Den of Shadows: The gripping new fantasy novel for fans of Caraval. Christopher Byford

and weathered in appearance. The gaze that brought the truth in many an interrogation failed to intimidate Franco, who passed it off.

      ‘I’m afraid not,’ he replied.

      The sheriff ran his hand over the steely veneer of the nearest carriage, tracing each bullet hole in sequence. Only now was Franco able to assess the damage of their little run-in. Not to mention calculate the approximate cost.

      ‘Run into some trouble, did we?’

      ‘We get just as much as anybody else.’ Franco shrugged. ‘The Den just knows how to defend itself.’

      ‘No unlicensed weaponry I hope.’

      ‘Perish the thought, sheriff. Papers for them all.’

      ‘Talking of papers, I want to see the gambling licence for this vehicle. It’s not exempt from gambling laws just because it’s on wheels.’

      Misu was already prepared. They had been pressed by the law many times. None of the houndings ever resulted in an apology, but something close. The Den was legal front and back. Just because they dealt with large sums of gambling money didn’t mean that the paperwork wasn’t in check. Misu offered over the leather-bound wedge of paper, which was snatched and blindly passed to anyone in reach to review. It was looked at, quickly.

      ‘They were stamped two years back in the capital.’

      Sceptical, Juniper reclaimed the documents. He brought the pages closer and eyed the imprints for any indication of forgery.

      ‘We’re far from there. Most folk would attempt to hoodwink us with fakes.’

      ‘Luckily we’re not those kind of folk. As down and honest as the day we were made, much to our misfortune.’ Franco chuckled half-heartedly.

      Alex stared longer this time, more intently, searching his hardest for any sign of tampering.

      ‘I assure you, all is in order.’

      Harold was eager to check every stamp and the validity of travel himself, though had to take the sheriff’s overriding word.

      Acknowledging that, from what he could witness, everything was legitimate, Juniper placed the paperwork roughly back into Misu’s hand. She scowled at his flat, childish response.

      ‘This is a clean city with good people. Be sure that you don’t get involved in anything unlawful. If there’s one thing we don’t abide by, it’s troublemakers.’

      ‘Trouble isn’t something we make, friend. You have no need to worry,’ Franco assured him before leading his party down the platform. ‘In our business, such a thing is unprofitable.’

      * * *

      To find oneself in Windberg was almost bewildering after spending time in the trade outposts. A city – and not just any city – the most expansive and extravagant city squatting on the cusp of the Bad Lands. It was a sprawling, claustrophobic beast. It was a city that could comfortably hold a good few thousand people but accommodated plenty more with the ever-expanding shantytowns. In its rush for growth, districts resembled haphazard constructions. Wealthy ones, boasting fine multi-storey erections, simply punctuated the contrast to reams of terraced dwellings threaded by maze-like streets of the poor.