The Foul Mouth and the Cat Killing Coyotes (The King Henry Tapes)

by Richard Raley

  “Did you marry her because of me?”

  Vega shook his head. “I knew of your existence as two different people. As King Henry Price the lonely Artificer trying to bring down the Guild all by himself and as Josephine’s ‘lil bro’ as she would call you. A Price too I assumed but I never made the connection until she confessed it all to me just a few hours ago. I was shocked but also relieved . . . now we’re family, aren’t we? Instead of killing you, I’m allowed to forgive you.”

  Wasn’t that just swell? I let the silken threat slide like all the rest. “Why did you marry her then?”

  “She’s a special girl.”

  I snorted. “That’s it?”

  “You don’t think she’s beautiful?”

  “When she lets herself be.”

  “Ah . . . there we agree, King Henry Price, you wouldn’t imagine the number of times I’ve tried to get her to wear dresses and be a proper lady of society . . . but, even a king may not have everything he wants from his queen.”

  There was something else here. Something with the way Vega said ‘special’, but hell if I could guess it. “You keep her under thumb rather well.”

  “No.”

  “No? You didn’t turn her into a Coyote then?”

  A purse of his lips. A flick of his hand. “She has soured on the candy since it has grown older. She joined the Coyote Nation before we were even wed, before I even thought her more than a normal member in our ranks. I’ve rarely seen any one as excited leading up to the date or as stoic as she slit her coyote’s throat. My Josephine is not one to enjoy rules or chores and being forced to turn every single month . . . that is a chore.”

  “And guards?”

  “She’s the wife of King Vega, would you rather she be unguarded and left for any vampire with a grudge to harm?”

  I showed my teeth in that feral grin of mine. “Before we even get into whatever bullshit you want, you’d better bring more to the table than these excuses.”

  “My friend, now it’s you who harms me . . . she may call you any time she wishes and,” here he pulled out a card with a number written on it, “you may call her. Fair?”

  I put the card in a pocket. This was too easy . . . “Only calls?”

  “As you found out in your mistake, I do not live in this city only near this city, and as well, our little kingdom isn’t a place you would want to be seen. Questions would be asked by the obvious parties.”

  “I got no beef with the vamps.”

  Vega smiled. “I have whole cows with them, I’m afraid, and they with me. So . . . let us instead decided that your sister and my wife may visit you once a month if she wishes it and if she does not she will call and you can complain to her. Yes?”

  “Good enough for now.”

  “The Josephine Vega contention is settled then?”

  I nodded.

  Not even close, asshole.

  “Now to my bullshit, as you called it . . .”

  “The price of peace?”

  “As I said, we have peace, but why not partnership?” His hands came together to grasp and shake.

  Ceinwyn seemed less than pleased. “No.”

  “Scared I will steal him from you?”

  Ceinwyn’s answering smile cut the air between them. “Scared he’ll become blemished by your reputation.”

  “No one but those in this room need know. I’m not asking for a world-breaker, am I? Not even one of those wonderful taser rings he’s created . . . which do so fascinate me. Hector was most annoyed with what they could do to him. Non-lethal to humans as well?”

  “Non-lethal to humans and Weres, will put down a vampire temporarily too.”

  Vega’s eyes lit up. “Indeed?”

  “No,” Ceinwyn repeated.

  “No?”

  “No SDRs, anyone who saw them would know where you got them.”

  “Alas . . . no. I do not like that word.”

  “Perhaps next time,” I said.

  Vega frowned at Ceinwyn, then at me. “Floro-seeders then.”

  I quirked an eyebrow. “Heard of them, never made one. Guild makes them.”

  “The Guild will not sell to my kind.”

  “Old-fashioned and prejudiced, aren’t they?”

  “Twenty floro-seeders.”

  “Got some serious crops up in the mountains?”

  “Indeed,” Vega answered with a grin.

  Giving a shrug to Ceinwyn, I pointed out the problem, “I’m sure I could make them, the problem is that the Guild ain’t exactly handing me their designs.”

  Vega shrugged like this was no problem. “I’ll supply the design schematics. So . . . you buy the anima required, the material required; I supply the schematics . . . for twenty floro-seeders, we will say fifty-thousand per artifact delivered?”

  I did the math. I knew what floro-seeders looked like, what kind of vial input they probably needed. Big tank of an artifact. They have wheels. “That’s barely over cost.”

  “Consider it a deal for me having to buy my nephew a new—if not so extravagant—home.”

  Ceinwyn again caught my gaze. T-Bone too. Both said don’t do it. Deal with the Devil. Yeah, Vega was a devil alright. Such a nice guy. Such a nice guy so easily mentioning killing like it’s nothing at all. Lot of money. But barely over cost. And if he can get me floro-seeder design specs . . . what else can he get me?

  If I didn’t agree? I was doing business in the guy’s territory. Any gangster wants a price for that. Mine was apparently artifacts on the cheap. If I didn’t agree . . . next time the machineguns wouldn’t be aimed high and Ceinwyn would clean up my remains with a mop. There it was . . .

  Price of peace.

  Price of having calls from JoJo.

  Price of peace . . . let’s just call it true . . . let’s just call it: a string.

  String for Horatio Vega to play with.

  Peace for now . . . peace to buy time . . .

  “It’s a deal,” I said, shaking his hand.

  All around the table people started breathing again.

  “Wonderful,” Vega said, standing up with a hop. “It is nice to know my brother-in-law is such an understanding young businessman.”

  I stood as well, hands going into my coat pockets. One felt a hidden SEM-DEW. Think if it went off on top of him it would wrap Vega up in webbing? I imagined him tilting over, wrapped up and mumbling frantically. Yeah . . .

  Fuck my life with acid and FIRE.

  Vega let his hands rise up on either side, like some preacher beseeching a congregation. “And you thought I was such a bad guy.”

  “Expectations always kicking my ass,” was my way to agree.

  He gave me a fake laugh and pointed. “Call your sister; she’ll want to hear the good news. It’s rough for her with the other Coyotes, being my wife.”

  “Soon as I have a free minute,” I agreed some more.

  Agreement, agreement, where’s the fist throwing?

  Vega turned, walked away. Sharp opened the door for him, uninterested gaze on the three of us. Wonder how quick he could pull? Wonder what he’d do if I broke his gun? Wonder . . . that’s all I got with this guy. Talk with him, make a deal with him, and I still didn’t have a clue why the fucker was so universally feared.

  Vega stopped halfway down the main aisle of my store. Like he’d been hit with a stun-gun stopped. Moving. Blam. Instant stillness. His head turned to the side, to my display of glass art. A hand reached out, found a small piece of art that was still in one piece. Woman walking a dog on a leash with a glass base. Detailed so realistic you aren’t sure if anyone could blow glass so small. Can’t blow it that small . . .

  Vega flipped over the piece, checking to see if it had a ‘Made in China’ sticker. What he saw were my initials instead . . . KHP. Vega spoke over his shoulder, hiding his reaction. “Did you make this, my friend?”

  An I-don’t-give-a-fuck shrug. “What can I say? I’m a sensitive artist type down deep.”

  Vega pocketed t
he piece, brought out a stack of tight wrapped bills, and laid them on the counter with the rest of the glass. “For your sister.”

  I suddenly found I did give a fuck. Had to be a few thousand in that stack. Here was something odd, here was something strange. “Take it as a gift for her.”

  “No . . .” Vega said, already walking away. “No, I pay for such rare quality, King Henry Price. Remember that when you deliver my artifacts and we will have no problems in the future, yes?”

  Session 16

  When he finished puking into the dirt, Pocket shook his mop of perfect brown hair at me. “No wonder you knocked out Welf.”

  Morning came on fast. I could see both him and Naomi just fine now. They looked as ragged as I probably did: colors scratched, hair a mess . . . smelled a little too. Though at least I’m dry. Both of them had gotten soaked in the storm.

  I was so shocked by his sudden appearance that I helped Pocket up and gave a much gentler punch on his shoulder. Pocket returned it and we laughed it off, though his other hand never left his gut. Someday I was going to have to find another geomancer I trust to punch me with an iron fist of their own, just so I know what it feels like.

  Naomi, Miranda, and Isabel cried and hugged and got girly. Three girls that wanted nothing to do with each other before the last couple days and wanted nothing to do with each other after those days, but in the moment all of them broke down.

  Pocket and I just watched the show. “Naomi, huh? Paid back some interest for that kiss on your cheek yet?”

  Pocket blushed. Man, was he easy to embarrass when it came to girls. Even when he had himself a girlfriend he’d go crimson over the slightest comment. Still, he got me back with, “Ya know . . . quality over quantity.”

  Stories started almost immediately, the girls spilling what had happened to each other. Isabel gave a good version of the run through the woods and being saved by me but when Miranda started talking about the messages in the dirt, Naomi couldn’t believe it.

  “A fairy?” cute face or not, it said I was full of stank.

  “Corporate Anima Account, or whatever the hell they are,” I shrugged. “Just arrows in the dirt and stuff, no big deal.”

  Naomi, being a teacher’s kid, had grown up at the Asylum, she knew just as much as Miranda about the Mancy, maybe more. “You can’t believe him . . . he’s a liar.”

  A liar who just pooled anima on purpose, I thought, but didn’t say it aloud. Defiance . . . let the stuck-up snob think what she wants for once. Though it was kind of insulting. I mean . . . yeah, I’ll say some things most wouldn’t say. I’ll use those foul words just for the hell of it. But lying? Not so much . . .

  “I saw the dirt move, Naomi; it was a C.A.C. Trust me. Some kind of sprite I figure, just playing a game with us, but it did help, so . . .” It was Miranda’s turn to shrug, hand as usual pushing up her glasses. I didn’t notice before but her red hair had a soft curl to it. I guess she did something that usually straightened it. Women always got to ruin what makes them hot. Red curly hair . . . wasn’t a man on the planet that would turn it down, no matter the voice that came with it.

  Sally had bleached her hair once. Her mom freaked out, I wasn’t much of a fan of it either, and two months later it was back to her normal color. JoJo had loved hair dye too, but with her it was especially wild: pinks, blues, purples, pure punk shit that gave Dad a heart attack with every change.

  “A CAC?” I turned to Pocket. “What is it with the Asylum and dirty technical terms?”

  “I’d laugh but . . . I’d throw up again.”

  “Sorry about that . . .”

  “It’s cool. You were just protecting Miranda and Isabel.”

  I don’t blush, but I did resist the urge to punch him in the gut again.

  “How did you two escape?” Isabel asked . . . still ugly.

  Pocket answered, pointing at me with his thumb. “After this dick yelled out that ‘we‘re all going to die’, the howls started right on cue. The whole class went nuts. I was able to calm them down and told Welf and Estefan to group everyone back up for a second, only the next thing I knew this giant wolf starts running down the road towards us. Everyone freaked.”

  “I ran,” Naomi agreed, “and got lost in the woods . . . I couldn’t find any of my friends or . . . any of you at all . . . for hours. I stumbled into Pocket by accident while trying to hide from one of the wolves. When it ran off we headed south together.” Flicking at her hair, a disgusted expression came over her face. “Then it rained, then we saw the cave . . . end of story.”

  None of us said anything for a bit, watching the day get brighter.

  Trackers, I thought, some type of tracker. Not technology but made with the Mancy since Meteyos was able to screw it up. Looking over Naomi and Pocket, I decided it had to be on our clothes, maybe in a hem line or the inside of a pocket. Not our coats probably, in case they would get lost. Pants and shirt . . . even underwear.

  “What do we do now?” Miranda finally asked.

  “Keep running,” Naomi whispered.

  “Wolves,” Isabel said, “It’s not the teachers? It really is wolves?”

  Pocket nodded. “Wolves, I’ve seen two different ones.”

  “It’s the teachers,” I corrected. Naomi glared at me, Miranda hardly looked much better. Guess Meteyos was right about wind. This wind at least . . . not Ceinwyn though, she wouldn’t turn on me.

  “Not this crap again!” Naomi exploded. “You ran first thing! You didn’t see one of the wolves jump on Jason and knock him down! You didn’t hear the screams and the howls, this isn’t some fake test! My father would have told me!”

  I ignored her. “Anyone have something sharp?” Pocket had an eating knife. I took it from him. “Anyone have something to eat?” I added hopefully.

  Pocket shook his head. “Forgot my pack . . . dumb I know.”

  “You’re in good company,” I muttered while I took off my coat. I was thorough. I checked the pockets inside-out. I checked the seams. I checked the collar. I even cut through the threads and opened up the trim to make sure nothing was hidden.

  “What’s he doing?” Naomi asked.

  “With him? It will be completely stupid or so brilliant we wonder why most of the time he is so completely stupid,” Miranda answered.

  It made me grin her way. “That’s the worst compliment anyone’s ever given me.”

  Miranda and Isabel both laughed while our new additions frowned over the in-joke.

  I took off my undershirt. Not sexy . . . at all. Trust me ladies. Now? That would be a show of some muscle and some bulk. Back then? The scrawniest little thing you ever seen. Nothing exciting about it. If anything Naomi and Miranda were repulsed. Isabel giving a whistle repulsed me as well. Lots of repulsion going on.

  I did the same with the shirt . . . nothing.

  Shoes.

  No . . . nothing.

  “Might want to turn around,” I warned before I unbuckled my pants and took them off.

  “Umm . . . dude?” Pocket asked. “We don’t have time for this. Trust me . . . it’s wolves.”

  “Faunamancers.”

  “Huh?”

  “Faunamancers. They keep weird pets, right? Miranda?”

  All three of the girls faced the cave wall. Miranda’s grip was the only thing keeping Isabel from sneaking peeks. “Not necessarily weird. I had an uncle by marriage who kept cats . . . we weren’t allowed alone with him as children . . .”

  “So what?” Naomi scoffed to the wall.

  “So the teachers probably get one of the Asylum’s faunamancers to help out with the test. That disproves your wolves as werewolves unless you saw them change shape.”

  “He’s crazy . . . I’ve lived here my whole live. There’s the Winter War celebration but nothing like this . . .” Naomi whined, going back to: “My father wouldn’t do this to me!”

  “Fucking bingo was his name-o!” I yelled, ripping open a seam on my pant leg and pulling out a circle-like piece of
metal.

  “What is that?” Pocket asked, squinting.

  I handed it to him before I went about putting my clothes back on. “They’re tracking us with them. Everyone give me their pants.”

  Five trackers in my palm and everyone panted up again, we huddled in the cave.

  “Those assholes,” Miranda whispered. Coming from the mouth of Goody Two-shoes!

  Neither she nor Naomi had stripped for me, proof of tracker or not. Alas. We made do with them sitting on the ground and raising their legs so I could cut at their pants where the trackers were embedded.

  Sidebar: Miranda has the whitest legs you’ve ever seen, good thing she keeps them hidden.

  Naomi . . . ehem.

  Isabel . . . was more than happy to give me her pants and stand around like it was no big deal. Surprise: sharp knees.

  “My father wouldn’t do this to me!” Naomi repeated for the thirteenth-million time.

  “He would if he wants to keep his job,” Miranda pointed out, totally on my side now. “The Learning Council makes the teachers sign confidentiality agreements.”

  “He wouldn’t!”

  “Oh, come the fuck on,” I said, “parents lie all the damned time.”

  Naomi glared. “Mine don’t.” I think she was a little annoyed about how long it took me to get the tracker out, especially with my hand on her calf for support . . . but I needed to be sure . . . ‘Measure girl’s leg twice, cut once’ as the saying goes.

  Pocket played the hero, “Naomi, of course Mr. Gullick would lie to keep you safe. We’ve all seen how much he cares about you. If the only way to keep his job was to give you white lies about this camping trip over the years . . . I’m sure he’d want you clothed and fed and taught in the Mancy more than he’d want you to know about some secret test.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Isabel added her opinion, nodding along.

  We stared at the five trackers.

  “So . . .” I finally said. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

  “What’s that mean?” Naomi complained about something she wasn’t even sure she should complain about.

  I was wishing for the hours when I’d only had to put up with Miranda’s know-it-all-ness. “We need to keep running.”