Christopher Byford - Den of Shadows

Misu leant forward with a pout. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

Franco hesitated, only for a moment, but relinquished any concerns. Let them have their moment to dissipate the recent stress, he decided.

‘Of course I don’t. Make sure you’re back by dusk though. We’re hauling off then.’

‘A late one? You’ve not done that in a while.’

‘We’re going to be an extra day as it is on account of a detour. Red Points is starting to get busy with hijackings according to the wire. I would rather we kept ourselves in a measure of security even if that puts us an extra day over sand.’

The newswire had been abuzz in recent weeks. His venture into Balvalk’s post office confirmed that bandits were becoming increasingly brazen. He had scanned the noticeboards, taking in the bevy of warnings adorned with noticeably large print. Robbery this. Hijacking that. Ransom notices here and there. Pockets of lawlessness were widening out in the region, forcing organized travel routes to be changed with uncomfortable frequency. And there was significant cost. The Gambler’s Den was a lucrative target to any raiding parties and sadly replacing bullet-bitten panels was straining the coffers.

‘There’s that caring thing once more.’ Misu stubbed out her cigarette. ‘My, Franco, we’ll make an honest man out of you yet.’

‘I doubt it. Never been much for honest folk.’

‘Are they problematic?’ Misu quirked a brow.

Franco accompanied her rise to leave. He spied Rosso feverishly devouring his breakfast with copious amounts of coffee on a nearby table, accompanied by the boy who timidly pecked at his food in comparison.

‘Slippery,’ he replied. ‘At least with the rough cut, you get what you see.’

Distracted, Franco manoeuvred himself around the bar and rummaged beneath the counter. Settling upon a distinctive glass bottle with a rather attractive label, he hoisted it out by one of the fixed glass handles and deposited it before their resident driver. The pair subsequently stopped their eating.

‘That is a pleasure,’ Rosso admitted, clearly relishing the thought of taking the cork from this beauty and draining it dry.

‘For making good time,’ Franco declared, ‘though please do show some restraint; you still have to get us to Windberg.’

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