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Copyright © 2004, S. Y. Affolee 2 Investment Venture “You’re spoiling Scamp,” she said. Val grinned. “You’re the one who’s spoiled.” He took out a couple of glasses and poured some brandy into them. “Now behave yourself while I tend to the customers.” When the bartender was out of hearing range, Dash said, “So what happened to banker boy?” She glanced at the man beside her. His deceptively lanky body appeared lazy and calm but his eyes were sharp. “Why do you want to know?” He rubbed his chin. “Curiosity.” “You need to shave.” “Think so?” She took a gulp of water and thought about a bath. “It was one of Val’s more stupid ideas. He said I would calm down if I settled down.” “Huh.” “Caught him with his pants down.” “In the arms of another woman, hm?” “Frou Frou.” “Excuse me?” “Her name was Frou Frou,” she said slowly. “She used to troll this place on the weekends. Always green dresses. Big hair. Big bosom.” Discretely, she clenched her fist. She hadn’t loved the banker, but the betrayal still hurt. “I guess he was meant to calm down a different kind of woman.” “Or maybe he was looking for a different kind of excitement.” “What? You mean men don’t like guns?” “Not when you’re the one waving them around threatening to shoot off their…” She glared at him, cutting him off. “You deserve every one of those threats.” “You just need to stop making them.” He tapped his glass thoughtfully. “But I know who you’re talking about. Haven’t seen her around.” “You were looking for her?” “I’ve been looking for many things.” “Oh yeah, sure,” Prudence smirked. “You for one.” “Me? And brag about your latest exploits?” “I don’t brag about my exploits. I don’t have any exploits. You’re the one who does.” “What about the time you told me you retrieved an heirloom emerald for the wife of the mayor of Green Point? She offered you a reward didn’t she?” His cheeks slightly reddened. “It wasn’t a reward. And I turned her down. She’s married.” “And what about the time you recovered some stuff for a rancher out east?” she grinned, relishing his embarrassment. “His daughter wasn’t married and she definitely wanted to give you a reward.” “But she was already engaged to someone else. And how on earth did you hear about those stories? I never told you.” “Rumors in the wind,” she replied dismissively. “They call you Dash Martin, the hero, you know. You’ve got quite the following out in Heather Springs. I passed by there two weeks ago and the girls there were still swooning after you.” “Ah, yes. Heather Springs.” She watched him expectantly. “Uh, I rescued the pastor’s daughter from a band of thugs a while back. But it was an accident, I swear. I just happened to be there.” “Really.” He sighed. She didn’t look like she believed him. “So what have you been up to?” “Here and there,” she said vaguely. “The last job was an easy one. I just had to help some farmers with their equipment. Easy payoff although it wasn’t a very high one.” “You’re still dreaming of treasure, aren’t you?” Her mouth twisted downward. “What do my dreams matter to you?” “Being a trouver isn’t all fun and games,” he said quietly. “You, of all people, should know the reality of it. People with our skills don’t earn fame and glory and riches with one stroke. Only the trouvers in myths and legends do. And myths and legends aren’t real.” “I know myths and legends aren’t real,” she replied. She fiddled with her glass, feeling restless. She didn’t want to talk about what she wanted or wished for, especially with Dash, her main competitor. “But what sort of life would it be if you never had any hopes or dreams?” “A dull one, perhaps.” They sat quietly, watching Scamp gulp down the last of her meal when the door banged open. A short round man in a tiny jacket and too tight chaps lingered in the doorway sweeping the interior of the Division Corral with a beady gaze. In a voice that seemed to large for his frame, he bellowed, “I’m looking for some able-bodied men to help in an investment venture. Very high returns.” The men playing poker laid down their cards and swiveled toward the newcomer. “How high?” spat one of the patrons. “A million at least.” Someone whistled appreciatively. The men began muttering among themselves. They were getting excited. A million! This would be no small time poker game. But before any of them could jump in with a ‘I’m in!’, one of the call girls wondered aloud, “What sort of investment venture is it?” “Treasure hunting,” the round man replied. “In the Dustlands.” The tavern went silent. Venturing into the Dustlands was virtual suicide. Rumors and legends had it that the Dustlands were the edge of the world. Fall off, and you would be devoured by ghosts and monsters. But rumors and legends were make-believe, weren’t they? Prudence wondered. And she was itching for a challenge, even if it appeared dangerous. Maybe because of it. “Count me in,” she said. Everyone turned to stare at her. “Me too.” She turned to look at Dash. “I’m not into sharing.” “Now be nice, Pru,” he replied. “Besides, I’m probably the only one in this town who’s been to the Dustlands.” Her mouth dropped open. “Prudence, Dash, have you both gone mad?” exclaimed Val as he stomped over to them and dumped a tray onto the counter, glasses rattling. “I was looking for a job anyway,” she said. “Don’t talk to me in that tone of voice,” her brother fumed. “As your older brother…” “You’re not my keeper, Val. You haven’t been for ages and you know it.” Val let out a deflating breath. “I’ll take care of her,” said Dash. She sniffed. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much. It’s you I’m worried about. Won’t you get sidetracked and go rescue some damsels in distress?” “I can’t in good conscience leave people in danger.” The round man approached them, rubbing his hands. Scamp growled, but the man ignored the puma. “Name’s Cassius Ficket.” He held out his hand for a shake. She reluctantly took his hand briefly and then wiped it indiscreetly on her pants. “Prudence Carrou.” Dash didn’t take the man’s hand at all. “Dash Martin.” “Excellent! Excellent!” “So exactly what will we be doing in the Dustlands?” said Dash. Ficket clasped his hands together and grinned, showing bad teeth. “My cousin, bless his soul, left me some of his possessions in his will. Among those possessions was a map showing the way to Salamander Hill.” “Salamander Hill, huh?” remarked Prudence. “Children’s stories say there’s a cave of gold there guarded by several dragons. It’s not supposed to exist.” The round man pulled out a sheet of paper from his tiny jacket and spread it out on the counter before them. The two trouvers and the bartender looked at the map. Dash frowned. “According to this, it’s on the other side of the Dustlands.” “The end of the world?” said Val. “I thought the Dustlands didn’t have a other side.” “Well, this map says that belief isn’t true,” said Ficket smugly. He tucked the map back inside his jacket. “And if you two are up to it, meet me at the edge of town at the ridge tomorrow morning.”  |