to contain the commotion. Quite ignoring the grumbling, she strolled past and opened up one of the wardrobes revealing a number of her show outfits. Checking each hanger in turn on the rail, she justified her decision.

  ‘You said it yourself. You’re the best shot on this train, Juniper and his cronies included. If you’re strolling in with me as back-up, then imagine how out of place you’ll be when you’re clad in desert get-up among my showgirls.’ She paused for a moment, pulling out a hanger and hid Wyld’s oil-stained beige top behind a mound of black frills. ‘I’m thinking something with lace.’

  ‘That’s so not …’

  ‘I’m right. You know it. We can waste time arguing before coming to the eventual conclusion that I’m right or we can do the smart thing and begin. Now off with all that, and quick with you.’ Misu dangled one of the hangers adorned with clothes from a fingertip.

  Wyld reluctantly unbuckled her holster and draped it over the back of a chair. Next, she pulled her singlet top over her head, quite embarrassed at her nakedness, though this was not a concern for Misu.

  ‘This isn’t part of the deal you know.’

  ‘You’re agreeing to help us. This is helping. Here, try that one.’

  Wyld wrapped a black-boned corset around her waist, unsure if its curves were seated correctly against her flesh. Misu began to tighten up the corset, tugging on the pair of laces in turn from bottom to top. Every pull robbed Wyld of breath. She felt that her insides were being hoisted as high as her cleavage, making her eyes water. Finally, with the lace tied between her shoulder blades Wyld could breathe – figuratively, that is.

  ‘Next,’ Misu demanded, rummaging at a length of black-ruffled skirt, with each one sporting red chocolate satin highlights. It was held forward.

  Wyld unbuttoned her patchy coffee jeans and slipped them down to the floor. ‘I said no skirts.’

  ‘Everyone is going to be wearing a skirt.’

  ‘You’re not.’

  Wyld took them begrudgingly, stepping into the apparel and lifting it to her hips. The buttons down the side were considerably fiddly to fasten, taking multiple attempts. The rise on the front of the skirt showed much more leg than she was comfortable with. All the while, Misu dug around on a shoe rack, daintily removing a pair of clay and black striped heels and placing them before her.

  The work boots that Wyld paraded around in were comfortable but even she knew they were a complete eyesore. She slipped the shoes Misu offered onto her feet and fastened the straps.

  ‘You’re right,’ Misu continued, ‘I’m not. That’s because I intend to stand out. All eyes will be drawn to me, making sure that our little scheme isn’t rumbled before it’s even begun. Deception, dear. If you can trick anyone in plain sight, you can get away with anything. Why do you think I’ve survived this long? Do it well enough and it’s practically magic.’

  Misu flicked her fingers in sequence, a silver coin suddenly appearing after being conjured from the air.

  Wyld remained unmoved. ‘I’ve seen real magic. It’s more impressive than that.’

  ‘Then I have something to aspire to. Head up please.’

  Wyld lifted her chin, allowing Misu to fasten a beaded necklace of tiger’s-eye around it. The polished stones caught the light, causing each to sparkle. The clasp was checked with a slight tug. Her fingertips drifted down the nape of her neck and across her shoulder.

  ‘Do you remember when we first met?’ Misu asked, moving a bale of chestnut hair aside. ‘Or more specifically when you were found?’

  ‘How could I forget? You said you were going to make a showgirl out of me. It was one big wind-up.’

  Misu nodded slowly, gaining a smile. She turned Wyld to the dressing mirror to flaunt the transformation.

  ‘It may be later than planned but I got my wish. There.’

  Wyld stared, slack-jawed. Whoever was staring back was not the woman she knew. All this pomp and glamour as not her; in fact she heartily ridiculed those who decorated themselves like ornaments.

  ‘I look like a bloody doll,’ she mumbled.

  In the reflection, Misu wagged a small metallic cylinder back and forth. When the hint wasn’t taken, its cap was removed, presenting a poppy-red lipstick. It was offered to Wyld.

  ‘Oh no.’ />
  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I, er … I don’t …’

  ‘Let me then.’ Misu coaxed a turn, quite unperturbed at the hint of blush filling Wyld’s cheeks. Wyld sheepishly complied, looking about while doing so, quite uncomfortable. Misu expertly ran the lipstick with the natural contours of the flesh, tinting them red. She leant back, admiring her handiwork.

  ‘Kiss, please.’

  Wyld recoiled. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Pretend that you’re kissing. Purse your lips to even it out a little.’

  Wyld did so, looking at herself in the mirror. Misu began to tidy things away, scooping Wyld’s previous outfit into a wash basket.

  ‘Now you’re ready,’ Misu declared.

  * * *

  Jacques brushed his teeth over a basin of water, now fresh from the suggested wash-down. He shaved away the tough curls that plagued his face and trimmed away the more uncooperative licks of his hair, begrudgingly recognizing himself once more in a square of mirror fastened to the wall. He ran a cloth over his chest and armpits, scrubbing away the accumulated dirt. Spending nights curled up in alleyways or nestled between stock crates hardly gave one time to be concerned about personal hygiene.

  The scars dotted over his body were reminders of his boisterous attitude – stupidity, if he was honest with himself, a lifetime of risk-taking. He slowly dabbed the cloth over the deeper wounds, wearily tossing the rag into the porcelain with a slap. The clothes provided – clearly Franco’s but this was not discussed for obvious reasons – were more in line with what he was suited to before depression had taken him. Before the weight of his decisions fractured his resolve.

  The connecting door to the carriage shunted open. A click-clack of heels marched down the hallway. Jacques patted away the water with a fresh towel and leant on the doorframe. Without even paying him a glance, Wyld stared straight onward, clad in showgirl garb that looked both out of place and complimentary. Her expression said it all, a sudden twist of the heel causing a brief slip of step, which was quickly rectified.