Den of Smoke

by Christopher Byford

  ‘And I’m not a religious type but I do have access to all of the port arrivals. That’s when the name jumped out at me too,’ Ralust boasted. ‘It’s an ore hauler, or at least, that’s the cover story.’

  Jack withdrew the looking device, watching Ralust pull out some folded paperwork from a breast pocket and noisily unfurl it flat on a boulder between them.

  ‘Interesting.’

  Jack wiped the dust from his glasses, allowing him to observe Ralust detailing what he had obtained from the Port Authority via dubious shady methods.

  ‘This week its cargo is going to be a little different. Not that anybody knows that of course. See, in the shipping schedule, I got hold of the Messiah’s manifest. For the last six months its manifest has never changed. This time it has an interesting addition.’

  Jack flicked through the pages, drawing his finger over the roughly printed inventory.

  ‘Seratto Industry machine parts and tools. I didn’t know they were in the manufacturing business.’

  ‘You’re right. That’s a cover. Seratto Industry doesn’t manufacture anything,’ Cole added, slipping his binoculars back into their case.

  ‘They only do security. Guns for hire, bounty hunts, all that …’ Jack found himself all the more curious.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So what are they carrying?’

  The trio were suddenly interrupted by the hushed pops of gunfire in the distance. In the Dead Corridor, a number of bandits, eight at their count, had decided to try and board one of the smaller vessels. Their attempts at intimidation, by firing their sidearms at it, were responded to in kind from those deck side. A number managed to take to the outside and climb aboard, the pops subsiding before the vessel veered to a different course, now under unlawful control. It highlighted the need for companies like Seratto out here, to keep order where the Bluecoats could not reach.

  ‘We’ve discovered that Seratto moves their payroll this day every month. With it is a dedicated security detail who do nothing but protect it,’ Cole elaborated, licking dry lips.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Anything from three to nine regulars. Details are obviously difficult to obtain.’

  ‘Do we know how much they move for said payroll?’

  ‘That’s the part you’re going to like.’

  ‘I already like money.’

  ‘Then you’ll like this even more.’ Cole watched the ship rumble along, its vibrations sending drifts of sand slipping down the ravine en masse. ‘They don’t move their payroll in the form of currency. They buy up a commodity in one port and sell it at another where the price is more favourable, then distribute the pay when the exchange is done.’

  ‘That sounds needlessly complex.’

  ‘Possibly. But keeping in mind how many Seratto have on their books, any saving would be significant.’

  ‘You said that I would like this part,’ Jackdaw reminded him, feeling that conversation was taking him the long way round to the point.

  ‘And you will. This time, they’re going to be hauling diamonds. Red diamonds. Plenty of them too. If you knocked them over while they were carrying cash, banknotes could be traced by their numbers. Gold has imprints when the bars are forged. Red diamonds on the other hand …’

  ‘They’re too valuable to mark. They’re basically untraceable.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Ralust grinned like an ogre.

  ‘You’re right. I do like this part.’ Jackdaw clapped with mirth.

  ‘The problem is that this won’t be an easy score. The size of the ship alone is daunting.’

  ‘Can you get the schematics, old man?’

  ‘Already underway. I’ve got the boys digging it up.’ Of course he did. Ralust was efficient when it came to getting a job sorted, to the point where he knew what Jack would ask of him before it was even said.

  ‘Sneaking on with the cargo will be impossible. I’ve seen ships like that – they’re protected as soon as they hit port and no amount of bribing can sway them. We’ll have to hijack en route,’ Jack said, thinking aloud.

  ‘Good plan. We’ll only have the ship security detail to contend with along with the regular crew.’

  ‘If we’re going on in motion, weaponry may be a problem. We’ll have to go in fast and light. Will we be able to find the armoury from your plans?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. They appear for all other ship classes.’

  ‘We’ll have to get in, be quiet, grab arms if need be and then offload the cargo so others can make the pickup. I’m tasking you to follow behind and get the score.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘This isn’t going to be easy.’ Jack rubbed at his brow, avoiding one of the more sizable swellings that had yet to disperse.

  ‘No it won’t.’

  ‘Just storming in isn’t going to cut it, considering that those we’ll be up against will be highly trained and hungry for a kill. Is there any concrete way of finding out how many will be accompanying the pay?’

  ‘Not at all. Our reach is limited, especially against such an organization. If we attempt to bring one of theirs in on this, we may as well be advertising the job by writing in the sky.’ Ralust folded up the paperwork and stowed it away.

  ‘Can your entourage make up our numbers?’

  ‘The boys beneath me are small-time, Jack. Few carry guns. They’re not killers – they don’t have the nerve. In a situation like this, they’re no better than corpses. I’ll hire someone new who can handle a weapon just in case but I can’t provide an army for you.’

  Jack leant his head on his hands, watching the Messiah trudge along the canyon, dragging arcs of smoke behind, which the wind was now wafting sideways in a crosswind. He then noticed a shape on the ridge, where a goods train chuffed its way up the incline before speeding out across the flatter land. Rather than dip into the Dead Corridor and be assaulted with the debris from the sand ships, the rail lines in and out of the town were positioned much higher.

  And Jackdaw had an idea.

  ‘We’ll need help.’

  ‘Help is lacking, Jack.’ Cole chose his words carefully. ‘I’ve not been with you as long as Ralust, but the good word is that between here and Eifera I think you’ve managed to piss off everybody who could be considered an ally. That, or got rid of them due to their rival businesses. There’s apparently a decent number that you buried out here who would have been useful in this scenario.’

  ‘That’s the beauty of hindsight. Thankfully we’re not completely out of options.’ Jack got to his feet and stretched his back out, trudging down the path to the waiting horses. Cole strode beside him whilst Ralust limply followed carefully, as disturbed stones trundled down the incline.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to write a letter,’ Jack returned, already formulating the next course of action. ‘Or, more specifically, I’m going to call in a favour to someone who owes me one.’

  ‘That’s got to be a pretty large favour to agree to be roped into this …’

  Jackdaw knowingly nodded.

  ‘Oh yeah. The biggest.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Old deals made good

  ‘Okay, nice people, gather round. I have news,’ Jackdaw exclaimed with glee. His hands struck together to garner the attention of everyone congregated in Cutter’s. The others began to trickle over, displaying tired faces that were worn down by uncertainty. Today all that would change.

  ‘This going to be worthwhile, boss, or is it going to be another shakedown of uppity youngsters outgrowing their britches?’ Blakestone took a newly struck match to a thick cigar, sucking until the tip illuminated. He had grown tired of skulking in the dark – a needless feat given that the Bluecoats hadn’t tagged them. The change in Jack’s demeanour, given his almost bipolar attitude these last few weeks, was suspicious. Cole busied himself by cleaning the drinking glasses from behind the bar with a cloth, indulging in an almost obsessive-compulsive need to keep things neat.


  ‘This is the change in fortune that we need,’ Jack announced.

  Before them lay a well-printed poster announcing the arrival of the legendary show train, the Morning Star. On it, the black and red print of a train, with a tell-tale star on its boiler, was surrounded by excited text promising much. Expensive colours and gaudy fonts were used to catch the attention of anyone passing.

  Alvina cooed over the announcement, as it promised a glimmer of respite in the turmoil of their existence. ‘No objections here. I could do with a little unwinding.’

  ‘Some other time maybe. This is the job.’

  Cole finished drying the last glass with a rag whilst peering over their shoulders. ‘What’s the Morning Star?’ he queried. Clearly the name held gravitas though, remarkably, this eluded the social circles he moved in.

  ‘Only the best show in town, as long as you’re in the one it stops at. It’s a regular carnival on wheels,’ Alvina excitedly exclaimed.

  ‘Carnivals are passé,’ Blake corrected. ‘Don’t mistake the two.’

  ‘We’re casing the Morning Star then? Isn’t that a little … high-profile?’ Cole slid the cloth over a rail in order to give the conversation his full attention.

  ‘We’re not casing nothing. The Morning Star, despite being what it is, had a tendency to carry cargo with it. Remember all that Red Root we lost? We struck an arrangement with the owner to obtain some a few months back.’

  ‘I’m familiar with that. I sorted the books, remember? What was the big deal with the root anyway? Couldn’t we just acquire more from a dealer?’ Cole asked with naivety.

  Blake chewed upon his cigar. His grin was borderline monstrous.

  ‘Root is a plant notoriously difficult to grow here or elsewhere. It’s considered a rarity to most. Dried, it can cause changes in temperament when consumed. Illegal on all accounts due to the tendency to make those with long-term use become violent.’

  ‘Sounds like a good time,’ Cole said sarcastically.

  ‘Oh it’s the best. Especially to get pumped up before something crazy. Gives you an edge, you know?’ Blake’s experience with such a thing sent goose bumps rippling over Cole’s skin. It explained his colleague’s erratic temperament, something difficult to attribute merely to booze.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to but thanks all the same.’

  ‘Pussy,’ Blake scoffed.

  ‘Stow it,’ Jack snapped. ‘We were given a tip-off by a mutual friend. A job to get us into better standing with Donovan. It’s the best opportunity we have to make it through this unscathed.’

  ‘Mutual friend?’ Alvina eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘He means that Rose he’s been shacked up with when he should have been concerning himself with business.’ Ralust hobbled over from the kitchen, nosily eating a sandwich without a care where the crumbs fell. Mustard congregated in the corners of his mouth, causing him to smack his lips together. ‘Sorry, lad, I stole your floor. Please continue.’

  ‘Where does the Morning Star come into this exactly?’ Alvina defensively crossed her arms over her chest.

  Jack was unable to withhold his excitement and with good reason. Things were finally turning his way.

  ‘The Morning Star is to be our back-up. Those on board are going to provide support whilst we steal from a sand ship out in the Dead Corridor. Cole and Ralust have managed to identify a mark that’ll have a lucrative score on board. I’ll be giving further details after we speak to the Morning Star’s owners and the situation is more … solid. Naturally we’ll need to keep a low profile while we mingle. I don’t want this to turn into a bust before it’s even begun.’

  ‘We’re knocking over a sand ship?’ Alvina asked, mostly to hear aloud how absurd the decision was. It sounded exactly as ridiculous as it did in her head.

  ‘That we are. Look, you don’t have to say it – I know things haven’t been smooth recently, so if you want out, I won’t blame you. Your work’ll be done. No repercussions. Little Fish, this may be something you’ll want to consider.’

  Cole patted the bar top in a quick drum roll. ‘After the legwork I’ve put into this job already? I consider myself insulted that you’d suggest I would want to. Remember, Jack, I’m here to collect and you’re not weaselling out that easily. You owe me.’

  Jack smiled, only now recalling their agreement. Cole had become one of them with such ease that the specific details of his recruitment had honestly slipped Jack’s mind.

  ‘That you are. Alvina?’

  The woman clearly looked disillusioned at what he was proposing, but if she had shirked her duty every time a job sounded crazy, she would perpetually be stuck indoors. Crazy was a part of being a Jackrabbit and she lacked anywhere better to be.

  ‘Things were getting boring anyway. It was about time we did something completely ridiculous. Consider me in.’

  ‘What about you, Blake?’

  They each turned to Blakestone who was burning through his cigar with such speed that clouds bellowed from him like a smokestack. He vigorously chewed away on the stogie whilst judging the responses from others. He was unable to determine whether this would be the score of a lifetime or a one-way ticket to the boneyard. He finally made his decision, though from his expression seemed quite bothered about doing so.

  ‘Fine. You’re going to get me killed, you know that?’

  ‘Absolutely. But what a way to go,’ Jackdaw frankly stated.

  ‘Question.’ Cole raised his hand.

  ‘You don’t need to do that,’ Blake said.

  The hand fell back to his side. ‘Do those on the Morning Star know what they’re about to be accessories to?’

  ‘No,’ came the response.

  ‘But you’re completely sure they’ll agree to this?’

  ‘Of course they will. They’ve got no choice.’

  ‘Lucky them.’ Cole withheld any further questions and poured himself a beer from a tap.

  ‘Tomorrow night, you will see the spectacle of the Morning Star arriving on our doorstep at my request. Come eight p.m., we meet with our contact and get down to business.’

  ‘Hang on …’ Alvina drew her concern from the collected paperwork laid before them ‘… you said we do this at eight. This poster states the festivities begin an hour before.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘We’re meeting them when they’re doing the show? Not before, not after?’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  ‘That is absurdly risky.’ Alvina was keen to punctuate her disapproval. Not that it mattered in the slightest of course. The job was already made. Opinions like this were just a nicety Jack was willing to allow those beneath him to air.

  ‘Everyone’s attention will be focused elsewhere so we’ll get to do this with no unwanted snooping. Have you ever heard the expression hiding in plain sight?’

  ‘That’s a stupid saying coined by stupid people.’ Alvina snorted.

  Cole shifted uneasily, drawing a palm over his mouth. ‘She’s right. It’s far too risky for my liking.’

  ‘It’s a good thing that you don’t have to like it then, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Morning Star returns

  At sunset, Esquelle shut its doors early. Shops hung up closed signs and workhouses emptied on danger of the workers rioting if they were not offered this one grace. Like before, the pubic had caught sight of the posters announcing the Morning Star, seemingly springing up out of nowhere during the night. A large cloth banner wafted from outside the train station, embroidered words declaring the show’s intentions magnificently in silver. Lines of people made their way through the streets, flowing to one, single location: the train station.

  The Bluecoats on hand organized and managed the throngs, ushering them into orderly lines, ensuring that onlookers were not crushed in the excitement. Birds had begun to settle for sleep, their evening song unheard over the tremendous wave of excitement.

  Then, the station clock began its sound, and the onlook
ers exploded in cheer. Seven times the clock rang and on its final chime, things became so quiet that the disrupted birds on the rooftops could be heard once more. The evening became still. The platform guards looked down the lines. Whilst keeping a professional decorum, they were just as excited as the others in attendance.

  Then, in sequence, down the line, a series of semaphore signs dropped one after another to an angle, indicating the route was clear. A station hand pulled at a series of trackside levers, switching the track with a heave. He removed his cap and waved their guests a hearty welcome.

  The Morning Star came into view round the bend.

  The proud star on its boiler pierced the receding light, contrasted against a deep, glossy black paintjob. Steam bellowed from the locomotive’s chimney, powerful blasts erupting much like that of a volcano.

  Those on the platform went wild.

  The cheers were mighty. Not even the show’s recent appearance subdued the excitement this time round.

  The locomotive thundered the rail lines as it ebbed into the station. Streaks of black and red from the carriages danced past everyone watching before finally coming to a wheezing stop.

  Steam shot from under the vehicle, cloaking it momentarily with its exhalation of white. The station fell still as everyone collectively held their breath, scanning the shining surfaces for signs of life. Those who were new to the spectacle contemplated what could come next. Those who had already been in the train’s presence prepared themselves for the coming festivities.

  The Morning Star sat lifeless, apart from a trickle of steam wafting from its chimney as its presence was revered.

  With a snap, the carriages were illuminated as lights sequentially spread from the tender down to the end observation carriage. Immediately the deafening applause began.

  Whistles jostled for dominance as multiple glittering trails launched skyward, climaxing in colourful, glittering flowers. Booms echoed from one end of the town to the other.