Shadows of Valderia: An Urban Fantasy Detective Noir

“We’re just going to walk in?” Nairo asked.

“It’s a gambling den, not like they’re turning away punters,” Ridley replied as their cab slowed down.

“I don’t know, I thought we might at least have disguises.”

“Why? Anybody know you’re a copper?”

“Well I suppose not.”

“Disguises!” Ridley snorted and shook his head. “Next we’ll be doing funny accents and coming up with backstories.”

Nairo pushed him in the back as they stepped out of the cab into the lively early evening stream of revellers on Makins Broadway. This was the entertainment centre of the city and it was in full swing already. Despite not being able to feed its population, the city could certainly get them drunk. The sun had barely set and already people were stumbling around, shrieking with laughter, as they poured fiery spirits into empty stomachs. The only things that existed in this part of town were little diners, bars, theatres, and dancehalls. Of course, just off Broadway, there were the seedy pubs, the brothels, the ‘massage parlours,’ the drug dens, and gambling houses. Every vice a tax paying citizen could wish to indulge in was just around the corner from the glitzy showbiz facade of the broadway.

Nairo followed Ridley through the press of revellers, three different kinds of music blared in her ears, and young people dressed in every colour imaginable danced and laughed in the streets. Vibrant colours and sequins had apparently made a comeback with the party crowd. Every piece of material shimmered and winked in the light in the lamplight. Dresses were short and impractical for this time of year. The men all wore sequined blazers and shirts with too many ruffles. Side slicked hair and little pointy moustaches were the vogue now for a happening young man, perfecting the image of a country side dandy on a jolly to the big city. Nairo noticed that giant feathers for the ladies, in the same garish colours as their dresses, were pinned into hairs or attached to glittering headbands. The whole aesthetic was like a blurring kaleidoscope of clashing colours and hues, forcing her to squint as she pushed through the crowd. Another street band had started up, blowing into horns and banging drums in a way that only the inebriated could enjoy.

Dotted around the crowd were groups of young men, dressed more demurely in cheap dark coloured suits with bright shirts, skulking on corners, eyeing each other with open hostility. Nairo knew small gangs operated all over the Broadway and some of them had territory so close to each other they could spit at one another. They supplied the party drugs, and senseless violence, that really made a night out in the city special.

Ridley carefully avoided these packs of thugs and crossed the heaving Broadway until they managed to tumble their way out of the stream of revellers and into a mercifully dark and quiet alleyway.

“Should be just down this way,” Ridley said to her as he lit a smoke.

The party atmosphere melted away behind them as they traversed the alleyway. Off-Broadway was like the demented twin of Broadway that was kept in the attic and fed fish heads. The people on this strip of cobbles could not be described as revellers. In fact, they looked more like people who were on their way home from a heavy weekend of revelling. They had twitchy eyes and everyone seemed to be in a long hooded cloak. No one travelled in a group. Solitary figures would flit into houses of ill repute, their collars and hoods pulled up to try and obscure their faces. Off-Broadway was alive with a buzz of energy, but it was oddly soundless. Every conversation was muffled, punctuated by the odd scream and the sounds of drunkards singing. Nairo instinctively huddled closer to Ridley, her fists clenched and ready.

They meandered past a few touts offering 2 for 1 deals at their special picture shows and another who was flogging knock off jewellery. Nairo’s copper instincts almost took her across the street to him, the words ‘well, well, well, what do we have here then?’ dying on her lips as Ridley yanked her away.

“After something good to eat, sweetheart?” a burley man called to Nairo from an alleyway.

“Excuse me?” Nairo growled at him, her eyebrow raised.

“Got some turnips that’re still a little bit crunchy and some broccoli that’s only gone a little bit brown,” the man said. He looked up and down the lane before flashing open his jacket to show a few sad, wilted, stems of broccoli.

“Oooh, how much?” Ridley said.

“No thank you!” Nairo pushed Ridley away.

“You heard him, they were still a little bit crunchy!” Ridley moaned.

“They’re illegal foodstuffs! You know the Government is cracking down on any non-approved rations of fresh fruit, veg, dairy products, and meat. And besides, call me crazy, but I doubt the hygiene of a street peddler's coat.”

“Wouldn’t have bothered me,” Ridley said, sticking out his bottom lip. “And I didn’t see you protesting when we were guzzling down that fish head soup.”

“That… was different,” Nairo said dreamily, thinking of the wonderful soup.

“Yeah, I’d punch a baby to have that soup again.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I think we’re here.” Ridley pointed to a non-descript doorway on the corner with two thick set security guards standing outside in dark suits. “Let me do the talking.”

They walked up to the door and Ridley nodded at the two men.

“Yeah?” one of them grunted.

“I’m Clarence Winterforth the third,” Ridley said.

“Third what?”

“What’s that?”

“The third what?”

“The third Clarence Winterforth.”

“There’s two more of you?”

“There were.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why youse all got the same names?”

“Must get confusing,” the other lump said.

“No, the other two are dead.”

“Wot… did you kill ‘em for the name?” the one on the right asked.

“I’d be mighty pissed if two other fellers were running round with me name,” said the one on the left.

“Enuf to do ‘im in?” the other one asked.

“Well… if’n he took a tumble off a bridge, I s’pose I wouldn’t shed a tear.”

“No I didn’t…” Ridley began. “Can we come in? Me and my lady friend have a hankering to play a few hands.”

“‘Fraid it might be a bit rich for your blood, mate.” The lump on the right looked him up and down.

“My gold’s as long as my name is, don’t you worry about that.”

Again the lump looked Ridley up and down and then Nairo. After a few seconds of pondering he nodded his head and they stood aside.

“Thank you kindly,” Ridley said as they swept by.

The card house was dimly lit, smoke filled, and oddly quiet. She had to peer into the darkness to make out the shapes of players, all hunched around small, green velvet tables, playing all sorts of games. To her left there were three men, with cards clutched in their hands, eagerly watching a set of dice bounce around a steel cup. On her right there was a Goblin and four humans rapidly slapping down coins as the dealer flicked cards into an old boot. She wasn’t sure what happened but the Goblin snarled and threw down his cards as one of the humans happily scooped up his coins. On another table there was just a frumpled dealer and a hunched over man, drenched in sweat as they passed a single card back and forth, laying down bet after bet as it flitted between them. In between the gambling, waitresses scooted around with trays of drink, taking away empties and replacing them with full glasses.

“You said yer man liked to play Peeling Onion?” Ridley whispered to her and Nairo nodded. “I’m gonna hit the table and play a few hands, see if the dealer knows De Woolf.”

“I’ll talk to the staff,” Nairo said.

They split up and went about their respective tasks.

After forty minutes, a loss of ten gold coins, and no new information they were back on the cobbles.

“I thought you knew how to play?” Nairo snapped at him.

“I didn’t say I was any good,” Ridley said with a shrug. “I’m assuming the Cap’n will reimburse me.”

“Good luck with that,” Nairo said.

It was the same story at the next two card houses. No one knew of De Woolf, but even if they had they weren’t talking. All they got was shrugs and tight lipped expressions.

“We’ve got one more to hit,” Ridley said as they crossed over the street and began making their way through the various back alleys. The sky was dark and heavy, threatening to pour rain down on them. Not that Ridley would have noticed. He was pleasantly tipsy, his steps meandering, and his cheeks rosy red with all the rum he had been drinking. Nairo was on the other end of the emotional spectrum. She was tired, her feet, knees, and hip were aching. She stank of smoke and her stomach growled with hunger. All she wanted now was to call it a day and crawl into a warm bath and soak into oblivion.

Now night had fully descended, off-Broadway had come to life. There were hundreds of touts shilling everything from flesh to burn and even one selling tickets to a fire show. They were offered so many illicit substances that Nairo had given up trying to remember all the touts' faces and just decided she would pull up here with a meat wagon and let the boys loose one day. The corners had also begun to fill with ladies of the night, many of whom had propositioned Nairo, and one who nearly whisked the inebriated Ridley away until Nairo grabbed his arm and dragged him away while the girl shouted after them that she could accommodate couples.

They found the final card house thanks to the help of rat eyed street urchin puffing on a cigarette. After paying him off, and then paying him again after his loud protestations that they were ripping him off, Ridley sauntered up to the entrance of the card house. He had given up with his cover name as they realised these places really were operating out in the open: anybody was welcome in. They nodded at the guards and wandered in. This card house was livelier than the others. There was a small Gnommish band playing and a girl, in just enough clothing to leave something to the imagination, gyrating on a stage. This card house was the biggest they had been to so far but still as dimly lit. There were dozens of tables with animated, frenzied, gambling taking place everywhere. Some of the games had even spilled off the tables. There was a dice game being played with lusty enthusiasm on the floor and some impromptu betting on an arm wrestling competition between two Trolls at the bar.

“This is more like it,” Ridley said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m gonna grab a drink and hit the tables.”

“No,” Nairo said firmly.

“What?”

“I’m playing the table and you’re not drinking anymore.”

“You don’t even know how to play!”

“And neither do you, judging by our empty coin purse. Why don’t you see if you’ll have better luck with the serving staff.” Nairo pushed him in the back and as soon as Ridley realised he was being shoved towards the bar he gave up all protestations and wandered off. Nairo looked around and found the Peeling Onion table. It was always easy to spot, as it was often the least popular table in the card house. After a quick look at Ridley, who already had a drink in his hands and was roaring encouragement at the two grappling Trolls, she walked over to the table and nodded at the small, grey haired dealer.

“Good evening maam,” he rasped.

“Good evening, may I play?”

“Of course maam.”

“It’s my first time.”

“Really maam?”

“Yes actually,” Nairo gave him a friendly smile hoping to come off as naive and most importantly, non threatening.

The dealer cleared his throat and blinked his heavy lidded eyes.

“I’d be happy to walk you through the rules maam, but Peeling Onion is a complex game.”

“So I’ve heard,” Nairo replied, trying to subtly get the measure of the dealer.

She had never seen someone look so utterly run down before. His hair had greyed to the point of looking almost colourless. He had a thin moustache that looked more like a shaving mistake rather than a style choice. His skin was yellow and sallow, hanging from his facial bones like sandwich meat that had been left out in the sun. The only bit of colour he had was the dark purple bags under his light brown eyes.

“Well maam, Peeling Onion is a game of numbers,” the dealer began, his clever little hands shuffling and cutting the deck as he spoke. “Each player is dealt eight cards with the player who is last to get rid of all their cards loses. Every time you lay down cards you must be dealt fresh cards until you have eight in your hand again. You can lay down as many cards as you want but you cannot exceed a numerical value of 13, which includes whatever card was laid down previously. Face cards are worth 11 and the ace is either 12 or 1. You must play at least one card every hand and everytime you go over the limit of 13 you must pay into the pot, there is a 2 gold minimum penalty. Clubs subtract from the total, pairs can multiply, black Jacks divide it by two and Queens are worth nothing but switch the turn to someone else. Once all the cards are dealt the first player to empty their hand wins the pot.”

Nairo, mesmerised by his shuffling hands, looked up and gave an innocent smile.

“Gosh it does sound complicated. My boss tried explaining the rules to me once but I was never much good at it.”

“No problem maam, we could play a first game without penalties.”

“That would be amazing, thank you.” She flashed him another warm smile and he began to deal.

They played for a few minutes, with Nairo laying it on thick. Every time it was her turn she kept asking about the rules and what this card was or what that rule meant. The dealer patiently explained to her each time. They had progressed about halfway through the game by the time Nairo finally got him chatting.

“Well, it’s not an easy job but it does pay well enough,” the dealer said as he dealt Nairo another card.

“You must meet all sorts of interesting people though, Derek.”

“That I do maam, but I can’t say they’re the types one would like to associate themselves with outside of work… no if you put that down it will add up to 15.”

“Oops, silly me,” Nairo said, picking her card back up. “I don’t particularly like the people I meet at work either.”

“Where do you work, maam?”

“Please, call me Sally, and it’s nothing interesting I’m afraid. I work at a bank,” she watched his eyes carefully but saw nothing. “Not counting the money obviously!” She gave a tinkling laugh and he returned it with a kindly smile.

“That’s a fine job for a young lady. Good proper job. I hope my Angela gets good work like that.”

“You’re daughter?”

“Yes maam.”

“Aww, how old is she?”

“Just coming up to seventeen, nearly finished with her studies.”

“Amazing,” Nairo gushed. “Must be hard working such long hours.”

“I do miss her dearly… I would save that ace maam, it’s good for getting you out of trouble later on.”

“Oh gosh! My boss tells me that all the time. He’s so good at this game, I think he can memorise all the cards… what do you call that again?”

“Card counting maam,” Derek replied and she heard an edge in his tone.

“That’s it! I mean he’s a HobGoblin after all and you know how good they are with numbers!”

There it was. A flicker of recognition in his dull eyes.

“You might know him, he recommended this place to me, his name is Zimeon De Woolf.”

Derek looked at her slowly and even as a lie formed on his lips his eyes gave him away.

“I don’t recall maam.”

“You don’t? He’s quite memorable. Always dressed in dark suits, has a funny accent, and really good at card games.”

Derek cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Listen Derek,” Nairo leant forward and laid her cards down on the table. “I’m actually looking for him. I think he may be in some sort of trouble.”

“I’m afraid I don’t…”

“And any help, however tiny, would be really appreciated. I’ve been all over this horrible place and I really just want to go home. It’s not safe out here for a young girl, you know that.” She gave him her best pleading look.

“I-I… yes I do know him but he’s not welcome in here anymore,” Derek said in a hushed tone, looking around the room to make sure no one could hear them.

“He’s not?”

“No. He’s a card counter. He was slung out of here and would be in some considerable difficulties if he ever came back.”

“When was this?”

“About a month ago.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“No.”

Nairo sighed. She picked up her cards and then played them all in a beautiful sequence of subtractions, divisions and even a cheeky Queen play. With her hands empty, Nairo stood up and gave him another smile.

“Thank you so much Derek, I really appreciate your help.”

Derek looked down at the hand and then at her curiously.

“I’m a fast learner,” Nairo said with a shrug and then walked away.

She found Ridley in a corner with a giggling waitress. She tapped his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Sorry sugar,” Ridley slurred at the waitress. “We’ll have to continue this another time.” He emptied his drink and plopped it down on her tray before stumbling out of the card house after Nairo.

“Another dead end!” Nairo said in frustration as they stepped out onto the cool cobbles.

“Was it?” Ridley hiccuped.

“He has been here but was banned a month ago for counting cards,” Nairo said.

“Mhmmm, that’s what the waitress said. But…” Ridley trailed off and burped.

“What?”

“He tried to get back in.”

“When?”

“Last night,” Ridley said with a lopsided grin. “The girl… what was her name? Susan? Sarah? Sally… no that’s your name…”

“Ridley!”

“Right. She ummm… she was working the graveyard shift and he tried sneaking in. Was stopped at the door. Apparently there was a bit of hubbub but he left sharpish.”

“So we were right!” Nairo said excitedly. “And that means he’s still in the city!”

“Yep. But his action’s no good on this side of town. He’s been blacklisted from every gambling spot in the East.”

“So that means he went West?”

“Must have. Doubt his ban would follow him all the way over there.”

“We need to get over to Edgewater and…”

“You Sergeant Nairo?” A gruff voice grunted from behind her.

Nairo whipped around to see three men all with shaven heads and nasty scowls on their faces.

“Yes, who’s asking?”

“You might wanna come with us. We’ve got your friends.”

“Well shit.” Ridley said. “What did those two idiots do now?”