#dellafrey

He was grinning broadly when he found Della lounging lazily on her pile of papers, datapads, and assorted souvenirs she had collected from her travels at the main study of the hostel they were currently staying at. When Della saw Arkley, she quickly hustled to give the illusion of studying, even holding the datapad upside down. Arkley couldn’t help but snort in laughter. 

“I am read!” she said hurriedly as her eyes darted back and forth, and her ears stood straight up. 

Yes, yes of course.” Chuckled Arkley, biting his lower lip to keep his laughter contained. He then balanced his box under one arm while adjusting Della’s datapad to its proper position. He beamed brightly, practically brimming like a child on Life Day. 

Della couldn’t help but feel concerned. A very tall, though well-meaning man, was standing with a box full of only who knows what. Her mother warned her about strange men acting oddly with with boxes. Perhaps reading her expression of concern, Arkley tempered his enthusiasm, though only slightly. 

“ Today is going to be a great day! Come. Let’s go to the room, and begin a lesson.” Arkley adopted a persona of a wise and well-versed sage; he was playful about it. Still, a thought flashed in his mind for their safety.

The galaxy was openly hostile towards the likes of him these days, and it had no qualms of selling talented younglings like Della to the Empire like slaves. Della already had an encounter with such vile fiends, though she had still yet to master the articulation required to fully tell her story. Arkley could only surmise from the crude drawings she once made during a night when PTSD suddenly reared its ugly head. 

It had to be torment to be unable to understand and communicate with the boundless changes of the Galaxy. Arkley did his best. He tried to show her the good things: good food, the comedies of the holonet, adorable lothcat videos, and whatever he could find. 

He carefully observed the surroundings in the low-class hostel as Della gathered her study materials. The common area was pretty sparse, and the cleaning droid was busy polishing the floors. It was the middle of the day, when most guests were out being tourists or working. Della stood to confirm that she was ready. In the room, Arkley unpacked the box. There were bamboo sticks, a combat remote, a helmet, a few wooden blocks, and a prized possession: a Holocron. Della regarded the objects with detached interest. These objects were as strange and novel as any other. They must have seemed like toys to her. 

Arkley focused his mind, trying to find the right way to phrase his words. His expression was serious now, and Della sensed that this was going to be an important lesson. Her ears drifted back and she was now anticipating some unknown struggle with worry. Arkley breathed out his own doubts and started his lesson.

“ Do you know the word, energy? Life? Spirit?” Arkley asked. Della considered these words for a moment, her face contorting like a child taking a test. 

“I know life. I am life. You are life. I know energetic? I am energetic. Spirit is inside me? Dead, but life somewhere.” Della struggled finding her way with the words. She understood the definitions, but translating the loose descriptions into specific terms was difficult for her. 

“Yes, I am alive. You are alive. You are energetic, because you have energy. I also have energy. It makes us move. We both have spirits. But there is a connection between the three words.” Arkley felt excited again. This was gonna blow her mind. 

“It is called The Force. It is an energy that connects spirit and life. It is the energy that you and I have. That the birds and plants have. It is how you know a thing is alive. Some of us,” he paused dramatically, reaching his hand towards the holocron and calling it to him. It glided gracefully to him and rested in his palm. “Are called to wield it, just as a painter is-”

“Ah, good trick!” Della piped. 

“T-trick?” Arkley said the word to confirm that he had heard Della correctly. 

“Very good trick. Stones touch? Ah- What is the word? They are black stones, they-ah, follow? Follow black stone? One stone in your hand. One stone in square.” Della grabbed Arkley’s hands, trying to find some hidden tool on the gloves. 

“Oh, magnets? No, no Della. Not magnets. The Force.” Arkley chuckled as Della took one glove clean off in her investigation. She grabbed nearby metal trinkets to see if any of them would stick to Arkley’s gloves or the Holocron. Her childish insistence on a gimmick such as magnets amused the Jedi. 

“Can you bed?” Della asked, pointing to the metal framed lump mattresses in the room. Arkley couldn’t help but stifle a humored snort. 

“I have never been interested in that sort of thing” He heavily implied. He knew it would go over Della’s head and her blank stare made his joke even more amusing to him. Della started to point to other objects in the room, demanding that Arkley try to use the “magnets” to move them. 

“Goodness, it’s not magnets! It’s energy! Spirit! Life!” Arkley grinned as he took his glove from Della. She grabbed his bare hand and intently investigated it before regarding Arkley with a sideways shrewd expression. 

“I will learn trick.” She said.

“I know you will.” Arkley replied with a sly smile.

“You teach me, now” she said sternly. Arkley could only shake his head in disbelief at the girl’s streak of pushiness. He held his hands up, as if the request was unreasonable.

“I will! I will! There is much to learn. This is not a trick. It is a teaching, a way of life. Do you understand?” His voice turned serious now. He now felt concerned that he was not coming across clearly enough. There was only so many ways to reduce what he was trying to explain through words. An idea came to him. He moved the beds, in the old fashioned way, to create a clearing. He grabbed the helmet with its opaque blast shield, the combat remote, and one of the bamboo poles. 

“I want you to watch carefully.” he said. Certainly, Della would not be able to explain this away. He set the combat remote to a setting that would be harmless, but still smart, if a stray plasma should strike him. The little machine rose into the air. He lowered the visor, surrounding his eyes in darkness. 

He was tempted by nostalgia. It distracted his mind, overwhelming him with visions of days that were no longer. First, there was joy that was mellow and sweet like the scent of grass in the morning. His youthful glimpses danced around him, followed by days when his first padawan was assigned to him. 

Then, sadness came. The faces of his classmates blurry and yet vivid in color fluttered. The quiet afternoons and childish laughter were echoes in his mind. They were dead now. The younglings, his friends, and the masters.

How much should he have done to save more? How did he not see the signs as they arrived like animals fleeing a fire? It wasn’t right that the teenager before him had to suffer because of the lack of resources to help her. How much faster could she get the language development she needed? The Masters could possibly have seen her mind to get to the bottom of her perplexing past. She had to suffer injustice while the damn sentient-trading ba-

A sharp pain in his leg snapped him back to reality. Arkley could hear Della’s subtle, and skeptical, huff. Della did have help now, she had him, and with the will of the Force would grow into a powerful agent for her people. 

Another sharp pain in his leg. Time to get serious. The next shot was deflected by the bamboo pole he wielded. The remote now fired more quickly, and those were also quickly knocked aside gracefully. This impressed Della, though she tried to hide it. 

“That is an easy trick!” she chirped proudly. 

“Is it now?” Arkley smirked. He removed the helmet. He had a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He smugly placed the helmet over Della’s head, and gave her the bamboo. Her ears folded down comically.

“I can’t see!” Della’s nose twitched as she complained. 

“Good.” Arkley said in her ear before stepping back and setting the remote onto its new target. Della was already trying to see if she could steal a glimpse or a look at her target. Her senses her trying to get the advantage. Her restrained ears kept try to move like radar dishes, her nose wanted to get a scent. She was a girl used to the physical realm and being alert paid off for her in the past.

She squeaked at the the first bolt to strike her. She had tried to dodge with her whole body, completely missing the point of the bamboo. She moved spastically like a deer trying to dance.

“Do not dodge. Face your opponent.” Arkley folded his arms across his chest. His voice was authoritative. 

“That’s haraka.” Della snapped.   

“I assume that’s a swear in your language.” Arkley frowned, he was going to have to start making a credit jar for the crude words this girl was picking up. Della mimicked the fighting stance Arkley had just a moment ago. Okay, that was a start. She tried to listen for the sounds of fire, but she couldn’t hit a single plasma. After Arkley had his fill of watching Della fumble his “trick”, he chuckled and walked towards her.

“Now, try to cle-” WHAP. Della had spun around as Arkley spooked her and got a good smack on his left cheek, nearly knocking him down. Thank goodness that wasn’t a lightsaber.

“Ah Jeez! Thanks for not knocking my teeth out, kiddo!” He yelped. That was gonna bruise in the morning. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Della cried. She blindly spun around, trying to get her bearings. 

“No, no, It’s fine.” Arkley grumbled. He recomposed himself, while his face throbbed and smarted. 

“ You are relying on your senses. Clear your mind. Focus. Be calm. Remember your running practice? Pretend you are running.” Arkley could never forget watching Della run. The way that she instinctively channeled the Force to move through her, making her fluid and quick. Della seemed completely unaware that she had a gift for moving meditation. She had taken for granted that was how running was supposed  to work. 

Della had briefly mentioned outrunning a few of her captors when she first encountered them. If he had understood her correctly, the ones who caught her had hastily fired a stun plasma at the exact opportune moment. But Arkley’s understanding of that moment was fractured at best. 

Della understood part of what he had said. She was quieting down, becoming less twitchy. It was taking a moment for Della to settle herself. She was having doubts. She was trying to figure out the “trick”.

“Just like running.” Arkley said firmly. He silently rooted for her. He knew she could do this. It was all there already, she just needed to make the connection. The next bolt struck her thigh. Della had tried to block it. But she was still relying her on ears. 

“Do not listen for the bolts.” Arkley said. The next plasma that fired was successfully blocked by the bamboo. Arkley wanted to cheer, but he kept himself retrained. She dodged the next one successfully. Such a fast little thing, even faster now that the Force was starting to simmer in her. The other blocks were successful and Arkley now could feel that Della, on a fundamental level, could understand what he was trying to teach her. 

Arkley finally called on the remote to stop. He excitedly removed the helmet off of Della, her ears popping straight up like daisies, and grabbed her in a great wampa hug. He swung her off her feet and spun her around. 

“You did it! I knew you could! Did you feel it? Like when you run? That’s the Force! That’s it! ” He cheered, his face illuminated with joy. 

“That Force? But it is like running!” Della tried to explain what she had felt. 

“Della, it is that peace you have when you run, that concentration, That feeling in your body when you run so fast!” Arkley was not only celebrating Della’s skill with the bamboo, but the relief that she had indeed understood. There was a relief in Arkley.  She was going to learn so much now. The workings of her world were going to become so much clearer. Little by little, she would see. 

“I did good.” It was starting to click with her. She did something special. Something that she had done before when she was training every day after school on the track. She had taken it for granted. She felt that she had suddenly discovered a new way her entire body worked. 

“How about…” Arkley stroked his beard as he raised an eyebrow.  “We celebrate?”

Della lit up and did a little hop. She gave a great gasp of excitement and started chattering in that language of hers. Their dinner outings were always fun and exciting; Arkley had a skill in finding good meals.

“ Ever heard of a burger?” Arkley asked with a gentle smile. Of course, she hadn’t. She gave Arkley a barrage of questions, fluttering back and forth between her native tongue and Basic. When she was like this, it was impossible to understand her. 

“Atanikili! When magnet? Magnets buy? Woounspe-Woh oun spay?” Arkley swore that when Della was this excited, she was running on reactor cores. 

“For the last time, No magnets were there.” Arkley replied in annoyance. Della was going to never shake off this obsession with magnets, he feared. Maybe he should have tried using the wooden blocks. He was cautious about trying objects at the diner, and he was becoming concerned that Della’s excitement would attract the wrong sort of attention. 

    “Be calm. Peace, or we will not go. ” he said sternly. Della quickly nodded and at least stopped chattering off every word that came to mind. The way that she followed him now in comparison to merely months ago was like night and day. 

When they first met, Della was terrified and unyielding to explore the galaxy around her. Everything startled her. It had taken a great deal of effort on Arkley’s part to gain her trust. He regretted none of it. Hopefully, she felt the same. 

The Blue Nerfer was the best diner on Coreillia. It had everything: a great menu, 24 hours, sassy wait staff, and good caffe. Della’s nose and ears was already trying to gather as much information as possible. She had once described her homeworld as open and wild. That would explain why her senses were so finely tuned. Perhaps her people were not at the top of the food chain. 

When they were seated, Arkley ordered what would be quite a treat for him and his friend to enjoy. 

“Ark is good teacher.” Della said as she sipped on a glass of water. 

“Thank you.” Arkley replied. 

“Ark teach job?” Della asked. Arkley wasn’t entirely sure what Della meant by her question. He asked her to clarify. She fumbled for words until she found a good enough string of descriptions to explain that she was asking if Arkley taught for a living. 

“Sometimes.” Arkley replied, his eyes already looking around at whoever might start eavesdropping. He didn’t like the idea of having to act so shifty around Della, but she was completely ignorant to galactic culture and politics. 

“Teach me trick again. The first trick. Please?” Della asked sweetly. 

“Not here.” Arkley’s voice dropped to a quieter tone. Della was now confused by his tonal shift. She wasn’t used to him being so serious. The air went quiet between them. The truth hung heavy, clouded and mysterious like a storm. They were blocked by their own limitations. Della’s ignorance, and Arkley did not desire to risk danger to them both in this public place. 

“Della, I will do my best to teach you. Pay attention.” He whispered. Della leaned in, her ears forward and concentrated. 

“ There are people who want to hurt us, because of what I teach. You met them already. They were the people who took you far away from home. They will kill us, if they find us. We must be careful.” Arkley prayed she got what he was saying. He was surprised that she understood every word. 

“Predator.” She growled. Her face also become serious. Yes, in a way. It spoke a great deal about Della’s upbringing. Another puzzle piece about her past. She started to say something, it almost sounded like a poem. “Be fast. Smart. Have many tricks.” she finished. Her eyes locking with Arkley’s. Arkley nodded in response. He was starting to suspect that he had a little rogue on his hands. 

The food arrived. It was a feast. A treat for the eyes. A galactic color nerf burger with the works on it. There were piping hot french fries and onion rings on the side. A beautiful sundae decorated in rainbow and flavors of all sorts; and a refreshing lemon drink garnished with a Coreillia Grapefruit.  Arkley had a modest neapolitan sundae. He had a feeling there would be leftovers to spare from Della. 

Della looked at the food with surprise and awe. Her eyes were larger than her plate and she seemed at a loss for words. 

“Philamayaye” she told Arkley. But she wasn’t sure where to start. 

“Burger.” Arkley pointed at the main course. He mimed grabbed it with two hands and biting into it. Della raised an eyebrow, her ears fixed forward. She carefully grabbed the burger, and took a bite. 

Arkley couldn’t help but lean forward in suspense. Della was having her first bite of good and proper diner food, one that Arkley had personally recommended himself. He wouldn’t blame her if she hated it, but he also couldn’t help but feel a little offended. She was carefully considering her first bite. She swallowed. Then took another bite, this time happily and eagerly. She was positively chowing down now. 

“Slow down, lass, or you’ll give yourself a stomach ache.” Arkley laughed. He started to eat his ice cream. 

“There is so much I want to teach you, and show you about this place. I hope that you’ll learn and be patient with me and yourself as we- Della chew! Slow down! It’s not going anywhere!” Arkley had started to hear Della coughing and wheezing as she was almost literally inhaling her food. He gave her back a firm pat to make sure she wouldn’t start choking. 

Della offered Arkley a bite of her burger. The oozing cheese was slipping out of one side.  Della’s face was already full with another bite of food. 

“Oh no, I’m afraid you’d try to eat my hands if I held onto it for too long. “ Arkley smiled. He took his time eating his meal, occasionally helping himself to a fry or onion ring. His mind wandering to various memories and thoughts.

It was going to be a long road ahead. Arkley didn’t know what his role would be at the end of it. Helping this girl was the right thing to do. It made him feel like he was back with the Order again, before it all went to hell. He felt that he had his proper footing again. 

But all that was a talk for later. For now, he was just a friend sharing a meal with someone who got to act like a normal teenager. 

The tenant of the business, and its loft, was Minisala Sansarc. He preferred to be addressed by his last name. Sansarc felt that his first name was ominous. He lived an easy life, he overworked himself out of passion. At his temples, one could see spreading wings of silver. His hair was always tidy, though his clothes were often wrinkled with a tiny stain spot either on the sleeve or collar. Like the rest of his kind, He had lovely, sable colored, rabbit ears.

Tonight, the particular combination of a warm radiator, soft lighting, and melodic rain had caused Detective Sansarc to drift asleep over the work on his desk. His face balanced on his wrist, his mouth hung open. Brief lucid moments danced in his fluttering dreams, before they shattered by the sound of a door opening and closing.

Sansarc saw a young boy enter into his office freely, and then drop off a paper. The child was in a great hurry. The more papers he delivered, the better he got paid. Sansarc cursed the hour, wishing that he would have just gone to bed.  He thought nothing of the newspaper, for until that day there had been very little that he desired to know about immediately. 

The Papers had a very different opinion on the matter. They had found an unprecedented story with stereotype, secret, and possibly murder. The reptilian minds of those who profited from the stories hoped it was murder.

  Because near trees very much like the ones that now bled ink and letter, there had been a great tragedy in the western settlements of I’na. Those were feral places. Death happened, frequently from farming machinery and swift animals. The settlers had to be paid to move out there.

It was a land of open spaces, cozy burrows, and “quaint” matters. They had large families out there. Homes were spaced out. But there wasn’t exactly an effort to push for innovation or commerce. The only ones who did were the Iron Chiefs who took great pride in their “company towns”. 

Now, the communities were five fewer. Five youngsters, between the ages of 11 to 15 vanished in the night like from a folk story. There had been a few other vanishings up until that point, but Sansarc would be unaware of them until a month from today. For this particular case, there had been witnesses: 

13 year old Claude Chatan, 16 Year old Tadoka Grey Ears, Fern only 8, and finally the fortunate son of the local bank owner, Bipkin Red barely past the age of 11. 

They recalled seeing three men in the fields that evening, according to the papers.  Those men had come with glaring eyes, strange weapons, and black cloaks. The children were mostly unreliable, as they were the ones who escaped had fled to the river or the nearby forest. 

At first, there was barely a whisper about it in the presses. Then a few juicy details came up that the reporters just could not resist biting into:

Arn Chatan, age 13, cousin of Claude Chatan. Head of the Engineering Club in Skagrit’s Prepatory Academy of the Arts and Sciences. A True Son of the Capital. Now Gone.

Della Frey, age 15, broke speed records for her age group in 100 meter, 200 meter, and 400 meter dashes. Set to compete in the international games as the first athlete from the settlement of River’s Bend. Was her disappearance related to the Mob?

The other three had been farmhands, barely important in the eyes of Skagrit, but that did not stop the papers from wailing and moaning about their innocent lives suddenly in jeopardy and won’t someone please step forward with any information on their whereabouts? There was blood in the water, and the sharks were already making calls for their portions. 

Indeed, had Detective Sansarc, independently owned and operated, known what would happen later in the day, he would have not glossed over the details and then tossed the paper into his kindling pile to fuel the oven for his morning tea. He would have given the writing a more discerning gaze. 

It was hard to feel connected to strangers, even little ones. Sansarc thought little more about the news of the day, going back to analyzing the books of a local textile factory that was suspected of money laundering and the recently divorced wife of the owner wanted to know if the bills went to that little hussy that wrecked her home. 

The rains never let up for that day. Leaving papers soaked and damaged from the damp. This fueled more sales, and the ink jockeys just could not keep up with the demand. The paper boys were going to be sick for days from this one. A new boy stepped in, carrying his bag full of papers. 

“Ya got ya pape’ today, Sir?” He asked, a gangly lad of barely eleven. He looked the type who bullied a kid or two for his “cut” of the sales. Sansarc waved the kid out, surprised when the lad insisted that the Detective had not gotten his paper and that he’d better buy one. 

Sansarc did not like the way this was going to spill into his day. Breaking News usually affected his clients somehow. Someone sees a new article about some murder, robbery, or jealous lover and they start jumping to wild conclusions. 

Like Aliens. Boy, I bet a silver I’ll hear that one today. Aliens, Star Children, the luck-damned badger-man were going to show up by the end of it. Grieved patrons usually went after the most exotic solution, especially if it was easier to accept than the fact that personal negligence was the reason Aunt Sally took a tumble grabbing her can of peas. 

The phone rang, it was an Editor from StarBurst News asking if he was busy for the afternoon and if he would be interested in being hired in an investigation of sorts. All Expenses Paid. 

Sansarc set up an appointment, he always preferred meeting clients in person first. And it took only an hour before a suited up, sharp-faced, broad with in a pair of pants that looked like a dress and a soaked blouse that had the pungent burnt scent of hot ink came through his door. Her ears were stained black, possibly permanently, and flecks of black splatters danced across her face like - blood? No, they were clearly more like stars. 

“Detective Sansarc, I assume? Senior Editor, Mason Antho, from the StarBurst News. I had one of my editors contact you.” her rich voice was like an expensive tonic sweetened with honey, but heavy on the oak. It spoke with authority and confidence.   

“ Are you the one who is officially hiring me?” asked Sansarc, his dark eyebrows pressed together. Please not another runaround with too many hands in the case. 

“I am. I heard you were the best at traveling for the job.” Mason strutted to one of the chairs, but did not sit. She moved like one of those long legged hunting dogs the rich kept on leashes made of gemstones. Her face even had a graceful longness to it, and the way her ears held made her look like one of the stylized print ads for the latest in dresswear. She looked like a living sales pitch for glamor. 

“This must be quite the job if the Senior Editor of a paper is asking me to travel on an expense paid gig.” Sansarc said carefully. He did not want to seem like he was officially committing. Jobs that involved the higher ups on the social ladder usually were death traps filled with pissed off mob bosses and rampaging husbands. 

“You better believe it, Champ. I heard you can travel anywhere, faster than anyone else. Hell, you can get visas to White Stone. And they never let anyone in.” replied Mason. 

More like they don’t want anyone out. Sansarc thought grimly. Fast travel? Oh please don’t this be what he thought it was going to be. 

“Now here’s the deal, I want an exclusive on the story out in the papers. I want interviews, some dirt dug up, maybe find a body if you can manage it.” Mason started speaking quickly and aggressively.

“So, send your reporters.” Sansarc frowned at the job description. 

“My reporters are idiots. They throw the cameras in everyone’s face and then they trample the flowerbeds while they’re at. We got a bunch of grieving mothers out there and the last thing I need is one of my people making everyone clam up. I want those people talking out there. Only to us, of course.” replied Mason. 

“Vulture.” Sansarc felt a horrible taste in his mouth. It was like the acid from his stomach was creeping up to have its share of insults to hurl at this woman. 

“Takes one to know one.” Mason said cooly with a smirk. Classy.

“I ain’t doing it.” said Sansarc. He started to get a pounding headache from this woman. He got up to grab a decanter of firebreather, a drink made from the fire-hot fermented roots of the Firra plant. He poured himself a drink and began to chew on the side of his mouth. 

“$300.” barked Mason. 

“I’m busy.” replied Sansarc. 

“ Yeah? Who you working far? I’ll double them.”

“You already have.”

“ $500, or I’ll bury you in the papers.” 

“You gotta be kidding.” Sansarc balked. He nearly dropped his shot glass. What could they dig up on him? He had no spouses or lovers. He lived alone. Oh, there was that incident that got him kicked out of law enforcement. Sansarc never took care to conceal the matter. 

“I’ll figure you out and rip you to pieces. You think I’m gonna be the only one calling you? When those morons at the Bugle get the idea in their heads , they’ll be all over your ears like flies on haraka.” Mason was growling now. Her nose twitched like a hound’s. She was now merely inches from Sansarc face, possessing the greater height on the man. 

“Well, maybe I’ll work for them!” Sansarc bared his teeth at Mason. The woman scoffed. 

“They won’t pay you.” She grinned a predatory smile. She had him by the throat now. No wonder she was the senior editor. Working for this lady must be like working under a knife chandelier. “Fine. $500. All Expense Paid. I’ll be there when I can” he replied, his dark eyes shooting daggers at the broad.   “You’ll be there tomorrow.” She said.

Sansarc was glad that he had yet to burn the paper he had placed into the kindling. He stuffed the print into a weatherproof bag, fuming to himself about how much he wished he could have shoved that damn woman into the mud. He could have at least thrown his drink at her and ruined that expensive outfit she had. 

He was able to secure a ticket easily. No visa needed. The frontier was considered “Skagrit operated”, but not necessarily its responsibility. The government gave out a hundred dollar stipend to head out and “reclaim your heritage”. The Banks took about 25 and that was the way of progress. 

Sansarc hailed a taxi to the train station. It was going to be a long ride, 27 hours to be exact. No wonder Mason wanted him out by tomorrow. One less opportunity for the rivals to pick him up him for their research. Sansarc hated that woman, but had to admit that she knew how to keep herself ahead of the pack.

Lights shined through evening fog.  They were golden halos guiding late-night wanderers. There was a slow rhythm to the town tonight. Sansarc could feel it in the meandering shuffling of passengers as they said farewells and brought their luggage to the platform. 

It was romantic, in that silver screen sort of way. The rehearsed entrances and scripted farewells going for their final takes. Dames getting reassured that their bucks weren’t going to get too lonely out there in them company towns. Bucks telling the does that things were gonna get better real soon. 

Sansarc hoped that at this hour, the lounge car would be open. He boarded the train early and sought out his cabin. The bright side about working for the wealthy was an upgrade or two. If he was going to have to suffer a red eye train ride through the boonies, he was going to do it in comfort. 

The lounge car was not taking drink orders just yet, but already it was filled to the brim with tobacco smoke and chatter. Not much raucous. It was dusk, after all, and there was a little bit of respect given for the twilight. Sansarc took an early spot on a barstool. 

He brought out a notepad and started to write down a few things to keep in mind. Don’t allow broads from the paper into your office for starters. Sansarc smirked to himself. He thought about what sort of men would be wandering out in the wilds snatching little ones like a nightmare.

The tobacco was spiced and smoky. Intoxicating. Sansarc was writing into a flow of thoughts when a bar keep walked up.

“May I interest you in a pack?” he asked. Sansarc scarcely looked up, only to avoid being called arrogant. He barely saw above the barkeep’s name tag. 

“I don’t smoke.” he replied. 

“No? But it’s traditional to have a little tobacco before the start of a journey. To insure a safe trip?” the bar keep replied. It was a voice with a bit of a haze to it. An accent that couldn’t entirely be placed. The inflections purely intentional and less of habit. 

“ I’m not into that kind of thing.” Sansarc frowned. His head was starting to feel fuzzy in an odd way. Was it the booze from earlier? He had a drink before heading out to the station. 

“What a shame. Safe journey, I look forward to seeing you at the end of it.” the bar keep stepped away. Sansarc grimaced. He hoped that he wouldn’t regret coming to the lounge car. He felt a chilled draft. I didn’t know an air-cooling system was installed. 

The final announcement for boarding was made. More long goodbyes. Sansarc thought on his last relationship. A pretty little dame who loved lilac perfume and ruby lipstick. She always carried a black lacquer mirror, and enough money to pay for her lunch. Sansarc had just started his business. So worked up in his first case, he barely missed her when she walked out. 

   It’s better if they don’t cry. Anything, but the crying. Sansarc looked at the windows as the train began to leave the station. The wrought iron and steam gave way to distant lights of homes and advertisements. The booze came heavy as the last of sunlight faded and all that could be seen was the black outlines of houses, trees, and telegraph poles against a navy sky. 

The city left a fading red haze on the horizon, and Sansarc pretended that it was the sun being stopped by the cops for packing heat. They’d get their money from anything. When he was younger, the haze on the skyline used to mean that the sun never set. Now, it seemed to never rise. 

There was a lingering feeling in the air. It felt like the mad buzzing of insects. Sansarc looked around him. He took a moment to observe the patrons. They felted staged and artificial. The first barkeep had been replaced by another fellow who lacked that complex quality the first one possessed effortlessly. 

They all moved back and forth between stations. Tick-tock. Sansarc had thrown away the belief of spirits and sentient lands long ago. Still, the habit of assuming their permanence lingered. He would occasionally have a moment of icy clarity to the world around him and it would terrify him. Because in those moments, came the doubt.

Disembark at Sandhill, Came the call. He originally had no intention of doing so. It was the largest city in the frontier. It made its fortune by centralizing the routes and shipping everything by ferry or rail. Home of the original Stock Market. 

But why there? It then dawned on Sansarc. Of course, they actually have a police presence. Yes! That was something he hadn’t considered before. He was finally smiling to himself.

The frontier towns were known for loose laws and lackluster enforcement of proper order. Their idea of order came from the nomadic rangers that were loosely organized to make sure the people stayed safe from wandering predators, and to help lost travelers. The story was that they lived the “old fashioned” way of bison-skin tents, and were considered the first on the scene if there was a risk to a town. A risk like kidnapping.

Sansarc thought the idea of a random bumpkin roaming at night on horseback, with no proper management, was the type of hare-brained, olde-timeyism, that allowed five children to go missing in the first place. 

And all it takes is one sick bastard to...No, it was three, according to the witnesses. And who else goes wandering the fields at night? 

Sansarc gritted his teeth. He was now glad he was going to a proper town to get started on this. Mason had wanted him in that tiny little frontier community. But if Sansarc was going to uncover some secrets, he would need a trail. There might be a connecting disappearance. 

“Hey mista’, wou’ ya moind lightin’ me? I wanna have a last leaf before I go in.” asked a pretty little thing. She had a fashionable little black bob of hair. Her face was adorned with far too much blush. Her ears, however, were dyed a particular shade of red, almost the same color as her lipstick. 

Sansarc grabbed a box of matches from the counter and obliged. Right when the flame kissed his fingertips, he killed the little flicker and pressed its charcoal stub into a glass dish. 

“Thanks guy. So, you going out to the iron towns? Me? I’m gonna see my mama. You know, you never know who ya gonna miss…” the girl started to ramble. Sansarc wanted to slink into his stool and escape this cockleburr of a conversationalist.  In thirty minutes, Jane Winterstaff revealed her entire family history, the latest in telecommunications, and exactly what brand of chartreuse contained arsenic.   

There were times when Sansarc cursed his particular brand of introversion.