Today's Art-ifact (Patreon)

The final piece of Coyote Canteena.  Remember, there wasn't a whole story, just this piece.  We've seen this piece stolen before, it was printed out into a poster, then marched by our table at a convention, as part of a big parade.  Quite a sight.

Chapter 2- Gambling with Trouble

“You’re sure you can pay?”

The mule held the steaming bowl firm, eyeballing Xyk across the bar counter as though the coyote was a rickety ladder that might collapse under the slightest weight.  A tantalizing aroma beckoned from the noodles below.

Instead of jamming his face mouth-first into the bowl, Xyk straightened, throwing back his shoulders.

“Can I-?  Sir, the road may not have been kind to my appearance, but still, I have not grown accustomed to insults.  Please.”

Please.  Just give me the bowl, please.  For the love of everything holy in this world-

The mule furrowed his brow, still clutching the prize.  “No offense intended, uh, sir.  Just looking out for your interests.  If you’re a thief, I’ll report it, much as I hate to."

"As you should," said Xyk.

"Maybe, if yer lucky, they’d just take your hand."

"They’d what?"

"And anyhow, this ain’t no charity house.”

“There's a charity house in town?”

“Nope.”

Let go of the bowl, you suspicious, goddamned perceptive sonuvabitch.

Xyk continued beaming a toothy smile at the barkeep, hands still tight around the green ceramic treasure.

There were precious few taverns Xyk cared to try if he couldn’t eat here.  Merely drifting through the streets to assess options had been risky.  A gang of ragged adolescents had shadowed him through the alleys- too young for restraint, but old enough for violence.  He didn’t want to fight off kids- or watch the law fight off kids, if Vritra was anything to go by…

This joint, near the Tenshu’s outer wall, seemed least likely to transform him into a bootless corpse.

The barkeep broke the silence with a deadpan monotone.

“Hell.  You got an honest face.”  He released the bowl.

"Yeah, I hear that a lot."

First time in his life.

Xyk suppressed the urge to clutch his meal and sprint like a maniac.  He needed more than food from this town.

Pulling out his newfound chopsticks, he leaned an elbow on the counter.

“So that mine up yonder- is it played out?  Things seem pretty rough around town.”

“No, mine’s good.  Big ol’ run of silver.”

“Then…?”

“Well, Junior’s got the min'rall rights.  Ain’t no wage he doesn’t set.  If you're lookin’ for work, I’d try another town.”

“Unless I wanted to be a lawman.  I’m guessing Junior pays them pretty well.”

The barkeep gave him a long look.  “Guessin' don't pay your tab."

Xyk flashed a smile that he prayed was consistent with an honest face, then retreated to find a table.  The room seemed a little colder than it had before.

He liked his hands.  Both of them, in fact.  He used the things all the time.

He cradled the bowl for a moment, savoring its warmth.

...Should probably keep the right one.

Then again, maybe the bartender was just messing with him?  Razzing a drifter?

An image flashed in his head.  Red tree on tan rock.

He shuddered.  Hell, how had he gotten into this mess?

Settling at a table, his first bite tasted like the glory of the gods, almost too hot to bear as he wolfed it down.  The sensation of food in his mouth only made him more ravenous, but he forced himself to slow his pace.

How was he going to come up with cash before he was done?

Slurping on a single noodle like an addict, he scanned for the room for prospects.  It was dim, the sunbeams filtering a dead haze of tobacco smoke.

There were a few wary guys eating alone, backs to the wall.  No chance sneaking up on them, and they looked too hostile to fall for a swindle.

That left a group of well-to-do's gathering around the next table, muttering to one another over shots of sake and shuffling cards.  Coins clinked.  They looked up as he approached.

"Looks like you gents have room for one more at the table.  Care to deal me in?"

He knew it was a mistake as the words left his lips.  The gamblers looked him up and down, standing there in his ragged duster, clutching half a bowl of noodles.

There was a beat of silence.

Then guffaws of laughter.

A saggy bloodhound in a tailored white suit wiped tears from his eyes.

"HEH haw heh...  What're you using to ante in?  Personality?  HA, oh gods."

Xyk frowned.  "Maybe you're just real afraid of losing to me.  Can't say as I blame you-"

"Oh yeah, I'm cowerin', I'm cowerin'."

A ruddy avian jabbed a series of kicks at Xyk's shins.  "Sod off!  This is high stakes."

Amidst another cavalcade of chortles, Xyk retreated to his own table and slumped down for some consolation food.

There wasn't a razor's chance at pickpocketing them now, having made himself the center of attention.  Out of the game, and out of options.

He looked into his bowl and sighed at the remaining, delicious noodles.  His downfall.

Thunder rolled mightily, dimming the world outside.  The storm was almost here.

On the heels of heaven’s threats, the saloon doors creaked open to herald the arrival of what appeared to be an angel.

Xyk had seen his share of women- but none quite like this.

Crimson silk slid over a sleek ivory body as she took measured paces across the floorboards.  She was striking- feline, blonde hair with a geisha fan held loosely at her side.  But none of that arrested Xyk's attention.

There was something in her bearing as she assessed the room- cold and remote, yet intensely present.  Xyk couldn't quite put his finger on it.  Transfixed, he almost didn't notice the others following her.

First came a trio of toughs in waistcoats and matching hakama pants, one fingering a sheathed katana.  They were escorting- gods- what appeared to be the perfect rube.

Sporting an embroidered lime vest and a ludicrously-gilt katana, the dandy of a fox slid towards the gaming table, a bored smile painting his face.  He piped up, his voice rich like oil.

"Gentlemen!  Your patience is rewarded.  I am here."

Xyk forced himself to shift his focus from the woman.

Dammit, Xyk.  Dandy.  Pay attention to Dandy.  This idiot is your last chance to leave as a customer instead of a fugitive.

The greetings poured out from the table.  "Greenwell!  Finally.  We've been waiting to win some of our money back."

Dandy- Greenwell- sidled up to the table, his tail just a few feet from Xyk.

Perfect.  It was too perfect.

The starving coyote savored the remaining noodles, leaning back in his chair, boots on the table, watching the game sidelong.  The last thing in the world he wanted was to rush this lift.  He had a golden chance.

A few hands into the game, tuning out the banter, he noticed something incredible:  Dandy pulled the Ace of Clubs from within the tufts of his tail.

Bleeding cheater!

With Dandy focusing on his own sleight of hand, Xyk's work would be all the easier.  Tilting back, timing the movement with his casual rocking of the chair, he reached out with the chopsticks and smoothly removed the wallet protruding from Greenwell's back pocket.

One blink of the eye, and it was tucked away in Xyk's coat.

The game continued as before.  Nobody had noticed.  That gilded twit hadn't felt a thing.

Xyk felt a surge of laughter trying to escape his chest, and he desperately reined it in, shoulders twitching.  He nearly choked on the last noodle as he took the empty bowl back to the counter.

He groped in his coat, slipped out a bill and slapped it down.  And then he saw its denomination.

Time became strange for a moment as the floor seemed to shift uncomfortably beneath his feet.

The barkeep ambled over, held the bill up to a lantern, and regarded him beneath an eyebrow.

"Thanks for the tip."

And that was when Xyk saw something catastrophic in the bottles lining the wall.

There she was, reflected in the glass.  The geisha.  And she was watching him.

Shit- he hadn't been tracking her.  Had she seen him lift the wallet?  What other reason would she have to stare like that?

He turned back towards the room, and she appeared to be absorbed entirely in the poker game, innocently oblivious to anything else.

Sly.

"GODDAMMIT, curse your luck!" cried the avian, tossing his cards into the air.  "Whatever god is running this show, if he could stop handing Junior all the-"

Dandy straightened immediately, the joy fallen from his face.  "Did you just call me Junior?"

The bird froze, eyes wide.

"I didn't say- Lord Greenwell, I didn't say that.  I wouldn't.  I… I wasn't thinking"

Junior flashed a hollow grin.  "Rosa- would you need a blade to dismember our friend here?  Or could you do it with your bare hands?"

"Much can be done with one’s hands, my Lord," said the geisha.

The bird was gripping the table hard now, claws digging into the wood.  "I'm sorry!  I told you I'm sorry!"

"Well, how sorry are you?" cooed Greenwell, his voice low.  "Insulting me on my birthday, even.  Are you sorry enough to crawl around town, singing my praises?  Are you sorry enough to, say, eat your own droppings?  Sorry enough to kill your favorite servant for me?  I ask again:  how sorry are you?"

The bird quivered in his chair, failing to speak.  The table quaked in his grip, sending a shot glass to shatter on the floor.

Greenwell's good humor seemed to return in an instant as he sat back down, chortling.  "Well then, that's settled!  Let's get the next hand rolling!"

Xyk murmured under his breath to the barkeep.  "Uh- that's... Junior?"

The barkeep whispered back, almost inaudible.  "No. That's Lord Greenwell."

Xyk’s hackles trembled.  He felt like he might lose his hard-won noodles all over the floor.  Shaniko was ruled by some kind of psychotic, insecure warlord kingpin, and Xyk had just stolen his wallet.

He thought of Vritra, thought of the three thugs that had entered the room with Junior, and oh look at that- the sly geisha, little Ms. Dismembers With Hands, was talking with a pair of them right there, right now, and they were suddenly glaring directly at him from across the room, and wasn't that a great cue to leave!

He turned and strode to the door.  The two toughs immediately stood.  Xyk could hear them coming, the floorboards emitting tiny shrieks.

It was unnaturally dark outside, the wind dancing wildly.  Tumbleweeds fled as the storm descended.

All pretense abandoned, Xyk ran for his life.