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

      The Gambler’s Den itself slowly began to show signs of life. Near the back of the train was the personnel carriage where the employees slept, a boxcar for storage, and a sweeping observation car at the end, outfitted as a lounge. Franco emerged from his personal carriage, half-dressed and scratching through his unkempt hair. The night had gone very well. As usual, small towns like this were full of those who needed entertainment and whilst money was difficult to earn, the philosophy of giving the people what they wanted, which Franco lived by, had paid dividends.

      The showgirls had now arisen and were set into the routine of cleaning up under the lazy light. It didn’t take long for the dusty station to be devoid of litter and broken glass, defying the fact that the evening’s festivities had even taken place. A few stragglers who had lain out on the platform benches or fallen asleep in the chairs were gradually awoken and encouraged to attempt the journey home.

      Surveying the scene, Franco sucked on his cigarette until taking the decision to bravely venture onward. He passed under the entranceway and covered his eyes as the sun set his vision awash with white. Finally, when his eyesight returned, he blinked in the sight of Rustec’s streets that remained perfectly quiet. It brought a measure of vanity – as, for Franco, it meant a job well done. Nothing signified a good time more than half of the locals comatose come the working day. Now all he had to do was tie up loose ends.

      He turned back on himself and spied the invitation banner that fluttered in the breeze. Rather than be pleased he muttered an obscenity. How in the name of all of the worst things in the world was he supposed to get to it? It hung some twenty feet in the air, curled around – what was that?

      Franco covered his eyes again.

      A gas lamp? Someone had hung their grand invitation around a gas lamp of all things? Why not have it sit in the mud or have a horse urinate on it while we’re at it? The shocking lack of theatricality gnawed at him but what else was expected when you slipped money to nobodies to hang the announcement up? The more pressing matter was how he was going to get it down.

      Seeing that the youth of the town didn’t get to participate in the drinking nor games, they ventured through the streets as usual. A street child clad in tatters sauntered past, stopping and taking stock of the local celebrity with open-mouthed awe.

      ‘You the train man?’ the child meekly probed.

      ‘Aye,’ he answered, still deliberating his conundrum.

      There was a pause.

      ‘That yours then?’ the child asked, pointing at the material fluttering with licks of wind. The damn thing was taunting the pair of them.

      ‘Aye,’ Franco repeated himself, a touch more sour than before.

      ‘It’s pretty high up.’

      ‘That it is.’

      In a glimmer of inspiration Franco took to his knee, producing a silver coin from a pocket, which mesmerized the child with its reflection.

      ‘How do you fancy earning this?’ he rasped, mouth still occupied with smoke. The child hadn’t seen so much money in a long while, and only spoke to ask how.

      Five minutes later Franco carried the invitation banner over his shoulder whilst whistling a tune in contentment. Simple problems were solved with simple solutions, he deduced.

      Sliding back the door to his private carriage, Franco tossed the banner down in an empty space. The lavishly decorated interior was awash with red velvet and gold trim. The furniture was kept to a minimum, consisting of an elegant bed, a desk, and two sofas. Exotic materials, trinkets, and mementos littered the place: souvenirs from exotic places far from Rustec, far from any civilization, were pinned or placed.

      It was an enigmatic affair though sorted into some semblance of order when scrutinized. The single desk was littered with the contents of other people’s pockets, weighing down stacked charts made by those who excelled in cartography. For those who desired order and neatness in their lives, this car was a literal nightmare. For Franco, it was home.

      He took the handle of a mug filled with coffee. A quick draw on the drink revealed it to be cold, though that mattered not with a headache such as his. This tranquillity was interrupted as a sudden rapping at the connecting door drew his attention.

      ‘Are you awake yet?’ came a voice.

      He ground the stub of his cigarette into a makeshift ashtray.

      ‘If I wasn’t then you just made sure of that. You’re under the impression that I slept.’

      Misu made a small smile as she entered, swinging the door to a close behind her, examining her boss’s shirtless physique with a glance. It didn’t go unnoticed.

      ‘I confess, I did see you taking a stroll on the platform. Walking around like that will distract the other girls, Franco. You should be more modest with what you put on display. They’re only human, you know.’

      ‘And yet you show no concern for your own wellbeing. That is quiet telling. Like a swan who points out the rest of her flock to a predator to spare her own life.’

      He cockily swigged from the coffee once more until it was emptied.

      Misu covered her smirk with a hand, retrieving a clean shirt from the back of the sofa and tossing it to him.

      ‘Put that on. You should stop fantasizing about what you cannot have, my dear manager. That sort of attitude could become the end of you. I have news from our dear driver that he is ready for the off on your word. The girls are waiting your inspection.’

      Franco begrudgingly pulled the material over his head and wrestled with the cuff buttons.

      ‘A little keen, aren’t they? We still have some time. We still have, uh …’ He trailed off under the realization that his pocket watch was absent from his trousers.

      Instead, Misu filled the gap. ‘Two hours,’ she flatly stated.

      ‘Exactly, we have another two hours. Seems awfully impatient of them.’

      ‘I keep them prompt and organized. You said you expected no less of the women in our employ.’

      ‘That does indeed sound like something I would say.’ He loosely brushed his hair into some sort of shape with his fingers, changing the subject. ‘How were the takings last night?’

      ‘A little on the low side but nothing too worrying. We’re still down but I don’t see that continuing as a trend given where we’re heading next. I’ve already amended the books so they’re ready for the safe. That is, unless you want me to do that as well?’

      It was a bone of contention that Franco didn’t trust anybody with the safe key other than himself. It was kept on his person at all times. He had decided before any others were employed he would be the only one to have access – as much for everyone else’s protection as his own. Nobody would be tempted to take something they shouldn’t and as a result, he wouldn’t have to wildly speculate as to the culprit and sow discord among the ranks.

      Misu, however, didn’t see things quite like this. As she was tasked with maintaining order among the showgirls, her role was quite considerable and weighty with responsibilities. She could assist in deciding where they were to visit next. In fact it was her numerous contacts that they used to send the invitation banner to whichever location was decided on. So it was unfathomable that she was denied the ability to put away a little money. It was an insult, nothing more.

      ‘Nobody opens the safe but me. We’ve been through this before. Don’t take it personally.’

      He knew it was difficult not to. He moved on past and held the door open for her to leave the carriage. She did so after a scrutinizing glare.

      The pair walked the length of the carriages, ensuring everything was ready for pulling off. They began with the end lounge car, which had been a point of congregation for smokers. Cherry-red wood was lacquered into a deep crimson, with every panel adorned with carvings, telling stories