Den of Smoke: Absolutely gripping fantasy page turner filled with magic and betrayal. Christopher Byford

but easily reaching seven foot in height, blessed with a disfiguring scar down the left side of his face.

      Jack tugged on the trunk handle, a slight jerk to encourage Cole to come to a stop. It wasn’t needed.

      At the front of the group, a stocky individual stepped forward to speak on their behalf. His attire was a fine attempt at dressing with some class, though his true nature was given away by patches in his woollen trousers and stained tunic. He smiled, revealing the glimmer of a gold tooth. He assessed the silent caution that Jack had now adopted.

      ‘What’s the problem, Jacky boy? You don’t seem happy to see us.’

      These were the people you didn’t want to bump into down an alleyway, dark or otherwise. These were the ones who inhabited bad streets, shady backend bars, all the places that the unfortunate found themselves. Jackdaw immediately sprung into a well-rehearsed display of asserting his presence.

      ‘Quite the opposite in fact, Derek! I count myself quite fortunate that you’re all still up to, well, whatever you’re doing here. Slouching? Loitering? Always on the up with you Sanders Boys.’

      The bravado wasn’t well received. Derek blindly spat a wad of chewing tobacco beside his feet. ‘Still the funny bastard, as ever.’

      Naturally eyes went to trunk between the pair, something that Cole quickly stepped in front of to block from view.

      ‘What’s in the box?’ Derek asked, tilting to see over Cole’s shoulder.

      Jack immediately dismissed it with a wave of his free hand. ‘Oh now, this is something you don’t want to be paying mind to. It’s just some old assorted junk. For the scrapheap, nothing more.’

      ‘Let’s have a look shall we? If it’s, you know, just junk.’

      ‘What, you’re not the trusting type?’ Jack straightened up.

      ‘More of the curious variety.’

      Jack and Cole failed to move. Cole didn’t want to ignite a situation that was already a tinderbox and Jack kept his nerve impeccably.

      Behind them the cracking of knuckles became nauseatingly loud.

      ‘Oh, Derek, come now, what’s all this?’ Jackdaw asked.

      ‘You’ve been too bossy as of late, Jack. We need to take the jobs that you leave behind these days, the scraps, and they do not pay well. This time though, this time, we get the payoff. Today, us Sanders Boys get to be the smart ones. You’re all alone, just the two of you. Stupid, ain’t it?’

      ‘Stupid,’ Jack repeated with a quirk of his brow. ‘For a box of junk?’

      ‘We both know that’s far from junk.’

      The large one grunted from behind, coaxing a turn. He growled at Jackdaw, his lip curtailing unevenly in clear reminiscence of a previous encounter.

      ‘Still sore about that scar, eh, Brutus?’ Jack showed his teeth with glee. ‘You shouldn’t be. It adds character. Gives you that whole don’t test me look. It’s a good look. It suits you. You’re welcome.’

      Cole cleared his throat. ‘So, er … you boys gonna shoot us or something?’

      ‘They won’t shoot us,’ Jackdaw bragged, ‘they won’t do shit.’

      ‘Yeah?’ Brutus grunted, letting his anger dominate. He took his revolver into his oversized grip. Given the size of the hand holding it, the weapon was hilariously small. It was a miracle that one of the fat fingers could fit in the trigger guard.

      ‘That’s the truth of it. You Sanders Boys can pat yourselves on the backs and clink your glasses saying that you got one on ol’ Jacky boy, but we all know that if anything else comes to pass, there’ll be hell delivered to your doors.’

      Jack shed the humour from his words. He became sharper, with threatening eyes that burnt with conviction.

      ‘You think the big man would tolerate it? An insult to me is a message to him. I think you’ll find I’m far more lenient than Donovan has ever been. And he will come for you and brush you from the gutter to the grave without even blinking. You know it. I know it.’

      The trunk end smacked the pavement as his fingers released the handle. Cole followed quickly on account of feeling somewhat foolish. They each took a step away from their cargo.

      ‘So celebrate, boys! You earnt this one. We’ll be going on our merry and you can do … you know. The drinking. Back-slapping. All of that. Until he comes for you.’

      Jackdaw went to stride away, encouraging Cole to follow suit with a flick of his eyes. Brutus, however, did not move, doing an excellent job of blocking their escape.

      ‘Do you know what I heard?’ Derek stated, casually striking up a cigarette. ‘I heard that the famous Jackdaw isn’t so close to the big man any more. You see, someone mentioned that you ended up screwing up a deal months back, some simple drop job. Yeah, quite a penny’s worth of goods it were. It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole thing had been fabricated so that you could sell the drop on your lonesome.’

      Jack’s eyes darted to the trunk, watching the Sanders Boy’ smiles develop grandly. This was going to get ugly.

      ‘And if I recall correctly, and I suppose I do, I heard that if you messed up again, your corpse would be buried so far deep in the Sand Sea that even the Angels wouldn’t be able to find you.’

      Jackdaw felt his cocksure smile fade. His assumption was right. Derek finished his cigarette with a painfully long draw.

      ‘So I think the big man will thank us for doing you over. Get them!’ he ordered.

      * * *

      Back in the marketplace, the Blacksad Inn went about its usual business, the bustle of customers looking for a midday drink came and went through the doors. Meals were eaten, the staff kept considerably busy in their duties, but not so busy that they didn’t notice the pair of bloodied individuals who shuffled their way upstairs and took a table overlooking the market itself.

      Jackdaw exhaled, finding relief in sitting down. Everything ached. Even his bones felt like they were sore. Luckily none were broken, or at least not that he could tell. There was always time for a fracture to reveal itself but for the moment, despite the numerous swellings, Jack was as intact as one could get. He rifled through his dirtied jacket and withdrew a crushed pack of smokes, taking out a crooked one, and slipped it between his lips. His matchbox, excessive patting found, was missing.

      * * *

      Cole thought that Jack looked wretched, but what was more worrying was the out-of-place smile that he touted.

      ‘Got a light?’ Jack grunted.

      Cole pinched each tooth and tested them in turn, unimpressed. His fingers were dabbled in red on account of a nasty split lip. Rather than reply, Cole simply glared, prompting the cigarette to be put upon the table. Jack’s attention turned to other things, waving one of the waitresses for service and calling out for two tankards of house ale.

      ‘I’m hungry. What do you fancy?’

      Cole immediately halted his survey of personal damage. ‘An explanation.’

      ‘I don’t think they serve that here,’ Jack quipped.

      The waitress, a blonde, stocky thing with an apron dirtied from a busy shift, sauntered over with tray in hand. She glanced between them and made a coy pursing of her lips. Finally, with a tut, she placed a tankard in front of each, overfilled with foam.

      ‘Have a disagreement with someone, did we, flower?’ she addressed Jackdaw, whose bruises had already begun to darken. ‘I do hope you’re not dragging trouble behind you as I would hate to have to send you on your way.’

      ‘Mmm. Quite the contrary, I’m in a celebrating mood. We’ll each have whatever special you’re doing