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

      ‘You can do that, can you?’

      ‘Yeah. It’ll take me a little longer but in this line of work it would be good –’ Cole hesitated to find the correct word, awkwardly grinning as he did so ‘– er … insurance?’

      Jack entwined his arms, reciprocating the expression and cocking a brow. ‘Insurance, huh? And who would be able to decode it?’

      ‘Myself. You. Whoever you wanted that we taught the cypher to.’

      Jackdaw frowned at the term, clearly attempting to pair it with its meaning. Cole witnessed the struggle and offered the solution.

      ‘Cypher. The key.’

      ‘Just us will be fine. Do whatever you need to do.’

      ‘I’ll probably need an extra day,’ Cole bargained, lifting a stack of loose papers from the desk chair. They slid under their own weight, noisily scattering about at his feet.

      ‘Nice try but you still have three,’ Jackdaw answered.

      * * *

      In those three days, Cole set himself to work and did so every minute he was able to. He ate at the desk, clearing a space to work with his master ledger and a space for a plate and cup. These areas were not compromised with loose papers, maintaining a working area that prevented confusion and further clutter. Firstly he sorted each item by date, then type, then attempted to bind it all together in whatever logic could be mustered from it all. He slept around five hours a night, and spend at least fifteen working away at the task at hand.

      As gruelling as a routine as this was, progress was being made. A comprehensive list of the Jackrabbits’ dealings was coming to light, something that the law would kill for. Acquisition by theft was numerous. Embezzlement was dotted here and there. Bribery of many local officials – and some regional – made a good part of expenditures, the trade-off being acquisition of goods, some small and others in impressive scores. Recorded stock was all over the place, with goods going this way and that, sometimes sold, sometimes vanishing into the air and marked as a loss.

      But as much of a picture this was creating, there were a couple of curiosities Cole stumbled upon. They were things that merited deeper investigation and so, he chased the paper trail only to be sent in loops and eventual dead ends. Cole decided that the best course of action was just to come out and ask about them to the ones who would best know.

      * * *

      ‘There he is. The numbers man. Good thing you’re not at the table. I would have to accuse you of counting cards.’ Blake tilted his chair back, his chips considerably lower than any others on the table. He swigged a mouthful of beer despite his slur indicating he should show restraint. He always drank whenever the group played cards, smoked like a bonfire too. Sadly, displacing his attention into these vices caused plenty of overzealous bluffs, which even a blind man could identify. Not that the others complained of course. Taking Blake’s money never got old. The day he caught on to this would be the day their fun was ruined.

      ‘Lucky for both of us I won’t be winning your money by the fistful. It seems like everyone else at the table is doing it for me,’ Cole jabbed.

      ‘He’s not wrong there.’ Alvina snickered, taunting the winnings she had alleviated from him.

      Jack placed his cards face down on the veneer. ‘Are you thinking of joining us or is there something you want to ask about that there stack of papers under your arm?’

      ‘I’ve got most of this in order but there’s a discrepancy that needs sorting. I was hoping somebody could clear it up for me.’

      ‘Go on.’ Jack sipped from a glass.

      Cole cleared his throat loudly. ‘Large sums of monies are shifting back and forth with constant losses. All of these share something in common. Manifests, notes, they all loop back to the same thing.’

      ‘What’s the point?’ Blake asked, failing to look up from his cards. He was already forty bucks in the hole and the last thing he wanted was to be put off whilst attempting to bluff his way out.

      ‘The point is, some of these are initialled with D.K. So my question is …’ he placed the stack of paperwork and the completed, encoded ledger on the table, loudly and with purpose ‘… who exactly is Donovan Kane?’

      All three lowered their cards in unison.

      ‘Want to field this one, boss?’ Blakestone folded his hand and anxiously vacated his seat to fetch himself a smoke. He could bleed money some other time. Alvina felt it fit to follow. Suddenly, her throat had become dry and booze within reach wouldn’t have sated it.

      ‘Sit, Cole,’ Jackdaw insisted, waving at the still-warm chair. Complying, Cole did so. ‘How did you come about that name?’

      ‘Handwritten letter dictating a telegram. Telephone message here referring to a date that I traced to an inventory slip with the initials on. That date would be tomorrow. It looks like an invitation of sorts with your name on it.’

      Jack took the paperwork as his own and surveyed it with the utmost scrutiny. Unfortunately it was true. What was worse was that this slip-up was in his own handwriting. It was quite unusual for him to be so sloppy.

      ‘It’s a name you don’t want to become accustomed to,’ he added with determination.

      ‘I hate to break it to you, but it seems like I already am.’

      Jack’s tone became solemn, borderline threatening almost. ‘Mr Kane is an individual we do not like to speak of. As far as you are concerned he is a voice on the wind. A voice that we very much pay attention to.’

      ‘… okay. And you’re seeing him tomorrow, correct?’

      ‘That I most certainly am. The crux of it is that he is our benefactor, or sponsor if you will. He finances this here enterprise and we pay in kind. No questions. No fuss. Setting something like this up requires tribute in every form it could possibly take. I do not expect you to become accustomed to such a thing and that’s not a black mark against your living. We are indebted to him in the literal and the monetary sense. Like I said to you, there’s always a bigger fish.’

      Jack doused his explanation with a swig of ale.

      ‘And that bastard is the biggest you’re ever gonna see. Now. Are we absolutely, positively clear on the situation regarding Mister Kane?’ Jack asked. Only a fool would have misunderstood the tone and pressed further. Cole was not a fool by any definition of the world and said nothing else on this topic.

      Cole nodded as Jack scooped the pot into his pile with considerable envy.

      ‘Good. Now sit there. You’re going to play some cards with us.’

       Chapter Three

      Knives in meat

      A typically uncomfortable train ride did nothing to brighten Jack’s mood. Having to visit Donovan in any capacity was never something to be pleased with. You were never in Donovan’s company unless you needed to beg for something, or he had demanded your presence. Rarely did either of these situations play out as expected. Bargains would always be one-sided and most of the time, an individual would leave empty-handed.

      So when Jackdaw received a letter requesting his attendance, very politely of course, it did nothing but coax ire. He had enough to concern himself with and didn’t need to burden his mind with the what-ifs the note conjured up. None of them were good of course. Nothing about being summoned by Donovan ever concluded pleasantly.

      Semmerton was a small village with a shady past, a single stop westwards by train. Every brothel Jackdaw passed hid criminals by the score. Each storefront was a façade for bootleggers, betting dens and underground boxing rings. All the sordid things that respectable