Den of Smoke

by Christopher Byford

  ‘What would that be?’

  Jack softly ground his cigar stub into an ashtray as from the corner of his vision, one of the showgirls began to make her way to their table. Her route was too direct, sidestepping punters with a kind word and insisting she had a task to perform.

  ‘Sooner or later, we all end up on someone else’s hook,’ Jackdaw mumbled.

  With a nod of her head, the showgirl, Colette, ambled her way to the table.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, acknowledging each, then the woman on Jackdaw’s lap with what could be construed as a slip of a smile, ‘and Miss. Pardon my interruption. Mister Jackdaw, the owners will see you now. If you would like to follow me, please. Your associates can wait here while you converse.’

  Bounty stood, allowing him to make himself decent, before taking his warm seat. He began to button his jacket and check his hair in an attempt of vanity.

  ‘I’ll be a moment. Be good while I’m gone.’

  * * *

  Colette led Jackdaw along the carriages, taking him to the rear observation car. It had been roped off to prevent punters from entering, though she unclipped the velvet rope and beckoned him inside.

  ‘If you please?’ Colette said softly.

  Jackdaw obliged, stepping inside the car with its large, bulbous rear covered in glass. Inside was decked out with opulence, from the reams of books that lined shelves, ornately painted décor, gold-framed mirror, tasselled curtains, down to the plush purple carpet and finely tailored chairs. This was the use of money at its finest.

  At the end of the car, beside an illuminated desk lamp, Misu awaited her guest. Her fingers pinched the thin neck of a cocktail glass, the dirty martini within adorned with an olive pierced by a cocktail stick. Her body language was aloof, the cloak of celebrity cast off in this private space. As Colette closed the outer door behind him, the slow whir of a ceiling fan became the only noise. Rather than guessing who would speak first, Jackdaw took the initiative.

  He gave a sweeping bow, clearly patronizing in his welcome. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you once again, Misu.’

  Misu immediately retorted, the glitter of a firework outside reflecting in the pool of her eyes. There was no anger to her voice for anger was unnecessary. Disdain, however, was acceptable.

  ‘No it’s not, don’t do that. You’re not the sort to flatter with formalities and I’m not one, given our past dealing, to be blinded by them.’

  Jack chuckled at such candour. ‘I miss such honesty. No masks this time?’

  ‘A trifle unnecessary given the circumstances. There is no requirement for us to hide any more.’ Misu sipped from her glass, knocking an impaled olive around the rim with a finger. ‘It was the sensible decision to forgo the formalities; after all, nobody under this roof is wanted by the Bluecoats – bar present company I’m guessing.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘No. Luck avoids us whilst in your prestigious company. Not that we had a choice. Your invitation made it quite clear that we were to be prompt. And my companion hates being late for any occasion.’

  The connecting carriage door snapped open, letting the occupant through who closed it quite loudly on his arrival. Franco Del Monaire relieved himself of his show jacket and tossed it over a chair with exuberance. The silver-headed cane followed.

  ‘Tardiness has no place when it comes to business,’ Franco specified, not slowing his stride. ‘Especially your business – one that differs from our usual. Before we even get going, I want you aware that I’m against whatever you have concocted. I’m especially at odds with you blackmailing my staff here into helping. It’s a scoundrel’s move.’

  The pair sized one another up, beginning a childish attempt to outstare the other. Misu felt she was going to be sick from the display of testosterone in the room, half expecting a punch to be thrown given the constant vitriol from Franco.

  Jack held out his hand. ‘You would be no sort of owner if you weren’t. Franco Del Monaire, correct?’

  ‘Correct.’ Franco shook it, the pair squeezing firmly before he added, quite honestly, ‘Your face looks like a slab of beef.’ The persistent bruises littering Jack’s face had only now begun to retreat after an exotic display of colour on flesh. Franco had clearly witnessed many a beating and could tell which ones lasted on a person.

  Jackdaw scrutinized the fading discolouration on Franco’s jaw.

  ‘It looks like you’ve been in a spot of bother yourself. I’ll heal. It takes more than a knock around to dissuade me from my ambitions. Misu said that yours was at the hands of Wilheim Fort. I was involved in your rescue in fact. If it wasn’t for me, the entire thing would have been a bust, but let’s not quarrel over who did what and who resulted in you not being killed. That would be petty.’

  ‘I was told all the details, even the nasty ones people don’t like to confess to,’ Franco stated, ‘and it doesn’t change things one single bit. How about yourself? It seems that whoever got their hands on you had a grudge.’

  ‘Wilheim’s replacement. When you put that bastard in the ground, as expected, others clambered for his position. One emerged after all of the conflict and he and I had a productive conversation.’

  ‘That seemingly involved you taking boots to the face?’

  ‘Donovan Kane is an astounding motivator. Also, an owner of painful footwear.’ Jack rubbed his jaw before concluding that, yes, it still hurt a lot.

  Franco’s eyes flickered momentarily to Misu who watched the pair with unease – but when that name came up, her eyes narrowed with disgust. Reading the signals, Jack pressed further to gain a confession.

  ‘That’s interesting … Do you know of Mister Kane?’

  ‘Who do you think Wilheim asked to make me so pretty?’

  ‘Oh, I like that. A mutual enemy between us!’ Jack grunted, rolling his eyes in surprise. ‘Though you should be lucky he didn’t kill you outright. If you were being kept alive at his hands, it was for a reason.’

  ‘Depends on your definition of luck given what he put me through. Talking of which, you’ll need a significant amount yourself if you’re going to pull off this grand plan that coaxed us here. I’m assuming this is going to be an illegal endeavour?’

  ‘Will that be a problem?’

  ‘After what we’ve been through, I wanted to keep things clean. I’m not exactly comfortable with the Morning Star being involved in something shady since its absolution.’

  ‘The payoff will be worth it.’

  ‘On that front we’ve still not heard a percentage. You letter was … cryptic,’ Misu interjected, picking the cocktail stick from her drink and plucking the olive between her teeth.

  ‘And you won’t. Your reward will be significantly more, but there’s time for elaboration after we have discussed the finalities.’

  ‘Quite a boast.’ Franco scowled, clearly disliking this arrangement more and more.

  ‘Boast nothing. Fabrication gets you nowhere.’ Jack took great delight at taking a shot. ‘You’re a gambling man, Franco, you should know that.’

  ‘This job,’ Franco fired back, resigned, ‘run us through it and leave nothing out.’

  * * *

  Misu stared across the platform at the remains of the night, watching the clean-up operation begin. The showgirls worked astonishingly quickly, bagging up rubbish and bottles and carting them to the station for disposal. She was yet to discuss the night’s takings with Franco, instead finding time to converse with their guest. Jack was due to address everyone, the Jackrabbits and the showgirls, to go through the specifics of his proposal, but lingered on the coupling between a pair of cars, leaning on the railing and nursing a bottle.

  ‘I know that look. I’ve seen it in more men that have passed through this joint than I could possibly count. It’s nerves,’ she stated.

  ‘I don’t suffer them,’ Jackdaw flatly denied, watching a pair of extremely drunk gentlemen stagger along platform three, in song.

  ‘Stow the bravado – you’ve nobo
dy to impress. I’m immune to men talking up their shit so don’t try and fool me none. You’re worried about pulling this off.’

  This allegation was enough for him to give his total attention. ‘I don’t do fear neither.’

  Misu met his denial headfirst. ‘Don’t make me repeat myself. Do you want to let me in on why you’re attempting the impossible? These sand ships are defended to the nines. I don’t know what the nines actually is, but I assume it’s a lot.’

  Jackdaw cursed the onset of truth that surged within him, wondering how many beers he had now consumed. When Jack drank, he got talkative and until this fiasco with the raid, he’d had no need to be wary of what he discussed. With the baggage of his debt crushing any other subject, Jack publicized what was consuming him.

  ‘I owe Donovan Kane a lot of money. That little deal you offered me with the root backfired. The root was impounded, Donovan found out things were irregular. I figured with Wilheim in the ground it wouldn’t be a concern, but more fool me, assuming that a dead man would result in such things being automatically written off. Clearly I was over-reaching.’

  He scratched at the bottle’s label, stripping it in pieces.

  ‘Death doesn’t mean as much as it once used to.’ Misu smirked, her position on the subject being on public record from one end of Surenth to the other.

  ‘Evidently not. Seems like even a little thing like ending a man is now fraught with disappointments.’

  * * *

  Franco had paced the platform’s length, personally seeing off the stragglers with back slaps and copious compliments. He had been a beacon of perpetual cheer and customarily found delight in sending the last upon their way. His pockets bulged with business cards, letters, requests of assistance and general tokens of thanks. Sorting through these, he noticed Misu and Jack conversing in, what he assumed to be, secret.

  ‘This looks cosy,’ Franco exclaimed over the gap between track and platform.

  ‘You might want to get those eyes of yours checked. This is no sort of comfortable,’ Misu said.

  ‘What would the pair of you be discussing I wonder?’

  ‘Jack here was elaborating on the dangers of trusting dishonest folk. Luckily that doesn’t extend to us. Somehow he still sees us as fine, upstanding people.’

  ‘That we are, Misu, don’t pretend otherwise.’

  Jackdaw quirked a brow, his tongue loosened from the beer in his hand. ‘So what is this little affair you both run? Do you shop around and pick up the destitute or something? Working girls? Is that the angle?’

  Before Franco could give a scathing retort, Misu corrected his impression of their venture. ‘From someone who is openly consorting with a Rose, you are curiously judgemental.’

  ‘We have an arrangement, her and I. Nothing sordid about that.’

  ‘I imagine not. The Morning Star offers everyone involved freedom. Escapism. Pride. All the good things that one aspires to that make our living days worthwhile. The girls are hard workers, kind and true. Don’t treat them like fools, for I can promise you that they’ll run rings around you until you are dizzy. And don’t let us hear you implying such a thing again.’

  Jack decided to change the subject. He spied Bounty drunkenly dancing between the tables with Cole, who was flush in the face and unsure where to place his hands. It wasn’t helping that Blake and Alvina were loudly cheering them on.

  ‘Escapism, huh?’ Jack flicked his spent cigarette, onto the tracks. ‘Ain’t that a fine thing to have.’

  ‘The life of a rogue not appealing to you these days?’ Misu asked.

  ‘We all endure danger. The dumb ones die from it. The smart ones capitalize on it. I aim to make money and do so.’

  ‘So why the sour face? I’ve drunk whisky better than that face,’ she jeered.

  ‘I’ve seen good people, bad people, people in between all buried in shallow graves for their choices. I put plenty there. Some of those repercussions were worthwhile and just. Others were cruel and their fate befitting. A number didn’t deserve to …’ His voice tapered off in an attempt to recompose his point. ‘I worked for someone once … A good man. A crook, just like me, better than me in fact. He had lines he wouldn’t cross, not for any amount of money, not for a threat upon his person. I admired that. This here gun and my very name are the only things I inherited from him.’ Jackdaw swigged a mouthful of beer. ‘And here I am, dragging you into this predicament. He would be disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t relish the thought of bringing up your debt and parading about with it, but I’ll do it if I have to. I aim to survive.’

  ‘What’s the point you’re trying to make?’ Franco asked.

  ‘Misu here fought to get you back against impossible odds. That’s quite the thing. I got respect for that. What I’m getting at, is that if things were different, I would have preferred to ask for your help. Rather than, y’know … the alternative.’

  The woman beside him gestured with her eyes to Franco who was just as surprised as she was with Jackdaw’s candour. The laughter of the Jackrabbits on the platform echoed in the distance, somewhat further away than before.

  Franco filled the silence. ‘Wise words. As you’re being honest, I can tell you upfront that I don’t like this plan, I don’t like you and I don’t want your motley crew aboard our train.’ Franco rolled his tongue around in his mouth considering how best to put his concerns. ‘You’re a danger, you’re selfish and the sooner you’re off my train the better.’

  ‘Our train,’ Misu corrected. ‘Partner.’

  Franco paused, giving her a small glare.

  Jack interrupted this moment with a genuine smile. Honesty tinged his words. ‘Thank you. I appreciate being spoken to so candidly.’

  ‘There’s plenty more where that came from. Feel free to ask. I’ll leave you both to it. Misu, if you would please find me when you’re done.’

  Misu nodded politely, watching Franco finish his work on the platform for the night.

  * * *

  ‘There’s a hero of a man right there.’ Jackdaw snorted, watching Franco disappear into a mass of patrons who exuberantly welcomed his company.

  ‘Pay Franco no mind. You get used to him.’

  ‘Yes, like an open sore no doubt.’

  ‘Clever. Almost as clever as this stupid, stupid plan.’

  Jack nodded sluggishly. ‘How long do I have until I get to tell everyone?’

  ‘Oooh.’ Misu squinted at the station clock mounted on a post. ‘Ten minutes, fifteen maybe. The clean-up is almost done.’

  ‘I see. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what I’m about to drag you and yours through.’

  ‘No you’re not,’ Misu bluntly replied.

  ‘No. I’m not.’ Jack exhaled to calm the nerves that he denied concealing as she nudged him playfully with a shoulder. The truth was, no he wasn’t sorry. Even if the job went bad and somehow, he was blessed with a do-over, he would do it all again without a moment’s hesitation. ‘But it sounded good, didn’t it?’

  Chapter Twenty

  The plan in full

  The observation car was filled. Every showgirl was in attendance, each standing for a view of the billiard table that had been covered to form a regular table. They weren’t suspicious of the new faces joining them, at least they weren’t too concerned with the trio of Jackrabbits themselves. Their leader Jackdaw on the other hand coaxed multiple whispers and telling glances. It was bad enough that he was involved in one of the much darker times in the show’s history, but word was out that he had outright summoned them all, blackmailed if rumour was to be believed, and that didn’t sit right. The show had ended earlier than expected so the lure of sleep was enticing.

  The Jackrabbits kept together at the table’s side, complete with Bounty who had been invited to the briefing. Considering she was the architect of this lunacy, Jack insisted she accompanied them. Jackdaw took his place between the show’s owners. The paperwork from Ralust had been spread out and weighted in place
, schematics and maps, overlapping one another.

  The moment Misu began to speak, a hushed reverence fell over the faces watching.

  ‘Thank you for your efforts, everyone. I know that usually we go through the specifics of the show but tonight we need to discuss something of great importance. I know we ended early and sleep beckons, but before we get a chance to do so, you will have noticed a handful of guests with us. The Jackrabbits here have joined us with a proposal.’

  Eyes fell on Jackdaw who felt the impression that he was about to be eaten alive.

  ‘The floor is yours, Jack.’ Misu offered an outstretched hand.

  Jackdaw accepted. He cleared his throat beneath a fist and addressed everybody in the room. ‘The Messiah is an Arcadia Class Sand Ship that we intend to rob. With the assistance of the Morning Star we should be able to pull this off.’

  Eyes watched intently. He paused, waiting for any immediate objections. When confident that they were not forthcoming, he continued.

  ‘That means two things to us. That it’s going to be difficult and that it’s going to be dangerous.’ Jack ran his fingers over the ship’s schematic, heads bobbing over one another to garner a look. ‘The ship itself is six hundred and sixty-one feet from bow to stern. Eighty-two feet wide. Eight decks high. It’s driven by a composite steam boiler fuelled with coke. It moves via caterpillar treads, unlike smaller passenger ships that utilize paddles. The total cargo hold space is substantial, loaded in via crane or by its stern, unsurprisingly requiring a lot of manpower.’

  The papers were shuffled about, and Jack drew attention to a regional map that highlighted the difficult, craggy landscape outside of Esquelle.

  ‘The Messiah hauls cargo every month via the Dead Corridor, which puts it around neighbouring mountains and canyons. It’s too bulky to take the normal shipping routes and has to move around them. Ships this size are not a regular occurrence so the route will be quiet, which suits us just fine. The cargo itself is primarily ore for manufacturing – iron, copper, tin, some quantities of gold and silver. This will be too bulky to shift. It is not our target.’