Chapter 29: Tomorrow Had Become Inconvenient
Coyote slipped into one of Brassville’s smaller post offices. The low hum of a brass air purifier reached him at once. He coughed. After the damp fog outside, the dry air caught his throat and made his eyes water within seconds.
He was fully packed and already regretting taking the job in Epinalium. The payment had been obscene. Apparently, so was his judgement.
He placed a sealed envelope on the counter. His usual backup’s name and address were written across the front.
“Hold it for seven days,” he told the clerk. “If I do not collect it, deliver it.”
The clerk read the instruction twice. “And if you return on the eighth?”
“Then I shall be annoyed.”
Coyote signed the form and left before the man could become any more interested.
He found the nearest parking yard with a landing pad and unpacked his compact steam biplane from a storage capsule. It was one of two rare capsules he had politely borrowed from Vesk years ago. Corvell adored the other until Vesk sent men to retrieve both, preferably with Coyote attached. Coyote found a more civil settlement. It cost him a fortune, but fewer fingers.
The plane’s wings unfolded with a series of clicks. Coyote secured his bags behind the second seat, checked the boiler pressure, then climbed in.
The engine caught on the third attempt.
Good enough.
Beyond the city, he landed beside a large unofficial mirror and folded both wings against the fuselage, turning the machine into a narrow steam car. He gave the mirror two drops of blood. The surface recognised him, then swallowed Coyote along with the vehicle.
He crossed into the Loteri Lands.
Another hour driving along a dry steppe road brought him to the next familiar mirror. The second crossing treated him less gently.
Still acceptable.
Coyote unfolded the wings again, raised the holographic map and followed the Mirror Call above an endless forest.
Coyote landed some distance from the Epinalium mirror. He preferred to be less visible now. He packed the plane back into its capsule and moved quietly through the trees. His coat grew damp. The air hung heavy, sharp with the scent of tree resin.
His instincts had not fooled him. He was not alone near the mirror. One young Walker was already trying to open it while another held the equipment and offered increasingly useless advice. Their clothes were worn. Their blood device looked worse. It pulled unevenly, clicked twice, then stopped. The Walker swore, took out a knife and cut too deep. The mirror seized the blood greedily. Within moments, the young Walker’s face had gone grey and slack. His companion tore him away, wrapped the wound and dragged him into the trees.
Coyote waited until the forest swallowed them.
His bracelet activated the blood port implanted beneath his collarbone. The brass seal opened, and the mirror drew three measured drops through the air before the port closed with a pulse of reflective energy.
The mirror remembered him.
It opened immediately.
The mirror released Coyote into darkness.
His boots struck damp stone. The echo travelled down the passage, found several other tunnels and returned from all of them. He inhaled cold, stale air and switched on the torch clipped to his coat.
The main passage opened into an abandoned mine. Rusted rails disappeared beneath rubble. Something pale and many-legged slipped between two broken barrels. Coyote decided not to count.
Silvery veins ran through the rock. When he passed them, his image remained behind for several seconds, then followed in a slow imitation of his steps.
Coyote stopped. His reflection took another two steps before stopping.
Not new. Still unsettling.
He opened the holographic map. Five possible sites marked by the client appeared across the tunnel system. The first was several hours away.
Coyote unpacked the biplane, kept its wings folded and lowered the land gear. The main tunnel was wide enough for the machine in road mode.
Deeper passages would not be.
Coyote drove beneath thick pipes. Cables hung from the ceiling in long loops. Far above, narrow cracks admitted cold shafts of daylight, illuminating little but dust.
The mineral veins appeared and vanished along the walls, leaving delayed reflections of the biplane. Coyote glanced back and saw himself still sitting inside a stretch of shining rock.
The image looked back. Then it copied his movement and disappeared.
Coyote faced the road again.
Epinalium had been abandoned for excellent reasons.
When the tunnel finally narrowed, he returned the plane to its capsule and continued on foot.
A few days later, Coyote reached the third location without the client’s artefact and with considerably less patience.
The first site had been a dead mining settlement, thoroughly abandoned except for several objects nobody had guarded well enough. The second offered six buried crates, five varieties of rust and a necklace of white metal and orange stones. His specialised instruments found no toxic, unstable or actively magical properties. Valuable, certainly, and safe to handle.
Not a complete waste, then.
By the time he reached the third site, the biplane’s storage compartments held a modest collection of unofficial acquisitions.
The coordinates led him to an underground waterfall. The main cascade had dwindled to a thin trickle long ago, but clear water still spilled into a broad stone basin below. Above, a vast hole in the ceiling poured daylight over the area and made the search considerably less miserable.
Reflective veins covered the wall behind the waterfall. Water distorted the images trapped inside them, stretching Coyote’s shape into several narrow versions of himself. They continued moving after he had stopped. None appeared especially trustworthy.
Coyote made camp nearby.
Coyote dropped a small white tablet into the water he had collected from the waterfall. He watched the dirt sink slowly to the bottom of the bottle, leaving an almost clear layer above the sediment. It was not perfect, but it was drinkable.
The stars were visible through the hole above. Coyote ate jerky and squeezed something advertised as “cream soup” from a foil tube. His reseller had called the tubes a blessing for travellers.
He had lied. The tubes were light. That was their finest quality.
Before falling asleep, Coyote decided this would be his final attempt. The client had marked two more locations, but they were welcome to remain mysterious without him.
He woke to a scrape outside the tent.
Then silence.
Pistol in hand, he checked his traps. Nothing had moved. The detector showed only old reflective residue. A black spider larger than his foot crossed a supply case and vanished beneath a rock.
Everything remained untouched.
Coyote returned to the tent. For the first time since arriving, he regretted coming alone.
Fear had arrived too late to help.
The next morning finally rewarded him.
His instruments led him to a section of damp ground beside the waterfall. Beneath the surface, his tools struck wood. Daylight from the hole above helped him clear the debris without introducing his fingers to anything poisonous.
He uncovered a small box matching the client’s description. Damp had swollen the wood, leaving the simple lock hanging loose.
Coyote opened it.
Inside lay a dull crystal no larger than his palm. Its cloudy grey surface and uneven shape matched the drawings supplied by the client. His torch produced no reaction. Passing his hand above it revealed no warmth or energy.
Coyote did not touch it. Valuable artefacts often punished unnecessary confidence.
He tested it and found nothing dangerous.
He closed the box, wrapped it and encrypted the bundle in his usual way. He washed properly in the cold basin, dismantled the camp, secured everything he had collected and followed the mapped route back towards the mirror.
A light glinted in a parallel tunnel.
Coyote drew his pistol and approached quietly. Being stabbed after the difficult part would have been offensively predictable.
A dim figure moved along the wall ahead. Coyote stopped. The figure continued for another two steps before stopping with him.
His own reflection. Again.
Beyond it, a brass kettle caught the daylight through a crack above. Beside it lay an abandoned camp: blankets, food tins, lamp oil, machine parts and a worn coat.
Coyote lowered his pistol.
Inside one pocket, he found a filthy linen handkerchief. Old oil and dirt covered most of the embroidered initials, leaving only an M visible. Something hard was wrapped inside. A smaller dull crystal, similar to the one in his case. Coyote wrapped it again with care and slid the bundle into his pocket.
Habit occasionally paid.
Coyote reached Brassville by the same route without being arrested or killed, which made the journey almost respectable. He landed on a pad in Rustwing Alley after midnight, returned the plane to its capsule and headed to the Gilded Stag.
Outside, a bright theatre poster showed a graceful copper-curled performer, lifting the sweeping gown with one hand and holding an open fan in the other. Large gold letters announced:
MISS RENNA ROUGE
The Glittering Star of the Gilded Stag
Inside, the place was thick with smoke, cloying perfume, spilled drink and loud people. Coyote kept to the wall and leaned one shoulder against a column at the edge of the room, away from the crowd but close enough to the stage. From there, he watched Ren work the room.
Bright light caught the glitter on Ren’s emerald corset and layered skirt, then sharpened his painted face and almond-shaped eyes.
He snapped his fan open and drew it slowly up his thigh. “Careful, love. Another minute of that and I’ll have to charge you by the fantasy.”
The audience erupted in laughter. A drunk man near the stage shouted, “Higher, Renna!”
Ren lowered the fan, looked him over and smiled. “Darling, you could not afford higher.”
The room broke into whistles.
Bar boys slipped between the tables with gearwallets raised, collecting credits while everyone was still generous and distracted.
Coyote stayed where he was.
Then Ren saw him through the smoke. His smile changed. Only slightly.
Enough.
Coyote slipped into the private room above the Gilded Stag and dropped his storage capsule beside the door. Ren’s skirt lay across an armchair. He stood in the emerald corset, carefully untucking himself.
Ren caught Coyote’s reflection in the mirror. “You look terrible.”
“Good evening to you too.”
Ren finished, straightened and turned towards him. Coyote crossed the room and settled one hand on Ren’s waist, breathing in the sweet scent of Ren’s face powder. With his free hand, he brushed a smear of green dust from Ren’s cheek.
“There it is,” he said. “Proof I’ve been here. Green suits you better.”
“You said that about the blue one.” Ren’s mouth twitched.
“I lied.”
“You always lie.”
“Only about colours.” Coyote shrugged off his coat. “The usual, or are you feeling adventurous?”
Ren pulled him closer. Coyote laughed into the kiss and returned it with the taste of smoke and salt. Their hands moved with familiar purpose until Coyote lifted Ren onto the table.
Ren reached for the oil vial at Coyote’s belt. “Walkers are always prepared.”
Coyote caught it first and pulled the cork free with his teeth. “It’s for polishing mirrors.”
“Of course.”
Coyote’s smile widened as he stepped between Ren’s thighs. “Mostly.”
Ren raised an eyebrow.
“Some people turn out to be reflective enough.”
Ren shook his head, still smiling. “That was dreadful.”
“You laughed.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
Coyote’s oiled fingers pressed inside Ren with a teasing twist. Ren gasped and rocked against his hand. Glitter from Ren’s thighs caught on Coyote’s knuckles. Ren freed Coyote’s length and stroked it with firm, precise movements. Coyote dropped his forehead to Ren’s shoulder, a rough sound escaping him.
Coyote pressed into him in one slow movement, waiting until Ren drew him closer. Both made the same low sound, half groan, half laugh. He set a lively pace, hips rolling deep and sure, one hand braced on the table, the other wrapped around Ren’s arousal. When Ren’s moans grew too loud, Coyote shifted his weight, lifted his hand from the table and covered Ren’s mouth as he leaned closer.
“Shhh, my little star,” he whispered, still moving inside him. “You’ll wake the whole district.”
Ren’s eyes gleamed above Coyote’s fingers, but he bit back the next sound. Coyote kept his hand there a moment longer, his thumb stroking Ren’s cheek, before sliding it down to grip Ren’s hip.
Ren tightened around him, breath breaking against Coyote’s shoulder as he spilled between their bodies. Coyote followed seconds later, thrusting deep and holding, releasing inside Ren with a satisfied groan that ended in another soft laugh.
Afterwards, Coyote stayed where he was for a moment, his forehead resting against Ren’s while they caught their breath. He eased out carefully and helped Ren sit upright on the edge of the table. With quick fingers, he wiped the worst of the sweat and oil from their thighs, along with the silver traces of his release, his movements casual but careful.
Coyote pulled up and fastened his trousers, then settled Ren’s slipped wig back into place. He wiped a streak of mascara from beneath Ren’s eye with his thumb.
“You’re a mess,” he said. “My favourite kind.”
Coyote guided Ren into the worn armchair and sat beside him, one arm loose around his waist. Glitter clung to them both. After a few quiet minutes, Coyote straightened his shirt and reached into his pocket. “Before you ask, I didn’t steal it. Much.”
He unwrapped a necklace of pale metal and bright orange stones. “Found it on the run. Thought it might suit you.”
Ren’s smile turned unguarded. Coyote fastened the necklace around his throat. It settled above his collarbones, bright against the stray glitter on his skin.
“Wear it,” he murmured. “Let it shine.”
His fingers stayed briefly at Ren’s nape. Ren leaned against him. Coyote let him.
After another moment, he kissed Ren’s temple and stood. “I have to move.”
“When will I see you?”
“Tomorrow is good.” Coyote put on his coat and slung the storage capsule over his shoulder. “Fancy something special, little star?”
“I’m off tomorrow.”
“I’ll collect you at midday.”
Coyote slipped out.
Coyote returned to his apartment tired enough to resent the stairs.
The trap on his door had been disarmed.
Carefully.
Someone had found the wire beneath the frame, released the catch and put everything back almost correctly.
Almost was enough.
Coyote drew his pistol before opening the door.
Inside, furniture lay overturned, drawers emptied and concealed compartments stood open.
Nothing valuable was missing.
Ophelia’s bags were.
Hope reached him before sense. Perhaps she had returned. Then he saw the dirty boot marks across the floor. More than one person.
Of course.
Coyote checked the apartment, then opened the wall panel and emptied the safe. Valuable artefacts, weapons, forged licences and his compact brass mail device went into two cases. He added spare clothes, irreplaceable instruments and everything from Epinalium.
Within minutes, he was down the service stairs and into the dark.
Tomorrow had become inconvenient.