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

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СКАЧАТЬ if I recall correctly, and I suppose I do, I heard that if you messed up again, your corpse would be buried so far deep in the Sand Sea that even the Angels wouldn’t be able to find you.’

      Jackdaw felt his cocksure smile fade. His assumption was right. Derek finished his cigarette with a painfully long draw.

      ‘So I think the big man will thank us for doing you over. Get them!’ he ordered.

      * * *

      Back in the marketplace, the Blacksad Inn went about its usual business, the bustle of customers looking for a midday drink came and went through the doors. Meals were eaten, the staff kept considerably busy in their duties, but not so busy that they didn’t notice the pair of bloodied individuals who shuffled their way upstairs and took a table overlooking the market itself.

      Jackdaw exhaled, finding relief in sitting down. Everything ached. Even his bones felt like they were sore. Luckily none were broken, or at least not that he could tell. There was always time for a fracture to reveal itself but for the moment, despite the numerous swellings, Jack was as intact as one could get. He rifled through his dirtied jacket and withdrew a crushed pack of smokes, taking out a crooked one, and slipped it between his lips. His matchbox, excessive patting found, was missing.

      * * *

      Cole thought that Jack looked wretched, but what was more worrying was the out-of-place smile that he touted.

      ‘Got a light?’ Jack grunted.

      Cole pinched each tooth and tested them in turn, unimpressed. His fingers were dabbled in red on account of a nasty split lip. Rather than reply, Cole simply glared, prompting the cigarette to be put upon the table. Jack’s attention turned to other things, waving one of the waitresses for service and calling out for two tankards of house ale.

      ‘I’m hungry. What do you fancy?’

      Cole immediately halted his survey of personal damage. ‘An explanation.’

      ‘I don’t think they serve that here,’ Jack quipped.

      The waitress, a blonde, stocky thing with an apron dirtied from a busy shift, sauntered over with tray in hand. She glanced between them and made a coy pursing of her lips. Finally, with a tut, she placed a tankard in front of each, overfilled with foam.

      ‘Have a disagreement with someone, did we, flower?’ she addressed Jackdaw, whose bruises had already begun to darken. ‘I do hope you’re not dragging trouble behind you as I would hate to have to send you on your way.’

      ‘Mmm. Quite the contrary, I’m in a celebrating mood. We’ll each have whatever special you’re doing for lunch today, plus two more tankards of Pitch Ale, if you please, to go with it. Oh, and if you could tell the good woman of the house that I’m here, I would be quite thankful.’

      ‘I can surely do that. And you are?’

      Jack leant back in his seat and drew on his drink. ‘You don’t need my name. Just tell her that I’m here. That’ll be plenty.’

      ‘Celebrate?’ Cole hissed. The urge to look over his shoulder constantly was all-consuming. It was the first time in his life that he had been involved in such a physical confrontation, and the adrenaline had yet to wear off. ‘I don’t consider getting done over worthy of celebration! I mean, was that it? We lost the goods. I’m lucky I didn’t lose a damn tooth out of this farce.’

      He brought a hand to his mouth and retested a canine with a gentle wiggle.

      ‘That scrap was nothing. If they meant business, we would be a lot worse off. Just hold your horses, kid,’ Jack protested.

      ‘There’s nothing else to do at the moment. That’s a hell of an initiation if that’s what it was. You could have warned me that we were going to get done over like that. You don’t seem to be the kind to willingly take a punch, more like one who would throw it first.’

      Finally, Jack swung forward, hunching over his tankard, which was already only a quarter full. Unfortunately, his attempt at courting patience was failing and as such he turned to another tactic, which was to be blunt. Jackdaw was good at being blunt. He could do blunt. Especially when new bloods were getting bent out of shape and unable to widen their scope of perception.

      ‘For a numbers man, you’re none too bright are you? So I’ll spell it out.’

      Jack hadn’t positioned them by the window by accident. He needed a good view of the market and those therein. He gestured to the rabble of men carrying a familiar trunk – the Sanders Boys doing plenty to make their presence known. Others immediately stepped aside on their approach and those who didn’t move were shoved. They manhandled a trader from his usual stall and tossed the trunk upon it, much to the ire of the other sellers. Nobody intervened of course.

      Jackdaw pointed at two distinct individuals from the window. One was a farmer struggling to flog his home-grown wares. The second was yelling for buyers to relieve him of his bric-a-brac. Both were conventional stallholders with nothing special about them.

      ‘Watch those two.’

      Within a minute, the waitress who had served them stepped outside and made her way to the farmer, a drink upon her tray. She spent only seconds conversing with him whilst handing him the beverage before retreating back inside. The farmer, in response, abandoned his stall and made his way to the bric-a-brac seller. The farmer toasted him and exchanged a few words before returning.

      ‘I don’t get it,’ Cole mumbled.

      Jack drank from his tankard, contentedly.

      ‘Look around you – there are no secrets in a town like this. Everyone is close. Everyone is knee-deep in each other’s business. I mean sure, many try to keep themselves quiet, shield those secrets from others, but that’s where they mess up. In doing so their attempts to cover up what they’re doing draws suspicion. People whisper. Those whispers get bigger until they reach the ears of someone who, well, let’s just say someone who has a vested interest in the information. Ah, case in point right there …’

      The bric-a-brac stallholder flagged down a Bluecoat who then paced away with purpose. He came back with five of his kind, pistols at the ready and weaving among the throng of bodies. As soon as they reached the Sanders Boys, they immediately overturned the stall, scattered the goods and clapped the men in handcuffs. The trunk was confiscated as evidence.

      ‘As I said before, bigger fish and all that.’ He rose, stretching his arms. ‘And if you’ll excuse me, I have business to conduct. Just stay here and observe.’

      ‘What kind of business this time?’

      ‘I’m taking a piss if that’s okay with you?’ Jack turned back. ‘And don’t eat any of my food while I’m gone.’

      What Jack had said was mostly true, but beforehand, he met with the stallholders outside. A group had formed around him, taking turns to shake his hand. As he was asked to, Cole observed, watching this curious display, oblivious to the food placed before him and the empty place opposite. The sight of Jack bathing in the gratitude transfixed him – seeming a fair way from the crook he perceived Jack to be.

      Eventually, Jack returned, wiping his damp palms across his trousers, seating himself and then rubbing his hands together in glee. СКАЧАТЬ