Den of Shadows Collection: Lose yourself in the fantasy, mystery, and intrigue of this stand out trilogy. Christopher Byford
Bad timing as well. Want me to try and get rid of him?’
Again Alex Juniper called, looking over the windows for any sign of life in the vehicle. ‘I’m giving you a courtesy to step out, but you should know I could walk on and drag you out by them pretty shoes of yours. You going to come say hello?’
‘That’s just brilliant.’ Franco eased his footwear on to comply.
‘He’s not after a friendly conversation I’d wager,’ Jacques grunted. ‘Are we going to be looking for trouble?’
‘Not this time; just behave yourself.’
‘Isn’t that an irony coming from you?’
The pair stepped out, hurriedly dressed and still red-eyed. Franco was fairly presentable, unlike his cohort who stood with shirt untucked and hair wild. An edge of concern unknowingly entered Franco’s voice, but he coughed it and the residue of fine rum away. ‘Sheriff. Awful loud ruckus you’re making just to say hello. Something I can do for you?’
‘Since you asked so nicely. Hold out your wrists.’
Franco failed to muster an iota of respect in his response. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I don’t think you need excusing; you heard me perfectly well. Hold out your wrists. Now.’
Franco conceded. His hands were bonded with weighted irons. All the while, Alex grinned contently.
‘Franco Del Monaire,’ the sheriff announced with so much delight he could burst, ‘I am arresting you for assisting the criminal underclass in their misdeeds and numerous murders, for associating with said people and the involvement of the robbery of contraband from this fair city. And on top of that, anything else I damn well see fit.’
‘This is unfair. We had nothing to do with these things!’ Franco protested. Already he was being escorted away and Jacques was warned against intervention with the showing of billy clubs.
‘No, son. Being unable to lynch you where you stand in this great city of mine is a lack of fairness. This right here, this is just bad luck on your part. Or justice on mine. Take your pick.’
* * *
By the time the girls had returned, they expected to find Franco scowling, reading a riot of words about the docking of pay or the show of respect for his authority. They were, of course, all ready for this, with Corinne insisting that she would be doing most of the talking as there was no barb she couldn’t refute.
Yet as they walked into Central Station, Platform 4 was ominously quiet. Others who were passing through, or waiting at other platforms watched, as word had spilt that Franco Del Monaire had been arrested. What the girls found was their solemn-looking head of security, slouched on a carriage coupling. He was attempting to ease his pain with a bad Bloody Mary, with too little Blood and too much of the Mary.
When able to, he answered every question put to him. He cited the details of Franco’s arrest, step by torturous step, until his drink was empty. Every protest by the girls was met with a deadpan response. The situation was, to use his exact words, utterly hopeless and he suggested they take some time to sleep. It had been a busy night, he stated with intense sarcasm, though it was true.
The girls were led to every back-end hole that passed for a bar, or lodging, to find Misu. They asked revellers in the streets, patrons inside taverns, but always the answers were, depressingly, the same. Daybreak came and so they carried defeat back with them on the long walk back. They all took Jacques’s offer and spent a good few hours of rest.
Wyld strolled back to the Den, her conscience and backpack a good deal lighter. It had taken all morning to negotiate a semi-decent deal with those Muddick had arranged for her to meet, and while she was burdened with less, the profit cut still stung.
Twenty-four per cent.
Twenty-four damn per cent lost. Other places had been happy with ten to fifteen but no, not here, not in Windberg. People had to be kept happy, she was told. Dues had to be paid and so the percentage was jacked up; otherwise it wasn’t worth their while to get their hands dirty. Still, money was money and when an opportunity rose to relieve herself of ill-gotten goods, Wyld was not so foolish as to ignore it.
Rather than navigate the streets, she snuck through the station’s scrapyard, slinking past corpses of carriages and pallet-stacked parts before reaching Platform 4. On approach she observed the sullen faces and even eye rolling of the showgirls. They stood and sat in line, clearly disinterested in working. It was just past midday. Why was everyone lingering outside and making things look untidy?
‘Nothing to do?’ she enquired, prompting a handful of scowls from the showgirls.
‘Plenty to do,’ one responded flatly. ‘Unlike yourself.’ She leant over and whispered into the ear of another. Wyld didn’t need to hear the words. She could already tell that whatever was said wasn’t kind.
Jacques snorted as he informed Wyld of the details. Each revelation caused her to furrow her forehead in question, though she refrained from asking anything until he had finished. Each query, mostly, revolved around the why more than the how – something that the showgirls believed Wyld could clarify. She was, after all, a spectre on this ride. Her presence was unacknowledged, her cargo blatantly illegal, and if anyone managed to catch her involved in such business, things would come crashing down for everyone.
So it was assumed, almost unanimously, that Wyld had slipped up. Somewhere, maybe during the thievery, or maybe during an escape, she was seen and followed, incriminating them all. It was possible that one of her secretive contacts had ratted her out to save himself from jail time. Either way, the finger was pointed quite firmly at the Den’s resident stowaway, despite the evidence to the contrary.
‘It’s lies. I don’t believe a word of it,’ Kitty boldly dismissed. ‘We’re supposed to believe that Misu brought all this on us?’
‘That’s what the boss said,’ Jacques grunted.
‘Well the boss is allowed to be all kinds of wrong, isn’t he? We all know who the real culprit is here.’
She fired an accusing glance to a sombre-looking Wyld who sat in a carriage doorway. They all turned in unspoken indictment.
Wyld in turn looked up and around her.
‘It’s your fault,’ Kitty continued. ‘All this stupid running around, getting the boss to go this way and that. Robbing whatever you please. Misu is innocent and you, you little rat, you’ve brought this on us. Damn stowaway.’
The words were spat, venomously punctuating their boldness. Katerina placed a hand on her cohort’s shoulder to ease her back into line, a gesture quickly shaken off.
‘That’s not true!’ Wyld protested.
Jacques, as much as he hated to admit one of their own was the cause of this trouble, felt no option but to quell this accusation, for as much good it would do.
‘Kitty, the boss said –’
‘The boss said, the boss said,’ she mocked, waving her hands in gesture. ‘Well I ain’t believing the boss! My own sensibilities tell me the cause of this one. At least admit when you’ve caused a mess. Take ownership. You should march in that there police station and turn yourself in. That would be the right thing to do. Where did you hide all this stuff anyway?’
Wyld narrowed her eyes in response, though none of this was any of their business in the slightest. Katerina parted her lips to contribute but clearly thought it best to avoid antagonizing anyone further.
Wyld kept her mouth shut. She didn’t owe anybody an answer.
Kitty scraped her teeth back and forth in irritation. ‘Stupid trinkets. You have no shame, chasing the sun for junk. Getting others involved. Getting us involved specifically.’
Wyld took to her feet and walked before her accuser, keen to ensure that this would no