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Chapter Eleven

Show of Hand

The night was cool, heavy with the day’s dissipated heat. The streets were empty apart from the occasional cheering of drinkers from the taverns that Misu passed. She walked in a slouch, shoes dragging over path and road. Drifted sand collected in deposits, forcing her to step around, each step slowly advancing down the road, though she had no idea where it would lead her.

In the oldest district of Windberg, where buildings had been built on top of one another in ramshackle fashion, instead of being demolished to make way for cleaner developments, Misu stared at the local inns, hoping that one window wouldn’t be populated with a no vacancy sign.

She had enough money in her possession for a few nights’ accommodation, but the further she ventured, the worse the premises became. Some of these cramped, dirty inns needed a stroke of new paint. The best for others would be repeated strikes of a wrecking ball.

Misu cringed, passing a particularly rowdy establishment known as the Black Thistle, where a fight previously contained in its walls had started to spill out from its doorway. When the disagreement between two individuals exploded into a full brawl, Misu darted down the nearest alleyway to avoid any unwanted attention. A showgirl from the Den could be the focus of many, and the depravity of some.

Misu calmed herself and trotted down the alley until the cheers faded and the police whistles stopped. And in the shadow, she saw the face of someone, who counted their good fortune. There was no energy to run, no attempt to cry for help. She was spent and could only form a whimper of shock as Flenn stepped out from a darkened doorway, still sporting a purple shiner that squatted on his left eye socket, a warning that Jacques had happily delivered.

Every advance down the steps was angular, with weight being relieved from his left leg. When others of his type had scampered away after their beating, Flenn had remained behind, brooding on vicious plans, designing on his hate. Hate was chased with liquor, and there he had sat, in the cramped crooked alleyway, followed by equally despicable people who drank, and hated, as much as he.

‘Where are you going, little rabbit?’ Flenn sneered. A cackle emanated from his entourage behind him. ‘And where’s your friend?’

‘Seems like she’s been tossed out,’ someone said.

‘Aye.’ Flenn’s eyes flashed. ‘That it does.’

‘No –’ Misu attempted to speak.

‘Streets are cold, I would say. Dangerous too. Never know what folks walk these streets.’

‘I think we need to find a home for her.’

‘That we do.’

‘Come along. I know someone who will take care of you. You’ve played long enough.’

An attempt at struggling was halted as thick fingers squeezed her cheeks.

‘Ah ah ah, none of that now. The boss said he wanted you back, but never said in what condition. You’ve already been trouble. I’ve killed men for a bad look. I’ve gutted others for a dirty word spoken, so don’t think I wouldn’t do the same to you. I can take you back without a hassle, untouched. Or …’ Flenn bent forward, eye to eye in challenge ‘… I can make you very ugly. Decide.’

Another whimper, this one the last, accompanied with a hurried shake of the head. Misu’s reward was to be pushed back, gasping for air and knowing full well that escape was impossible.

‘Clever girl.’