Black and white fashion. The masked governor. The rudeness of squatting. Tony Belly. The deal. An unnamed Favor. The frightened ghost.

That fateful day, Betty left him, like she normally did, going off to retrieve her breakfast of crumbs. However, she didn’t return, which made Sal worried.

Late afternoon, while the former Dark Lord was getting ready to leave for the Mind & Body Tables, he heard the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones, coming up from the southeast, which made sense since that was the widest avenue connecting the harbor to Champion Plaza. The gleaming white carriage wouldn’t have fit on Champion Road, which connect the plaza to Tower Road. Most of the carriage was white. The wheels were black.

There were six horses, all a remarkable black and white color, with their manes combed and clean. They had equally coiffed hair around their forelocks, giving them a jaunty appearance. They were very happy horses, but then, they also had blinders on, and Sal thought maybe that was the crux of their happiness. If he’d been given a steady diet of hay, a comfortable place to sleep, and if he’d had his eyes covered, maybe he’d be equally happy.

Come to think of it, he had peaches, lentils, and a place to stay, now safe given that Shivaun wasn’t trying to kill him at every turn. Maybe his sight was the source of his sorrow. Ignorance had a bliss all its own.

Not that Sal wasn’t happy. He was restless, though, and he had definite questions about his future that remained unanswered.

There were four footmen, two driving, and two hanging off the back of the carriage. All wore black and white checkered pantaloons that swelled their legs, while their vests were very tight and constricting. Two of the footmen wore black cloth masks and two had faces covered with white lace.

The horses might be happy, but the soldiers next to them weren’t. They were scowling men, the bottom part of their faces visible underneath the visors of their white lacquer helmets. They too wore a mixture of whites and blacks to match the horses. They had big black polearms with white ribbons hanging down.

The soldiers rode up on mounts not connected to the carriage. They dismounted and formed a line, six men each, creating a path from a very surprised Sal up to the carriage.

A voice called out. “Colonel Jim, are you ready?”

One of the soldiers, a huge man with burn scars on his stubbled chin, pounded his polearm onto the stones. “Governor, sir, yes, sir!”

The carriage door was flung open, and outstepped someone who could only be Governor Craig Clifton Zigglesworth, otherwise known as Ziggy. He swung out dramatically, dressed in a black lacy topcoat, blinding white pants, and with two boots, one black and one white.

The Governor had a wide brimmed hat, black, and a white porcelain mask, marred by a black tear, held up with a stick. He held the mask in place while gripping the handle of the carriage. “So it’s true! I thought it was just talk, but it’s true! Someone has moved into Tony Belly’s place, but it’s so cursed!”

Colonel Jim pounded his polearm. “Presenting, the most esteemed Governor of Torment Island, mayor of Tower City, child of the Yanir Republic, thirty-second in line for the emperorship of the Yanir Republics, lesser duke of Malenka, his royalty and guiding hand, Governor Craig Clifton—”

The Governor cut his off the colonel. “Yes, yes, yes, I think he knows who I am. How could he not? Except, maybe, the mask confuses him.”

The Governor stepped down and walked down the aisle of armed men, who were not in the traditional purple and gold of the Yanir, but all very monochromatic.

Sal was so thoroughly confused. Those men had miliary training, and only an idiot would go at them because those polearms weren’t just steel and wood, there was a magical gleam to them, a white light, which was fortunate because any other color of light would interfere with the theme.

The Governor was smiling. “Does the mask confuse you?” He didn’t lower it but sighed. “I’m Governor Zigglesworth, but you can call me Ziggy, because everyone does. Sorry it’s taken so long for me to investigate you squatting, but I had to decide on just the right look. I went with the masked midnight white collection, and I know, it’s a little much during the day, and without a proper masquerade, but why have clothes and livery that you don’t use? Makes no sense! Not a lick of sense. What of the curse, man? The curse?”

Sal went to answer.

Ziggy dropped the mask. He was a thin man, who didn’t seem to have any hair, except for his eyebrows, which were remarkably dark and bushy, above his bright, inquisitive hazel eyes. He was pale where he wasn’t flushed. His nose had a nice shape to it. He had full lips, which he probably took pride in, since he was man who clearly liked to smile. He seemed as happy as the horses. “There, this is me, Ziggy, Governor Ziggy, and you are? Let’s have your name, sir, so we might talk man to man about the curse. Oh are you a ghost? Please, tell me now! You’re so young!”

Sal debated on either folding his arms across his chest, and taking a more aggressive stance, or bowing, because the Governor seemed like a man who would enjoy a good bow. However, it would be so humiliating to bow.

A handshake. Sal figured since he’d shaken hands with a ghost, he could do the same with the governor. It would be a friendly gesture.

Sal reached out, and immediately found himself shaking hands with a halberd.

Ziggy knocked the weapon away. “Ease up, Bob. It’s fine. He was about to tell me his name and tell me why he’s breaking all sorts of laws. Well, not laws, maybe, in this case. More like social conventions. It’s so rude to squat! Did I just say that out loud? Why, yes, yes, I did. Give me the glad hand, my good man.”

The former Dark Lord clasped the governor’s hand. “I am called Sal Fang, and it pleases my soul to enjoy the condescensions of the great Governor of Torment Island. I will regale you with tales of the fraught encounters I have experienced with any number of ghouls in this humble diner.”

Ziggy put his hand, the one not holding his mask stick to his mouth. “Ghouls? Are they the source of the curse? I bet they are. They have to be. Was it scary? Were you scared?”

The Governor reached out and grabbed Sal’s arm. Ziggy gave it a squeeze, then cleared his throat, and then placed the mask against his face. It was clear he was waiting for Sal to say something.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“I will not lie to you, Governor.” Sal laughed inwardly. He couldn’t lie, not if he wanted to keep his yellow status. “I cannot, in fact, lie at all. That is a long story. Suffice to say, I made a deal with the banshee living in this dark diner. She will not kill all who enter, as long as I start a thriving business, providing food for the hungry Tower Climbers, seeking their fortune.”

The Governor listened, clearly spellbound. Then he frowned. “Was it Tony Belly’s ghost? No, it couldn’t be, because you said banshee, and I think banshees are girls. But maybe not because we’re dealing with the spectral realm. What does gender really mean if you’re dead? All that aside, have you seen Tony Belly?”

Sal had no idea who that was. He did recall that the sorceress, Kaixo Allakarra had said something about the gangs having a connection with Champion Plaza. Perhaps this Tony Belly was a gangster lord. Or had been.

The governor was waiting on him.

Sal found words. “Someone, or some mysterious force, has been giving me peaches. I do not know where from whence they come.”

The Governor dropped the mask and looked at him, skeptical for the first time. “You talk like a ghost. Oh, this is one of those stories, where the passerby meets a nice man, but come to find out, the nice man was a ghost all the while! This is very exciting.”

“I am not a ghost.” Sal had to laugh at that. He had come back from the dead and yet, he was now fully reanimated. Not a ghost. “I will try to adjust my speech. I come from far away, another island, lost to time. Might I ask who this Tony Belly is?”

“Wait, wait, wait. Sal, my friend, you show up, walk into the most haunted part of the city, and then what? Make a deal with a ghost that literally murders anyone who goes into the café? Really? I am not one to be suspicious, but by the Sacred Family’s Purchase Festival’s presents, this makes me suspicious.”

“It was fate,” Sal said, and again, he didn’t have to lie. “I came to this island, dead in all ways that counted, and I found myself, quite by accident here. It was deserted, and I thought I could pass the night in peace. As you said, I was nearly slain a dozen times. It was only until, I somehow managed to talk with the ghost, that I was able to make the deal.” He thought it was prudent not to include his friend the Ponti in this business. He had no idea, not really, all the parties involved. He knew there was some political hijinks afoot, that much was for certain. Why else hadn’t the Pontrafax Genetrix cleared out the ghosts?

Sal needed more information. “Who is Tony Belly?”

“Was, not is, as far as I know!” The Governor laughed. “You don’t know who Tony Belly is, uh, was?” He turned, addressed his guards, “This guy doesn’t know about Tony Belly. Okay, fine, fine, fine. To catch you up, Tony Belly was the original Braggadorio, the first mafia boss, and this was a long time ago, like maybe a hundred or even two hundred years or something. I like fashion, not history, though, hmm, I do like the history of fashion. But I don’t know anything about Tony Belly’s actual clothes. Tony Belly kept the city together through some rough times. They didn’t have my amazing leadership back then, right? I’ll answer that for you, Mr. Sal Fang. I will answer in the affirmative. Tony Belly retired to this café, when his sons took over. Only, you know how it is, brothers can never get along, this one gets a resentment, that one starts singing to their cows, and a hundred years later, you have these crime lords, which I would take care of, I would, but how? I only have enough resources to keep things from falling completely apart. And for the most part, they’re fine. I’m not sure how fine they’ll be once they learn that you’re in Tony Belly’s place, but maybe you and I can come to an arrangement.”

Sal had a thought. Could it be that the entire plaza was kept empty out of respect for the long-dead gangster? He wasn’t sure, though by the glint in the governor’s eye, Sal assumed this was where Ziggy would ask for money, a lot of money, to let him stay. Why wouldn’t the governor fleece him for everything he was worth? Sal had no legal standing. However rude the word, he was squatting.

“I am listening very carefully, Ziggy,” Sal said finally. “I am open to arrangements.” This was a half-truth, at best. He wasn’t penalized, though, so maybe his Mysterious Benefactor was showing him some mercy.

Ziggy had his mask back in place. “I’ll give you a deed, make it legal, and that might be okay with the Braggadorio families. Maybe. I still don’t think they’ll like it. There’s a reason this whole square has been deserted, and I think, before you can say vendetta, you might find your place firebombed. Because, you know, Braggadorios. I’m just glad they don’t mess with the Tower Climbers and that whole thing. That brings in the taxes, and the revenue, business for everyone, and that’s probably why they just fight among themselves. This place gets too dangerous for the climbers and what-not, we’d be sunk., All of us. So they know that.”

Sal thought of the dry faucet. “If you give me a deed to the diner, would you also be able to help me get the water working? I have been getting water from the church well. Such a journey during a busy breakfast rush might be my undoing.”

“Oh, the poetry of your ghost talk! Sal! Fal Fang! Sally, my friend, I am your biggest supporter in this endeavor. Yes, yes to your faucet, no, no to the fountain. The fountain kinda belongs to the church. Long story short, I don’t mess with the church.” He glanced around and then whispered, “We have an understanding.”

He said no more.

Sal had no idea what that meant. It didn’t seem prudent to ask more. Finally, Sal said, “Thank you. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I am rather late for a dinner engagement.”

The Governor took his mask and thrust it into Sal’s chest. “Wait one second, mister. I’ll do the paperwork for your little diner…well, not me, I have people, a scribe, maybe you know Gail Questor? Doesn’t matter. She’s one of those sorceress types, you know, the ones who helped win the wars all that, and she handles most of the tower stuff, but her staff is excellent at paperwork. Kinda have to be, really. So yes, paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.”

With each word, he tapped Sal’s chest lightly with his mask.

In another life, Sal would’ve cast untold spells on the strange little man. Burned him alive in fire. Or frozen him solid and ice and then shattered the ice. As it was, he simply had to let the man tap his mask on his chest.

“Where was I?” The Governor nodded. “Yes, I do this for you. And someday, I might need you to do me a little favor. This is definitely a this-for-that type of situation. No money. Just a favor. This town runs on favors, thanks to the Braggadorios. But when in Capram, do as the Scallia Caprans do! And in this case, exchange favors, and be friendly. I can’t wait to eat here. This is the part where we shake hands, again, to seal the deal. Do we have deal, Sal Fang?”

Sal had no idea what he was getting himself into by making a deal, but at the same time, if he didn’t legally own the diner, it would be taken away from him, and he didn’t want that. It was a place to stay, and if he played his cards right, it would provide him with an income.

Besides, he had some definite ideas on how to run the place without it driving him crazy.

“We have a deal, Governor,” Sal said.

They shook hands again.

Ziggy replaced the mask. “Yes, a deal, Ziggy provides you a deed, fixes your faucet, and you give good ol’ Ziggy a favor. Send word to me, when you’re open for business. That’s going to be tricky, since the Braggadorio families control all the food, but you seem like a guy with pluck.”

Sal raised a finger. “One question, Governor.”

“Ziggy! Call me Ziggy! Everyone does. What is your question, Sal Fang?” The governor was yelling, but there wasn’t any malice in the shout.

“Ziggy, is part of the deal dressing in black and white and finding a mask to wear?”

The Governor leaned in close, a little too close, dropped the mask, and his twinkling hazel eyes turned deadly serious. “It might be, Sal Fang. It might very well be.”

Then Ziggy was laughing, dancing back through his men and climbing onto the step. From the carriage he turned and called out, “Only kidding. Somewhat. A little. Less than you think. Probably just wishful thinking on my part. But I’m out of here. Colonel Jim, escort please!”

Colonel Jim didn’t show a lick of annoyance or frustration, didn’t show any emotion at all, except for military discipline, as he and his men mounted up, and soon the retinue was clattering up back down Fishstink Street, the unfortunately named southeast road out of Champion Plaza. The southwest avenue had a better, Holyboat Road, which connected to Wellwater Lane. Sal knew the way well because that was the way he took to get water.

He heard the governor laughing, even from inside his carriage.

Sal had the idea it was all fun and games and laughter, until it wasn’t.

A blast of cold hair blew out of the café, and Sal saw Shivaun was waving him in. On her pale face was a look of expectation, surprise, maybe a little fear.

Why would the banshee be afraid?