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

Franco put his weight against the newly polished bar, minding to not to undo Katerina’s good work. ‘I think we should consider ourselves lucky,’ he said.

From behind him, one of the older girls, Corinne – tall and slender – carried a pile of folded towels to place behind the bar. When done, she chipped in, reaffirming herself as an elder sister of sorts, though not by blood. ‘Of course, you weren’t with us when we passed through the Western lines. This was nothing in comparison. Lawmen, they claimed. They wanted bribes, they tried to pilfer goods, and some tried to use us girls. One peculiar bunch demanded a couple of girls as permanent payment of passage.’

‘They what?’ Katerina squeaked in alarm.

‘No word of a lie. Wanted wives. When refusing, Franco had to talk his way out of handing us over – along with a week’s takings – with a barrel at his temple.’

‘And?’

‘I’m still here, aren’t I?’ Franco sighed. ‘Quick-tongued wizardry only gets you so far. It’s why we have security with us. Muscle fares better when words fail in negotiation. He sorted things.’ Jacques was quietly sat at one table and puffed himself out in pride at the comment, remembering the encounter fondly.

‘He sorted things?’ Katerina queried.

‘I showed them the error of their ways.’ Jacques grinned. Franco patted him heavily on the shoulder.

‘You showed them the soles of your boots, is what you did.’

‘It’s why you pay me the big bucks, boss.’

A slip of a girl – petite with an almost nauseating purr to her voice – skipped up to Franco, scowling with such determination that it was impossible to take the effort seriously. Kitty had finished in the dining car, tidying her sanctuary of the kitchen space and was moving some of the equipment to storage, holding the contents in a worn cardboard box. She dropped it onto the polished bar surface, pulled a spatula from the contents, and jabbed Franco over and over.

‘You best not consider giving any of us up. I, especially, will be unhappy with you,’ Kitty taunted, every word punctuated with a thrust of her wrist.

‘Easy there, firecracker, that would never be the case!’ Franco laughed.

‘Good, because I am warning you.’

‘You’re warning me?’ he cooed.

‘With words and all.’ Kitty grinned, cheeky and rambunctious. The flat of the utensil bit a line into his waistcoat. ‘And also with this.’

‘You have my word I will never use you as currency,’ Franco agreed, patting her blonde hair in reassurance.

‘Any more,’ she added.

‘When have I done so previously? How is that even a thing?’

Corinne slipped the box back to its owner and shooed her along the carriage to the next task at hand.

‘Back to work with you. Less talking if you please,’ she insisted. All objections were ignored as Kitty went on her way.

The carriage was organized, every decoration in perfect placement, as if it had never been disturbed.

‘She still has a smart mouth, that one,’ he mumbled as Corinne strolled back towards him. He straightened a glass-shaded lamp before him, turning it this way and that until it looked right.

‘Isn’t that why we picked Kitty up? I think the exact word you used at the time to introduce her was pluck.’

‘Suppose so.’

‘Then take the rough with the smooth. We can’t be entertaining all the time. Little country girls like her take a while to refine.’

‘You make it sound like I’m whoring you all out.’

Corinne’s gaze hardened. They both knew that should Misu have heard him use that word – that despicable, horrid word – she would have administered a slap across his face. There were comparisons at times that the showgirls who worked at the Gambler’s Den were for hire, mostly by patrons far too drunk to keep their sensibilities. That was not the service they performed and Misu would enforce this to those who thought differently, defending their reputation. Working girls had no qualms about being touched if the price was right, but placing your hands on the girls at the Den could result in Jacques’s intervention.

‘Sorry. Poor choice of words, but you get my meaning.’ Franco exhaled.

‘There’s a difference between entertaining and warming beds. That’s not our business.’

‘I apologize.’

‘You have no reason to.’ Corinne passed him to find a new endeavour. ‘The sheriff was out of line. Don’t dwell so much; it’s not what we do. You’re no pimp. Let people lie to the eye. If one cannot think for themselves then their opinion is worthless.’

While the Gambler’s Den was still technically impounded, the embargo was lifted for any shows, though they required a mandatory Bluecoat presence. How much of one was not elaborated on. The papers served on its owner used very open terms such as requirement and discretion. Soon, decorated flyers appeared on message boards announcing that, finally, Windberg would get the show that it deserved – though its announcement was sadly subdued. The newswire echoed the statements, causing a brief frenzy of excitement in the populace. If the show could not utilize surprise, then they would capitalize on rumour and excitement.

Come sunset, Windberg Central Station was exposed to the fading sky and packed with excited crowds. Platform 4 was barricaded off behind velvet rope. Tables were all laid out for patrons with flickering candles on each. They all buzzed and jostled as, from behind the rope, Franco gave the introduction, with the utmost bravado.

Music thundered triumphantly, as he played to the crowd, prompting cheers and claps, striding back and forth like a peacock. He even managed a slight jab at Sheriff Juniper in his welcoming speech, causing an uproar of laughter. These were not shared by the Bluecoats who separated the masses and the entertainment. They instead wore disapproving looks.

The sky burst with a cavalcade of colours as Franco pulled the barricades away. With the showgirls welcoming all to indulge, the revelries began.

The people of Windberg drank and gambled and danced the hours away. There were no disturbances, no arguments or accusations of cheating. The only situation of note was Jacques having to escort a few individuals who had drunk too much off the train – and even they took their exit jovially. The showgirls put on their performances, coaxing awe and applause. The Gambler’s Den cemented itself in local lore once again.

Franco kept his word and spent a good deal of the night with the employees from the Lau Benge Repair Yard. They were, expectedly, a rowdy bunch and drank more than their fair share of beer. Despite the impression that Franco would be taking a loss with how much it cost to provide the hospitality, the truth was quite the opposite. The repairs would have been considerably more, leaving him very much up on this particular arrangement. Though good-natured, the group did cause Jacques some concern and he found himself keeping a closer eye on them than most.

The only thing out of the ordinary was Misu’s conversation with the high rollers.

‘Who are they?’ Misu asked Kitty as she approached the bar, relieving her of a tray of empty glasses. She gestured with a nod of her head to the end table. ‘They’re not exactly our usual crowd.’

It was true, they weren’t. Ever since their arrival, the pair of gentlemen had caught her attention. Their clean tweed suits were impeccable, unmatched and untarnished with matching bowler hats. They had begun the evening dispensing charm to the serving and showgirls, alternating between all who came near. The tips were generous, exceedingly so, which made any attention all the more focused.

Kitty chirped in surprise to Misu’s question, playing with a blonde curl in the hope she would be next to be noticed by the patrons. Her blue eyes sparkled as she spoke, matching her fresh face in excitement.

Kitty had not been part of the Den for long. She was picked up in a little town out in the mountains and practically begged to come along, much like Katerina. It was the adventure, she clarified to whoever would listen, that she craved. It was either that or remain on her parents’ farm until she died a spinster. She was bright but had not yet fully realized that the men were attracted to her youthful innocence rather than her opinions, a harsh truth she found difficult to accept at a table.

‘Well-suited men should be who we aim for. My, if we could attract more of that sort,’ she cooed in a voice dripping with naivety.

‘Mind on the job, girl, mind on the job,’ Misu teased.

‘Do you not wish to be whisked away by such a handsome gentleman?’ Kitty queried.

‘I prefer to be thankful for the employment I have. Keep those dreams in your pretty little head. That’s where they belong.’

Kitty chuckled to herself, patting Misu’s arm, who reciprocated the gesture.

Corinne busied herself by pulling another series of brown bottles from under the counter and balancing them on a silver serving tray. It wasn’t her remit to educate the girls on etiquette, especially ones like Kitty who seemed to be more trouble than she was comfortable with, but still she found herself playing an almost older sibling role to the younger ones. She was one whose inexperience was blindly apparent, and whose curiosity could become an irritant to patrons.

‘They’re big spenders those two,’ Corinne stated, popping each cork in succession. ‘Been quaffing liquor since they arrived – good stuff too. They opened a bottle of Eiferian Blue Reserve half an hour back. The only one I know who drinks something so pricy is Franco himself. They’re high rollers too. I heard a mention of a couple of hundred on the last hand they played,’ she stated, before shimmying over to a pack of customers who cheered at the alcohol’s arrival.