Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) (14 page)

“He is the father of his people, and he must protect them at all costs,” the mother muttered as she measured the next bit of thread.

“One day you will understand what that means, Charlotte Webb,” the maiden said, her eyes glowing in the fire. Coyote was startled to hear her birth name from the lips of a stranger.

“Who are you?” she hissed, “Why do you speak in mysteries?”

“There is a hurricane coming, Charlotte Webb,” the middle woman said.

“And you are in the center of the storm.” The eldest woman pointed her scissors at her.

“It will all start when the circus comes to town.” The youngest woman twisted her spindle in front of Coyote as if she were trying to hypnotize her. “That’s when the fun will begin.”

“Bounty Hunter . . . ” Lasho stood and looked down on her. “I think it’s best you and your companion go. We don’t want any trouble.”

Coyote scrambled to her feet, and Caesar made his way around the fire to stand next to her.

“It seems that you already found trouble, Lasho.” It was Caesar who spoke this time and everyone looked at him in surprise. “Be careful what your choices are, gypsy lord. These women . . . ” Caesar pointed at the three spinsters, “are not your allies. They are just the messengers, and they take no side. Their words are not advice, merely warnings. Pick your allies wisely. Pick them with your head and your heart; do not choose out of fear.”

Coyote stared at her partner. He looked so much taller than he usually did, and he was a beacon of strength. A warm sense of pride surged through her.

“I will choose whatever is best for my people, black man.” Lasho pointed at the huddled gypsies. “We’re not looking for allies; we’re looking to protect ourselves. The ties we had will be cut, and it’s safer that way.” There was fire in his voice, and he puffed his chest up as he spoke. “You and your kind are no longer welcome here. If there is a war to fight, we shall fight it alone, though we’d prefer to sit out the storm.”

Coyote blinked, unsure how the argument had escalated so quickly. She barely understood what they were fighting about, or what the three women’s mysterious words had meant. First Tokala and his unclear message from the past, and now these three bitches with their vague message from the future. Coyote wondered if anyone lived in the now anymore. Something occurred to her.

“You still have the weapons, don’t you?” she turned to Lasho, who froze. “This storm that’s coming, it has something to do with an Outlander?”

The ruler of the gypsies didn’t say a word, but his expression told her enough.

“Keep your people safe, Lasho,” Coyote said with a sigh. “But I wouldn’t sneer at the aid of outsiders. Some of us are just trying to help.” She placed a hand on Caesar’s shoulder and her friend looked up at her.

“We should go,” she muttered, and Caesar nodded. Coyote glanced one final time at the three women. The eldest smiled at her, revealing her missing teeth.

“We shall be seeing you again, my pup,” she crooned, and with a loud snip, she cut the end of the thread. “We’re watching your every move.”

Coyote’s skin broke out in goose bumps. Caesar’s hand folded around her wrist, pulling her away from the camp.

“Fair you well, Lasho,” Coyote called to the gypsy lord. “You and your people.”

The man didn’t say anything in return, but he stood and watched them retreat. When they reached the horses, Coyote pulled free of Caesar’s grip and punched him playfully in the arm.

“What was that all about?” she asked. “Since when are you mister heroic monologue?”

Caesar shook his head, and he smiled despite himself. “This is serious, Coyote. I am not entirely sure what the three women were talking about, but I feel that their message is not one to be ignored.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Have you had visions?”

“No, I have not. But I could sense their magic.” He looked at her, his dark eyes round. “It was very strong, Coyote, and it frightened me.”

“I believe it’s bad news, Caesar.” Coyote tightened Shenanigan’s saddle. “First the rip that keeps opening, now the gypsies being spooked . . . ” She mounted the horse. “Judging by the amount of weapons Lasho used to sell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a whole arsenal hidden in those wooden wagons somewhere.”

“I do believe they are prepared to face whatever they expect is coming,” Caesar agreed.

“I just wish I knew what was going on.”

The sun was setting, and the land was quiet except for the rush of the Patoka’s waters.

Coyote exhaled a deep breath. “There are plenty of vague prophesies, but no real answers.”

“Answers always follow prophesies, Coyote. But first you must ask the right questions.”

Coyote wrinkled her nose. “I won’t be surprised if Westwood is at the root of all this.”

“What makes you think that?” Caesar mounted his brown mare.

“Think about it,” Coyote said, spurring her horse into a trot. “This involves Outlanders, and Westwood keeps Outlanders under his wing. He’s rich and well connected, so if there is anyone who can manage to open the rips on command, it’s him. He seems to have his fair share of magic users. And he seems to cross my path more often than I’m comfortable with.”

“He crosses your path because your fates are intertwined,” Caesar said calmly. “I believe Westwood might be a piece of the puzzle, but I am not sure if this whole thing is not bigger than him.”

Coyote snorted. “We’ll see.”

“Where do we go now?”

Coyote sighed.

“To Savage Sam’s.”

ROLLING THE DICE

Go to
http://www.coyotethebooks.com
and visit the dice to unlock this safe. It’s
not
necessary to read the short stories at this point, as they’re not crucial to the plot. Please don’t read the stories
before
you’ve read up to the safes, since they may contain spoilers. The code is: 020704

The Savage Sam Saloon boasted a plethora of mechanical wonders, from a metal servant who sat behind the piano playing the latest jaunty tunes to an automated sign above the swinging doors that sported a gentleman raising his top hat. Most of the technological items were hand-me-downs from rich patrons as thank-yous for the bartender’s discretions.

Sam Savage, the owner of Savage Sam’s, wasn’t the brightest man, but he had a certain business savvy and a very low set of morals. His saloon served as a haven both to Outlanders and smugglers of Outlander artifacts. Rich patrons kept him in business, while the law only saw a reasonably respectable establishment. Still, a few hunters knew there was more to the saloon than met the eye.

Outside the bar lay an area filled with horseless carriages and steam-powered tricycles. Occasionally, one saw some horses tied down, but they were rare in this part of town. The people of Yellow Dog liked technology and were always showing off their assets. Each time Coyote and Caesar visited, the town had grown a little more. It was the only town in Indiana that Coyote could think of that competed with Angel Camp, which was even richer than Indianapolis.

“Hello, Sam.” Coyote bent over the bar and looked at the pudgy man, who was on his knees fishing for a fresh bottle of whiskey. His stooped form displayed the top of his red hair and the back of his white shirt. Coyote allowed herself a small grin as his shoulders tensed when he heard her voice. Nice to know their dislike was mutual. Slowly, the man looked up, his face clearly displaying the disgust he felt.

“Get out of my bar.” Bright red hair framed his pale, freckled face. A pair of grey eyes set a little too far apart stared at her without much kindness. The skin of his cheeks was soft and saggy. His lower jaw protruded just a bit, showing the tops of his jagged teeth, giving him an expression similar to that of a bull dog.

He hasn’t forgiven me for the last time I was here,
Coyote thought. One of her bounties had been a favored patron of Sam’s, and the bartender had tried to shoot her when she killed the Outlander. Instead, Coyote had shot the weapon from the fat man’s hand, grazing both his thumb and his ego.

“Now, now, Sam . . . that’s no way to treat an old friend.” Her eyes skimmed across the bar. It was clean, not spic and span, but cleaner than most saloons she’d been to. Sam showed his profits by donning the place in second-hand luxury gadgets, and everything from the bar tap to the metal servant playing the piano seemed to be automated. Yet there was no consistency in the bar’s look. Everything was a mishmash of things, confusing the senses. At the same time, it suited the clientele perfectly, since they were a mishmash of people too. From rich to poor, Coyote had seen all sorts of the social ladder frequent Savage Sam’s Saloon.

“You ain’t my friend, you limey harlot.” Sam got to his feet, puffed out his barrel chest, and sucked in his drooping gut. He shot Coyote a menacing glare, but she just smiled sweetly and lit a cigar. She blew the smoke in his face and chuckled as he grimaced.

“I consider you a very close, personal friend of mine, Sammy.” She looked at him from underneath her hat. Her lips wrapped around the thick cigar and puffed.

She sensed Caesar’s presence behind her without even looking at him. She appreciated his protective stance, since there was no telling how some men reacted to a female bounty hunter or her crass manners. Coyote wasn’t exactly loved by all.

“I told you to git,” Sam spat. “And take that nigger with you.”

Coyote’s mood darkened, her smile wavered, and she scowled at the flabby bartender. She tried to conceal her fury behind a forced smile, but she couldn’t fool Sam one bit. The worry was clear in his face; his cheeks turned the same color as his hair, though his eyes burned with defiance. Her poker face failed her, and Coyote silently cursed her temper.

“That’s not a very nice word, Sam.” Coyote’s voice became low and menacing, while her hand played with the butt of her gun. “You might want to apologize to my friend.”

“I, I’m sorry,” Sam stuttered, eyeing the weapon on her hip. As a reflex, he rubbed the thumb she had wounded in the past, and he looked like a man who feared that he was going home with an extra hole in his head. His puffed-up chest deflated a little, the moment of courage evaporating before her eyes. Sam was mean spirited and sharp of tongue, but he was also a coward.

Caesar nodded at the apology. The degrading words hurt her more than they hurt him. She wondered if Caesar even really heard the insults, or if he had armored himself against people like Sam. Perhaps their opinions could not get through the impenetrable fort he had built up in his mind. It was hard to read his thoughts, as his face was a blank mask in these situations, and Caesar just appeared to make himself small when he dealt with ignorance and hatred. If only she found it as easy to let go, but Coyote struggled to let anyone insult the man she held in such deep regard. She eyed the frightened barman and felt her temper cool.

“That’s better.” Coyote forced sunshine into her smile again, as if the anger she’d expressed seconds before were just an illusion.

“What do you want, Coyote?” Sam sighed deeply, and his shoulders drooped with defeat. The lines under his eyes were more defined now, and he looked weary. Silence filled the saloon. It was early afternoon, so there weren’t too many patrons around. Coyote knew that this little encounter would have been a bigger deal to Sam if the saloon had been filled with its nightly clientele. She’d timed her visit accordingly. Coyote held no love for the man, but he was a good contact to have, so she had some consideration for his business despite the fact that she felt extremely gratified when teasing him.

She gazed at the people who sat around the mismatched little tables and realized all of them were there to conduct business that could hardly stand the light of day. The presence of a bounty hunter left everyone perturbed, and Coyote could see the flighty looks on the patrons’ faces. In reality, she cared very little for their conduct. She did not hunt human criminals, and Coyote was no saint.

“I want two things,” she said, holding up two gloved fingers. She sat back on the bar stool and sucked on her cigar, still holding up the two fingers. With a satisfied puff, she exhaled a thick stream of smoke, obscuring Sam completely behind a grey cloud.

“I need information about a man called Alfonso Martine.”

Sam flinched involuntarily, a shudder that only the keenest eye could detect ran over his body, and his lip curled slightly to reveal his loathing for her.

“You know him.” Coyote shot forward and gave Sam a wry smile. As pleased as a fox in a henhouse, she blew a smoke ring into the air, which hung still for several seconds before it dissipated. “I’m so glad.”

“I don’t know anything.” Sam spat on the floor. They stared at each other for several silent seconds, and she could see his air of bravura crumble for a moment, but he regained himself quickly after shooting a nervous glance at the patrons who stared at their conversation.

He has to stand up to me; otherwise, he will lose his shifty clientele. He doesn’t want to be seen as a snitch. Sam can’t uphold with the likes of me. The law has no business in this saloon.

“That’s a real shame,” Coyote leaned forward again. “You see, friends tell each other everything, especially best friends like us.” The smile on her face froze, showing not a hint of mirth whatsoever.
Not going to play with you anymore, Sammy boy.