Chapter Text
To get to the room you had to go past the poker tables, the bar, and the piano player. There was a staircase just to his left that still sent up tiny puffs of sawdust when you stepped on it. It led up to the balcony that ran the length of the back wall. About halfway down that balcony was the door.
The room, unlike the rest of the building, did not smell like new wood. It smelt like burning tobacco and spilled liquor and (very faintly) of new fabric. Its main feature was a gleaming, round, green-felted table which, together with its chairs, took up most of the free space. There were no windows, just four gas lamps that hung on the walls. Tonight their flames were small, and their light caught in the thick smoke that made up most of the air. It filled the room like a bright fog, only dimly illuminating the table and leaving the figures around it mostly concealed.
One of them, distinguishable only as light grey suit and a wolfs-head cane, spoke. “It’s a dark business. Even for us.”
“These are dark days. Ever since the damn- No offence, Lucas.” This last with the nod of a bowlered head.
A man in a chambray shirt chuckled. “None taken, I assure you.”
“Thanks. Ever since the damn English came, we’ve been losing power here. That’s two-hundred some years of waiting patiently for a change in the wind that hasn‘t come. I’m ready to start looking for an alternative.”
The fourth wore buckskins, dirty from the trail. Even in the half-light, his eyes gleamed gold. “We know what’s to gain, and we know what’s to lose if we’re caught. Why’re we here now? It won‘t pay off for--”
“Ages. Good question, My. First off, we need the power. If it’s to get as big as we want it to be, the roots have to be there. These roots. Second, I’ve been planning this for a while. Figuring how to do it. Simple enough really, ‘cept the game I want to start it with takes a crowd. More than me. I invited you all because it seemed the kind of thing to be in your territory. Plus you were already in the area.”
“Well, I’m sure we appreciate the thought,” said the man in flannel with a thick Appalachian accent.
“Not at all, Jack. Not at all. Think nothing of it.” The bowler was tipped slightly in the appropriate direction.
“Uh huh.” The accented voice did not sound impressed. “Still, I got to wonder. Can you even do this type of thing? Does it work?”
“Well, that’s Lucas’s specialty.”
The man in chambray, Lucas, cleared his throat. “It is in the details. If you’ll pardon the pun. Theoretically, if the original stakes are high enough then… yes. It is possible. There will have to be a considerable amount of supervision, of that much I’m sure. Someone will have to guide the process, bring it to the attention of the correct people, manage the land, etcetera. It will take a great deal of investment. However, if it pays off… It could well be the most lucrative endeavor any of us has ever seen. Including me.”
There was a low whistle from the owner of the wolf cane. “That’s quite a sum and no mistake.”
The bowler nodded. “More than enough to make everyone here if not quite as powerful as in our wildest dreams then pretty da- darn close.”
“Indeed.” The white suit leaned back in his chair. “Still. If you don’t mind me asking. Lucas.” The name was enunciated carefully, almost doubtfully. “What’s in it for you? You’re not having quite the same, shall we say difficulties, as the rest of us.”
“There is the challenge,” said Lucas. “It is hard for me to find a real challenge these days. Also, I would like to do something to fight the effects of the railroads.”
There was a mutter of agreement at that. My, in his leathers, pounded a fist on the table. “Hear that!”
“It’s not on the railroad, though,” said Jack, his thick accent flattening it to ‘thoh.' "Ain't much in the way of railroads out in these parts. Shoot, it ain't even on a decent trail.
Lucas laughed. “Give me twenty years and it will be. By 1900, I will make it the biggest stop on this side of Salt Lake.”
“That little Mormon town?”
“It won’t always be little. Trust me.” This comment brought a laugh from all assembled.
“The cost?” The question came from the grey suit.
“Not much. For us,” said the bowler hat.
“It is minimal for them as well,” Lucas added. “Most will probably thank us.”
“That’s how all the best games end,” said Jack. He leaned in to the table and put a tooth on a leather thong right in the middle. “I’m in.”
One by one, their markers followed. A cats-eye marble. A plait of gold (either metal or hair, but it was hard to say which). A small leather wallet. A white feather.
“All right. Who wants to deal first?”