Out of the gates
There were occupational hazards when living nomadically in this region. Firstly, good food, hot water, and a warm bed were difficult to find so when possible, one should indulge in them. Secondly, those with money will always be sought by those without it, so one must always be wary.
And lastly, as was the rule of the desert, despite vigilance one will always be caught off guard.
Leaving Landusk behind it, the Morning Star travelled the arid landscape, which the sun baked and the rainclouds shunned. The train puffed along quite happily to its new destination, where a new show would be performed and profit made.
Before this was to happen, before the splendour and pomp could be supplied, they would need to pass through one of the many checkpoints that interconnected the various territories throughout the region. They ranged from well-funded operations to ramshackle outposts, their effectiveness normally in direct correlation to their budget. The idea was that contraband could be seized and any unscrupulous types could be arrested, ensuring the flow of traffic was in accordance with the law. Sadly those who maintained these outposts were so far from decent settlements that they were practically a law unto themselves.
Crossing out into the Sand Sea corridor, the large lawless expanse that ran from north to south would require passing through these points from the main rail routes and were, for the most part, unavoidable.
Misu stepped out of her private carriage, locked the door, and checked the handle, twice. There was normally no reason to be so meticulous with security but recent events ensured that this had to reviewed. Misu could do without any unnecessary complications. She trusted her employees, that was certain, but she would hate for curiosity to get the better of them.
She ventured through each carriage in turn, nodding hellos to those she passed who gave equal gestures of respect. The variety of carriages all had luxury in common, outfitted with heating that ran from the train’s own boiler and oil lamps. The sleeping car that acted as the showgirls’ own private residence was immaculate as always, with every bunk pristinely made, a routine she vigorously enforced. The dining car entertained a number of women enjoying downtime, or the closest thing to downtime they enjoyed. Some played cards, some read books from a makeshift library that lined a wall, containing tomes of every type including poetry, history, and fiction.
From there Misu crossed to the engine cab and stuck her head out of the cab window. The checkpoint was a good couple of miles away, a squatting wooden collection of buildings with a rather bulky red painted length of wood acting as a barrier positioned across the rail line. Warning signs whipped past demanding anyone approaching to lower their speed.
The driver, Ferry, rested his girth against the cab side, occasionally spying down the track and making changes to the train’s approach accordingly, flicking his strained eyes to the woman opposite. Misu wasn’t ignoring him. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that it gave that impression.
‘For a moment I figured you wanted to sit this one out. I’ve got no problems getting us through here if you want to stroll on back and close your eyes. We all know that you need it,’ he gruffly offered though a thorny black bush of a beard. It was a polite offer that was made out of genuine concern though he seemed all too aware what the answer would be. When she finally paid him attention, it was given with an expectant sigh.
‘Are you insisting I need rest?’
‘I’m insisting nothing. I just thought it polite that I make the suggestion. I know better than to tell you what to do.’
Misu scanned the bleakness, watching the sight of a sand ship manoeuvring over the landscape, its colossal caterpillar tracks kicking up large drifts of dust. This one was a few hundred feet high and immeasurably long – a mobile village effectively.
‘Ever thought of driving on of those things?’ Misu asked Ferry who took his attention from the track to peer out the window.
‘Not these days,’ he returned. ‘Too many hijacking attempts. There’s been three in the last month alone. Whoever they paid to protect those things must have been in on it. That’s the problem when you contract security groups at port. You don’t know who you’ll get. Who you can trust. I don’t fancy getting stabbed in the back by one of my own. As odd as it may seem, this is a much safer gig.’
‘Figured the size of those things would be off-putting,’ she exclaimed, watching it fall behind a cliff side and out of view.
‘Not this far out in the Sand Sea. They’re turned into bandit nests and stripped out in the Badlands. Before I joined your brigade I did a few crossings through there – at speed may I add. There’s a graveyard around every mountain.’
‘You mean just the stripped ships, right?’ Misu cocked a brow.
‘The crew has to go somewhere.’ He kept his eyes on the track and worked the brake gently. ‘Eyes forward, we’re almost there.’
‘Of all things I get to endure today this here hole in the ground is the one I’m the least enthused about. Sadly I would prefer that I handled matters myself. I can get that sleep when I’m needed less.’
‘And there was me thinking your life is all truffles and fine wine.’
‘It’s good to dream,’ she muttered, taking another look whilst holding on to her wind-flailed locks. The checkpoint was significantly closer.
‘I’m not planning on dilly-dallying. We get things stamped and we’re gone. If I had my way we wouldn’t even put on the brakes.’
‘It’s a disappointing notion for you but even we have to abide by the law of the land.’
‘It’s not the law I’m concerned about.’
Misu hung on to the outer railing as the train pulled in to the station, lining itself up to the checkpoint platform. Its nose approached the lowered barrier gradually and fell between the well-painted markers against platform side and tracks. She waited for the clockwork jet of steam that exploded out with an almighty hiss beneath the engine itself before finally dissipating. She strolled to the steps and hopped down onto the platform, spying an unremarkable two-storey building with pitted tiling. A black painted tin sign hung on the north-facing wall, with paint flaking away from relentless exposure to the environment.
Misu shielded her eyes with a hand and scoffed at the name.
Little Heaven
What a very depressing view of the afterlife, she thought. Her impressions of such a place differed greatly.
Watching since before their arrival, two checkpoint guards sat in the noon shade, tossing cards into an upturned hat. One had his hair combed back to the point where it chanced falling out, or what was left of it at least. The other, young enough to have a badge though seemingly not old enough to shave, set about emptying the hat and recompiling his hand, almost annoyed at the interruption. On Misu’s approach the most senior on duty placed an incomplete deck of cards on the table in front of him before tipping the lip of his hat.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted from his seat, fresh-faced and unusually buoyant. Being stuck out here was enough to cause the onset of depression, Misu assumed, though it was good that someone was able to stave this off – unlike his sour-faced colleague. He watched, flicking debris away from a toothpick.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. A pleasure to be in your company.’
The senior got to his feet and stretched. ‘Kind words. I like you already,’ he stated, attempting to relieve Misu of any concern. Checkpoints were difficult places for all involved. Half were populated with unsavoury types on the take, with the other half a toxic mix of young upstarts who did everything vigorously by the book. Either way, anybody transporting goods normally spent more time at each one than was necessary – or comfortable. She accompanied