Sam moved slowly back to the bar, the gun still aimed at his head. Coyote placed her free hand on his arm and tapped him lightly on the temple with the barrel to urge him to move faster. Sam’s skin was slick with sweat, and her gun slid down to the top of his cheeks. Guilt filling her mind, she moved the barrel back a few inches. She thought of her father. You would be so proud, daddy. I’m showing no mercy, just the way you taught me. She loathed herself.
“Go on, George,” Coyote snapped. “Run along and get those dice.”
George broke out of his trance and ran up, his heels skidding on the wooden floor. He disappeared into the back room, and seconds later, he came running out, out of breath. In his hand dangled a little leather pouch, which he held up triumphantly before handing it to Sam. He cast a nervous glance at Coyote and then quickly made his retreat, his arms covering his large ears as if afraid to get shot.
Sam eyed the leather pouch then slowly pulled the string to open it. His hands trembled as he shook the two roughly polished bone dice from their casing. He burped softly, and the scent of acid escaped his lips. For a moment, Coyote thought he would throw up, but then the man swallowed hard, his face twisted with frustration, and whatever was ailing him seemed to settle down.
“This could kill me, you know? This is no joke; these dice are as dangerous at that peashooter of yours is.” He glared at her, accusing. “Friend.” He added the last word with such bitterness and venom that Coyote lowered her eyes.
“I’m just doing what I have to do, Sam. This is not personal.”
Sam’s hand drooped a little as if the dice, staring up at him like little skulls from his palm, weighed more than he could carry. He hesitated, licking his lips and staring at the two white cubes. The click of the gun being cocked snapped him from his reverie, and Sam jerked his hand as if something had bitten him. The dice rolled across the bar for what seemed like an eternity, slowing down before they finally stopped, too far away for either Sam or Coyote to see. Caesar walked to the other side of the bar and glanced at the dice.
“Snake eyes,” he whispered.
Coyote lowered the gun away from Sam’s head and the barman slumped, leaning against the bar. He exhaled with relief, but there was a green tinge in his face.
“Sorry, buddy,” she said softly, and she patted him on the back, realizing this was the most condescending thing she could possibly do.
“I hate you.” His voice was hoarse, and his face was screwed up with raw emotion. Tears streamed down his cheeks in twin waterfalls, and he sobbed openly.
Coyote nodded, her long braids dangling with the movement. “I know.”
Sam struggled to stand up straight again, and he pushed himself upright in a clumsy manner. He bent over the bar and grabbed a large brass ring with one single rusty key on the end. The world appeared to weigh on his shoulders as he put the key in the lock.
“I hope that gun is the death of you,” he said, his voice filled with venom, as he opened the door.
“You may get your wish, Sammy darling,” Coyote said gravely. She jerked her head, telling Caesar to follow her.
The curious duo disappeared through the door, leaving Sam behind in his bar. Sam glared at them until the door closed behind Coyote. His heart was still pounding, and he could taste the sweat on his top lip. He had watched several men enter that door. Some of them would come back, and some of them wouldn’t. Those who didn’t roll snake eyes were doomed from the start; Sam had heard their death screams. Once or twice, blood had oozed through the gap underneath the door. He had cleaned it fastidiously, and was always grateful if this happened after hours, so it wouldn’t disturb his customers. At the same time, the mysterious door held a pull for many of the patrons, and watching people go through was an exciting ordeal.
At first, Sam had tried to find out what was behind the rip, but no one had ever given him a clear answer. All he knew was that there were weapons on the other side, weapons he would like to own . . . but he didn’t care enough to go through the rip himself. His greed didn’t run deep enough for him to risk his life. He was fine where he was for now; the saloon was good business, and he sold a few things on the side. Plus, people paid him good money to go through the rip. Nothing in this life was free. Not even gambling for your own death. And if people wanted to go through the world beyond the rip so badly, there was nothing wrong with him making a few bucks.
No, Sam had no idea what was on the other side, but he was happy that he was in control of this side of the rip. He hated that the bitch had gotten the better of him. Wherever she went, he hoped she was having a miserable time. There was no telling what was behind that door in that rip, but he wished it was something terrible.
A TRADE IS MADE
Coyote and Caesar crept through a dark hallway in a hint of blue and purple light that seemed to come out of nowhere. It felt too cool for the Indiana heat, and there was no odor in the air. Coyote couldn’t even smell the familiar scent of her companion. It made her feel uncomfortable, like she’d stepped into a dream.
Neither spoke as Coyote led the way, gun drawn. At the end of the hall was a door, which she beckoned Caesar to open. He complied with slow and deliberate motions while Coyote provided him with cover. Their movements were smooth; they knew how to sense each other’s whereabouts flawlessly. The door opened slowly, a little bell above it announcing their arrival. Coyote peered around the doorframe, alert for any danger.
And found herself staring into the strangest place she’d ever set eyes on.
The shop was like no place on Earth, a room filled with wonders. Everything they saw was out of the ordinary. It was a tight and cramped space filled with clutter, most looking alien, even to two seasoned Outlander hunters.
There was a lot of metal in this shop, something that Coyote found disconcerting and unnatural. This was the first time she had crossed through a rip, and she wondered if the barman had been more cunning than she’d given him credit for.
Perhaps he had lured them into a trap? His fear seemed genuine, so she doubted it. Coyote knew nothing if she did not know how to read a weaselly barman.
The air developed a pungent smell, a strong combination of leather, metal, and tea. It reminded her of a hardware store combined with a teahouse, a mixture that did not sit well in the nostrils.
The shop was shadowy, partly illuminated with that mysterious bluish-purple light. There were no gas lamps or candles, only elongated tubes lined across the ceiling that hummed as they shone. Their luminescence muted the natural colors of the objects, casting everything in a phantom glow.
Coyote and Caesar stood not on wood or dirt, but on metal, which made the whole place feel more like a cage than anything else. Hollow, ominous tones sounded under their heels, as if the floor itself were trying to warn them about this place.
The whole store seemed to be a labyrinth of metal aisles, each decorated with little signs in various languages explaining the names and the meanings of the wares displayed. Most of the languages were unfamiliar to Coyote. Some of the writing looked more like pictures than it did letters, and she could see that Caesar marveled at the print.
A large, metal wall rack held an array of mysterious weapons. Some of them looked similar to guns, although their shapes were exotic. Their barrels were often thicker, and the handles were twisted into intricate shapes. Some were made of metal, and others seemed fashioned out of materials neither of them had seen before. Most of the weapons were covered in cogs and adorned with tiny lights. Coyote recognized a few of them. She had worked with Outlander weapons before, but she had never seen so many of them in one place. Their beauty was as tantalizing as their usefulness. This was a hunter’s Utopia.
She caught herself longing to own many of these treasures. They would simplify hunting and give her the opportunity to destroy a plethora of Outlanders with an ease she currently lacked. Finding the appropriate tools to destroy her targets was a job in itself, and it took a lot of time and money. She had to bribe the right people,
find the right merchants, while here lay all these tools of her trade, just stacked together.
Coyote turned to see if Caesar was enamored with this strange little shop as much as she was, but her friend did not seem to be under the same spell. The enchanting magic she felt appeared to weigh him down. His face was serious, and his eyes had now slipped to the ground as if he did not want to see all the magnificent things around him anymore. Feeling a little silly for her awe, Coyote focused on her friend. She placed her hand on his narrow shoulder, feeling the bones and muscle under his shirt. For a moment, their eyes met.
“Let’s go find that gun,” she said softly.
Caesar nodded. “The magic is too stifling,” he explained, and his voice sounded constrained.
They wandered through the metal aisles, surrounded by strange knick-knacks from various Outlander worlds. Coyote wondered if this rip was linked only to the earth, or if it perhaps had links to other worlds as well. Maybe this is one of those portal rips that Sunshine was going on about? She thought about the old woman’s dour face and wished she had asked her more about the rips. Does Sunshine know about this place?
The aisles wound their way around the shop, leading to the back, where Coyote saw a large metal counter. Above it shone a bright light, more illuminating than any other in the area.
The counter, much like the rest of the shop, was covered in clutter. Small glass displays housed strange-looking beings while wire racks held cards and small paintings of even more peculiar creatures.
Caesar hung back a little, his body tense. He looked ready to run at any moment, but Coyote stepped forward, her curiosity aroused. Her hand fumbled for a cigar in her breast pocket, which she placed slowly between her lips.
“How many times I got to tell you, Charlotte Webb . . . ” a shrill Chinese voice asked, elongating the “e” sound in her last name and replacing the “r” and “l” with the sound of the “w.”
It startled Coyote and Caesar both, and they froze where they stood. Coyote fingered the hilt of her pistol in reflex. A small hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the cigar with so much force that Coyote nearly stumbled backward.
“No smoking.”
Coyote gawked in surprise at the little woman standing behind the counter holding her cigar. She was an Oriental lady, and in all aspects appeared human, but Coyote knew that looks could be very deceiving and her instinct told her she was dealing with an Outlander. The accent surprised Coyote, and she wondered what world the lady came from. She had encountered Outlanders who were very much like humans before. Some Outlanders even spoke her native tongue, while there were those who didn’t speak any language she had ever encountered. She had heard a plethora of Outlander accents, but this was the first time she’d met an Outlander who spoke English with a human accent from another country. Perhaps the woman had lived on earth. Coyote cocked her head as she examined the woman. Two intelligent, slanted eyes peered at her through folds of wrinkled skin.
“How do you know my name?” Coyote folded her arms and glared at the woman. “I don’t recall ever meeting you.”
The expression of the small round face changed, and a big smile blossomed on her thin lips, as if what Coyote said suddenly explained everything.
“Oh,” she crooned. “This your first time here.” One of her eyes squeezed shut, and she peered at Coyote through the other, her face slightly cocked. The accent was very thick, but it felt forced somehow.
Coyote felt as if she’d walked into the wrong part of the conversation, starting at the middle and ending at the beginning. The bounty hunter’s face was tense, and she wasn’t sure how to act around this woman.
The little woman spread out her arms as if she expected an embrace, but she remained behind the counter. “How silly of me. Welcome, Coyote and Caesar. Welcome to my shop. This is first time, but you will come here often in future.”
The little face beamed, and she reminded Coyote of a human tangerine, only her skin was more yellow than orange and it looked unhealthy under the bright light. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, with hairpins shaped like chopsticks that protruded with pride. A pair of brass goggles crowned her head. She wore a dark blue silk shirt with white flowers typical of those Coyote had seen on her trips to Chinatown, but on top of that, she wore a brown vest with more pockets than Coyote could count.
“I should have known you come here for the first time today,” the woman nattered on.
Her accent made it difficult for Coyote to follow what she was saying. She squinted and concentrated on the little woman’s every word.
“It being your first time, I have something special for you. I was waiting to give you this….” She bent over behind the counter, making little rummaging sounds, obviously looking for something.
She cursed in her mother tongue. Coyote didn’t understand a single syllable, but she could always recognize a curse. The woman came up above the counter, smiling an apologetic smile, and ducked down below again.
Coyote and Caesar exchanged glances, and she pulled a face at her companion. Caesar’s expression remained blank. She wished she could see inside his mind. Something wasn’t sitting right with him.
“You need particle beam gun,” the woman said, then emerged from under the counter holding a wooden box. She blew on it, and a cloud of dust exploded from the top, only to hover in the air and slowly settle. With a demonstrative “thunk,” she placed the box on the counter.
“That why you come to Ming’s emporium the first time.” An impish smile curled the old woman’s lips and made her slanted eyes even smaller. She pointed at a large sign above the counter. It was filled with different writings, most of which resembled the funny scribbles Coyote had seen on the signs by the aisles. Near the bottom was an English sentence: “Ming’s Emporium, You Buy What You Need.”
Coyote pulled at the brim of her hat, a sign of respect, then took the box from the small, wrinkled hands and looked at the woman oddly.
“You have met me before?” she asked, feeling a little overwhelmed. The woman shook her head with such vigor that Coyote feared one of the sticks in her hair might dislodge.
“No,” she said firmly. “I have met you after.”
Coyote opened and closed her mouth, subconsciously mimicking the movement of fish gasping in the air. She wanted to argue, to tell the woman she was speaking in riddles—she was so very tired of people speaking in riddles to her—that she made no sense, but decided it was no use to talk about this any further. Leave well enough alone.
“What is the price you want for this particle gun?” Coyote asked, knowing the answer already. She tipped her derby forward and scratched the back of her head.
The woman looked at her with her narrow, dark eyes. She gave no answer but waited. There was a long moment that passed between them, and finally Coyote nodded and lifted Tokala’s necklace. It felt so light in her hand, and yet the burden of it was heavy. This was the heirloom of her friend, probably his last heirloom. With a grim resolve, she handed it to the strange little woman.
“A trade is made,” the woman said, and handed her the weapon. “There will be many more in future,” she added. “You one of my best customers.” There was warmth in her face as she smiled. The woman radiated something almost maternal.
“Nice to meet you, eh, Ming?” Coyote guessed. The woman smiled again.
“You go, hunt Outlanders,” she said, proud as a mother hen. “We speak later.”
“Okay . . . ” Coyote was about to turn around when she thought of something. “Ming?”
The little woman looked at her.
“How do you keep the rip open?”
The woman narrowed her eyes, her expression more serious.
“This a transition dimension,” Ming said, lifting her hands to indicate her shop, her accent shifting, now sounding less sharp. “Magic always lets you enter a transition dimension. You just need to know the key to the magic.”
“The key to this shop being the bone dice?” C
oyote glanced at Caesar, who had a glassy look in his eyes.
“No, the bone dice are just a tool.” Ming tapped the side of her round nose. “The key is the need. Everything about this place is about need.”
“So it’s not you keeping the rip open?”
“That would be very dangerous.” Ming’s accent was almost gone now. “It’s not good to mess with the rips’ openings, Coyote. There are those who can, but they never keep rips open. It could be too destructive.” Ming squinted at her. “Why do you ask?”
“We have encountered a rip that opens each day around the same time.” It was Caesar who spoke, and Coyote turned to him in surprise. His eyes still held a dreamy expression. “We worry that someone might be controlling the rips.”
Ming sighed and nodded. She grabbed a calendar from underneath her counter and leafed through it, her pointy fingers running past the pages.
“Your year is 1969, no?”
“1869,” Coyote corrected, and the woman leafed back several pages.
“1869,” she muttered, tapping the paper. “Yes, I remember. Nothing to worry about yet. The information will come to you when the time is right.” Her words were barely above a whisper. She looked up and cast her sharp eyes on Coyote. “You deal with your Outlander first. Use that gun wisely.”
“I shall try.”
“Keep asking questions of everyone, Charlotte Webb,” Ming said. “You always get your answers in the end.”
Coyote blinked at the woman, nodded, and held up the weapon in a grateful gesture.
“You go now, time precious.” Without warning, the strong accent was back. Coyote narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but the little lady spun on her heel and ducked behind the counter again.
Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) Page 12
