Back to what you know
In the past Windberg had a considerable problem with the criminal element. But no longer.
Once a bastion of illicit behaviours, the aggressive pursuit of justice carried out by Sheriff Juniper crushed all sense of criminality, an action climaxed with the incarceration of Wilheim Fort. Despite his shocking escape, the city thrived with this newfound peace. Its people slowly pursued the ambition to better themselves. In Misu’s two-year absence, things had changed on a grand scale. Most noticeably, Juniper’s promotion to Regional Marshal spelt trouble.
Now, there was no border he could cross in the Sand Sea that didn’t fall under his authority. Giving the likes of him an almost limitless jurisdiction was a nightmare scenario for the Morning Star. His reputation for dealing with culprits harshly may win favour with the locals, but it all came at a price. Some considered him to be no better than the hooligans he subdued; the only difference was the façade of a badge.
The Morning Star chugged through steep cliffs before falling into a narrow, winding valley. It was here where Misu had passed the splintered, distressed wreckage of the former train many a time. After it had skipped the tracks, the Gambler’s Den boiler had exploded, causing the assumption that Misu and Franco had perished. The reality was that she had scrambled to safety, with his help no less, and they were sheltered enough from the explosion.
The Gambler’s Den had been moved and left to rot trackside, soon covered with affectionate letters from well-wishers who made the pilgrimage this far to pay their respects. Word had reached her that a year ago there was quite a substantial gathering on the anniversary, a few thousand apparently though there was no way of validating that number. Misu hung herself out of a carriage window with the others, all gazing along the tracks for the sight of the wreckage in dutiful solidarity. Nothing was spoken. Even the wind seemed to hold its perpetual motion for a spell in respect.
The Morning Star approached and indeed passed the site of where the Gambler’s Den was left but today, this time, there were no mournful glances. In fact, there was nothing at all.
Because the derelict train was missing from its usual place.
Instead was just the interrupted ground where it had been resting, stained with the blackness of fire and the occasional chunk of protruding metal. The absence was heart-wrenching. Misu had prepared herself for its sight and everything that came with it, but not this. Never this. Had it been cut up for scrap? Had it been removed by souvenir hunters? Did the city simply consider it too much of an eyesore and have it destroyed? Nobody knew.
Voices whispered behind Misu. Phantom smells that were replicated on the Morning Star though noticeably different filled her nostrils and for a moment she believed she felt the breath of Franco upon her neck. Tears began to well so she slid back inside, having endured the ghosts of the past for as long as she could tolerate. She heaved the window to the outside and the past firmly shut. This wasn’t the time to break, she reminded herself. She had a job to do.
* * *
Windberg basked in the midday sun. Crooked angled rooftops punctuated with smoking chimneys, fed brickwork down into the tight, snaking streets. The normal bustle of people ebbed and flowed with the daily routine. High Market, the common name of the gold quarter, was routinely busy, where rows of cramped jewellery shops competed against one other with wares cluttered in windows. It was this routine that was alarmingly broken with a pair of gunshots.
Like a stone dropped into a lake, a flood of people rippled outward in alarm. The cause, an individual in a thick cream duster jacket, long-lipped hat and with scarf covering the lower part of their face, began kicking shards of glass from the window they had just shattered. Instantly they began to scoop whatever they could into a cloth sack, the revolver still tightly gripped. Trinkets scattered onto the concrete underfoot. Witnesses cried out in shock.
‘Hold it!’ a lone Bluecoat called, brandishing his weapon with all the courage he could muster. In a second, this could all go south and he was prepared, at least in mind. The rattling revolver told otherwise.
‘Now put all that on the floor!’ he demanded, correcting himself when the movements were too fast for his liking. ‘Slowly now! Otherwise I’ll be putting a hole through that thieving person of yours without fuss or care!’
The figure adjusted themselves, relinquishing their half bag of loot slowly and the weapon in the opposite hand. Both landed with a clatter.
‘Step back. Hands up, all the way!’ the officer demanded.
The robber complied, just as slowly, raising their arms as desired. The scarf slid down their face revealing her apple red lips.
‘Now, now, lawman, there’s no need to be all frisky,’ she said in soft reassurance. ‘I ain’t going anywhere.’
Misu locked her fingers together and held her hands around her head, paying her captive a long, slow smile.
‘You’ve got me dead to rights.’
* * *
Criminals were treated with disdain out here. Marshal Juniper ensured their swift detention and sentencing. As a result, holding cells rarely remained populated, though the newly built prison on the outskirts was quite the opposite. The cells themselves were spare, with very few amenities in the way of sitting. Instead, Misu slumped herself against the outer wall, quite enjoying the cool of the shade. She rubbed her wrists, bound with thick iron cuffs that weighed a considerable amount, checking to make sure their rubbing had not broken the skin.
A single mouse took it upon itself to slip through the large pitted bars that ran from floor to ceiling, scampering with utmost caution. It burst into a sprint, detecting a crust of bread that had been carelessly dropped and set upon it as if it would be its last meal. Misu only removed her eyes from her new companion when the surly guard with a truncheon struck the bars. He only spoke two words, words that forced Misu’s compliance, as he unlocked the cell.
‘You!’ he barked. ‘Up.’
A grandfather clock ticked over with each second. The spring inside wound to a coil and when released, announced the time. When it finally settled, Misu slouched back down in a chair. The ticking continued once more as she took stock of the room: a well-decorated office that she guessed few were invited into. The walls were lined with crude photographs, newspaper clippings of arrests, shelves adorned with a combination of awards, some garishly ornate, others small and easily overlooked.
Between them various collections of taxidermy protruded, visages of animals in violent poses and mounted. A long-eared owl perched on varnished wood. A desert elk stared vacantly out from its home on a wall. Misu stared at the false eyes set inside a mountain lion, its maw set to a permanent, vicious growl. To Misu it didn’t look scary. It just looked dead; though she found her attention drifting to it when turning away, causing a degree of discomfort. Her duster jacket and brimmed hat had been added to a clothes stand by the windows that overlooked the city high street.
A patting of feet grew louder, stopping just outside before their owner pushed the door open, forcing Misu to jolt and sit straight.
Alex Juniper closed the door behind him, hesitated for a moment, and then flicked the latch to lock it. For a moment he struggled with what he was to say or do in this situation. Part of him wanted to drag Misu through the streets by her wrists. How dare she show her face here, so brazenly, with such disrespect for the law, his law?
He paced around his desk, looking down on the woman who sat, quite contentedly, with leg crossed over thigh and hands resting atop, clad in handcuffs. When he finally made eye contact, she smiled with a delightfully fake smile that did nothing but irritate the marshal. He snorted, poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter, and landed himself in his large, bulbous chair that creaked under the impact.
He had brought in a charge sheet and a couple of typed-up witness statements, flicking through them slowly in turn. Every time he glanced over the top of the paper, Misu’s beaming face shone in reply, as if she was preparing for a photograph to be taken, hands folded daintily in her lap.
Alex Juniper narrowed his eyes. Dragging her through the streets was sounding more and more of an attractive prospect. Finally, he put the papers down, crossed his arms, and spoke.
‘I never thought you would be stupid enough to come back to my city, Misu, or whatever you call yourself these days.’
‘It’s still Misu.’
Juniper scoffed.
‘Those deemed to be dead usually go by something different. It could be anything you want, but you’re still the same runaway, just with different hair and hiding behind a mask. Not completely the same mind you, as you seem to have had a sizeable promotion.’ Juniper tapped his fingers on his desk, muffled by the papers that contained a second report of noticeable interest. ‘The Morning Star. What a grand old title. My, Franco must have hidden his money well. I had to check myself to see if the wreckage of the Gambler’s Den was still on the outskirts when I heard you were operating.’
‘I’m sure you put paid to that blemish on your oh-so perfect city.’ Misu narrowed her eyes, the smile subsiding. ‘And we are very much in business thank you, despite the change in name.’
‘Indeed. The last time I passed that old shell it was almost completely buried.’ Juniper slapped the papers between them. ‘Almost, but not all of it. No surprise to you as you were the one who dug its grave, if what I heard was correct.’
Misu swallowed her response. It was a baited statement and she refused to stoop to such unpleasantness. Juniper continued.
‘You should have known that someone would have noticed the similarities between yourself and the Gambler’s Den. I did the math, the profoundly simple math, as it were. Almost insultingly so. I’ve had men watching since you pulled in, though I’m surprised you slipped past them to get this far. Some said I should go out there and drag you back by your hair when I found out. I had to remind them that since Wilheim’s conviction, there’s nothing on you. You were, technically, a free woman.’
‘So what do you call these then?’
The thick handcuffs rattled with a shake of her wrists.
‘Insurance. What was with the stunt you pulled in High Market this morning? I suspected you would have avoided such attention. Business not so good these days? Painfully brazen wasn’t it?’
‘Wrong on both accounts, sir. It was an assurance to see you in person.’
‘I should be thankful you’re so accommodating. With this stunt, I get to throw your dirty associates behind bars. I’ll have the lot of them turning up in the next few minutes I’ll wager. Additions to the chain gang should I have my way – and I usually do.’
‘What a service I perform.’ Misu smiled, utterly undeterred by this news.
Clearly this wasn’t the response Alex Juniper expected. He soured his tone in response. ‘Quite. I heard more, you know.’
‘Pray tell the secrets that make your ear.’
‘Trouble would be with you. You collaborate with the bad kinds like you always have, and my big question is what I’m going to do about it.’
‘No, actually,’ Misu interrupted. This charade had gone on for too long and time was wasting. ‘Let me correct you. You’re going to do two things. The first is that you’re going to listen to my proposal. That you’re going to accept. The second, you’re going to uncuff me and let me walk out of here free.’
In a moment of unfathomable grace, Juniper accommodated this madness as a legitimate outcome. ‘Why oh why would I do something as stupid as that?’
Misu leant forward, resting her unattractive restraints on the desk. It was impossible not to grin, and relishing this moment, she revealed something that put things back in her favour.
‘Because I’m the one who tipped you off that I would be coming.’