late, so getting anything substantial for your mother was proving difficult. What I did manage to get my hands on, with no small amount of negotiating, was some cockatrice eggs. Some trapper was raising young ’uns but had plenty to spare. These things are three times bigger than what a normal chicken lays – mighty tasty too. So I make my way home and your mother is there sitting at that kitchen table, singing settlers’ songs. I go to make us breakfast and she decides to read you the newspaper seeing as your daddy’s letters are still stuck.’
Franco closed his eyes, envisioning the scenario. From the gentle morning light that bathed the woman with luminescence to the smells of the eggs gently frying in a cast-iron pan. It was a tranquillity that Franco had yearned for but never attained.
‘She takes the paper, and says to you, that we’ll read the news and find out what’s happening outside these walls. She spoke the large headline without a single care: “Seventeen die in mine catastrophe.”
‘She then goes all quiet, talking to herself before suddenly wailing. Bless her, did she cry. I was all confused of course, so I read the paper to see what’s put her in such a state. It turns out that the mine your father was at suffered an accident. That tin-can lift I told you about, that they winch you down in, broke free from its cabling and fell straight down with seventeen pour souls trapped inside. The names confirmed Ederik Monaire, your father, as one of the dead.’
Pappy kicked the stones at his feet weakly, squinting at the ebbing sun that moseyed across the sky on its own accord.
‘Never seen a woman so distraught. You hear tales of such things but it breaks a heart to witness. Your mother loved him dearly. When the time came for you to make an appearance, she was already drinking more than I was comfortable with – something that became a frequent point of argument. That never changed. Suffering a burden like that can break people. Even the strongest among us can have it creep on up. Make people commit to terrible decisions on the pretence that it’s for the best.’
Franco licked his lips. The alcohol was having trouble settling in his stomach, keen to escape the way from which it came. A few deep breaths subdued this – for the time being at least. ‘Why did she leave?’
‘Don’t know. She just left. There was a note that barely made sense, rambling about things, mad things, from what I recall. There was some crazed declaration about chasing the sun to find Ederik but who knows where her mind was at. The Sand Sea is a big place. If someone doesn’t want to be found, then they won’t be. You were just a babe in arms then and someone had to look after you, being that you were abandoned. That responsibility became mine and I looked after you as my own for evermore.’
Bitterness seeped in once more. Whilst it was easy to have compassion for the situation that his parents struggled with, the chain reaction of bad decisions that followed were far less acceptable.
‘You raised me.’ Franco swigged again, his mood as sour as his liquor. ‘Not them. You. I don’t see them here right now, reminiscing over how things transpired with big smiles.’
Something obstructed his throat. A long gestating rant that had been the backbone of bad behaviour and pity-seeking eruptions. The urge to launch his bottle into the sky was overwhelming.
‘It wasn’t what they intended, I’m sure.’
He cut Pappy off immediately.
‘Intended or not, this is the way it all went. Like you said, life is like a train on the rails, a destiny of sorts. I’m guessing that there are some who just jump from the cars without thinking of the landing. I don’t owe the folks a damn thing. Just you.’
With a sharp wheeze, Pappy took a spell to collect himself, giving Franco ample time to compose himself and lose the shakes.
‘Well I guess you know best on that front, lad.’
A flock of crows soared overhead, calling as if spooked by something unseen. Their obnoxious squawks abated as they took flight to the closest peak. Pappy kicked his boots in the dirt, displacing it before changing the subject to something more placid.
‘This idea of yours. This venture. Tell me about it again. What was the plan?’
‘It’s nothing really.’
‘You’re a man now. Speak like one.’
‘We provide entertainment,’ Franco stated. It was embarrassing confessing to the designs he had for when the old man had finally passed, crude given the circumstances. Originally it was something for the pair of them to participate in – until tragedy dictated otherwise.
‘Entertainment of what sort?’
‘It would be a delight on wheels. We would stuff the cars with tables, games, and all the booze folks could handle. The girls would entertain and we would make money on the tables like you wouldn’t believe. We would put on a show wherever we travelled.’
‘Are the games honest?’ he enquired.
‘Nothing but. The patrons get to win. There’s none of that fixing. Who would want to play at a table where the dealer has sticky fingers?’
‘These girls –’ he swallowed in interruption ‘– are they pretty?’
‘Oh, the prettiest. They would have kind faces to bring about respite for the poor bastards stuck down the mines or suck in the mills.’ Franco finally laughed; envisioning the entire thing like had done many times before.
‘Ah, now I like the sound of that.’
‘The bar would be filled with the finest rums and bourbons this far south of the trade line. It would be an oasis to the parched.’
‘Like this here stuff?’ Pappy tilted the frosted dark glass to his parched lips.
‘Better,’ Franco promised.
‘Got a name for all this yet?’
‘I’ve been kicking something around I guess …’
‘Being?’
Franco took a swig to build up nerve before setting the cup in the dirt at his boots. ‘The Gambler’s Den.’
To his surprise, the suggestion wasn’t immediately rubbished – unlike most others he had pitched in the past. No, Pappy weighed it with a considerable amount of thought as he sucked on a roll-up. The smoke got the better of his throat, starting a coughing fit. When it finally relented he spat the fire out beside him and quenched it with the bottle’s own. His eyes reddened, Pappy continued as if nothing had happened.
‘It’s not completely terrible.’ He relented. ‘It’s good, honest work. You should pursue it. We’ve got plenty saved to overhaul the cars and it’s not like you have to pay for a pine box for me. It’s your train now anyway. Stick with it and it’ll take you far. You’ve got a good head on you. It’ll grant you the one thing that most others lack.’
‘What would that be?’
‘Freedom, lad. Freedom. It’s the only thing that’s worth a damn – the only thing worth seeking out from the day you’re born until the day you’re buried. Money drips through the fingers when you try to hold it tightly. There’s bad sons of bitches out there who do just that. They may fool themselves
