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‘Who are you talking to?’ the Owl put to her, quite confused. ‘I heard voices.’
The Hare slowly looked to the empty space beside her. The phantom her imagination conjured had vanished, a construct that had been increasingly haunting her as the days went by. Its appearance was almost routine now, not that such a thing subdued the pain she felt in its presence.
‘Apparently nobody,’ the Hare confessed with a pained sigh.
‘What’s the plan? Are you going to spend all night up there?’ the Owl, Corinne, called with her hands on slanted hips. A shock of her raven-black hair stirred gently with every motion. Like the others, she had removed her mask when the last of the patrons had left, leaving no need for such things. ‘There is a perfectly comfortable bed in your carriage you know.’
‘I will be fine. Thank you for your concern.’
‘May I ask what it is you’re even doing?’ Corinne sheltered her eyes from the gaslight’s glare with a raised hand.
The response was slow. ‘On the lookout for troublemakers.’
Surely she jested? Corinne took stock of the platform, and their own security – or what passed for it – who had begun to retire for the evening. What possible trouble could there be?
‘There’s nobody here, much less anybody who would cause a ruckus. Even if there was, the station has enough muscle around to deter would-be chancers. I keep saying that we need someone to provide some protection, not a part-timer like you’re satisfied with. Listening to me will allow you to spend time in that comfy, comfy bed of yours.’
‘That you do.’
‘So?’
‘My answer is the same as before,’ the Hare said. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Corinne’s hands dropped to her sides. ‘You’ll think about it. Right.’
‘That’s my decision.’
‘It’s a stupid decision. Look, just come down won’t you? I’m getting a crick in my neck and you need to eat.’
* * *
The Hare didn’t respond.
‘Katerina has made stew!’ Corinne sang. The encouragement fell on deaf ears. The Hare avoided the request and resumed her stare. In her mind, the night concealed dangers, considerable ones at that. It is best I remain, she convinced herself, just in case.
‘I’ve tasted her cooking. That’s not exactly swaying me.’
‘It’s better than nothing.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’ll catch a cold up there as well.’
‘Of that, I’ll take my chances.’
* * *
Corinne leant against the carriage side and patted its surface. This persistent stubbornness was becoming tiresome. At every stop they made, the owner of the Morning Star would retreat like this, paranoid over some unseen threat that stalked them. No matter how many times Corinne insisted that there was nothing to worry about, new excuses were made to the contrary.
‘Your chances mean that you’ll be stuck in bed, and my days will be spent bringing you nothing but soup. We have to be awake in four hours. That’s not a lot of time to get some sleep, especially if we’re to stick to this overly busy schedule of yours that you’re so keen on pushing.’ Corinne glanced at the illuminated city gates down the tracks, barely visible, but still noticeably barred. ‘According to Ferry, the gates won’t be open until nine at the earliest. There’s a curfew in effect, something about random trouble. I don’t know. It’s all very sudden.’
This was enough for the Hare to finally look down to the platform.
‘What sort of trouble? Do we know?’ she asked, quite concerned.
‘No idea. Whatever’s happening, nobody is telling. The law refuses to whisper notions, though I did try to sweet talk them when they were hanging around trying to bum drinks. We have no option but to sit and wait it out I’m afraid. We are going nowhere, dear. You’d best get comfortable if you’re staying up there.’
‘I’m used to the waiting – that’s not of concern. I just don’t necessarily like it.’
‘Don’t like the boredom?’ Corinne asked.
‘I don’t like being trapped,’ the Hare muttered flatly, resting her chin on her forearms.
Again, there was silence.
Corinne finally spoke. ‘Are you sure I can’t convince you?’
‘I’m sure,’ came the reply, though this time she turned again and made eye contact. The pair watched one another until Corinne relinquished with a shrug.
‘Well, if you insist. Wait here. Not that you’re doing anything else of course …’
* * *
Corinne stormed along the platform and into the warm glow of one of the few illuminated cars. There was a good couple of minutes where there was nothing. There was no noise, there were no interruptions, only the perfect stillness of the city night. Landusk had seldom seen such tranquillity and whilst it may only last a scant few hours, it was something quite wonderful to treasure.
Then Corinne returned.
‘If you’re not coming for food, then the food’s coming to you.’ Corinne’s voice floated from over the carriage side, joined by the striking of shoe on ladder. The woman hoisted herself up, balancing two flower-decorated bowls with protruding spoons. One was placed before the Hare and the other was set aside temporarily. ‘Compliments of Katerina. Come on, take that stupid thing off – the show’s over.’
Corinne reached to relieve her manager of her mask, though she was met with immediate hesitation. In truth the Hare had forgotten that she still wore the showpiece. Its presence was so invisible that it felt as natural as her hand or foot. The flinch given was telling, though her eyes softened momentarily, allowing for Corinne to it relieve her of its burden.
* * *
Beneath the mask, the woman gave a long exhalation, patches of skin red from the mask’s pressure. Pits of black eye shadow reduced her eyes to a pair of dulled gems in a lagoon of make-up, hiding tell-tale signs of insufficient rest and obsessed troubles. Her lips, glossed slick, had worn a fake smile all night but this too had been removed, leaving a thin stoic line. Misu’s eyes softened in thanks.
The disguise was placed carefully beside her and just out of reach to ensure it wouldn’t be accidentally kicked aside. Corinne made her best effort to coax a smirk with one of her own though this was sadly ineffectual. Admitting defeat, she offered the food, relieved when it was finally accepted.
‘Here. It’s good for what ails you.’
‘Thank you,’ Misu said, cupping the bowl in her hands. She stirred the contents. Meat and vegetables bobbed around, suspended in a thick, pungent gravy. Its smell was a distinct comfort, a musky, woody aroma with the tang of onion.
‘Don’t mention it.’ Corinne crossed her legs and began to take spoonfuls of stew to her hungry mouth. A carrot dissolved to nothing as it rolled around on her tongue. A cube of meat required more chewing than she was comfortable with, but despite these flaws they contributed to a substantial meal.
Corinne wagged her empty spoon about.
‘I see why you like it up here. It’s pretty peaceful.’ She surveyed the darkened gothic buildings that sandwiched the train tracks. Barely any windows accommodated the glow of candle or oil lamp with most of the city’s occupants in their beds, unsurprising given the hour. ‘We don’t have much of that these days given the circumstances. I wouldn’t have imagined it could be so quiet being smack in the middle of such a big city.’
* * *
Misu changed the subject immediately, knowing full well when someone was probing for answers to challenging questions. ‘It’s a nice city, this. I wouldn’t mind returning sometime soon. There are good people with deep pockets. The takings were fine, or at least from what I’ve been told so far.’
‘Elizabeth says this place is all too claustrophobic. Doesn’t like that everything is built on top of itself. Tight streets and all that.’
Misu began to scrape at the remains in her bowl, taking the last few mouthfuls. ‘That’s a normal country girl reaction. Big cities don’t suit ’em. How is our songbird coping? We could have used her tonight. The punters were receptive. Could have brought in a lot of extra money if she did her set.’
‘She’s resting her voice. It won’t be long until she’s fully recovered. The worst is behind her or at least that’s what she insists. The girl has practically been living on sweet tea. I’ve been told she’ll be fine for the next show. Despite that, it should be said that she still manages to muster complaints.’
‘I have to confess, she’s a complainer that one,’ Misu stated with concern. ‘Always with something to say, rarely good.’
‘Nerves I’m sure. Do you think she’s trouble?’
‘Hard to say. What I know is that we need her on form and quickly. It’s been a month and she’s only done two performances.’
‘Come now, you can’t blame her for falling ill. That’s just bad luck.’ Before her manager could respond with a rebuttal that would sour the conversation, Corinne placed her bowl down on the rooftop and scrunched up her face in thought. ‘You’re right you know.’
‘Huh?’
‘The stew could be better.’
Misu finally gave a small smile, the first one witnessed tonight outside of the performance. Corinne took the bowls and stacked them atop one another. They both leaned back on the carriage.
‘You’re not going back in?’ Misu asked.
‘And leave you alone out here? That’s just not right in my book. No, you get my company – and no objections.’
‘No objections, boss,’ Misu corrected.
‘As you wish. That’s still difficult to get used to.’
‘You and me both, but these are the times. It’s strange days when you’re being dragged from place to place by, technically, a dead woman.’ Misu snorted in amusement, glancing to her mask that held a subtle hint of her reflection. The ruse created to conceal her identity fit in well with the natural theatrics that the Morning Star thrived on.
Nobody cared that the show was a copycat – if they did it was never brought up in her company, but out here in the far south of Surenth, where the Gambler’s Den never travelled previously, the locals found it refreshingly new.
Despite the dangerous circumstances and morbid nature of such an ordeal, Misu’s death was the best thing that ever happened to her. ‘You’d be surprised how liberating dying is.’
‘I’ll have to give it a try sometime. There’s plenty that I would love to leave behind in an empty grave. Not that I need to explain that to you …’ Corinne’s smile dropped.
The conversation had struck too raw a subject, so Misu guided it back to work. ‘Good performance tonight. For a moment I honestly believed you were going to sink a knife into Colette’s skull. As did all of our onlookers.’
With a flex of her fingers, Corinne seemed to be recalling every detail of her exhibition, remembering the weight of the blade in her palm. ‘I’ve never missed a throw before. That little one worries too much. Like I say every time, as long as she keeps still there’ll be no accidents. She just fidgets when nervous.’
‘On the account of the sharp objects flying in her direction no doubt. It makes one a tad touchy. I can’t imagine why.’
Misu produced a silver cigarette case from her inner jacket pocket and a matchbox, offering a smoke to the kindly woman beside her whose company was appreciated. Both were lit and the pair leant on their backs, staring at the fissure of night sky between the tall gothic buildings that enclosed the station. Stars sparkled, with the merriest hint of the moon painting its lustre across a line of roof tiles.
Nothing was said. Gentle, patient puffs of smoke wafted between them in turn, carried on by the warm breeze that drifted across the train tracks. It was a tranquillity that scrubbed the grime and the effort that the show inflicted. Muscles didn’t seem so aching, bones not as sore. For the shortest of moments, the dangers and difficulties that this life brought Misu – and indeed all on board – felt non-existent.
And then Corinne had to go and ruin it all.
She withdrew her cigarette between scissored fingers, its butt painted with red lipstick, and she squinted at the stars. ‘You’re doing good, you know? Franco would be proud.’
There was never going to be a good time to draw attention to any of that, now maybe less so than any other. Simply hearing his name caused her heart to sink to some dark sea within her, struggling with the thoughts, the feelings, the memories, every facet of the circumstances that had brought about her being the Morning Star’s caretaker. It rightfully belonged to another, one more suited to the theatricality, who had made a life of doing so and most importantly knew what he was doing. She was lucky – lucky to be here at all, let alone to have stewardship of such a spectacle, and she was damned if this would be an opportunity wasted. It would be easy, preferable even, to simply draw the whole show to a close and pack it up for good.
But Misu owed Franco a tremendous debt. Some debts, he once informed her, can’t be repaid. It doesn’t mean that one should stop trying to do so, though.
Misu drew a touch longer on her vice before responding. ‘Let’s hope he sees it that way.’
Corinne nodded, swinging herself up after giving a minute for the mood to pass. ‘I’m going in. I miss that bed of mine too much, little luxury that it is.’ She moved to the carriage side and took a foot to each rung over and over, pausing to say her last piece: ‘I’ll be sure to mention to Ferry that you’re up here tonight. We wouldn’t want him mistaking you for a prowler now, would we?’
Misu’s throat closed up momentarily, refusing a decent reply any sort of momentum. Instead, she swallowed the words away and gave substitutes. A wetness that coated her eyes was blinked away and her gaze remained fixed on the black void high above. ‘Goodnight, Corinne.’
‘Aye, goodnight to you too.’
The carriage doors shunted to a close leaving Misu truly alone. Once upon a time she would have been content with that.
But Franco had convinced her otherwise.
* * *
Misu protested in the strongest terms at this idea. She had turned back more times than she could count, forcing Franco to convince her and take her by the hand in an attempt to share his courage. It wasn’t working of course. Her stomach danced around as if somebody was playing a drumbeat upon it. The sun-drenched streets of Windberg were far from busy at this early hour but still there were enough people to give the pair suspicious glances. Almost all assumed them to be partaking in some lovers’ quarrel, a good-natured one but a quarrel nonetheless.
‘This is the very height of ridiculous ideas,’ Misu protested, hiding beneath a large-rimmed hat that protected her from the sun, as well as other things. Her dyed blonde hair had been tucked up beneath the hat, its owner paranoid that somehow those passing could easily identify her. This wasn’t the case of course but for someone classed as deceased, the possibility of recognition was always a concern.
Franco did his best to ease her worries once again. Unlike her, he walked confidently to their destination, smartly dressed in a plaid suit, waistcoat, and tie, with his eyes hidden behind green-lensed sunglasses.
‘Last night you said it was good. Perfect, even! You’re changing your mind now? I said we both had to be completely in agreement. You agreed. I distinctly remember you agreeing.’
‘I remember the bottle we emptied, not necessarily any decisions being made.’ Misu pouted.
‘We’re here now. There’s no turning back.’
They both stared at the front of the establishment. Sandstone pillars forged high archways, the patio beneath lined with well-polished square tables. Behind the glass to the inside, glowing lanterns could be seen, hanging high above lines of bigger tables, congregating around the kitchen that was positioned in the centre of the room. The kitchen itself was enclosed by the bar, making it a communal centre, where patrons would watch meals being prepared, converse with the staff and drink bar-side if need be.
Fastened to the wall was a perfect metal sign, embossed with the name of the restaurant itself: Blue Sky.
‘Yes there is,’ Misu contested, turning on her heels once again. ‘There’s the opportunity to turn back right this very moment. See, I’m doing it now.’
Franco snagged her arm and pulled her beside him. ‘Back you come – come on. We’re doing this.’
‘What if they’re angry?’
‘They undoubtedly will be.’
‘You left that part out when convincing me this was a solid plan.’
Franco led her slowly to the door, one step after the other until reaching out and placing his hand on the handle, despite the closed sign hanging on the glass. ‘You never asked. Ready?’
From inside, figures went about their business, quite content to go about the daily routine, unaware who was about to stroll through their door.
