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

owner of the Bread & Batter.’ Cole skipped over the name as requested. ‘We have a sit-down with her at eight to discuss this week’s demand about repercussions.’

      ‘Someone looks at the woman badly and she insists we do something about it. Such a thorn. We have over an hour so what say we get something to eat? Your treat.’

      ‘Sure.’ Cole folded his ledger, only half hearing before finally stopping in realization. ‘Wait, I’m doing what now?’

      * * *

      The smells of Cook’s Alley were mesmerizing. Never had Cole experienced such a cacophony of aromas. Each stall was a bustle of noise with the talk of customers and the sizzle of grills, pans and woks. It was a place where food from all corners could be consumed, exotic dishes emanating from places few had heard of. The customers were usually labourers, looking for somewhere always open with hot, cheap food. It helped of course that the alcohol was just as varied, ranging from the incredible to the downright harmful. A handful of change could get someone a skinful, suiting the dockhands just fine.

      Alvina was in her element. Everything about Cook’s Alley was delightful. The constant din of spatulas slapping meat and riotous laughter was a comfort. She visited at least once a week to indulge in her own personal euphoria. Usually this was a solitary affair, but seeing that Cole was of Settler blood she deemed it decent of her to share the experience.

      ‘Come on, we’re eating. All this has made me hungry.’

      Cole glanced around at the vendors. He would rather put himself in front of a fireplace with a brandy and eat something resembling an actual meal than … whatever this was.

      ‘Where? Here?’

      ‘Oh what, do you have an aversion to street vendors, pretty boy? Afraid you’ll get grease on your nice, clean shirts?’ Alvina followed up her sarcasm with a batting of her eyelashes.

      ‘It’s not that. I’ve just never …’

      She took him by the hand and pulled him over towards a nearby stall. ‘Then it’ll be an experience. Take that stick from your backside and park it down on a seat. This place will do.’

      The only thing the stall was suitable for was contracting food poisoning. Everywhere he looked there was something that made him cringe – a disregard for cleanliness being the biggest culprit. The owner danced rice around in a pan, took a tumbler of wine to his lips then doused the pan’s contents with half of the drink. Jets of flame launched around as the alcohol ignited. All the cook did in response was drink the rest of the wine. The rice was slid into a bowl and garnished with who-knows-what before finally being slid across to a patron covered in too much hair and too many tattoos.

      ‘You should know I don’t judge a person by what they drink, only where they drink it,’ Cole grumbled.

      ‘Lucky for me your opinion means very little at the present moment. Come on, don’t be shy.’

      On their approach the cook spied them and beckoned the pair over. He was seemingly oblivious as he put the pan back on the burner, and the remaining contents started to burn inside.

      ‘Alvina, my friend! Come, come out of the cold and inside.’

      ‘Marquis, it’s fine to see you. How is business?’

      Marquis was a man who was either terribly aged or was ageing terribly. His stringy white hair was unkempt, his smile missing a few teeth. His face resembled a leather apron that had been balled up. Despite these very obvious and significantly distracting misfortunes, the eagerness he radiated was second to none.

      ‘Business is fine. No difficulty. Your friend?’

      Cole gave his name whilst examining the ripped and soiled stool that would be his seat. The bar wasn’t any better, peppered with numerous cigarette burns and stains. The hairy patron beside him grunted as he devoured his meal, spraying grains of rice across the bar with a number landing in Cole’s lap.

      ‘Cole,’ Marquis cheered far too enthusiastically, reaching over the bar and shaking his hand vigorously, ‘nice to meet you.’

      ‘You as well.’ Cole withdrew his hand in defeat, finally sitting.

      ‘Do you eat?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Cole asked, slightly taken aback at the broken language. He turned to Alvina, stifling a smile. ‘Do we?’

      ‘Be kind,’ she insisted, turning to the vendor. ‘Yes, we do. We will have pork buns, egg soup – peppered – and a fried apple, each.’

      The order was hastily scribbled down onto a notepad with vigorous nodding. ‘Drinking?’

      ‘Two Red Sail Specials.’

      Marquis grinned approvingly whilst scribbling into the notepad. ‘Warm nights, warm nights for you.’

      Immediately he spun on his heel, retrieving a pair of glass tumblers. They were filled by a side-standing cask on the bar, a bright red liquid settling in the glasses before being slid across the bar top.

      More rice scattered onto Cole’s trousers, but despite noticing, he now lacked the will to protest. The drink itself resembled equal parts diesel and paint thinner. With a brief inhalation Cole decided it was entirely feasible that those were its actual ingredients. He watched as Alvina drained half of the glass with a single swallow.

      ‘I won’t even ask what’s in that.’

      ‘Best not.’ Alvina spat out a cough. ‘I doubt he knows himself so don’t shame the poor man.’

      Cole summoned the bravery to do the same. His initial assessment of the beverage was accurate, for as soon as the liquid was tossed back, his throat attempted to spit it back up. Finally, he swallowed it away and spluttered loudly, causing Marquis to hoot aloud whilst preparing the food. Alvina patted her colleague’s back firmly until he could speak once more.

      ‘Delightful,’ Cole lied, eyes still watering.

      ‘Just another thing for you to get used to if you’re slumming it with the rest of us.’ Alvina chuckled and sank the rest of her drink with one confident motion. Marquis instantly shuffled before them and refilled their glasses, much to Cole’s horror. The second went down just as easily as the first for Alvina. Cole, however, cradled his to make it last.

      ‘Mess up those clean hands, get dirt under those pretty fingernails …’

      ‘You can cut that out now,’ he whined, teeth gnashing in frustration.

      ‘Tell me something, Cole. You shun something like this, like you’re allergic to it. You even look down on me for simply suggesting this fine eatery. Why?’

      ‘No!’ Marquis gasped in shock, eavesdropping.

      ‘I’m afraid so, but don’t judge him too harshly – he has yet to taste your cooking. There is plenty of time to apologize.’

      The proprietor grinned from ear to ear, shaking a spatula at the woman. He turned back to the griddle.

      ‘Why do you do that? Back to your roots ain’t it?’

      Cole lowered his drink onto the bar, his eyes narrowing in question. ‘What are my roots exactly, seeing as you seem to be an expert on all things me?’ he probed, with a much more sour tone.

      ‘Now, now, don’t get all uppity. I meant no offence. I just meant you got Settler’s blood in you is all – just an observation I’m making. Settler folks get trod on, looked down upon, I should know … I’ve endured plenty of shunning. Name-calling. Some of the remarks made by the more uncouth folk are grounds for hurting.’

      ‘Some of that blood in you, is it?’

      ‘A tad.’ Alvina smiled. ‘My mother’s side. I figure that would be obvious just by looking at me.’ The woman rarely drew attention to her heritage, probably deeming it a moot point of conversation.