A big ask
Esquelle was about as bottom of the barrel a place as one could find themselves in. It was large enough to be intimidating, just far enough from the law to turn black and white ways of living to shades of grey. Within was a peppering of shops that had been set up to accommodate the desires of passing trappers. Normally they were nestled down alleyways, sandwiched by the reams of sandstone-crafted houses, quite understated affairs and prone to announcing themselves with reserved signage.
In Esquelle anybody could get their hands on a gun, of course, no matter their age or situation. There were significantly fewer places to do so legally. Quite proudly present against a cigar shop and a grocer’s, close to where the train tracks cleaved the district creating a prosperous/impoverished divide was one of these legal suppliers: the fledgling business known as the Deadbolt Gunworks.
The Deadbolt Gunworks was advertised by a simple wooden sign with two crossed revolvers, though the shop lacked any windows, as presenting such things would be an invitation for chancers to instigate burglaries. Instead, the stock was kept inside, past the thick oaken door laden with various bolts and presented in various glass display cases with varying degrees of care.
Wyld leant on one of these glass counters, absorbed in a red cloth book with worn gold print and frayed corners. Business had been slow today, which allowed her to catch up on her reading. Orders had been fulfilled and were now waiting for collection. If she was sensible she would close the store early but there had been more than one occasion where a surprise customer late in the day made a sale to dwarf others.
Instead she let the wall cock tick away and when it weakly chimed six, the book was laid down for a moment, the sign brought in, and the door secured to its fullest just as it began to spit with rain. The day’s takings were removed from the till and the various tools on the workbench put in their respective places, and the workbench itself cleaned of any debris such as filings or shavings. She returned to her book, propping herself on a stool and picking up where she left off.
Behind her worked a man, tall in stature and imposing in nature. He focused his clear blue eyes on stacking a number of boxes filled with lead shot and empty bullet casings used to press ammunition. A good foot taller than Wyld, the weight was no concern despite the boxes themselves being piled four high. His long black hair had been ponytailed, a short shaved goatee framing the expressionless lips that Wyld teased him over constantly.
‘Where do you want these?’ Umbra asked, turning to show the contents of his laden arms.
‘Downstairs if you will.’ She took a glance and returned back to her reading. ‘I’ll no doubt wander down there tonight to busy myself so if you could put them down by the press that’ll be just grand.’
No sooner had he taken two steps than a sudden rapping at the door stopped him.
Wyld looked down her nose, unimpressed. Maybe if she ignored it, the person would get the message.
The door was struck again.
‘We’re closed! Can’t you read the sign on the door? That’s what it’s there for,’ she called out.
‘Do you want me to get rid of them?’ Umbra asked.
‘They’ll get bored eventually. I swear, if it’s the Sanders boys wanting to try and get me to flog their stolen gear they can think again …’ Wyld licked a finger and turned the page of her book, squinting at the longer words that were difficult to pronounce. She attempted a couple silently until the knocking began anew.
‘I said take a hike!’ Wyld yelled in the door’s direction, returning to the book with a grumble.
Umbra frowned, readjusting the stack of boxes in his possession. One from the top slid enough to be in danger of falling but instead he guided it to press against his collar.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to send them on their way? They seem pretty persistent.’
‘What I need is for you to drag that downstairs and pack it away,’ Wyld ordered without so much as a change in tone.
‘You’re not my boss you know.’
‘The sign outside says different, dear.’ She chuckled. ‘But you can keep telling yourself that if it brings you comfort.’
‘I remember a time when you were the one taking orders …’ he muttered.
‘Things change. We’re not in Eifera now, more’s the pity I suppose.’ She stopped herself from continuing her thoughts. ‘All this time talking could be spent doing what I asked. That would be the more productive decision to make.’
Before he could give a polite rebuttal, three loud strikes rattled the glass in its frame, causing Wyld to leap to her feet and slam her reading material down. Anger prevented her from slipping the bookmark in – something she would regret later.
‘Oh to hell with this.’
‘Wyld …’
‘Don’t you Wyld me,’ she interrupted.
The door was unbolted from the top, its centre, and at the floor, emitting a series of heavy clunks. The door was cracked open and the culprit endured Wyld’s outburst.
‘What’s so bloody urgent?!’
Katerina brushed her red hair behind an ear and sheepishly looked away, whilst balls of rain pattered upon her black umbrella. The streets behind were glazed with wet, a passing cloudburst thrashing down its contents.
‘That’s hardly a welcome now, is it?’
Wyld immediately recoiled, opening the door wider to take in the sight. ‘Katerina? Come in, come in, please, get out of the rain!’
* * *
Umbra watched, perplexed. It occurred to him that this was the first time that she had actually welcomed someone who wasn’t a customer so warmly. In fact, it occurred to him that it was the first time he had seen her with an acquaintance. He watched the new arrival pat herself down and run her fingers through her fiery curls.
‘We’re having a visitor now?’ Umbra asked, quite matter-of-fact.
Wyld paused.‘We’re still talking and not taking that down to the cellar now?’
‘Yes, boss.’
* * *
Umbra went on his way, his boots audibly descending the creaking wooden steps.
Katerina folded her umbrella and left it by the door to drip onto the limestone tiles. She was ushered inside and offered a place to sit on a lounger for customers with a simple table opposite, but not before receiving a warm hug.
‘Oh my, how are you? It’s been … it’s been a long time! Look at you!’ Wyld gestured, slightly unsure as to exactly what she was implying. ‘I mean you look great. You’re looking … You’re looking great!’
‘Thank you.’
They hugged again, quite unsure of the intention, but the relief of seeing one another was too great to ignore. Fingers pressed longingly into Wyld’s back.
‘And you look … you look like a storeowner I suppose! The Deadbolt Gunworks, huh?’
Wyld was incapable of holding back her pride. ‘Yes indeedy. You are looking at the proud owner and sole proprietor of the best firearms Surenth and beyond has to offer. I’ve got things from as far away as Crudus. You can’t get better than something loud from the Empire. Their craftsmanship is second to none.’
‘No more roaming around then?’
‘Nope. Rooted down right here. Making a proper go of things. It’s so good to see you.’ Wyld leant back, her leg anxiously jogging beneath the table. She wrestled with a million questions until settling on the most demanding: ‘What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to venture out here to make a go of things. Why the hell would you do that?’
‘I’ve not.’ Katerina giggled.
‘That’s good, because this place is a toilet. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased, honestly I am, but you’ve got me curious. Nobody just walks into a gunworks without looking for business.’
Sadly the conversation turned to business, something that encroached on Katerina’s life and would now barge its way back into Wyld’s. It was a cruelty since she had no further involvement with the train. She was a passenger at best but there was no other choice for Misu to consider.
‘I know.’ Katerina rummaged around for something in her handbag. ‘That’s why I was asked to bring you this.’
When she withdrew her hands, a black and gold envelope was presented between her fingers.
The presentation was ominous to Wyld, despite the decoration and flair that adorned the surface. The words in perfect calligraphy spelt out the following:
By request of the Morning Star
The words on its face contained no malice but still Wyld was wary as to what they hid. She relieved the messenger of her task, wagging it the air with a question. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘It’s a request.’
‘What for?’
‘You’re not very familiar with the concept of letters, are you? Katerina upturned a corner of her mouth.
The curious white seal on the back was separated and the letter inside withdrawn. It was digested and finally placed upon Wyld’s lap with a pained sigh. She began to rub at her forehead, feeling the onset of a headache.
‘That’s a big ask,’ Wyld finally said.
‘I know.’
‘And, in case you’ve not noticed, I’m running a legitimate business here.’
Katerina tried not to burst out laughing, her only restraint being that it would be terribly inappropriate to do so.
‘Oh please! Am I even speaking to the same woman I knew? Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you’re on the level with what you’ve got here? No shady dealing on the side somewhere, hmm?’
Wyld preferred not to directly answer this. Her silence was telling, giving the answer that Katerina knew before she stepped foot inside. Some people don’t change. Aspects of their very nature are unswayable, both good and bad. Wyld, having lived so long in around criminals, relying on criminals, and resorting to criminality herself would be unable to shake off her necessity for the illegal. It was in her blood.
‘It’s still a pretty big ask.’ Wyld struggled with the letter’s contents.
She thought of the shop, the business, her business.
She thought of Umbra.
She thought of the Morning Star and all those on board.
She thought of Franco and how he had showed her a kindness.
She thought of herself and the debts that she owed.
And finally she thought of Umbra once more.
Katerina interrupted this with a gut punch of a change to the letter. ‘Then pretend that I’m asking you and she isn’t.’
‘Oh now, that’s not fair.’
Katerina leant on her knees, looking Wyld square in the eyes, scrubbing away the cluttered mosaic that made up her concerns. The showgirl was solemn, clearly apologetic. She reached over and placed a cold hand upon one of Wyld’s: a woman she called a friend. The skin beneath took the chill into it, sending a warmth into Wyld’s flesh.
Wyld’s lips parted momentarily.
‘No, it’s not fair,’ Katerina said. ‘I’m terribly sorry to come here, to do this, but I would not have done so if we had any other choice. We have no right to impose on all you’ve built up. But I will need an answer I’m afraid.’