Den of Smoke: Absolutely gripping fantasy page turner filled with magic and betrayal

‘Isn’t it a good time to show some iron to these folks?’

‘You don’t pull a gun out in a bar fight. It’s just not how an altercation is done,’ Alvina explained, waiting for the first unlucky fool to take their chance. One did so and was hip-tossed into a barstool, shattering it into pieces. She followed it up with a kick across the jaw, rendering him motionless.

A glint of steel flashed between them. The knife flashed, light sinking down the blade to its hilt. Its owner advanced aggressively and waved it back and forth.

‘And that?’ Cole asked, trying not to panic.

‘Well, that’s just unsporting.’

He watched Alvina flow through the air like liquid, darting and dodging every thrust, moves practised so much that they were committed to muscle memory. The knife pierced nothing but air and when a sufficient opening appeared, Alvina punished the thrust and ensured that the culprit would be unable to hold anything for a few weeks.

The cracking of bone caused the men to surge onward in a wave of malice. All Cole saw was Alvina landing punches into the cluster of bodies, scattering them this way and that.

That and the fist that knocked him out, sending the world to black.

Chapter Seven

Protecting interests

Two days later, the Jackrabbits took to the merchants’ quarter, navigating the streets with purpose. Cole was more sheepish than the others, nursing an almighty black eye that sullied his eye socket. It had swollen too, an uncomfortable reminder of his lack experience in a brawl. Not that he needed a reminder of course. Between then and now, the entire gang had ribbed him about his shiner. That didn’t look to be easing up any time soon.

‘If recent events have shown us anything,’ Jack declared, ‘it’s that you need to defend yourself a little better than you already have. I can’t have people under my employ walking around with faces like a butcher’s scrap bucket.’

‘He’s referring to the eye,’ Alvina leant in and whispered.

‘Thank you, I got that,’ Cole groaned back under his breath.

‘In this line of work, I expect plenty,’ Jack continued. ‘Loyalty is a given. But what I need to know when you’re out of my sight, and the sight of others, is that you can see potential dangers.’

‘That’s difficult for you on account of being punched.’ Alvina edged closer once more, the end of her revelation trailing to a hiss. ‘Punched in the eye.’

Cole slapped his palm to his face in disbelief.

Blake had remained curiously silent, occasionally flicking his good eye in Cole’s direction. It was clear that this entire affair didn’t sit right with him and he voiced as much.

‘What are we doing about retaliation? We’re not letting the Sanders Boys get away with this are we? Even as a sham, they’ll be under the false impression that they can get one over on us without repercussions.’ He loudly spat into the gutter. ‘The last thing we need is more pressure from chancers.’

‘They are plenty in number and we are a handful. The odds dictate we play things smart and safe.’

‘Is that a no? We’re going to let this go unpunished?’

‘When the time comes, but today is not that day.’ Jackdaw fiddled with his shirt cuffs in irritation.

‘Just give me a couple of weeks. I’ll jump each and every one from whatever pit they crawl out of, do the lot in turn and we’ll have one less concern on the daily.’

‘You –’ Jackdaw spun in his place, bringing Blake to an abrupt stop, his hand extended ‘– will do what I say. I’ve told you my stance on the matter and no action needs to be taken. Not by me, not by the others and especially not by you when in one of your hot-headed moods. Just having to explain this simple concept irritates me, so, from this moment forth, there will be none of this nonsense. Do you understand me?’

Jack may have missed it but Cole witnessed Blake’s fists clench to the point that his knuckles turned white. He held his breath, expecting a punch to be thrown that never came. Instead, the Jackrabbit relented and fell into line.

After a brief couple of stops to check with shop owners as to the state of goods they were harbouring, or whether long-standing trouble had returned, Jack and the others stopped at their destination.

Cole had never been inside a store like this before. He had always kept clear of them because, previously, he hadn’t wanted to tarnish his reputation – and the kind of individuals they attracted were of the rougher sort. Of course, that was before the pursuit of reclaiming his lost money. Now, Cole realized he was one of those whom he used to cross the street to avoid.

He raised his eyes to the overhanging sign on the wall. On it, painted in a port red, were two crossed revolvers with the name of the premises:

THE DEADBOLT GUNWORKS

The door swung inward, the tinkle of a bell rattling above to indicate their arrival. The shop was deceptively small, with four large glass cases and plenty of stock hidden in the basement. Windows were reinforced with iron lattices to deter potential thieves. The lowering sun flooded the interior with orange, though not enough to light a lamp. Glass display cases bared their wares: a range of firearms, rifles, knives and other such instruments of injury. All had been keenly buffed, with price cards set alongside them.

Past these were various workbenches, along with racks of well-sorted tools. Among them, the owner pressed down on a lever intermittently. Beside her, skeletons of metal were processed, filled with black powder and bullets. At her side a burly man organized piles of materials, his face thick with a pitch bush of an untamed beard. His eyes were blank, only seemingly springing to life at the sound of the bell, which coaxed the pair to turn their attention to the patrons.

* * *

Wyld pulled the protective goggles from her eyes and wiped her hands upon a thick leather apron. She strode over and welcomed Jack with a charming smile. Her work gloves were removed and tossed onto a worktop so as not to tarnish the main cabinets’ impeccable polish. Umbra remained at his station, busying himself.

‘This is nice to see.’ She beamed. ‘Good afternoon, folks. You have impeccable timing. I was just about to close doors.’

‘Is that an indication that you don’t want our business? I’m hurt.’ Jack scanned over the stock to see if there was anything of interest. There usually was. Her connections to individuals like him ensured that there was a flow of good quality imperial weaponry. Quality, however, came at considerable expense and sometimes that bill wasn’t monetary.

‘Perish the thought, Jack. Honest crooks like yourself are keeping the lights on and the pair of us fed. I’m happy to see you still breathing.’

‘Not for the want of others trying, I assure you.’

Wyld turned her head to the tallest one among them.

‘Mister Blakestone, it’s nice to see you once more. You’re keeping those good looks in check I’m hoping.’ She grinned.

Blake tipped the lip of his hat, showing the slightest sign of a blush, but luckily his beard hid most of it. ‘Ma’am.’

Wyld turned to the next in line. ‘Alvina, always a pleasure, dear.’

The smile was warmly reciprocated.

Wyld curled one side of her mouth in thought whilst looking at Cole. With a wagging finger she finally confessed, ‘You … I don’t know you.’

Immediately Cole reached over the counter and shook her hand a tad too vigorously for her taste. His grin was nauseatingly wide.

‘Cole Roaner, ma’am. Associate of Jack, er … Jackdaw.’

‘So you are. Wow.’ She watched her hand bounce around in his grip. ‘And a fine hand you have there too. Nice eye.’

* * *

Cole withdrew his hand in embarrassment. ‘Is this your establishment?’

Wyld slanted her hips, tugging at her apron strings. The apron was removed, folded and put aside.

‘It’s my name above the door ain’t it? It’s my pride and joy. You’re new, so I’ll let you in on a slim little secret,’ she intimately whispered, ‘if you’re looking for iron, I have the best in town. Honest.’

‘That so?’ Cole chuckled nervously.

‘That is so. I have a dealer in the empire so everything you see here is as quality as you can get. I sell none of those copy-cat pieces.’ Wyld raised her voice and bounced back straight to address the others. ‘Anyhow! I suppose you’re all here for your orders. Just one moment please. Umbra dear, can you get the boxes over there and to the left please? The ones with the red stamps on it.’

The man complied, taking possession of the packages, all whilst eyeballing Cole the whole way from one end of the shop to the other. When he reached the cabinets, he placed the boxes down, gently, their weight seemingly nothing. By now Cole was dreadfully aware of his presence. His height advantage was disconcerting, causing Cole to glance this way and that so as not to provoke him. Finally Umbra spoke, low and with conviction.

‘Someone is getting awfully familiar. Do you mind stating your intentions, lad?’

Immediately Cole recoiled, attempting to stammer his way through a combination of surprise and apology. Not that he knew what the apology was for, just that he was keen to avoid the seemingly inevitable third beating on the job. Jackdaw intervened before the youngster fretted himself to a sweat.

‘Leave him alone, Umbra, he’s still fresh to all this.’ Jack pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘He barely carries a scar if you need evidence of that.’

‘All I’m saying is that you come into the shop, make kissy faces at the lady here …’ he grumbled, sizing the young blood up.

‘If you could find it in yourself to stop terrorizing my man that would be quite appreciated. He’s a customer, just as much as I. We don’t need someone of your sort giving us hassle when we’re just trying to do business.’

‘You assume your dirty money is any good here.’

‘It’s a mite more soiled than your average, but it’s as good as anyone else’s.’

Finally Umbra carved a smile over his tired features and shook Jackdaw by the hand, firmly. It was warmly reciprocated. The exchange of moxie between them was amusing.

‘Still causing trouble out there, Jack?’

‘Not enough to turn my back on it that’s for sure. Have you considered my offer any further?’ He withdrew his hand, shaking the tingle from his fingers.

‘I told you –’ Umbra waved at the air between them ‘– I’m done with all that.’

‘Nobody ever parts with their nature, Umbra, not even you. It’s a good offer – you’ll make plenty. With you on board, we’ll be nigh on untouchable. Most don’t know your reputation around here but I sure do. I have better ears than most.’

‘Maybe.’ Umbra seemed wary about exactly how much Jackdaw was privy to. ‘But the answer still stands.’

‘It’s got to be boring behind a counter after what you two got involved in up north.’

‘I prefer boring. I’m sure the games you all play are entertaining time sinks, but I’m not a criminal. I’m not looking to go toe to toe with anyone … and I prefer not to glamorize murder.’

‘Yet you’ve partaken in it,’ Jack stated. Cole looked between them hurriedly. Despite the pair’s obvious relationship it was clear that this topic was skirting the lines of what constituted as respectable conversation.

‘We do what’s required of us. War is war. Death is just one facet of its tapestry.’

‘And mercenary work?’

* * *

Umbra stopped and surveyed the man before him. If it was anybody else he would have provided sterner words or, if they were very unlucky, a series of threats. There was no malice of course – that wouldn’t have got Jack anywhere. It was a serious question and one to make him reassess his viewpoint. Someone like him stuck as a shopkeeper was a tragedy. Still, promises being what they were, he was obligated to put down his weapons and take up a more peaceful life. Umbra owed her that much at least.

‘I’m afraid the answer is still no.’

Finally Jackdaw conceded, patting the case he leant upon. ‘Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying, right?’

Wyld returned, intervening. ‘He won’t blame you, but I sure might. I’m not letting him out to play and that’s final.’

Umbra smirked, nudging her playfully upon passing. ‘Woo, I’ve been told …’

The storeowner rummaged her way through the box on the counter, unpacking each order and addressing each member of the party in turn.

‘Alvina. Sixty cartridges of wolf pepper,’ Wyld stated, checking off the collection on an inventory. The brown-paper-wrapped boxes were slid over, each one holding twenty shotgun shells each.

‘Checked?’

‘Aren’t they always?’

Alvina took one, tore a flap open and inspected a shell between thumb and finger. The cap seemed to be set neatly and the crimp of good quality. She slid it back inside, signing the invoice and sliding over the required monies.

‘Can’t be too sure. Counterfeits are everywhere nowadays,’ Alvina mumbled, having been stung before. A misfire in their line of work could be fatal. It was only by the grace of the Holy Sorceress that she’d survived that unfortunate situation.

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