The Riverjack House
Two days after, the Morning Star arrived at the next stop of its journey – Ponderdan. Before breaking across the Sand Sea to the north, it was essential to make a stop and ensure sufficient provisions were acquired. Making such an exhausting trip unprepared would be certain suicide. Broken-down trains had been discovered, the occupants inside savaged by the local wildlife, or murdered by chancing bandits. They remained as stark reminders of the dangers that this nomadic life wrought.
Ponderdan itself was classed as a dustbowl by the locals, and rightly so. Sandstone houses squatted with flat rooftops, following streets that seemingly snaked out between clustered districts, segmented with tight alleyways. It was uninspiring as a place could get and its inhabitants knew that all too well, unless you were part of its higher society.
When the Morning Star pulled in to a station, a commotion usually followed. Whilst its shows were the talking points, there were other instances where the business gained local attention. For example, it was customary for the showgirls to leave as a singular group when errands were undertaken, even when shows were not performed.
These appearances meant more than just gaining the necessities – they were a form of advertising. Even when seemingly off duty, the allure and presence of those on the Morning Star was maintained by their appearance when venturing out. Maintain a prim and proper composure, watch the language, and present yourself accordingly. Those instructions were the written into the contract of employment. In truth, this never needed to be said.
The showgirls welcomed the attention that they caused by simply venturing out together through high streets and markets. People, usually besotted men, flocked around them as if they exerted a form of gravity, frequently offering presents to win favour. Of course, proposals were made, most decent, but some less so though these were always rejected. Fraternizing with locals in this fashion would court disaster.
At least that’s what Franco always preached.
Misu had taken a different approach. She had decided that organizing meetings with parties did much to increase their influence, especially if it was before a performance. Better favour resulted in better takings and, like Misu constantly reminded her staff, they were a business and the constant need to make profit was overwhelming.
That’s not to say the Morning Star wasn’t doing well financially – it was – but there was always further need to fill the coffers in case fortunes dwindled. That involved always keeping things fresh. If the Morning Star was to be a spectacle then it would have to be so in every facet. It had to be grander! It had to be almost magical!
These changes kept every show unique, personal to those who watched and thus drew in scores, which enforced its blazing reputation. The Gambler’s Den capitalized on being a curiosity that had now been elevated to legend, but the Morning Star was a dazzling extravaganza. Like a firework it would forever be climbing upward, illuminating all things with the most magnificent of spectacles.
But that all came with a cost.
It was why Ferry made it his business to attend tonight, just on the off chance that some folks found it impossible to keep their hands to themselves. It was rare that he ever got to dress himself up, normally finding his clothes saturated in oil and smoke from the engine cabin. Tonight, in a tweed waistcoat and a decent pair of shoes, he drew the playful compliments of the showgirls who insisted he had to join them more often. This came with the stipulation that next time he tidied up his thick black beard.
The showgirls wore formal attire, all frills and buttons, almost identical in dress with a few approved individualities. Somebody had to provide muscle when needed, seeing that Misu was curiously lax about enforcing security.
The Riverjack House was illuminated with strong gaslight and from the outset had a wonderfully welcoming disposition. Caramel streams of light emanated from its windows, setting the cobblestone street awash with pitted illumination. The timber-framed building bent wider through the street than anything else surrounding it, two-tiered with angular apexes straddling every second-floor window. Smoke puffed from its chimneys, the scent of roast pork and wood fire riding the wind.
Groups of evening revellers gawped at the splendour that passed. Some cheered loudly, others whispered their observations, afraid they should be heard despite being complimentary.
They were clad in their masks, the depictions of animals half covering each face with the exception of Ferry. Predictably, he had never needed one. Elizabeth’s suggestion that he wear Franco’s vacant showpiece was immediately shot down and considered in bad taste, not that she understood why. He was elsewhere, not dead.
Their attires of black and purple flowed with movement in the twilight. From coat-tail to dress train, their transit was so mesmerizing that some of the more inebriated revellers considered it almost supernatural.
Walking the streets in a procession, Misu lead the showgirls inside, taking stock of the interior. An invite had been received by letter early on in the evening, requesting Misu’s company with some of the better-suited gentry about town. She agreed and sent word back to expect them all, and expected they were. A large oak end table had been decorated with lace and vases of wild flowers at the far end, clearly reserved from the locals who had all begun to murmur at their appearance.
They were met quickly by a server, who trotted out from behind the bar with tray underarm. He bowed repeatedly and after a few stammered welcomes, encouraged the new arrivals to follow him. With Ferry trailing behind, the women took their seats.
Ferry strolled onward, accidentally knocking some patrons sitting nearby with his elbows. When he finally seated himself he ordered a beer, and a large one at that, to curb the unease of his own spectacle.
Before Misu had time to place her own order, she was immediately flanked by black-suited gentlemen who had hurried out from a side room, its opening wide and surrounded by ornate pillars. They offered, quite insistently, that she join them in the back room, where private conversation happened with more distinguished persons. When sure that those in her company were comfortable, secured by a flick of Corinne’s wrist, she went to play nice with the rich folk.
The back room itself was comfortably opulent to Misu’s tastes. Large, high-backed chairs padded with good leather were positioned near large open fireplaces accented with marble. Decorative displays of paintings littered the walls, sandwiched between wall lights. Faces of important figures – lawmen – stared from the walls within gold-leaf frames.
She seated herself in a comfortable chair as the gentlemen slouched into theirs. They each began to puff in turn on pipes, filling the air with a pale, acrid haze. Misu took the offer for a drink, requesting a large brandy that was delivered in a bulbous glass. She sipped it, daintily, matching the eyes that swam in its surface upon tipping the glass and paused before giving approval.
It was difficult to not be swallowed by the surrounding affluence. The people in some places, especially the more remote locations they had pulled into, could live for a month on the cost of what these drank in one sitting. Fat men slumped over decadent décor, plump with prosperity. They only had to look outside at the street beggars who pulled at passing coat-tails for a momentary reprieve to rearrange their priorities. Not that something like this would ever happen of course, but this was the way the game was to be played. Image was everything.
And Misu was exceptionally good at it.
‘What a venture!’ one man barked. ‘I toast you, madam, for making a brave business in an unsteady region. It’s to be admired.’
A sherry glass was raised in her direction to which Misu motioned with hers in return. Heaving old men, intakes of breath thick and raspy, grunted in conversation. Those who spoke did so in turn, abiding by the invisible hierarchy that existed here.
‘I would suppose you have quite the life of adventure, young lady. I dare say if my wife ever found out she would rattle on about independence and some such.’
Misu relaxed a cigarette from her lips before tapping the ash into a tray that rested on the chair’s arm.
‘Is she a flower?’
‘Very much so.’
She drew once more, slower now, calming her racing mind, and smiled for the company. ‘Then you had best keep her behind a locked door else I’ll spell her away for employment.’
A ripple of nasally laughter made its way through the room. It did nothing to put the woman at ease. The sociable mask remained, hiding a bevy of responses that Misu could quite happily administer. All that mattered was the image: the firm smile, the confident stroll, all the things that convinced present company that she belonged. These people were a product of their own endeavours. Sure, there was a degree of respect that these men commanded – officials, heads of industry and the like – but Misu knew of the dangers that were associated with this mingling. Words would be said, some polite, some not. Suggestions could be veiled threats.
Misu knew, painfully well, that wolves hid in the company of decent men. Sometimes they acted alone. Other times, they congregated in packs.
As much as they had each observed her, Misu had assessed the men themselves. Which showed the signs, the body language that gave away their true intentions?
Misu lowered her smoke once more and breathed out the nerves from her chest. The mask remained upon her, very much secure.
‘How long have you been running?’ someone else asked, a stocky man, presumably in his forties judging by the lines on his face and the thickness of his curled hair tied into a ponytail, coupled with a salt and pepper beard.
Misu had noticed Evans patiently observing her before he pitched his question, giving her no doubt: he was the owner of the Riverjack House and much more besides. His chair was close to the others, though had enough distance to reflect a position of importance. The seating was of perfect distance between fireplace and bar, angled to a view of the décor and positioned with utmost precision. He seemed genuine enough but a wolf took time to bare its fangs to prey.
‘Long enough to know better. Not enough to realize we should charge more for what we do.’ Her eyes travelled skyways to the flamboyant painted murals that covered the ceiling. A thick tapestry of images depicting, among other things, the Holy Sorceress loomed overhead. It was, of course, impressive, but the design was a straight reproduction from a cathedral in Eifera. The capital of the northern grassland was littered with this sort of style, though the brushwork was more refined. A cheap imitation, Misu concluded. Evans had commissioned the piece clearly to make a statement though made the opposite one than intended. To those who wallowed in such styling, this was a fanfare of money.
To Misu, it was gaudy at best. ‘Looking around here I’m sure purse strings can afford to be relaxed a little more.’ Another series of chuckles. Evans leant back, contentedly.
‘Now, tell me, little one, how does one come to be in your line of work?’ another man enquired, squat and balding with a pitted, bulbous nose.
‘Good fortune mostly. The good fortune of those whom we serve and who enjoy our services, and it’s my good fortune that they seem so happy to gamble so frivolously.’
The man sat back, beaded pupils sheltering behind bagged eyes. He unbecomingly spat every word. ‘Fortune is fickle I have found. It shares a bed with that whore deceit, and the pair sleep until noon.’
Misu stubbed her cigarette down before draining her glass to a quarter full. ‘Then I suggest you invest in better company, sir.’
Stifled guffaws emanated from the bellies of those around her. The company of such a brazen woman was alluring, exciting even to the clique, though it was abruptly halted. From back inside the bar, raised voices began to drown out pompous banter before suddenly swallowing all attention. From the shrill burst of shattering glass, Misu knew exactly what the noise was a prelude to: trouble.
The men muttered in disdain, though were requested to remain seated by the flustered staff. Voices became louder, brash and demanding.
‘In all Her name, what is that commotion?’ Evans set his drink down and called to one of the servers who looked just as perplexed. ‘What goes on out there? Move, boy, bring me word right away!’
The nearest scurried out to check, whilst Evans’s backside remained firmly unmoved. Misu showed no such restraint, and took to her feet and marched out to witness what exactly had brought such discord. Bar brawls were nothing out of the ordinary – they were an unwelcome necessity of her trade – but this sounded far more disturbing.
Stepping out, Misu witnessed a clear division in the bar. A collection of rowdy locals had spilled inside, barring the door, a pair brandishing knives. From a cursory glance, Misu assumed their motives were monetary but soon corrected herself. Each intruder was smartly dressed and neatly shaven, certainly not resembling the vagrants passed on the way here. Equally, there were too few of them to hold the establishment up for money, confirmed by a lack of firearms. They stood on edge, seemingly unsure as to how to progress, as if it was a decision pursued on a whim and had passed the point of no return.
But Misu recognized something abnormal about the men that worried her more than the knives they brandished.
It was the eyes. Twitchy, bugged, each one of them flicked their gaze around seemingly at random. One chomped as if his mouth accommodated chewing tobacco, yet he spit nothing out. There was something unnervingly peculiar about the behaviour. It was like they were overcome with an incredible thirst, as if they were looking to set upon an oasis in the desert. Something wasn’t right by a long shot and she knew exactly what.
Without further warning they all charged forward, crashing into those nearby in carnage. Cries of panic erupted from those who sought shelter, whereas those brash enough tried to repel the discord. The weapons drew innocent blood.
The masked showgirls were scattered near the back wall, attempting to congregate together with Ferry already up and ready for the fight, but clearly even the speed of these individuals amazed him. They moved against the fleeing bodies with abnormal haste, lashing out without care or even focus, as if flailing limbs and torsos were simply targets. People heaved and pushed for their escape out all around but Ferry retained his composure throughout – for the sake of the showgirls.
‘They heard the girls were here!’ he called to Misu, noticing her emerge. ‘The rat-like one in the middle demanded they went back to provide some private entertainment!’
Attempting to corral the showgirls fully behind him, Ferry held his arms out, making himself a sizeable target for anyone stupid enough to try their luck.
‘Back off, you animals, or I’ll break you!’ Ferry roared, swinging at those who dared to skip forward. The rat-like one, brazen enough to challenge this, slipped under the first thrust, only for an iron hand of a punch to collide against his skull and launch him rolling over a tabletop. Glass shattered. Wood splintered under his weight. Another leapt at Ferry with a broken bottle but instead of meeting flesh, he received a sizeable boot to the stomach. The attacker tumbled back from the impact but while he did so, a small paper packet was ejected from his pocket and found itself at Misu’s feet.
She stared at the torn paper wrapping before looking around herself to see if she was being watched. A tangled, dry mass of rust-coloured plant, just a sprig, poked from its housing – contraband that could worryingly be discovered. Secretly, she dug the flat of her boot over it, knelt and scooped it into her pocket, ensuring the evidence would remain hidden.
Chaos had erupted around the party in the form of scrappy brawls. Bodies soon became tangled in the melee. Some scrambled for shelter, sliding under tables or cowering behind shields of pottery or wood. The more spirited launched into the fray, swinging fists wildly.
In the midst of this, Katerina scurried on all fours to join her friends. Elizabeth had already weaved past a nearby couple who flailed their fists wildly, attempting to pull Katerina to them, though she remained out of reach as the scrappers fell back and forth. She skimmed over tipped chairs and stools, her hand slipping in spilt liquor. Hopping to her feet, she dashed to Ferry though instead was yanked away by a grip to her wrist.
Katerina yelped, and Elizabeth called out for her by name. Naturally she struggled, dragging her nails down the face of the one who restrained her. He stared back hot-blooded and enraged, as if the wound hadn’t even registered upon his person. In retaliation he drove his fist into the mask, shattering it to pieces. The woman hung limp.
This was more than enough time for Ferry to have advanced forward. With grit, he wrenched the detaining hand away from Katerina’s own and thundered a fist into the culprit’s ribs before tossing him over the bar and into the shelves of bottles behind. They burst in an almighty crescendo, raining down in a shower of glass and alcohol.
As Misu finally joined her entourage, the bar doors crashed open, with over a dozen Bluecoats entering the fray. Their calls for order from the local law went unheeded, so the request was punctuated by the firing of a sidearm. Folks finally backed away from one another, assessing their injuries.
The only exception to this was one of the architects of this mess who sprung forward, only to receive a bullet to the leg. When this failed to stop him, the accompanying limb met the same fate, finally rending the troublemaker immobile.
‘That’s better,’ the captain stated. He holstered his revolver, before arrests were made.
* * *
Misu and the gaggle of showgirls were accompanied through the streets back to the local station. They returned in silence, flanked by law, to where the Morning Star waited patiently for them. What was supposed to be a routine stop had become a farce.
Inside, Elizabeth dabbed down Katerina’s swollen eye with a soaked flannel, administering a concoction consisting mainly of iodine. She whispered in soothing terms as Katerina flinched at every dab, slouched in one of the lounge car seats.
Misu scowled at the guests inside, the local sheriff and Evans. The owner of the Riverjack House remained quite composed given the circumstances. The sheriff babbled his way through an apology, one that was quite ignored by their host.
‘Disaster, an absolute disaster,’ she began in an intense scalding. Evans recoiled at the volume as Misu continued. ‘Do you two have any idea of the impact this will have in our line of work? The takings? Please do let me know how many people wish to gain the attention of someone with a shiner! Show it to me again!’
Katerina craned her head at an angle, letting her manager survey the damage. ‘Outrageous! Simply outrageous that this was allowed to happen!’
Words began to form between Evans and the sheriff, the latter clearly unable to provide the security that he once promised at their arrival. The town was supposedly free of any such disturbances. His lies were discovered at a cost.
‘We have not had trouble of this variety for a long time I assure you. Red Root has been outlawed for nigh on –’
The sheriff was shut down with a raise of Misu’s palm.
‘Don’t even bother. I don’t want to hear a single excuse out of your mouth.’
She began to pace the floor, biting her nails. ‘What of our takings? Am I to assume that we’ll get compensation for this inconvenience? I may well be down a girl for the next few shows!’
Elizabeth froze in her place at Katerina’s feet, and their gazes met. Money. That was all it came down to, once again. Elizabeth’s crystal blue eyes fell between a frown and with the slightest of motions Katerina suggested that such a concern shouldn’t be raised – not now of all times.
Evans squirmed, fumbling into his pocket. ‘Our apologies, this is an isolated incident in our establishment. I’m sure we could provide some recompense for your troubles.’
‘The hell you can, little man! I severely doubt that your kind could compensate the score that we take!’
Evans produced a chequebook and scribbled onto a page with a fine, gold-plated pen. When done, a slip of paper was torn out and offered between them.
‘Maybe that is true, though I hope this contribution helps keep this matter under wraps. And that it doesn’t tarnish your perceptions of the Riverjack House nor its good people for the next time you pass by. It would be regrettable if it affected you all negatively, if you get my understanding.’
Misu took the paper and scanned the line of numbers in impeccable handwriting. Clearly Evans’s guilt played a factor in the offer of compensation. Keeping her poker face, the cheque was pocketed.
‘It’s a start,’ she flatly stated.
* * *
The Morning Star ventured out into the Sand Sea following one of the straighter routes northward.
It would be a few days before they reached the next show destination, which presented a little time for the occupants to relax. Some took to the observation car to make use of its considerable number of windows to sunbathe. Some read from the train’s expansive collection, lost in the pages of literature where life for the characters therein was considerably simpler. Others simply whittled the time away practising their show routines in designated spaces so as to not cause an annoyance for their colleagues.
Elizabeth was resigned to singing in one of the stock cars where the acoustics were more appropriate. Corinne sharpened up her knife throwing where she could do no damage, oddly finding the train’s rocking perfect to practise with. Katerina, on the other hand, left the residence car and passed through each in turn.
Upon reaching the end of the carriages, she took the outer walkway past the tender and into the engine cab, her shoe heels slipping as she was caught by an unpredictable crosswind that caused a staggered step. When sheltered by the engine cab she breathed a quick sigh of relief and announced herself.
‘Knock knock,’ she called.
Ferry stood at the pipes and valves and levers: the complicated guts of the locomotive’s controls being quite alien to any onlooker, but to someone as mechanically minded as he, it was a beauty of construction. It had been built with considerable love, with a driver in mind, without confusingly positioned gauges or the need to reach something with an awkward twist.
‘This is a surprise. Come on in.’
‘Thank you.’
‘How’s the eye?’ Ferry prodded the air with a thick, greased finger.
Katerina brushed her hair back behind one ear, turning the injury away from sight, feeling quite conscious of it. The flesh was still quite swollen.
‘Sore. Hurting. As one would expect.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to prevent that.’ He rested a bear arm across a length of floor levers that had been locked into place. His voice was sincere and guilt-soaked.
‘It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you by any stretch.’
‘I was there,’ he rebutted.
‘Please don’t feel responsible for that. It’s not why I’m here, well, I mean it is and it isn’t.’ Katerina stepped inside, presenting a square parcel wrapped in butcher’s paper in her hands. ‘I wanted to say thank you for intervening when you did. It’s not much but I figured that you might be hungry so I made up this in the kitchen.’
Ferry took the gift into his hands and unwrapped it with curiosity. Inside was a thickly cut beef sandwich complete with salad garnish. He gave a grateful smile. The train’s wheels juddered and the sound of the clickety clacking became significantly more hollow as it began to cross an arched bridge connecting dunes.
‘You’re a kind soul. That’ll do quite nicely, thank you.’
‘It’s no trouble at all.’
He sat in the driver’s seat and tucked in, savouring each bite. Katerina glanced at the controls and to its driver who had alarmingly stepped away from his post.
‘Don’t you need to, I don’t know, steer this thing or something?’ Katerina asked.
‘Don’t have to out here. There’s never any debris on the track. Nobody would be stupid enough to try and board us on a bridge. It’s quite boring actually.’
‘May I?’ She gestured to the cab window.
‘Be my guest.’
The warm desert air was bearable with the breeze caused by the train’s momentum. The clearest blue sky was decorated with cotton puffballs of cloud, and the brilliance of the high-rising dunes, sometimes a good hundred feet high. Out this way was nothing but the sand. It had its own serene beauty about it, untouched and unclaimed by human hands.
‘Hell of a view,’ Katerina stated.
‘Don’t look down though,’ he warned.
Unable to resist, Katerina glanced straight down at the tracks. Their previous solid construction was now forgone with distinct gaps between the sleepers. Her vision alternated between solid and an abyss, the shadow-drenched sand canyons that the bridges in this region straddled. Her vision was imprinted with the deep gulf beneath the passing slats.
She pulled herself back inside the cab, hair now windswept and given considerable volume.
‘I looked down,’ Katerina said, seating herself heavily on a folding chair.
‘I warned you about that.’ He made it halfway through his food, before waving it back and forth in question. ‘What do you make of Misu’s decisions?’
‘You mean recently or in general?’
‘Probably both; however, the most pressing on my mind is the poor choice not to employ some decent protection for this joint.’
Katerina thought for a moment. It wasn’t particularly sensible, she agreed, but it was equally not her place to question the more important decisions made about the show’s operation.
‘I think her reasoning is that because we’ve looked after ourselves all this time, it’s not strictly needed.’
‘Yeah, but you had some once, right?’
‘Once, yes.’ Katerina shrugged, reminiscing over their once capable head of security. That was, until Jacques became a drunk liability. She wondered what became of him, quickly hoping that harm had not befallen him.
‘So the requirement is obviously there.’
‘I don’t pretend to know what Misu is thinking. I learnt long ago that is a folly.’
‘It’s a shame you can’t do your trick to change her mind.’ Ferry finished the last of his sandwich and gave thanks.
‘Trick?’ Katerina asked.
‘Read the future and whatnot. What you do in the show.’
Katerina turned her head, attempting to work out if he was accusing her of fabricating her act. ‘It’s no trick, I assure you.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that and certainly didn’t intend to imply offence. I mean, maybe one day I won’t be quick enough when needed. Maybe things will, you know, go bad.’ Ferry bundled the paper noisily into a fist. ‘I’m not young you know. I wouldn’t want anybody here to come to harm. The amount she sneaks off at night … it’s just not safe. I can’t be everywhere.’
‘Why, Ferry, if I didn’t know better I would say that you’ve grown fond of us.’ Katerina chuckled, quite charmed at the revelation. His appearance of an off-putting grump did little to make him approachable to the others. He relinquished a smile beneath his beard.
‘Don’t tell the others. I wouldn’t want my reputation to be tarnished,’ he hurriedly amended, ‘and make sure Misu doesn’t find out neither. I would never hear the end of it.’