Den of Shadows Collection: Lose yourself in the fantasy, mystery, and intrigue of this stand out trilogy

‘Of course not; don’t be an idiot. It’s safe. Stashed with someone I can trust.’

‘It had better be. I’m keen to get it to the bank. The last thing I need is that to go missing.’

‘This Vault that I told you about …’ Wyld quickly changed the subject.

‘Listening.’

‘It’s in a small compound just on the outskirts. I’ve found out what’s inside and it’s –’ Wyld stifled an inappropriate giggle with a hand. ‘It’s a treasure trove. All of the contraband that the law takes is locked away.’

Franco lowered his smoke once more and contemplated this, draining his glass dry. With such ruthless enforcement, if such a thing existed it would be plentiful for sure. It was, after all, why they had travelled here to begin with.

‘Such as?’

‘Weapons are a certainty.’

Useless. Selling them would bring no end of trouble. ‘In which we have no interest.’

‘What I was about to say is that any imported goods without paperwork would have been stored there. Relics, spices, treasures. All the other good things are included too.’

‘The shiny.’ Franco narrowed his eyes.

‘Unfortunately, there’s a problem.’

‘There always is.’

‘Rowdy locals ensured that the law around here are somewhat headstrong in doing the right thing. As you’ve found out. I mean, sure, the bad guys are around but most keep a legitimate face running delivery businesses, bars – things like that. They still exist. There’s one in particular who keeps coming up, some character called Wilheim. We may end up, well, making him look bad, if you get my meaning.’

‘Pissing off the locals is rarely a sound idea.’

‘Exactly. Word is that we really don’t want to get on the wrong side of him, not that I know if he has a proverbial good side or whatever.’

‘The law around here,’ Franco moved on. ‘What are the chances of bribing a few to look the other way?’

‘Impossible. When he took over, this Axe fellow immediately dismissed anybody suspected of being on the take. He takes things very seriously indeed. More’s the pity.’ Wyld finished her drink and rested the glass down.

‘What you’re saying,’ Franco summed their discussion up, ‘is that we have come all the way out here, on your very good word, with no chance of a payoff. This grand plan of yours is, in fact, impossible, and we have wasted fuel and food to discover that.’

Wyld pouted, disappointed at this admission of defeat. ‘That’s a rather blunt way of putting it but if you want to cut the deck like that.’

Stool legs squeaked against the floorboards as Franco rose, patting himself down for his wallet and, when finding it, leaving it on his person. He looked down to the woman beside him, keen to express his frustration as vocally as he could muster, but decided to hold his temperament in check.

‘You’ll have to excuse me. I have to try and salvage something from this visit. There are people who I need to pay, with money I don’t have.’

‘Hey, come on, we could still do this. I didn’t say it was impossible,’ Wyld whined.

‘Enough. I don’t want to hear another word.’ Franco tapped the bar to gain the tender’s attention, and when obtained, gestured to the empty glasses between them.

‘These are on her.’

Chapter Five (#ud3cfe107-c58b-5017-8cfb-68c33a6b1e73)

Bargaining Chips

Lau Benge Repair Yard was one of the many small enterprises set up in Windberg to capitalize on the damage that trains sustained in the Sand Sea, natural or otherwise. There was nothing specifically unique about it. Its prices were no more expensive than anywhere else. Equally, its labour had no better or worse reputation in comparison to its competitors. The only reason why Franco chose it was because it was the closest.

Squatted in the desert docks, the yard was adjacent enough to the wharf to perform service to the multitudes of vehicles that trundled past, mainly haulage trains that tugged lines of ore to the city’s smelting plants. Work was plentiful, as the excursions crossing the Sand Sea with multiple wagons stacked with ore were demanding.

A single immense maintenance shed, its peaked roof rising higher than the surrounding warehouses, sheltering that which was brought inside by five sequential lines of track. Surrounding the maintenance floor were raised sections of limestone, a good fifteen feet from the ground with a circumference of safety railing. Up here, above the noise of hammering and drilling, was the yard manager’s office.

‘An Alamos D locomotive?’ the yard manager queried, reclining back in a swivel chair with balding fabric. ‘That’s a little in the past isn’t it? I think you might be better off looking in a scrapyard for pieces of one of those. If you’re just looking to patch up a few holes in the body, that’s simple enough but anywhere else will be a mighty chore.’

Franco sat opposite, the gulf between them filled by a simple pine desk that had since become a place to stack disorganized paperwork. The office was functional – open plan, windows out to the factory floor – though the decoration was shabby. Something resembling an engine squatted in the corner of the room, accompanying pistons scattered beside it. It wasn’t exactly the kind of environment he was used to.

The two men couldn’t have been any different. Franco was clad in an emerald tweed suit with an open-collared white shirt. He was exuberant and fetching. The yard manager wore grease-stained blue overalls, or Franco believed them to have been blue at one point. They smeared patches of oil on the already abused furniture. Whereas Franco was well groomed by impeccable routine, the individual opposite looked like he had dunked his head into an ash pan. Clumped, straggly black hair jutted out without composition, a perfect accompaniment to a slightly lopsided moustache.

‘Luckily the boiler wasn’t hit, though the engine cab took a couple of slugs. The damage is mainly on the rear carriages. They look mighty unsightly. Can you produce the panels here if I get the plans?’

The yard manager folded his hands into a triangle. The chair squeaked with the new distribution of weight.

‘Well sure, that can be done. If we do them you’ll not notice the difference in the finish neither. Though one thing does surprise me. Why would one come into this here shop and ask about a train that’s borderline antique? Especially when there’s plenty of better alternatives out there.’

‘Forgive me, I’ve not introduced myself properly.’

Franco began to wind up a well-versed introduction, though was interrupted with a raise of the hand.

‘You needn’t do so. Owner of the Gambler’s Den, right? Please, Mister Monaire, don’t insult us both. Your fame greatly precedes you. I saw that magnificent train of yours some years back way out west when you ventured thataways. I never imagined I would see you here, but who am I to second-guess your motives.’

He reached over, warmly shaking Franco’s hand – perhaps a little too energetically.

‘Who indeed.’ Franco played it predictably humble, secretly wiping his hand into a handkerchief. ‘I’m glad my name coaxes such praise. And, one would hope, a discount as well?’

The suggestion coaxed a laugh before being brushed aside. ‘Oh that’s optimistic. Kudos for trying though. Times are tough for everyone out here, Mister Monaire. If it was up to me I would have it fixed up for you at cost. A courtesy for what you do for folks out here. God knows we appreciate it.’

‘How quickly can you do the job? As you’re well aware, we run on a particular schedule.’

‘The boys and I can start in a fortnight.’

‘Two weeks?’ Franco repeated with a gasp. ‘A little excessive for a couple of carriage panels, don’t you think?’

‘Previous work I’m sorry to say, not helped by being a couple of hands down.’

Franco mused long and hard about this. Or at least he gave the impression that he did so, coming to an equally false realization for the onlooker’s benefit. He had already planned for such a situation before venturing inside and should needs dictate had a proposal prepared to expedite the repairs.

‘I am an impatient sort. How about I make you an offer,’ Franco bargained, withdrawing a small golden card from a pocket. ‘You tell whoever’s job is up next that there will be a small delay. I’ll get the materials and the labour for ten per cent less than you quote. You have your boys turn up bright and early within the week …’

The manager looked considerably perplexed until the card was passed over. He scanned it, quite taken aback with its contents. Embossed across the front in well-constructed print were the following words:

YOU HAVE BEEN CORDIALLY INVITED