Den of Shadows Collection: Lose yourself in the fantasy, mystery, and intrigue of this stand out trilogy. Christopher Byford
of the hand.
‘You needn’t do so. Owner of the Gambler’s Den, right? Please, Mister Monaire, don’t insult us both. Your fame greatly precedes you. I saw that magnificent train of yours some years back way out west when you ventured thataways. I never imagined I would see you here, but who am I to second-guess your motives.’
He reached over, warmly shaking Franco’s hand – perhaps a little too energetically.
‘Who indeed.’ Franco played it predictably humble, secretly wiping his hand into a handkerchief. ‘I’m glad my name coaxes such praise. And, one would hope, a discount as well?’
The suggestion coaxed a laugh before being brushed aside. ‘Oh that’s optimistic. Kudos for trying though. Times are tough for everyone out here, Mister Monaire. If it was up to me I would have it fixed up for you at cost. A courtesy for what you do for folks out here. God knows we appreciate it.’
‘How quickly can you do the job? As you’re well aware, we run on a particular schedule.’
‘The boys and I can start in a fortnight.’
‘Two weeks?’ Franco repeated with a gasp. ‘A little excessive for a couple of carriage panels, don’t you think?’
‘Previous work I’m sorry to say, not helped by being a couple of hands down.’
Franco mused long and hard about this. Or at least he gave the impression that he did so, coming to an equally false realization for the onlooker’s benefit. He had already planned for such a situation before venturing inside and should needs dictate had a proposal prepared to expedite the repairs.
‘I am an impatient sort. How about I make you an offer,’ Franco bargained, withdrawing a small golden card from a pocket. ‘You tell whoever’s job is up next that there will be a small delay. I’ll get the materials and the labour for ten per cent less than you quote. You have your boys turn up bright and early within the week …’
The manager looked considerably perplexed until the card was passed over. He scanned it, quite taken aback with its contents. Embossed across the front in well-constructed print were the following words:
YOU HAVE BEEN CORDIALLY INVITED
For one night of extravagance at the Gambler’s Den
By personal invitation of Mister Franco Del Monaire himself
‘And I’ll show you, and your workers, the time of your lives. All on me.’
With hand outstretched, Franco leant forward on the lip of his chair seat, watching the manager come to a decision.
‘Mister Monaire.’ He tightly gripped Franco’s hand with delight, unable to restrain himself. ‘I think you have yourself a deal.’
Strolling out onto the shop floor, Franco took stock of the sight of the work line, seeing exactly how much was indeed outstanding. Three locomotives sat in various states of disrepair, occasionally stripped back to their bare components, mostly covered in a combination of supporting pulleys from the overhanging steel beams.
The labourers at hand seemed an able bunch, who busied themselves in routine. A contingent moved across some iron monstrosity that he couldn’t quite identify, hammering heated metal that shook in flurries of sparks. The noise danced from one end of the yard to another in crescendo.
He ransacked his jacket pockets, feeling around for a scrap of tobacco, a roll-up, anything to take away the shakes, but only found disappointment.
* * *
Unexpectedly the men lowered their tools and began talking among themselves. They turned their attention to the shadow that strolled through the yard entrance with a click-click-click of her heels. Boisterous displays of bravado as well as offers of entanglement were flatly ignored, noticed instead by the foreman who objected noisily. Instead of sweet words, he launched a fiery tirade from the gantry he stood on. He ended with the demand to get back to work under threat of docked pay.
The woman tutted, raised her head up, and folded her arms across the chest.
‘This is where you’ve been hiding out?’ Misu called as the hammer strikes from the workers began anew.
‘Hiding – not at all. I’m doing business. Though I must ask why of all places you decided to come here to get your skirt train covered in oil.’
‘I followed you,’ she stated, climbing the steps, which were numerous and quite an annoyance, onto the raised platform.
‘Figures.’ He made himself comfortable leaning on the guardrail, acknowledging her standing alongside him.
Misu attempted, at length, to determine what Franco was so keenly observing but found nothing in his eye line except roosting pigeons.
‘Penny for them?’ Misu offered, tapping her nails against the rail itself.
‘Oh no, I pay your wages, so I know you couldn’t afford what I’m thinking.’
‘Poor in pocket but rich in spirit.’ The woman pursed her lips.
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Just something I picked up once. Why? Does it confuse you?’
‘No my grandfather used to say something similar …’ He trailed off.
Despite her patience, Franco needed prompting to continue.
‘You know, it’s weird. Whenever we get to talking, somehow you always bring him up. That’s not strange in itself, but whenever you do so, you do this whole absent thing and it all gets a little peculiar.’
Franco nodded deeply, trying to process what the woman was saying, but he found his process of thought muddled. The pigeons that had taken residence in the roof spaces distracted him with a burst of fluttering. Downy feathers fell though dust-thickened air.
‘That.’ Misu jabbed him with a finger. ‘That there is exactly what I’m talking about. Where do you go when you do that? You’re right in front of me and then suddenly you’re someplace I can’t see.’
‘Thinking.’
‘Obviously. I’m going to need a little more than that.’
Franco took stock of the workers’ yard. For an environment that required plenty of light, the interior collected a sizable amount of shadow. The skylights that ran the length of the roof did their best to diminish this but could only fare so well. This yard wasn’t too dissimilar to the old maintenance shed that he and the old-timer had claimed as a second home. All it needed was a folded-in roof and an infestation of mice.
‘Do you believe in chance?’ Franco enquired, curiously solemn.
‘You’re asking if someone who helps you run card games believes in chance?’
‘Not like that. I mean on a grander scale. Things that were, I don’t know, supposed to be?’
‘I’ve never thought about it.’ Misu nodded delicately. ‘It’s never been something to dwell upon. My life hasn’t exactly gone to plan, but there are far worse places to be and situations to end up in. Do you?’
‘No. I can’t stand the idea of not being in control, that something is pulling my strings to reach a destiny I can’t influence. I’m a lot like you in many ways. People like you and I are supposed to live in fancy houses, wear fine clothes, and drink finer wine. A place like this is still alien to me: the noise, the smells. When I’m dealing with the mechanics of the Den, all of this, I can’t help but feel out of my depth. My grandfather pushed me into this life. It wasn’t originally mine; I just inherited it all. I owe him somewhat and I’m occasionally reminded of the fact. Yet I cannot for the life of me think of anything else I would rather be doing. Curious, no?’
‘Can’t we visit him? Pay it off for good?’
‘It’s