‘Our first show.’ Corinne scowled. ‘Loved by many, not least of all those upon her. Brought to destruction by a snake for their own purposes. And I will do all in my power to prevent that reoccurring …’
Before Jackdaw could challenge her to insult him further, Franco and Misu parted from the previous carriage and stepped down trackside.
‘I see no reason for you both to be in conversation,’ Misu stated, addressing the quarrelling pair.
Franco went over the plan.
‘We’ve got just over an hour and a half until the Messiah departs, which will give you plenty of time to get into position in the Dead Corridor.’ Franco checked his pocket watch. ‘A gift from my grandfather,’ he said, ‘who imparted it with the wisdom to always keep it wound. Make sure that your own is synchronized. When the ship sets off, it’ll take twenty-three minutes to reach our marker. As soon as it passes us, we’ll pull off and keep alongside. From there, it’s another sixteen minutes before we hit the next marker and the train gives you cover.’
The watch was snapped shut and tucked into his vest pocket.
‘Are we all utterly clear about what’s going to happen?’
Jackdaw summarized things as easily as he could.
‘We get on, work our way to the strong room, blow the door, get the score. One of ours will be riding on horseback to pick up the pay when it’s thrown out. Any resistance is kept busy. If need be, move to the armoury if we get in trouble. Signal the train should firepower be needed. Exit as soon as the score is tossed. As uncomplicated as things get.’
Franco reached up and shook Jack’s hand. Despite the tumultuous situation, danger was no excuse to forgo manners.
‘Let’s hope that’s fact. We’ll be waiting for your arrival,’ he added before stepping away.
Misu sweet-talked Cole’s horse, which nodded playfully and searched her flat palm for a treat. She caressed the side of its face and told it to be good, its rider curiously watching the show owner work her magic.
‘Are you prepared, Jack? Got everything you need?’
Jackdaw patted himself down for the umpteenth time, his left hand lingering on the Pendulum on his hip. Every tool he took in preparation was accounted for, though carried minimal amounts of ammunition. The explosives for the safe were securely fastened over Cole’s shoulders in a knapsack. Blake and Cole were outfitted with pistols, while Alvina courted an additional rifle over her shoulder.
‘I could use an army if you had one spare. Just to make up the numbers, like,’ Jack jested.
‘If only we had such a thing.’ Misu smiled. ‘Sadly that’s out of even our reach. Unless you would like me to put a good word in with the Bluecoats around these parts – we’ve got considerable sway …’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ Jack added, ‘I think we’ll be just fine.’
Misu covered her eyes from the sun, which was now striking the horizon.
‘Happy hunting, Jackrabbits. See you when this is over.’
Jackdaw gave a salute and led his people away.
* * *
The riders set off in single file with Jack leading the line. They rode down into the canyon, immeasurably dwarfed by its sides that angled steeper and steeper the further they ventured in. Shadow had now dominated a good quarter of the canyon, untouchable by the sun’s light as it fell into dusk. Using this shadow, they moved alongside the walls, keeping close to prevent detection, not that the shipping lane was busy at this time. None of the smaller ships rode out come dusk as it made them easier prey for bandits. The bigger sand ships were the exception, their intimidating size being a factor.
Not that this was the case tonight.
The ride out to get into position took the better part of an hour, placing them deep down in the Dead Corridor, Esquelle being left out of sight quickly through the combination of turns and steep decline. When having reached the designated place, Jack encouraged his horse to whoa, signalling the others to mimic him. The fading sunlight was beginning to get the better of them, swarming over half of the gorge and bringing a chill to those standing in it.
Jack checked his pocket watch, ensuring it ran competently.
‘Ralust should be here by now,’ he stated.
The Jackrabbits watched in silence. The horses dipped their heads, waiting for something, anything, than just loitering in deep shadow. Jackdaw himself scanned the opposite ridge with a telescopic looking glass, waiting for a tell-tale signal from among the rocky crags. Suddenly, flickers of light flashed in his direction – distinct flashes, too regular and in sequence to be anything else than what Jack was expecting.
He snapped the looking glass flat.
‘That’s it. The old man is in place. All we have to do now is wait.’
* * *
Ralust lowered his binoculars, taking his cracked lips to a canteen. After a mouthful he offered a drink to the figure beside him, a young blonde woman with an expressionless demeanour and little conversation. Like most Ralust hired, she was disposable assistance, someone just to do the busy work while he oversaw things. Sure it meant that she needed to be paid at the end of things, but he was old in years and a little help became a necessity. Ralust was getting too old for any of this. Oh to be forty years younger, fifty even, and indulge himself in this affray. Instead he had to be content with being a spectator to the affair, sniffing around afterwards like a mutt for scraps.
‘The Jackrabbits are in place. All we have to do is wait. The ship will be here soon. Make sure you’re ready to ride at a moment’s notice. We follow. We retrieve the drop. We leave. We don’t get in on the action.’
The woman rejected the canteen, sensibly clad in gear for enduring the Dead Corridor’s conditions. Her blonde hair was tied into a braid to keep it from hampering the vision provided by two brilliant pools of sapphire. Instead of a drink, she kept her focus set on the matter at hand. Even if that meant going thirsty.
‘Do you think Jackdaw can do it?’ she asked, her voice a good octave lower than Ralust expected from one of her appearance.
‘He’s a pig-brained son of a bitch with a tendency to get in trouble.’ Ralust spat in the sand behind him. ‘Besides him I’ve seen plenty of troublemakers in these parts, all sorts of stupid, gravitate around the absurd. Jack is the only one who can do good on his crazy. He’s a fool but a talented fool. With us to back him up, he could accomplish the impossible.’
‘I see.’ The woman’s tone drifted elsewhere, somewhere darker. ‘It’s a good thing he has help then.’
‘Aye, it is.’
Ralust had spoken with adoration. Spending time around Jackdaw was business, no doubt about it, but it also came with the perk of reminiscing about his younger days. Jack was a youthful mirror, reflecting his enjoyment of danger, his once-prized sense of adventure. His mischievous wild streak.
Even Ralust’s gullibility.
Ralust jerked at the gunshot. At this close range the kick in his back sent him lunging forward, coating his face in sand. Turning himself over, he held his stomach in disbelief, the bullet exit wound now starting to profusely bleed. The look of confusion began to morph to panic as the lines on his face condensed. The woman thumbed back the pistol’s hammer once more, looking quite bored, almost as if this was routine.
There were no last words. No grand speeches. There were not even answers to the questions that Ralust spluttered out as to who she was and why she was doing this. The only thing Ralust received was the shadow of the woman who stood over him whilst pointing her gun barrel between his eyes.
Without a single pause, the woman pulled the trigger and shot Ralust in the forehead, killing him immediately.
* * *
Aboard the Morning Star, Misu had walked the length of the train three times and back. Those not tasked with a job had congregated in the dining car, seating themselves at the windows for the view. It went without saying that should they be needed, the showgirls would spring into action at a moment’s notice. The only exception to this was the train’s res
ident security, Jacques, who sat with his limb across a seat, bandaged due to a previous injury to his leg that refused to properly heal. No matter how many times Misu had reassured him he simply needed to rest the limb, he complained that doing nothing was turning him mad. The sad truth was that he wasn’t of use to anybody in his state, needing the assistance of a crutch just to walk and even that was demanding.
What was worse was that they both knew it. It just wasn’t spoken about.
At the end carriage, Franco had ensured the cannon was working as well as it could be, with the chains newly greased, its barrel freshly cleaned and the loading mechanism checked and rechecked to prevent any possibility of a jam. It had taken hours and coated most of his clothes in grease stains, but, as he explained, it was a delight to be back tinkering with the vehicle, stirring an old, delightful sensation he had gained when building the Gambler’s Den for the first time.
Crates of ammunition lay open to be used, with the explosives catering for the full gamut of possible outcomes. On the loading rack that clung to the carriage wall, already a series of pitch-black shells with red markings were in place.
‘You best get yourself cleaned up,’ Misu insisted. ‘The Messiah should be pulling away any minute now. I’ll need you with me, but looking decent if you please. I can’t have the girls believing standards are becoming lax.’
Franco roughly fingered a rag and scratched at his scalp. He went to clean himself up, but not before Misu claimed a hand upon passing. She pulled him to the doorway and, rising to the tips of her toes, pressed her lips against his, with no opportunity for him to object. She had her moment, and broke away contentedly. There was nothing more attractive to her than when Franco indulged in that pure, honest area of his soul that his showman persona tapped into. Seeing him tinker about, his mind off the show for a change, gave a glimpse of the man who didn’t carry the crippling amounts pressure every waking moment.
‘I’ll see you in a minute then,’ Franco muttered, slightly taken aback at the display of affection – not that he minded at all.
Misu walked back to the engine, imparting orders when needed, discussing any complications that might arise from this, or lack of them hopefully. An odd excitement had infected everybody on board, seemingly disregarding any potential fallout or dangers seeing that the Morning Star was so far away from the law’s reach and the Messiah itself. Inside the engine cab, the driver Ferry half hung from a window, half his mass hanging over the cab window’s edge, the other half bulbously dangling inside.
‘Is there any sign of the Messiah?’ she asked, jostling for a decent view herself. Ferry raised a bear-like arm littered with matted greying hair and pointed back to Esquelle. A telling tower of trailing black was windswept from the port to the canyon entrance.
‘They’re on the move,’ Ferry said behind his beard. His attention was now on the myriad of dials and levers in the cabin, spinning this open, closing that and preparing for their leave. ‘I guess we’re really doing this huh?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘There’s no point refusing, nor telling you that we’re no better than the crooks out there, but I want you both to know I am very much against this. I’ve seen what happens when someone storms a ship. I’ve seen good people killed at the hands of villains like this Jackdaw.’
Misu patted his shoulder, running her hand down his arm and over his considerably larger hand. There it lingered in a display of sincerity. His eyes looked wet and sullen, his beard suspiciously damp with what Misu assumed to be tears.
‘I know and I’m deeply sorry. If you want to stand down from your post, Franco can drive the train. There’s no shame in that. We said last night, nobody should feel forced.’
Ferry nodded deeply in thought, opening up a small red valve. ‘And let you all down? This is bigger than my opinions on the matter. We have a job to do, don’t we … So let’s do it.’
Misu attempted a thanks but decided against it. She retreated to the next car back where Franco was waiting for her, much cleaner than when she saw him last. He had taken to a window himself and had noticed the smoke arc up skyward, tracing the natural crevasse of the gulley, ebbing closer and closer. With a glint in his eye, Franco gave the order to prepare to pull off.
‘Let’s go do something bad.’
* * *
The Jackrabbits waited patiently, with not a word spoken among them. Mentally they were each ready to undergo this job at Jack’s word. He remained steely-eyed, working himself to spring forward at a moment, to ride with the wind behind him, striking quietly and quickly and escaping into the night like his namesake.
Blakestone was the same. His taste for patience had long run out and now he was eager to get this done. Everything had become an irritant, every noise his mount made, every chirp of the birds that were settling into the cliffs for sleep.
Cole was more tolerant of the wait. Waiting for him was a long-standing tradition, one embraced with the outlook of inevitability. He saw no reason to become frustrated as the Messiah would inevitably arrive in due time. Apart from his backside becoming numb from the saddle, he was calm.
Nobody brought attention to the fact that the sand ship was running late. Not very late, but a few minutes off schedule and enough to be noticed by Alvina, who checked her watch obsessively.
‘Do you know what I hate the most?’ Alvina asked, staring blankly down the gulley. From their position, she could see the smoke come ever closer, but was yet to witness its cause. The sun had now fallen low enough to encompass the Dead Corridor in faint darkness. The ground beneath them harboured an increasing tremor.
‘No.’ Jack spoke for the rest.
‘I hate people being late. It’s just rude. If you’re going to get robbed, at least have the decency to be on time. Inconsiderate jackasses.’
She shook her head, quite disgusted at the need to court patience.
Cole’s surprised snigger sparked a deep belly laugh from Blakestone, rocking back and forth to the point where he almost slipped from his horse. Even Jack erupted in amusement, successfully defusing the well-wound tension that had built up over the hour. The Jackrabbits all embraced the absurdity of their situation, some laughing in defiance of the danger, some simply having not courted genuine mirth for as long as they could recall, making this one moment the impending risk couldn’t corrupt. Blake wiped a tear from his cheek before setting his face into its habitual demeanour.
From around a ridge the Messiah appeared. A metal behemoth, it was an intimidating sight to see, spewing smoke and kicking up sand. The bow grew and grew in size as it advanced, gigantic in every sense of the word. It took everyone’s collective breaths away with its scope.
The ground shook at its arrival and as it eased itself out of its turn, the full length come into view as it towered high over all things. Jack reminded himself of its dimensions from the schematics Ralust had provided. Eighty-two feet wide. Six hundred and sixty-one feet long. It was as if a monster from the old days had woken, a grand Spirit determined to consume all before it, only this was manmade. Armour-clad. Unstoppable.
But as most of the old stories dictated, monsters were made to be toppled.
* * *
The Morning Star’s whistle blew at full volume, shrilly announcing to all on board – and down in the gulley – that their undertaking was underway. Its wheels sped it along the tracks, chugging with strength and urgency. The Messiah trundled along seemingly oblivious to the company that it had attracted, a thick burst of dust clouding around its caterpillar tracks that dragged its bulk along.
‘How are we doing?’ Misu called out to Franco who was attempting to gauge distances by eyesight alone. He performed the mental mathematics required for the train’s progress and for what was to come next, with his partner pressed to the glass and taking in the intimidating sight of the vehicle below. Finally, Franco gave his approval to proceed.
‘We’re at speed and keeping alongside. Are the girls ready?’
‘Say the word, dear.’
‘I’m calling it. They’ve got three minutes.’
Misu moved to the carriage telephone, an extravagant wall-mounted device with protruding conical microphone and corded detachable earpiece. She put the removable unit to her ear and pressed the corresponding button on the panel beside her, earnestly waiting for the response.
In the rearmost stock car, Katerina rushed to the telephone. Shimmying around crates of ammunition Katerina snatched the earpiece from the phone to silence its high-pitched din.
‘Cannon,’ she announced, her voice easily heard over the din and subsequent line crackle.
‘We’re at the checkpoint in three minutes. Three.’ Misu repeated herself to ensure no mistakes. ‘Can you ask Corinne if she’s ready to begin?’
Katerina tossed her head back, watching Corinne peer through the periscope, already lining up the first shot. Her hands were fixed on the handles on either side, concentrating on the trajectory required, her view hampered by the fading light.
‘Misu is asking if you’re ready,’ Katerina called out.
Corinne pulled her face away from the eye shield in frustration, adjusting for a second to the change in light. ‘To go one day without her doubting me … Never used to be this way,’ Corinne scoffed, going back to the scope and making the finest of adjustments. ‘Just tell her to give the word to begin. Nothing else. Call her a name if she says something different, make it colourful too.’
Katerina hissed through her teeth in hesitation. Finally, she spoke into the mouthpiece after much trepidation, most by the fear that Misu had heard all that.
‘She, uh … she says she’s ready when you are, boss!’
‘Stand by.’
Franco yanked down a window, letting the rushing desert winds inside that rattled droplets of crystal from each light fitting, blasting his hair wildly in assault. He leant his head out to assess the distance between themselves and the ship that churned onward to its destination. The Morning Star thrashed the tracks, easing ahead before holding its speed steady. The thunder of wheels and puff-puff-puffing of the chimney was deafening but not enough to drown out Misu’s voice as she repeated Franco’s confirmation.
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