Den of Shadows. Christopher Byford

or poisoned.’

      Misu glanced to the plate of bacon and flat bread that Franco had almost managed to finish, finding the hypocrisy to be almost amusing. She grinned, in answer to which he patted his lips with a napkin, balled it beside him, and returned the expression in kind.

      Misu flexed a finger to the plate. ‘That right there tells me that we should see how it plays out. Trust in my recruitment and give it a chance. Okay?’

      ‘We’ll do it your way.’ Franco eased a yawn.

      ‘I’m glad you see sense. How are the finances after last night? Generally, I mean,’ she asked.

      ‘We’re not broke yet.’

      ‘Not this week at least.’ She paused then winced meekly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

      ‘Sure you did. It’s fine though; I don’t mind you prying. You’re right. Not this week.’ Franco grinned and she reciprocated.

      ‘Good to know.’ Misu paused. ‘I was wondering where you were at the close last night. I had to give your speech, you know. I’ve not done that in a while.’

      ‘Some people wanted me to play nice, talk to them, that sort of thing. Got dragged away for far too long.’ Franco yawned, recalling the events and their associated tedium.

      ‘Anyone important?’

      ‘Local mayor, some friends of his. Nothing that couldn’t wait but they insisted I bantered at the table. Then he wanted me to meet his daughter in an attempt of matchmaking, not that they had the courtesy to inform me first. The stories, damn their mouths – they talked seemingly for ever! If I hear one more tale about how Balvalk was once great I may very well shoot this head of mine. It’s not great. Greatness never lived here. It just needed a place to piss and hung around a spell before moving on.’

      ‘And the daughter?’

      ‘Not my sort.’

      Misu snorted in amusement. ‘Do you even have a sort?’

      ‘I’ll tell you one day. You can keep guessing until then.’ Franco thanked a woman who passed and balanced his plate upon a stack of others she was on her way to clean.

      ‘I have no need to guess. You missed the commotion though; I’m sure you’re disappointed at that.’ Misu hung a cigarette between her lips and snapped off the contents of a matchbook. She held the flame in place, drawing slowly on her poison before shaking the fire to reduction. Her flute of grey smoke evaporated quickly. ‘We had a little trouble but nothing fancy.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Some drunk accused one of ours of counting cards. Got rowdy and smashed a bottle. Glass everywhere.’

      ‘Heavens.’

      ‘Nothing more than a mess. Jacques calmed him down enough for the constabulary to haul him away after.’

      ‘A relief to hear. That man has paid for himself ten times over. The benefits of having some strong-arm help.’

      ‘Careful, Franco, you’re in danger of sounding like you actually care.’

      ‘Mistake noted. What are your plans for the day?’

      ‘The girls and I are going to the bath-house in town. I’m assuming that we can be spared some walking around money after last night? A little shopping would keep the spirits up.’

      ‘But the bath-house?’ he queried.

      ‘A little publicity for us, dear. Some pampering – I’m sure you won’t mind.’

      Appearance was everything for the Gambler’s Den, and Misu knew full well what effect the parade of showgirls had on bored locals. Their appearance, especially in a pack, caused a sensation wherever they ventured, guaranteeing a higher turnout before a subsequent show. A higher turnout would result in a higher profit – at least one would assume so.

      * * *

      Franco pondered Misu’s request but remained cautious. He recalled the time where they were almost mobbed in a market square, or the time when some young men became far too aggressive in their affections. To him, it was not worrying. It was being wary of negative perceptions, despite how mechanical and callous that sounded. He had to consider these things, as the others sure wouldn’t. Why let sensibilities interrupt something fun?

      Misu leant forward with a pout. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

      Franco hesitated, only for a moment, but relinquished any concerns. Let them have their moment to dissipate the recent stress, he decided.

      ‘Of course I don’t. Make sure you’re back by dusk though. We’re hauling off then.’

      ‘A late one? You’ve not done that in a while.’

      ‘We’re going to be an extra day as it is on account of a detour. Red Points is starting to get busy with hijackings according to the wire. I would rather we kept ourselves in a measure of security even if that puts us an extra day over sand.’

      The newswire had been abuzz in recent weeks. His venture into Balvalk’s post office confirmed that bandits were becoming increasingly brazen. He had scanned the noticeboards, taking in the bevy of warnings adorned with noticeably large print. Robbery this. Hijacking that. Ransom notices here and there. Pockets of lawlessness were widening out in the region, forcing organized travel routes to be changed with uncomfortable frequency. And there was significant cost. The Gambler’s Den was a lucrative target to any raiding parties and sadly replacing bullet-bitten panels was straining the coffers.

      ‘There’s that caring thing once more.’ Misu stubbed out her cigarette. ‘My, Franco, we’ll make an honest man out of you yet.’

      ‘I doubt it. Never been much for honest folk.’

      ‘Are they problematic?’ Misu quirked a brow.

      Franco accompanied her rise to leave. He spied Rosso feverishly devouring his breakfast with copious amounts of coffee on a nearby table, accompanied by the boy who timidly pecked at his food in comparison.

      ‘Slippery,’ he replied. ‘At least with the rough cut, you get what you see.’

      Distracted, Franco manoeuvred himself around the bar and rummaged beneath the counter. Settling upon a distinctive glass bottle with a rather attractive label, he hoisted it out by one of the fixed glass handles and deposited it before their resident driver. The pair subsequently stopped their eating.

      ‘That is a pleasure,’ Rosso admitted, clearly relishing the thought of taking the cork from this beauty and draining it dry.

      ‘For making good time,’ Franco declared, ‘though please do show some restraint; you still have to get us to Windberg.’