the sequence. The stranger jumped aside each time, weaving away in the blackness. When Donovan paused, his opponent kicked the weapon away to the gutter and delivered a pair of punches across the cheek.
‘Nice knife.’ The shadow offered his compliment with a grin, now in close proximity to his prey. His hand slipped to his back and in a flash unsheathed his own weapon from oiled leather. It drove deep into Donovan’s thigh, parting flesh and striking bone.
Donovan screamed, but only just before a forearm sent him onto his back, steel now protruding from the limb coupled with a trickle of blood.
‘Mine’s bigger,’ Jacques quipped.
Foolishly Donovan wrenched the weapon away with a shriek, a spurt of blood hurriedly contained by fumbling hands.
Jacques shook the sting from his knuckles, gesturing to the heap before him.
‘Now you be keeping pressure on that there wound, you hear? You haven’t got time to go another round otherwise you’ll be losing too much blood to keep your heart beating. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we? This girl here would be a silly thing to perish for.’
He turned to Misu with a look of thunder. Disappointment was interlaced with disdain.
‘A very silly thing.’
Flenn reached for his revolver only for it to be knocked free. Blows rained left and right, violent waves on rocks of forearms. When an opening emerged he jabbed in time, following with left and right hooks. A few matches of bar boxing gave Flenn some talent, giving his strikes weight, but he was slow and sloppy. Jacques weaved and kept his arms up, slipping under each fist that stopped just out of reach. When secure enough with his delivery, Jacques punished Flenn with a bevy of punches, breaking his nose with a burst of crimson. Enough time was given, seconds in reality, for Flenn to comprehend his beating before Jacques pulled a forearm to his throat and kicked his legs away. Flenn squatted, face flushed red, gasping.
‘Now, the right thing would be to apologize to the nice lady,’ Jacques demanded, pushing him forward in the restraint. Before he gave his response, each gurgle of defiance was choked away but when he spoke it wasn’t to give the smartest of answers.
‘N … n … never!’
Jacques breathed deeply through his nose, keeping his quarry steady.
‘You’ll think better of it when you wake up.’
After driving his elbow into the base of Flenn’s skull, Jacques stepped over the limp body between him and the woman who had caused so much trouble.
Misu trembled but not from the night air. She withheld thanks, knowing full well that things were about to get much, much worse.
Escorted to the station, every street felt like a walk of shame, where prying eyes judged her for every misdeed. This was, of course, false. Nobody paid notice as she ventured back, cheeks reddened with tearstains. Their business was their own. Naturally busy with wherever the day took them, figures brushed past in a daze. Every so often Misu peered past her shock of raven hair to ensure that Jacques was accompanying her. Of course he was. Despite his silent footsteps, he remained in her shadow, ensuring she would return home with no detours.
Every step up the station was a mountain, at its summit: scorn.
When finally reaching Platform 4 she silently stopped, as if weighted. Looking at the once-inviting doors of what she called home, she felt she could vomit. Indeed, she covered her mouth as if she were about to succumb to such a thing. Her nerves had bested her and for good reason. She turned to her sentry and pleaded for him to reconsider.
‘Please,’ Misu whimpered. ‘Don’t, just don’t make me do this. Please.’
Jacques took a moment to grunt a response. He wasn’t heartless, but this situation was terribly complex and needed someone else’s illumination to resolve.
‘Sorry, lass. It’s not my call to make. You have some explaining to do to people and if you don’t – I will fill in the blanks with everything that I heard. Come, they’re waiting for you.’
When he had decided that she had readied herself appropriately, Jacques shuffled his feet behind her and inside she went, her bodyguard following and locking the door to the showgirls’ residence carriage behind him.
As she brushed aside a beaded curtain, its clattering informed the occupants of a visitor. The showgirls – all ten of them – immediately rose to their feet, if they were not standing already. Kitty pushed herself through the collecting bodies, a struggle as she was shorter than the rest. She left her hand of cards upon the table, a collection of tips from the previous night’s takings being played off against whoever was brave enough.
Her intention was to wrap her arms around that slender body, link them together and embrace Misu in relief. She had been worried. They all had been of course since Jacques announced he was leaving to find Misu. It was all people could think about and when potential worries were brought up, they were dismissed, stating that such things were nonsense, that everything was just fine.
But it only took one second to notice that things were clearly not that simple and certainly not fine. Jacques moved past, watching keenly without so much as an utterance, and seating himself at Kitty’s space. He glanced firstly to the terrible hand she had been lumbered with and then back to Misu. He clearly expected a verbose explanation.
‘Misu, what is it?’ Kitty asked. She examined the soulless face of the other woman, shocked and devoid of its usual lustre. Her stature was hunched and her demeanour – no matter how authoritative it had always seemed – was cracked.
‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Please, can you … Can you not ask me?’
‘But we were worried about you,’ Kitty objected, curious about Misu’s standoffishness. She tried to explain their concerns. ‘You’re sneaking out on your lonesome. Jacques brings you back and … Why are you so upset? Did something happen?’
Misu’s charade broke, causing a trail of fresh tears to trace down her cheeks. ‘It’s nothing – not a concern for any of you,’ Misu lied, trying to firmly denounce any speculation. This, expectedly, failed. Coos of concern emanated from the girls, doing no favours for her poise.
Corinne crossed her arms, stepping between the pair in a subconscious gesture of protection. She was utterly, utterly unconvinced.
‘Rubbish.’
‘Please don’t do this. Don’t shut us out,’ Kitty called from behind Corinne, interlinking her fingers in desperation. Everyone congregated around Misu, wrapping around one another in a loving embrace to the point where Misu was unable to move. All of the showgirls had noticed her odd behaviour and wanted her to understand that she was loved, no matter the cause of this peculiarity. For most, she was the closest thing they had to family.
‘No. No!’ Misu fought for some space, forcing them to ebb back like a waning tide. ‘What I do is my own business. I don’t invite you into my affairs because they are mine. Thank you for your concerns but I do not need all of your meddling. I am quite capable of looking after myself.’
Corinne scowled, a thunderous grimace that one would expect to be directed at a liar.
Or, possibly, a traitor.
She
