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

For one night of extravagance at the Gambler’s Den

By personal invitation of Mister Franco Del Monaire himself

‘And I’ll show you, and your workers, the time of your lives. All on me.’

With hand outstretched, Franco leant forward on the lip of his chair seat, watching the manager come to a decision.

‘Mister Monaire.’ He tightly gripped Franco’s hand with delight, unable to restrain himself. ‘I think you have yourself a deal.’

Strolling out onto the shop floor, Franco took stock of the sight of the work line, seeing exactly how much was indeed outstanding. Three locomotives sat in various states of disrepair, occasionally stripped back to their bare components, mostly covered in a combination of supporting pulleys from the overhanging steel beams.

The labourers at hand seemed an able bunch, who busied themselves in routine. A contingent moved across some iron monstrosity that he couldn’t quite identify, hammering heated metal that shook in flurries of sparks. The noise danced from one end of the yard to another in crescendo.

He ransacked his jacket pockets, feeling around for a scrap of tobacco, a roll-up, anything to take away the shakes, but only found disappointment.

* * *

Unexpectedly the men lowered their tools and began talking among themselves. They turned their attention to the shadow that strolled through the yard entrance with a click-click-click of her heels. Boisterous displays of bravado as well as offers of entanglement were flatly ignored, noticed instead by the foreman who objected noisily. Instead of sweet words, he launched a fiery tirade from the gantry he stood on. He ended with the demand to get back to work under threat of docked pay.

The woman tutted, raised her head up, and folded her arms across the chest.

‘This is where you’ve been hiding out?’ Misu called as the hammer strikes from the workers began anew.

‘Hiding – not at all. I’m doing business. Though I must ask why of all places you decided to come here to get your skirt train covered in oil.’

‘I followed you,’ she stated, climbing the steps, which were numerous and quite an annoyance, onto the raised platform.

‘Figures.’ He made himself comfortable leaning on the guardrail, acknowledging her standing alongside him.

Misu attempted, at length, to determine what Franco was so keenly observing but found nothing in his eye line except roosting pigeons.

‘Penny for them?’ Misu offered, tapping her nails against the rail itself.

‘Oh no, I pay your wages, so I know you couldn’t afford what I’m thinking.’

‘Poor in pocket but rich in spirit.’ The woman pursed her lips.

‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Just something I picked up once. Why? Does it confuse you?’

‘No my grandfather used to say something similar …’ He trailed off.

Despite her patience, Franco needed prompting to continue.

‘You know, it’s weird. Whenever we get to talking, somehow you always bring him up. That’s not strange in itself, but whenever you do so, you do this whole absent thing and it all gets a little peculiar.’

Franco nodded deeply, trying to process what the woman was saying, but he found his process of thought muddled. The pigeons that had taken residence in the roof spaces distracted him with a burst of fluttering. Downy feathers fell though dust-thickened air.

‘That.’ Misu jabbed him with a finger. ‘That there is exactly what I’m talking about. Where do you go when you do that? You’re right in front of me and then suddenly you’re someplace I can’t see.’

‘Thinking.’

‘Obviously. I’m going to need a little more than that.’

Franco took stock of the workers’ yard. For an environment that required plenty of light, the interior collected a sizable amount of shadow. The skylights that ran the length of the roof did their best to diminish this but could only fare so well. This yard wasn’t too dissimilar to the old maintenance shed that he and the old-timer had claimed as a second home. All it needed was a folded-in roof and an infestation of mice.

‘Do you believe in chance?’ Franco enquired, curiously solemn.

‘You’re asking if someone who helps you run card games believes in chance?’

‘Not like that. I mean on a grander scale. Things that were, I don’t know, supposed to be?’

‘I’ve never thought about it.’ Misu nodded delicately. ‘It’s never been something to dwell upon. My life hasn’t exactly gone to plan, but there are far worse places to be and situations to end up in. Do you?’

‘No. I can’t stand the idea of not being in control, that something is pulling my strings to reach a destiny I can’t influence. I’m a lot like you in many ways. People like you and I are supposed to live in fancy houses, wear fine clothes, and drink finer wine. A place like this is still alien to me: the noise, the smells. When I’m dealing with the mechanics of the Den, all of this, I can’t help but feel out of my depth. My grandfather pushed me into this life. It wasn’t originally mine; I just inherited it all. I owe him somewhat and I’m occasionally reminded of the fact. Yet I cannot for the life of me think of anything else I would rather be doing. Curious, no?’

‘Can’t we visit him? Pay it off for good?’

‘It’s too late for any of that. Some debts can’t be paid. It’s not in their nature. That’s the problem.’

Misu slinked backward, bathing in the midday sun that the skylights radiated. ‘I have some idea of what you mean.’

Franco stared out to the workers, who struggled with a series of chain pulleys, easing a boiler back onto one of the smaller trains. Each of the grubby workers coordinated their movements with yells, peppered with the occasional physical threat to one another.

‘Pappy and I slaved in something resembling this shed whilst fixing the train up. Did so for a handful of years getting the Den running again. It was just as filthy, maybe more so than this place. Can you imagine that?’

‘I honestly, honestly, can’t.’ Misu pouted. ‘And that suits me just fine.’

‘She was a beat-up wreck in dire need of fixing. I didn’t know what I was doing. He had to teach me every facet of the job. The first time we got the Den running again, it was like nothing I had ever experienced. I was in my mid-twenties, had slept with a handful of girls, and nothing even came close to that feeling.’

‘Delightful analogy, dear,’ Misu flatly retorted, watching the birds above call to one another.

‘All of a sudden I had adopted this new life. Without my grandfather beside me to push me, I needed others to do so. I needed people I trusted to see this thing through. I needed people to keep me steady.’ Something broke in Franco’s voice, which Misu had never witnessed before. It was a vulnerability – small but considerably telling. Abandoning any notion of what was appropriate she allowed her hand to drift upon his. It landed in reassurance, flexing tightly.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘What?’

‘I want to know what the fuss is about. If you put it like that, you owe a woman’s pride to indulge in every sordid detail.’

And so, Franco obliged, baring all.

* * *

‘How’s it going, slacker? That coupling rod braced back up?’ Pappy was growing impatient at how long such a simple task was taking.

Franco had both hands tightly wrapped around the length of a wrench handle. He jerked downward, giving his hands respite for a second between heaves. Begrudgingly the bolt gave slightly each time, tightening over and over. Though there was still more give left in it, forcing Franco to redouble his efforts. Without warning the wrench slipped from the bolt head and swung through the air.