do so.’
‘There are plenty of things we shouldn’t do in a lifetime, but this is not one. Come, I insist.’ He gestured once more. Relinquishing, Misu took the liquor and nodded in turn.
‘And you’re too fine for me to object. To the good health of you both.’
Flenn smacked his lips after a long, slow draw of the glass’s contents.
‘And to yours,’ he said.
It was common for the girls on the Gambler’s Den to find their favourite patrons at each destination. This was, of course, all part of the grand ruse. Pretty girls at a man’s side were more than likely to encourage good business. Plays of hands become much more daring in attempts to impress. Stakes were raised, unspoken possibilities of companionship for the night were implied but never fulfilled. The girls knew the tricks, the wordplay, the innuendos, and the playful press on the customer. It all ensured that the men’s natural bravado was encouraged and they parted with the one thing, the only thing, that mattered.
Money.
Without that money, the Gambler’s Den could not travel. Its upkeep was quite an expense. Without money for supplies, it would be easy to find death in the desert – especially on the Sand Sea routes to the south. Without money, wages could not be paid. Without money, as with almost all things, progress would come to an immediate halt.
So Misu, as experienced as she was in picking a patsy, attempted to ensure that the number of notes in the wallet before her was substantially decreased. In doing so, she lowered her guard.
There were another few plays of cards, buffs called, wealth lost, before conversation resumed once more.
‘Speaking of talents, pretty thing,’ Flenn casually mentioned. ‘Surely you have many of your own. Care to share them?’
‘Ah, none of note or of any relevance, sirs.’
‘Apart from that spectacular display of breathing fire. Who would have possibly imagined that someone so pretty harboured a skill so dramatic! Now if someone dared to impart a tale that they saw a woman like yourself do such a thing, why, I would accuse them of being a liar and stake as much as I had in my pockets on the fact!’
She laughed at the compliment, cheeks flushed and red.
‘My, that boss of yours must juggle concern knowing full well that you could set him aflame with your very lips. I’m guessing he carries a pail of water wherever he goes. Sleeps with one beside him too for good measure, I’ll bet!’ Flenn laughed, loud and bold. This seemingly offhand comment shifted the tone somewhat, turning Misu’s temperament a shade cooler than it had been previously.
‘Mister Franco is a fair employer. Pays well. Keeps us amused. Why would I want to be employed elsewhere?’
‘Why indeed?’
She sipped from her tumbler during the pause, noticing a tremor running through her wrist. Her fingers were shaking. Why were her fingers shaking?
‘I bet a woman like yourself is pursued for such talents. Plenty of suitors.’
‘Not as many as you would think, sir, but you are one for flattery.’
‘Nonsense, a man would kill for a woman like you at his side. I can see it now, searching through the Sand Sea itself for a sign of your living, maybe even employing others to do so. And what an entourage they could be.’
Misu’s throat clenched in trepidation before she wheezed a response. ‘Aye, they would. If one imagined.’
‘Lucky that I am the imaginative sort. Some would. Most would, I think. I couldn’t envision any who would not. But my feelings tell me something – with this imagining of mine – that someone already has.’ He waved a chubby finger. ‘Why, I can imagine our employer doing so. You remember him, don’t you? Big puppy-dog eyes. Straight jaw. Quite the temper. Never able to let anything go. Especially runaways.’
Misu clenched her glass tighter, trying mightily to stop her hand from shaking more noticeably than it already was.
Flenn turned aside and patted his thigh. ‘Sit,’ he offered.
Before doing so, she paid a casual look behind her, but none of the others were watching. Tables were waited, games were tended. A plea from her eyes for help went unnoticed.
Flenn raised a brow, continuing. ‘Be speedy now. Donovan there is not known for his patience.’
The last of the cards cut the threat-heavy air. Donovan amused himself by slouching back, the threatening hilt of his knife produced from his hip.
She sat, as instructed, still gripping her glass, her skin drained of all colour. Her eyes flicked for Jacques though he was nowhere to be seen – cavorting for the patrons maybe, either way not doing what he was paid for. No, nobody was helping her out of this rapidly souring situation, a situation constructed by her own actions – seeded long ago. Things had caught up to her, without warning, without introduction, just like she feared they would. The nightmare had finally come true.
‘I’m sure that we don’t need to remind you that Mr Wilheim is not a patient sort. He’s asked us to simply remind you of your, shall we say, obligations.’
‘I won’t go b-back to that m-man,’ Misu stuttered. Her tumbler was placed, with difficulty, onto the table.
‘Luckily Mister Wilheim is generous and stated that you were not to be marked as a sign of good faith. Your disappearance has not roused his anger. However, there is a condition. He is willing to overlook your indiscretions in exchange for a simple task. Complete it and he will leave you be. Refuse, and we have free rein to reclaim you.’
‘Please refuse, my girl,’ Donovan exclaimed. It was immediate and disturbing, tainted with a relish for his dirty work. Misu glanced over the lines of his jacket breast, noticing that it was a size bigger than needed, and no doubt concealed a few more knives in the inner pockets. These men were not intending to negotiate. Of course they weren’t. Wilheim never negotiated. He would deliver the terms and you accepted, graciously.
If one failed to do so, the repercussions would be so severe that you would never do so again. If you ever had the chance afterwards, that was.
Misu attempted to keep her composure, asking as nonchalantly as possible, ‘Wilheim. What does he want me to do?’
When their talk was over, Misu made her way back to the bar carriage, overly concerned that her expression may give away her current state. Just for a moment her legs buckled, though she was saved by bracing herself on the bar so that her slip went unnoticed. Not to Jacques though. Jacques tilted his head and looked over her shoulder to the table she had just served. He walked between them to block their line of sight.
‘Is anything the matter? Are you all right?’ Jacques enquired, shielding her from the patrons.
‘Of course I am. Why would I not be?’
‘You seem disturbed by the gentlemen at the side table. I just saw, is all. They didn’t handle you did they? We have rules for a reason. Just say the word and I’ll enforce more appropriate behaviour.’
‘No, no, all is fine.’
