Repercussions

Sasha and Marianne have been dropped off in L’Olympia. Normally, the pair would observe and run messages between the businesses operating within the Dumas orbit and the Temple Yard. Like the hard men sent out on work crews throughout the city, they have been tasked to be on the lookout for anything out of sorts. Since Arron’s attack, three young Canal Rats have gone missing. Rika and Henri, Uncle Trapper’s own daughter and the kind courier driver who brings sweets from Le Grande Hotel’s bakery, have also gone missing.

         “Marianne, d’you know Rika?” Sasha asks kicking a pebble along in front of him.

         “Yes, Rika’s an auntie.  She left us a few short seasons ago.” Marianne states though she barely remembers.

         “Why’d she leave?”

         “She wanted more. She grew up at the yard.”

         “More what?” Sasha stops and asks.

         “More life. She has a job and her own place. She wanted more than the yard. We are still her family though.”

         “I am not sure I want more. Uncle Trapper n’ Ratka take care of us don’ they?”

         “Yes, Sasha they do. “

         “Marianne, d’you want more?”

         “Maybe, but not today. “

The pair turn toward Rue Edouard heading through an alleyway behind the Les Bacchantes bakery and restaurant. The egg-shaped manager will occasionally give out the ‘day-olds’ to the street urchins throughout the block. 

         “That wasn’t there yesterday.” Sasha says through a mouthful pointing at the covered cart ahead.

The pair walk around the cart, the signage is folded over. The traces are empty, no workhorses attached. A spike loosely holds the doors to the courier closed.  Stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth Sasha looks like a full cheeked red squirrel. He hops onto the stair at the back and looks through the glass of the doors.  With a squeal he pulls the spike out and one of the doors open. Inside Henri holds a hand to his ribs and another to shade against the unexpected light. He holds his breath until his eyes adjust and he sees young boy and the teen girl.

         “Where are we?”

         “L’Olympia, near Les Bacchantes. We’ve been looking for you two.” Sasha smiles.

         “Good,” Henri slumps onto his back, “Get word to Le Den, Rika has been hurt. Hurt bad.”

La Savane Des Chacals

The welcoming bell rings as the Dandy and three birds-in-hats trundle through the front door of La Savane. In succession the Dandy’s men take places at the bar. As they settle conversations go quiet, their fellow Chacal, move further down the bar.  The incident in the pantry precedes them. While the Dandy can operate without judgement the same cannot be said for these three.  The three have placed their hats on the bar, Épervier holds his head in hand. Wrapped in a white bandage his wounded cheek and destroyed eye weeps and stains the fabric pink.

“Hoo weee, that fine little fille really fucked you up.” The older Chacal, a fat man called Gros George, ribs Épervier and his mates. Inspecting the bandage and scratching his exposed belly. The barrel chested fat man moves so uncomfortably close Épervier can feel and smell his onion-breath and rarely brushed teeth. The fat pigeon-faced Chacal was in fact told to only keep watch going well beyond what was asked.

“He was gonna get his, take ‘liberties’ and all.” Grue, the tall hook-nose Chacal jokes at the one-eyed man’s expense.

“We heard you knocked her around till Saule had to come take care of her. Beatin’ on a lil’ flirt. You are a bad boy.” Gros George laughs at the younger man’s impotence.

“Weren’t ye told not to touch?” Grue asks rhetorically.

He did want to take liberties. The opium flirt, a beautiful hostage the Dandy wanted to use as a bargaining chip. His favorite; defenseless and scared. When he pushed up to her, the girl fought back and when grabbed she stuck him through the cheek and eye with a decorative hat-pin. He pushed her away hard. She hit her head on the shelves knocking her unconscious and was bleeding badly. If there is a next time, he will finish what he started and when finished, kill her.

“When she’s of no use to da brothers, I will kill her.” Épervier hisses but interrupted as a midday meal of sandwiches are brought out on platters, these three will only eat after the other Chacal are done. Benjamin, the barrel-chested barkeep puts mugs of cidre in front of each of them with a smile.

In the back of the brasserie the Dandy slides heavily into the booth at the back of the bar. Sabot eyes his overdressed son as he places a small knife onto a plowman’s board in front of him.

“Where are they?” The Dandy inquires as Sabot takes a sip of his cidre and places it onto the table next to his meal.

“Where they can be found. Dumped ’em and da cart in L’Olympia.”

“You fucked me.” The Dandy hisses.

“No boy, you fucked you.” Sabot responds sharply. At the long bar heads turn and return knowing they are unwelcome in these affairs .

“Contraband; opium and the filles en carte are mine to run. You have no interest in leaving the confines of this, this brasserie.”  The Dandy drips with disdain.

“You run nothing without my leave. The girl, the one your idiot groped and cracked in the head...” Sabot states unfazed by his brother’s theatrics.

“So now, he is mine? Fine, I will treat him as such.” The Dandy interrupts.

“The opium flirt, is from the Temple Yard. She asked Saule to have her taken there.” Sabot states with an unnerving calm.

“So? Canal Rats, children and superstition… your words.” The Dandy says deflecting.

“You daft shits have poked beyond your remit. Now there is a chit due. The Temple Yard will respond.” Sabot says, still calm.

“We should hit the Den.” The Dandy says whispering angrily.

“And do what, break the place up? No, we should not hit the Den.” Sabot states sharply.

We need to see what the hornets do now that they have been disturbed. We need to let Father know what is unfolding.”

Temple Yard

Trapper sits alone in the yard office. His mood is dour.  Ratka, his niece and yard boss, enters the office but says nothing. The big man rarely spends time alone in here. It has been her space, though not a private one, for more than a decade. In that time, she has only found him waiting for her return once prior, when his daughter Rika announced she was leaving the Temple Yard striking out on her own.

“Have we word from the Atrium?” He asks without turning to his niece.

“Helena insists Rika relocate and recover there. The Thread will ensure Rika recovers from her abduction and assault.” Ratka states understanding his frustration.

“I want them found. We are owed and due to be paid in blood. Her attack was against us all, the Den, the Yard, the Thread. Even Dumas and Ashcrow know this must be answered for.” Trapper states. His desire for retaliation will push the Yard into open confrontation.  Ashcrow will only pull the men of the Temple Yard back when it is untenable.  Untenable is when he must answer to the Sûreté. While the Yard might not have initiated the conflict this is not the first warranting response. The men of the Temple Yard have ended upstarts moving into their territory before, this would not be the last. If violence is required the Yard will provide. Some lives must be ended, examples made to serve as a warning for others.

“Of course. Neither Rika nor the courier, Henri, knew where they were taken. Rika spoke of a man named Sabot, a Dandy and a woman named Saule.”

Ratka pulls two tin cups from the wall and pours coffee into both.  She places both at the table in front of the giant. Opening the drawer she retrieves a full bottle of cognac.

“Tipple?”

Trapper tosses the coffee out the door of the and puts his cup back to be filled. Ratka smiles and laughs quietly under her breath.

“The courier took the beating. He knows little other than his loyalty to your son.”

“Do you think this and the missing boys are related?”

“Yes, I imagine we are being pressured at every perimeter.”

“Arron too?”

“Doubtful. He recovers. He is well and restless enough to return with the Olympia crew tonight.”