“What about the corpses?” Coyote pointed at the mass of bleeding black bodies on the ground.
“Philip and I can deal with those too. Though I may have to pay off Hank. Looks like we’ll be burning down a good bit of his cornfield for that one.”
“You can get the Pinkertons to help reimburse your costs,” Coyote said weakly.
“Might just do that,” Sunshine agreed. “This is not your responsibility, girl. Don’t you worry about it.”
Coyote nodded gratefully. She got to her feet, though all her muscles protested.
“I’m definitely going to have to get the Pinkertons in on this,” she said. “That rip is far too dangerous.”
Sunshine Mary nodded, her face looking even more disgruntled than usual. “I reckon you might be right.”
THE ROMANI
They freshened up at Sunshine Mary’s house. Coyote washed with cold water from a porcelain bowl. The older woman offered them a place to sleep in the barn, and they had gladly accepted her offer. In the morning, Sunshine had provided her with a piece of paper, a pen, and ink, allowing Coyote to write a short but urgent letter to the Pinkertons.
“It’s out of my hands from here, Sunshine.” Coyote handed the older woman the envelope. “But I’m sure the Pinkertons will send someone to take care of this. Or at least to guard the rip.”
“I’ll go into town in a bit and send it off.” Sunshine shrugged. “Can’t say I’m not relieved. I have better things to do than be the guardian of a rip.”
“I could send it for you. We’ll pass a few towns on the way.”
“No bother, I have some other stuff I need to do too.” Sunshine winked at her. She handed Caesar and Coyote a parcel with freshly baked bread and cold cuts. “Where will you go now?”
“Going to the Romani camp in the morning,” Coyote replied. “I need to find this weapon as soon as possible.”
“If not them, there’s always Savage Sam’s.”
“I know, but if I can avoid that man, I will.” She scratched her brow and pulled her derby forward. “He’s not good people.”
“I doubt the Romani are good people.” Sunshine wrinkled her nose and huffed.
“They’re better people than Sam,” Coyote answered darkly.
Minutes later, she and Caesar steered their horses onto their path. The sun had barely come up when they waved goodbye to Sunshine Mary and her sleepy husband. By the time they saw the banks of the Patoka River, the sun was setting behind the trees, casting the world into a gloomy dusk. Caesar had led them flawlessly toward the Romani camp, holding nothing but a clay statue in his hand. His strange, subtle magic had always impressed her.
“We need to be careful with the Romani, Coyote,” he warned her as they neared the camp. “We are not their people, and no matter how kind they are to us, we never will be.”
“Don’t worry.” Coyote fished a cigar from her pocket and lit it.
“Coyote, these people are not like the Wea. They are far less hospitable, and far more suspicious.” Caesar narrowed his eyes.
“What’s wrong with you? We’ve dealt with the Romani at least half a dozen times. Why the sudden worry?” She frowned at him, but he didn’t respond. His eyes were just focused on the camp. A cold chill ran down her spine.
“Caesar, do you see something? Are you having one of your visions?”
“I only have visions in dreams, Coyote. I am not like Tokala.” His eyes never met hers, and he seemed hypnotized by the sight of the camp.
“But you sense something.”
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
The camp had grown since their last visit. Coyote counted six wooden wagons, and there were at least eight little tents scattered around the area. The Romani would stay in this place for a few weeks, or months, until the wanderlust forced them deeper into the country. The fires were lit, creating a warm light in the dusk. Huddled figures sat on the ground around them, talking in a language Coyote couldn’t understand.
“Why are you here?” a brusque voice asked them, and Coyote turned to look into the angry face of a short man. He was thin and gaunt, probably in his late forties, and he had a large, drooping moustache. His hair was cut short in an unruly manner, some parts were longer than others. The black coat that hung around his shoulders was too big for him, and the sleeves obscured most of his hands.
“We’ve come to deal with Lasho.” She took a puff from her cigar and blew out the smoke in circles. “We’re looking for a special weapon.”
The man stared at her a little too long for comfort, but then he nodded and turned around.
“Follow me.”
He led them through the camp. Caesar stayed close to Coyote, and to her surprise, he took her hand. She shot him a quizzical look, but he never made eye contact. Coyote noticed that the Romani appeared to be thinner than when she had last seen them; their children looked positively malnourished.
“What happened here?” Coyote whispered. She had remembered the Romani to be a boisterous people, and now they looked miserable.
She spotted Lasho on a wooden stool by the fire, dressed in several layers of faded clothing. He looked ten years older than he had the year before, though even now he was a handsome man. Coyote and Caesar sat down on the ground near the Romani leader.
“Lasho, we’ve come to trade,” Coyote said.
Lasho looked down at her, his dark eyes glinting in the light of the fire. “You’re too late, bounty hunter. There are no trades to be made.” He threw a log on the fire, pushing it in place with a long stick. The flames licked hungrily at the new log, spitting bright orange ashes into the air.
“I don’t understand.” Coyote leaned closer toward the gypsy.
“What is there to understand? I don’t trade the weapons that you seek anymore.” Lasho’s eyes shot toward three figures on the other side of the campfire, his face unsure as if he were seeking their approval. Coyote glared at them through the smoke.
Three women sat across from them on a large log. The first was a beautiful young woman with skin the color of walnuts, and her long, black hair lay over her shoulder, decorated with tiny golden coins. In her long, delicate fingers, she held a hand spindle covered in a multi-colored thread. She worked the thread and handed it to the woman next to her, who looked like she could be her mother. This woman was older, the same walnut-colored skin showing signs of age, and her body had lost its slender grace. The long, black locks showed a peppering of grey, and she didn’t wear any fineries in her hair. The face was still attractive, though it had lost its youthfulness and the eyes were weary. The second woman was measuring the spun thread, and she in turn handed it to a third. The final person was most likely the grandmother of the first, Coyote decided. The resemblance between the women was striking, as if she were looking at the same person at different stages of her life. The third was a handsome old woman with silver locks that were as long as those of the first two. Where the second woman was a little plump, the third was bone thin. In her crooked hands, she held a large pair of scissors, and she examined the thread, looking for a place to cut.
Coyote turned back to the leader of the gypsies, unsure what his glance at the three women had meant. She’d never seen them before in her previous visits, and wondered if they were new to the camp.
“The trading business has always been lucrative to you, Lasho.” Coyote shrugged. “Why stop?”
Lasho’s eyes shot toward the women again, and this time the fear in them was very clear. For a moment, the man was silent.
“We are a hunted people, Coyote,” he said finally. “Selling Outlander weapons attracted the wrong attention.” He sighed and poked his stick into the fire.
“Has someone threatened you?” Coyote’s temper rose. Lasho glanced at the three women again.
“Not yet,” he muttered, rubbing his nose. He sucked in his lips and stared back into the fire. A gust of wind blew the smoke in their direction, pushing it into their eyes and lungs. Coyote and Caesar coug
hed, but Lasho only closed his eyes. She waved her arms around, as if she could somehow disperse the smoke, and got to her feet. With a few strides, she made her way to the other side, where the three women were spinning their thread, and she sat down next to them.
“I hope you don’t mind the company, ladies?” Coyote asked in loud innocence. “The wind was blowing the smoke in my face.”
All three looked at her, and in the fading light, she could see they had the same bright green eyes. There was something about them that made her skin crawl.
“The young pup complains about the wind being in the wrong direction,” the old woman said with a cracking voice. Her smile revealed that she was missing a few teeth, which made her face less handsome.
“Does she indeed?” the middle woman, whom Coyote thought off as the mother, asked. “I don’t think she realizes what a storm is brewing.” The woman looked at the thread in her hands, holding it up against a colorful wooden stick.
“The winds have always blown your way, bounty hunter,” the young woman spoke. “Though sometimes they’ve brought you rain.” All three women chuckled.
“I’ve had my fair share of bad weather,” Coyote said, pushing the derby further up her head.
“Even the rains have been in your favor, pup,” the old crone sneered. “You just can’t see it because you don’t want to see it.”
Can you see it? The words from her vision echoed through her mind, and Coyote wrapped her arms around her as the wind suddenly blew colder.
“She will learn soon enough,” the mother said. “The winds are changing, and the truth will soon be revealed.”
“Is that what you told Lasho?” Coyote rubbed her arms, and despite her discomfort, she felt defiant.
“Lasho’s winds have never been kind to him. The gypsies need to be strong to be who they are. His prophesy is different to yours, little pup.” The crone leaned forward and snipped her scissors at Coyote.
“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.
Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) Page 10