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

      The Ajana was a Hornet-Class Sand Ship. Compared to the larger cargo haulers that took their loads across the Sand Sea itself, it was relatively modest in size with only five decks, so it was dwarfed by its companions. Dockhands loaded and unloaded cargo, in crates and sacks, in bales and bundles. In a place such as Esquelle, the Bluecoats were easily bribed to look the other way to the point where they were not even a concern. Alvina addressed them on a first-name basis, referring to favours both past and future to encourage gaps in memory and selective blindness.

      As Alvina and Cole ventured across the loading dock, Cole spied the circular paddle wheel at its rear, colossal and imposing. Even higher, its twin flumes reached skyward, painted in a bold red and darkest black. The loading ramp was at its port side, the ramps trembling with the weight of goods that teams of oxen hauled in wooden carts. Those working did nothing to interfere with their advance and, in fact, made way for them.

      With the darkness setting in, the dock gas lighters were taking ladders to the lamps one by one, illuminating the area with soft, golden pools of light. Beneath one of these lamps, a man leant on its post, clearly enjoying half of a cigar with one hand and clutching a clipboard of papers in the other. He was smartly dressed, giving orders to those passing with varying degrees of urgency.

      Upon spying the pair of Jackrabbits approaching, he took a tin whistle to his lips, indicating break time for the others. The workers vanished to presumably drink rum or play a few hands of dice. It didn’t matter what they did as long as they weren’t here.

      ‘Phillipe Denwell of the Ajana.’

      Alvina looked him up and down, holding out her hand. ‘Welcome back to Esquelle.’

      Phillipe patiently drew upon his cigar stub, relishing it, before slapping the clipboard of papers into her hand. He spat a wodge of phlegm onto the ground, following it up with a deep-reaching snort. Cole raised an eyebrow, disgusted.

      ‘It’s nice to be welcomed. That’s the thing with this place. Good beds, decent food and accommodating individuals like yourselves. It’s my sort of town.’ He withdrew his smoke, gesturing to the paperwork. ‘That’s the formalities done with – there you go. There’s what you’re looking for. I’ve done my bit.’

      ‘Pay the man, Cole,’ Alvina insisted. Money was exchanged but when doing so, Cole noticed the grimace on the individual before him. He begrudgingly counted the notes, not that there was any need to – he hadn’t done so the times before, but this betrayed his assertion that things were fine.

      Alvina flicked through page after page. The ship’s manifest detailed all of the cargo it was hauling and where. It was commonplace for things to simply go missing when shipments were moved about, simply a risk of hauling goods. It was a hazard brought about the likes of the Jackrabbits, who skimmed off goods and tossed coin to the easily manipulated. It was easy work. Dockworkers and ship hands were normally poorly paid, jumping at the chance to earn extra on the side. They didn’t care about the cargo being taken. When questioned, they feigned ignorance about the items going missing. When being exploited by a second-rate shipping company, being able to get one over on them made the deals all the sweeter.

      ‘I’m going to need more for this information you know. It’s valuable stuff,’ Phillipe demanded.

      There it was. Cole narrowed his eyes in suspicion but Alvina was already ahead of him with her response.

      ‘Don’t be stupid. You get paid what we agreed. This isn’t something you just haggle over.’

      ‘No, but there is a market for this kind of information.’ He puffed slyly, slowly, trying to draw their patience out and encourage rash behaviour. ‘Plenty of interest out there I dare say.’

      ‘Oh, you dare say, do you?’ Alvina slanted her hips, holding the manifest at her side, assuring him that he now had her full attention. ‘Are you threatening to go elsewhere?’

      ‘Hey, what I provide is worthwhile to you people and I should be getting something more out of it. When things go missing, I have to answer questions to dock managers. It puts a sweat on a man. One day they might be forceful with how they ask me, you know? Might end up accidentally saying something that would embarrass Jack.’

      Something didn’t quite add up to Cole as he asked for the clipboard from Alvina’s hands. He had looked at it over her shoulder, keeping himself quiet. The more he examined it, the more perplexed he became. The woman relinquished the paperwork. Cole flicked through the pages in turn.

      ‘Looking over this, the best thing that you’ve got loaded up on the Ajana is three crates of Muskratt wine. They would go for two hundred each, at a conservative estimate. We couldn’t split it and bulk is always cheaper. Now, I’m guessing you make … thirty a trip? Forty, max? You’re a box loader, so it’s not like you have a decent route for progression, plus the turnover of your kind is …’ Cole licked his lips ‘…considerable. Plenty of people can drag about a crate. It isn’t the finest skill, though if you’re implying that it’s yours then I suggest you raise your aspirations.’

      ‘Aspirations?’ He repeated the word a couple of times, stumbling over the pronunciation. ‘Is your boy here trying to insult me?’

      ‘Shut. Up.’ Alvina fired back bluntly. ‘Cole, what are you getting at?’

      ‘If we sell this at back-alley prices, even without negotiation – we can take another ten per cent away, it’s barely going to be worth our time. We pay you how much?’

      ‘Too much.’ Alvina kept her gaze upon Phillipe.

      ‘Thirty a manifest,’ he revealed.

      Cole howled in amusement. ‘Shit, with that on top, we’re basically losing money handling this stuff. We could use our time a lot more productively. If he wants to play hard, we can let him go.’

      Alvina smirked.

      ‘Well, let’s not be too hasty.’ Phillipe recoiled, spluttering on his cigarette smoke.

      ‘Hasty is good,’ she rebutted.

      ‘I would recommend that we drop this little arrangement.’ Cole tossed the manifest to its owner who caught it clumsily.

      ‘Now, now hold on!’ Phillipe tossed his cigar stub off the dock in alarm. ‘I’m not saying we should give up on our agreement for good –’

      ‘Seems like it would be the sensible thing to do,’ Alvina coldly stated, indifferent to any sort of panic that he exhibited.

      ‘Twenty-five!’ he blurted out. ‘Twenty-five a manifest.’

      Cole snorted sarcastically, needing to turn away.

      ‘Twenty,’ Alvina offered, ‘and you keep that attitude in check. We have something nice and steady happening here and your aspirations are ruining it.’

      ‘I understand. I got it.’

      She coughed loudly holding out a flat palm. Phillipe rushed so much to give her the change that he almost dropped the rest. Alvina stuffed the notes into a pocket, leaving him with her last piece of advice. ‘Make sure you do.’

      It took them until they left the docks before Alvina finally addressed Cole with her thoughts.

      ‘Good work there.’

      ‘It’s nice to finally be of some sort of use. I was getting tired of all the crap jobs.’ He smiled in relief.

      ‘I would say you’ve stepped up. Jack’ll be happy with that performance.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘As long as I tell it right.’

      Cole crinkled up his face, unsure if that was a threat. Alvina nudged him playfully.

      ‘What’s next on the docket, Little Fish?’

      Cole scanned his list. ‘We’re meeting someone by the name of Kalie