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

‘She’s never been one to comment on anybody’s intelligence.’

‘Maybe she needed someone to compliment on such a quality.’

Franco pouted. ‘A quality I lack?’

‘I’m implying nothing, boss, not a thing. Just repeating what I was told.’

‘For the best.’

‘So, what’s the letter?’ Jacques asked, pointing to the folded paper protruding from Franco’s vest pocket. Ever since it was delivered that morning Franco had read it and reread it, even all through breakfast when he was focused more on its contents than eating.

‘A request from someone. They heard word that we were in town and asked for a visit.’

‘An admirer?’

‘Even better,’ Franco replied. ‘An old acquaintance.’

The pair took the tram to the western residential district, where tight streets of cobblestone terraced houses seemingly jostled one another for space. Doors and windows seemed decidedly cramped, as if they were being squeezed from the masonry. Carts rattled down the road, noisily, the clopping of horseshoes on stone creating a rhythm of strikes.

Franco stood in the doorway of a residence identical to the rows of those he had passed before, equally unspectacular. He rapped the door and beamed at the old gentleman who cautiously opened it.

‘Franco, what a pleasure,’ the owner croaked. ‘I didn’t think you would come. Please, come inside, welcome.’

The house was surprisingly comfortable despite being somewhat sparse. The furniture was mostly wooden, the décor a collection of simple materials and aged fabrics, sentimentally kept and repaired if needed. It was comfortable, though Jacques muttered that the seating was far too hard for his liking.

‘Mister Follister.’ Franco shook his hand, now far bonier than he recalled.

The old man clearly struggled to compare the Franco he recalled to the one before him, his eyes squinting in effort. It was quite the transformation, Franco knew. Well dressed, well groomed, clearly moneyed. Where did that scrawny boy go? Had it really been ten years, give or take?

‘Call me Larrs, please. You’re a man yourself now. Never thought I would see the day.’

‘Of course, Larrs.’

‘It warms my heart to see you once again.’

‘Likewise.’

‘Please, make yourself comfortable; take a spell if you would.’

His smile was toothy and kind, his hands lingering in the embrace before slipping away. Larrs shuffled into the kitchen from which he returned with a pot of tea. It danced noisily on a tray that rattled with every step before being placed down with care between them.

‘I heard you were in town. News was that some show had made a noise. It’s not every day we get a commotion like yours arrive and I guessed it was your troublesome self.’

Franco sipped his tea before deciding to drop in some sugar from the bowl beside the pot. ‘A different kind of trouble from when you last saw me, I assure you.’ He stirred his tea.

Jacques squinted deeply in question, catching the old man’s gaze.

‘Do not be distracted by this pizzazz.’ The old man grinned, reaching from his chair and patting Franco’s chest. ‘Trouble followed this one many a time.’

‘Jacques, my Head of Security,’ Franco said by way of introduction.

‘A pleasure,’ Larrs said as they warmly shook hands.

‘Likewise.’

‘So you were talking about trouble?’ Jacques chuckled.

‘My boy was always a rambunctious one. The stories I could tell you of him and Franco here getting into scrapes. Once, those two broke into the railway yard to scavenge spares for this heap of rust Franco’s grandfather was looking to renovate. The first I knew of it was the law at my door and those two creeping in the back with a trolley of oil-dripping parts! I gave them such a telling-off! My boy would never do such a thing, I said. He wouldn’t dare do such a thing for the fear of me tanning his backside, I said.’

‘I’m sure at the time it was a sound idea.’

‘Hah! You convincing someone else to get involved in your schemes? Whoever thought of such a thing?’

Franco leant back and exhaled slowly in reminiscence. ‘And I remember getting my backside spanked red raw,’ he added, taking a sip from his cup. ‘Your younger brother got the same and rightly so. Leading all us youngsters into trouble. How is that rascal?’

Larrs cleared his throat as his voice broke in reply. ‘I’m afraid he passed.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear.’

‘He had his time, so he said. Kept saying that when you’ve done all you need to, you shuffle off. The Angels have him now.’

‘He always was the impatient sort.’

Jacques seemed surprised at such candour between them, especially regarding such sensitivities.

‘So where is that son of yours now? Is that what you wished to discuss?’

‘Aye, lad.’

‘I expected Ketan to tackle me to the ground. I was hoping to at least show him what those scraps amounted to. Is he working or drinking? One or the other. Hell, maybe even both!’

‘If only I could be so blasé.’

Franco placed the cup down and listened intently.

‘Opportunities are rare here, lad,’ Larrs continued. ‘We can’t all be waiting for a train of chance to bring us fortune. When you left with your grandfather, it did something to Ketan. I don’t know, I saw him get more impatient with things. His temper took control. I’ll never get out, he would always say, that is, before he fell in with the bad ’uns.’

‘Define bad.’

Jacques inadvertently slurped the last traces of his drink.

‘Wilheim. He runs The Lavender Club by the east tracks – someplace they show pictures and peddle bad drink. They do much more besides, but I’ve never seen the law approach. Paid off maybe or some sort, but we all know what goes on there. Some arrangement made, no doubt.’

‘What kind of more?’

Larrs’s breath quickened at the mention of that name and he was in obvious discomfort. Every word after seemed unusually burdened. ‘Anything you need, you can get, but the price is high as you can guess. Shipments tend to go missing around these parts. Plenty of bandits. Travellers need to be careful.’

‘I think we met some of them.’ Jacques laughed softly. His amusement wasn’t reciprocated.