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Chapter Two

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Argos sat at the elegant, brass and polished wood bar of the first-class lounge overlooking one of The Worldstrider’s check in areas. The coyote ran his hand back and forth across the smooth, burled-walnut surface, idling tracing a few dark swirls. Electric lights in graceful crystalline fixtures buzzed just above him. Their yellow-white light glowed across the bar’s brass accents and glittered on the many ornate liquor bottles and fanciful glassware stacked artistically against the back wall. Strains of brassy, up-tempo music from a hidden record player helped cover up the din of voices from the floor below. A pleasant, vaguely spicy incense scented the air with hints of cinnamon, clove, and a whiff of tobacco. Mahogany fans hanging from the ceiling gently stirred the air.

The coyote watched as the bartender, a human male in a crisp black and white uniform fetched the top glass off an impressively tall pyramid of drinking vessels. With a pair of silver tongs, he retrieved a large, perfectly square shaped cube of ice from within a refrigerated compartment. He dropped the ice into the glass, and then poured two measure of golden brown liquid from a teardrop shaped bottle, with a red and gold label. The human then walked down the bar to Argos.

“Avalin Twenty-One, Sir.” The bartender set the glass in front of Argos. “Enjoy.”

Argos picked it up, and toasted the man with it. “I will! And thank you.” The coyote took a sip, savoring the rich toffee and spice notes, along with its long, caramel and fruit finish. “Oh, fuck, that’s good whisky.” He took another sip, and set the glass down. Then he slipped a hand into one of the many hidden pockets of his maroon and gold vest, retrieving his billfold. He removed a five-note, and slid it across the counter. “For you.”

The bartender picked it up, and tucked away with a smile. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Ain’t you supposed to be watching for trouble?” A female gray fox sat on the seat next to him, sipping a drink from a fluted glass. A preserved cherry and a slice of dried orange floated atop the red-tinted liquid.

Argos swiveled his plushly-cushioned bar stool towards her. “Ain’t you supposed to be springing your idiot brother oughta jail?”

The vixen smirked, her bushy, black-peppered tail swishing. “A port detention cell is hardly jail.” She took another sip, then sat the glass down. “Besides, they told me they were gonna let him go with a fine, anyway. But you…” She leaned forward, poking Argos in the chest. “Are on duty.”

Argos snorted, crossing his tan-furred arms over his vest. “Volunteer duty. That hardly counts.”

The vixen perked her rust-furred ears, setting her elbow against the bar. “Shall we tell them that, then?” She rested her muzzle against her palm, staring at Argos. Her ears slowly splayed into a far too smug position. “That you don’t really consider yourself to be working, right now?”

Argos merely shrugged. “Tell them whatever you want, Iosa.”

“Fine.” Iosa straightened up, pivoting towards the bartender. “He’s slacking off, you know.” She waved at Argos. “Drinking on the job. Wasting your employers time, and money.”

The bartender chuckled, glancing up from his inspection of several pricy liquor bottles. “I’ll be sure to pass the word along, ma’am.”

“See that you do.” Iosa turned back towards Argos. She picked up her drink, and took another little sip. “Now you’re in trouble.”

“Uh huh.” Argos picked up his glass, turning it back and forth. The vessel was as square shaped as the ice cube inside. A trio of stars was etched into one side, with a stylized bridge spanning the space between silhouetted continents on the other. “Are these new? They got the company logo, and the bridge on them.”

The bartender filled a tall glass with water, and a little more ice. “Yes, Sir, relatively so.” He set the glass in front of Iosa, then filled a second. “We just got them on our voyage over here.” The human put the second glass before Argos. “Honestly, I’m not sure about the Worldstrider’s emblem, yet. Looks too much like The Bridgehead.”

“That’s what I was thinking!” Argos slapped his palm against the counter. “It looks like they just slapped the bridge logo on a map, or something.”

“They’re still tweaking it.” The bartender idly adjusted his uniform. “That’s why some things still only have the company logo. The rest might get replaced if they change the ship’s emblem. Seems like a waste of money, to me.” He shook his head, chortling. “But what do I know?”

Argos grinned at him, his ears perked. “Ain’t your money, right?”

“Exactly.” The bartender smiled, leaning forward. “Get you two anything else?”

The coyote glanced at Iosa. She shook her head, and Argos gestured with his glass. “Not yet. But we’ll circle back when I’m finished with this.”

“Certainly, sir.” The bartender returned to inspecting his stocks. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Iosa took a drink. “You spend way too much time here, if you can tell the glasses have changed.”

Argos flattened back a single ear. He sipped his whiskey, then slowly set his glass back down. “You know I gotta go wherever the job takes me.”

The vixen’s smirk returned, twisting up the corners of her muzzle. “I meant the bar, not the ship.”

The coyote turned towards her again, a lopsided grin on his snout. “Where the hell else am I gonna spend months in the air?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” The vixen smoothed out the sleeves of her lilac blouse. Swirls of black threading trailed from a diamond pattern across the shoulders. “Doing your job, maybe?”

Argos waved her off. “They’ll send me where they need me.”

“Yes, they will.” Iosa swept her hand towards the decorative brass railing that ringed the overhanging balcony lounge. “Which is why they sent you here. So you can keep an eye on all those people downstairs.”

“I am keeping an eye on them.” Argos very slowly spun his stool around until he was facing the balcony’s rail. “See?”

“I see, alright.” The vixen yipped giggly laughter. “The only thing you’re keeping an eye on is your drink.”

Argos spun his seat back around, picking up his glass. “It is the most important thing in this bar, right now.”

Iosa gasped, her muzzle hanging open in faux shock. She put a rust-furred hand to her chest. “Excuse me?”

Argos made a show of looking the female fox over. Iosa’s lilac dress made for a pleasant contrast against the soft, gray fur that covered much of her body. The black diamonds on the shoulders of her blouse, and the hem of skirt matched the dark tear-streaks that from her eyes, down the base of her muzzle to the cream-hued fur across her chin. Several purple bows adorned her tail. Argos was more accustomed to seeing her in gun belts and hooded coats than he was in elegant dresses, but it was a beautiful look on her.

“You look stunning,” Argos said, toasting her with his glass.

“Damn right I do.” Iosa drained the last of her drink, signaling the bartender for another one.

“And yet…” Argos sipped his whiskey, then gave an exaggerated sight. “Compared to an Avalin Twenty-One, even my favorite fox can only ever be second best.”

Iosa just laughed, shaking her head. “You’re such an ass.” While the human prepared her cocktail, the vixen twisted around, gazing through the empty bar. She pointed towards a table with two chairs set up against the railing. “Seriously though, shouldn’t we be over there, so you can actually keep watch?”

Argos scowled, his ears flattening. “And spoil the ambiance? I can barely hear the music over all that noise from below as it is.”

Iosa rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then I’ll do your job.” She took her drink the bartender, thanked him, and then stood up. She crossed the empty lounge, then stuck her tongue out at Argos before settling into a chair alongside the elegant railing. “Well, what do you know, I can actually look for trouble, from here. Imagine that.”

The coyote grimaced. He downed the last of his whiskey, then pushed the glass across the counter. “May as well give me another.”

“Certainly, Sir.” The bartender took the glass away, then fetched a fresh one. He deposited an ice cube, and poured another double measure of rare, aged whiskey across it.

By the time the drink ready, Argos had already retrieved another 5-note bill. He glanced at, making sure he was tipping the man with the right currency. Though the coyote kept a number of different monies on hand, he preferred to offer his tips in whatever form would be most appreciated. The human head with a funny, tall hat on it told Argos it was the right bill. He passed it across the counter, and the smiling bartender swept it away and stashed it in his pocket.

Argos stood up, carrying his whiskey. He turned around and gazed across the lounge. A few dozen tables of different sizes occupied the semi-circular rotunda that overhung one of The Worldstrider’s check in lobbies. Each table had its own ornate, crystalline light fixture, with gracefully designed chairs of dark wood and plush, gold-patterned cushions. Some of the chairs were meant for humans, with fully enclosed backs. Others notched openings meant for the comfort of those with tails. Several tall-backed booths occupied the areas on either side of the bar itself. Bookcases carved like scalloped shells offered books, magazines, and local newspapers for perusal before departure. Several radiators kept the lounge warm, even as cold air spilled in through the boarding doors.

Normally, the lounge was reserved for first-class guests, only. It was a place for those who boarded first to relax and enjoy a drink while the rest of the ship gradually filtered in, or a quieter place to relax in the evenings, when the more popular taverns were raucous and full. Today, however, with the influx of refugees fleeing cascading crises, and travelers trying to make it home while they still could, the usual boarding process was long-since suspended. Now, every boarding area was open to all passengers, regardless of class. The lounges were closed, for now, both because the staff was needed elsewhere, and because alcohol might turn irritable passengers into dangerous irate ones. The bartender was present to finish preparing the lounge for its delayed, but eventual, opening. Normally, he wouldn’t have served Argos and Iosa, but the coyote had special status aboard the ship. That, and a billfold full of money he was happy to slip the bartender for his discretion.

Argos walked through the empty lounge, towards the brass barricade that encircled the balcony. Beneath the waist-high rail was an intricate metal latticework of ivy and roses. Argos stood alongside the table Iosa chose, and leaned against the barrier. The coyote peered down at the ocean of people milling about on the lower floor. Normally, the check-in areas were relatively calm, and their surrounding dark wood paneled lobbies a peaceful place to have a seat and relax while you waited your turn. The ship possessed an army of porters and waitstaff ready to whisk luggage away, and guide passengers to the cabins.

Today, though, it was anything but calm. Snow blew in through open doors, swirling across long lines of tired, angry people. There were piles of luggage everywhere. Every available chair, bench, recliner, and open space was already occupied. Others sat on the floor, leaning against suitcases, or huddled with their families near the radiators that struggled to overcome the flow of frigid air. Parents tried to comfort crying children. Armed guards kept close watch on everyone as porters and staff members struggled to direct people to the right places, or to answer shouted questions. Leaning over the rail, the cacophony of so many voices was almost uncomfortably loud.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Well, fuck.” Argos took a drink of whiskey, then set his glass down on the table. He sighed, turning his attention to the chaotic scene below. “I guess I am on duty.”

Iosa smiled at him. “About time.” She leaned over, gazing down. “Gray coat, white hat. Left of the flower-pattern sofa.”

Argos’s eyes snapped to the individual in question. “The tiger?”

Iosa nodded once. “Picking pockets.”

The coyote snorted. “Bit beneath us, ain’t it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Iosa said, sipping her drink. “Was your job only to look for murderers, or should you be helping them stop all the criminals taking advantage of their passengers?”

Argos turned towards her, leaning his elbow over the rail. “Oh, that’s right coming from you.”

Iosa simply smiled. “The job it what it is.” The vixen shrugged, swirling her drink. “You know that better than I do.” She glanced to the lower floor again. “He took a refugee’s billfold, by the way.”

“That shit-fucker.” Argos growled, his fangs bared.

He shifted his attention to a blue-scaled kobold in a security uniform, standing atop a counter. Argos gave a single, course barking sound, just loud enough to be made out above all the voices. The kobold glanced up, and Argos flashed him a few hand signals, used by security officer. Suspect, thief, interdict. Then he pointed towards the tiger in the gray coat, and white hat. The kobold nodded once, then scurried over to whisper into the ear of a particular tall, dark furred-gnoll with a rifle slung across his shoulder. The gnoll nodded in turn, then spoke into the radio transmitter positioned at his shoulder. A few moments later, and security officers were cutting through the crowd, closing in on the tiger.

Argos glanced over at Iosa. “You better be right about him.”

“Have I ever been wrong?” The vixen flashed him a playful smile, which quickly faded. “Not about that, I mean, just about-”

“Nevermind.” Argos watched as the guards took the tiger in custody, quickly searching him. “You know who he stole from?”

“I do.” Iosa stood up. As the guards retrieved purloined goods, the vixen pointed the security staff towards the proper owners. “There, see? We’re already making someone’s day better.”

Argos took a drink of whiskey. “Still think this a bit beneath us.”

“If it makes it more fun, we could take bets.” Iosa scanned the crowd again, her ribbon-adorned tail swishing. “You know, put money down on who’s gonna robbed or arrested next? Who’s most likely to get themselves killed?”

Argos chuckled. “I ain’t bettin’ on who’s gonna get killed.”

“Only cause you know I’d win.” Iosa drummed her fingers against the railing. “Just be glad you don’t have any real trouble to deal with.”

“Be more exciting if we did.” Argos took a second sip, then set his glass back down.

“Is that what you’d rather be doing?” Iosa glanced at the coyote. “Getting into fights?” She waved at him, gesturing at the pistols strapped against his sides. “Putting bullets into people?” Her lips curled into a smug grin across her muzzle. “Oh, that’s right. You’d rather I pull the trigger.”

Argos chuckled, gazing across the crowds as the tiger was hustled away. “I don’t know what you keep trying to get a rise out of me with that. I’ve no trouble at all admitting that you’re a better shot than I am at range. I’m happy to be your spotter, if it means the job gets done.”

Iosa splayed her hands, imitating something exploding. “It sure as hell did.” She made a playful snarl. “I don’t think even their precious Weaver’s gonna put that poor cat’s head back together again.”

The coyote scrunched his muzzle, a bitter chuckle escaping him. “That’s dark, Iosa. Even for you.”

The vixen smiled, though her mirth soon faded. Iosa’s ears drooped, and something unsettled drifted behind her eyes before she looked away. “I just hope it actually makes a difference, this time.”

Argos’s lip curled, a fang exposed. “Me too.” He drummed his fingers against the railing. “Not really our place to speculate, I guess.”

Iosa swished her tail a few times in silence before turning her eyes back to Argos. “The hell it isn’t. We’re allowed to speculate and question, entirely because they want us to think about the jobs we take. The things we do. They don’t want us to end up as mindless and brainwashed as all those poor cats.”

“I guess.” Argos straightened up, folding his arms. “Speaking of, check out the luggage cart on this one.”

Down on the lower floor, a scrawny little cheetah in an oversized blue coat hauled an entire city’s worth of suitcases behind him. Most of the cheetah’s head was buried beneath a bright purple hat, save for his blunt feline muzzle, and the massive set of spectacles perched upon it. Snow clung to his overcoat, his hat, and even his golden gloves. He struggled to pull the cart through the open boarding door, tugging, heaving, and fighting it every step of the way. Argos was certain if not for the clamor of so many voices, he could have heard the poor little cheetah’s tendons straining as he pulled the thing.

Iosa followed his gaze, then gave a low yowl of mock appreciation. “Damn, look at that little guy. Did he pack for every cat on the ship?”

“With that much baggage,” Argos said. “He might have packed for everyone else on the ship, too.”

“Maybe he was just afraid he’d be lonely out there, away from home.” Iosa waved at the cart. “So, he packed up the whole cat church to keep him company.”

“Nah.” Argos shook his head. “He wouldn’t have needed that many bags. Oh, I know!” He thumped his hand against the brass railing. “The rest are probably filled with extra pairs of novelty spectacles, in case he loses those telescope lenses he’s got strapped to his face.”

The vixen laughed, snatching up her drink. “Do you think he see through time, with those?”

“See through time?” Argos tilted his head, a single ear raised. “I think if he held them up to the sun, he’d burn a damn hole through time.”

Iosa laughed harder, gesturing with her glass. “Hell of a way for the universe to end, though.”

“Probably couldn’t be too much worse than the way things were going, though.” Argos sipped his whiskey, looking away from the cheetah to scan the crowd again for any fresh signs of trouble.

“Speak for yourself!” Iosa plucked the preserved cherry from her cocktail, and popped it into her muzzle. “Even if you believe all that dying sun nonsense-”

“Scientific measurements are hardly nonsense.” Argos swirled the ice cube around in his whiskey.

Iosa worked her thumb and fingers together, like a talking puppet. “Yip, yip, yap, yap, I’m a coyote who knows science!”

Argos rested his arm across the railing, grinning. “I think everything knows-”

“Even if,” Iosa said, raising her voice over his. “You believe it, it’s not gonna be our lifetimes, or even our kids’ lifetimes, so-”

“Wait!” Argos’s ears shot up in feigned shock. “You have kids?”

The vixen rolled her eyes. “Shut up, jackass.”

Argos did no such thing. “Aw, you’re gonna make such a great mom. Reading stories to them, knitting them sweaters, brushing their fur…” He sipped his whiskey, continuing as casually as he could. “Teaching them how to a load a magazine for a Rangemaster 45, showing them the best way to wire an improvised explosive device, taking them out for sweets…”

“Don’t forget showing them how to break every bone in someone’s body.” Iosa finished off her drink, and set the empty glass down on the table. “Also, brushing their fur?”

The coyote shrugged. “I dunno what people do with kids. I assume someone’s gotta brush their fur.”

The vixen waved for the bartenders attention, then pointed at her glass. “Oh yeah? And who brushed your fur when you were a pup?”

“No one!” Argos took another sip, tempted to order a third as well. “That’s why it always looked so shitty.”

“Still does.” The vixen gave him a sidelong glance. “You just cover it up with fancier clothes these days.”

Argos smiled, opening up his maroon vest. Golden threading edged every seam with intricate patterns and circled each ebony button. Beneath it, he wore a buttoned up silken gray shirt, nearly the same hue as much of his fur. The black straps of his holsters crisscrossed his chest. His trousers were black, with a silver stripe down the outside of each leg, and complimented by a woven leather belt. The coyote’s shoes were black as well, as highly polished as they were highly uncomfortable.

“You like it?” Argos spun in place, his bushy, gray and tan tail swishing through the air.

“I do.” Iosa leaned up against the railing, watching him. “Especially the waistcoat.”

Argos scowled, buttoning it back up. “It’s a vest. Waistcoats are for bouncers, and bankers.”

“It’s definitely a waistcoat.” Iosa only giggled. “And you’re practically a bouncer, today. Besides, it looks good on you. You should wear brighter colors more often.”

Argos chuckled. “Maybe. Harder to blend in that way. But I like the look, at least.” He stretched his arms. The sleeves rode up, ruffling the tan fur of his arms in uncomfortably ways. “Think my tailor needs to make some adjustments on this shirt, though.” He rolled the sleeves back on themselves, leaving them up. “May as well just keep them like that. Whatcha think?”

“If you’re trying to look less like a bouncer, it’s not working.” She turned around as the bartender approached with her drink, accepting it from him with a smile. “Thank you.” She gestured at Argos. “Doesn’t he look like he’s about to start a barroom brawl now?”

The bartender appraised the coyote, a grin tugging at his lips. “I dunno, ma’am. Your companion seems more the sort to finish fights, than start them.”

“Awww!” Argos put a hand over his chest, cooing. “He gets me!”

“Still sounds like a bouncer, to me. Besides, he’s only saying that because you’re armed to the teeth.” Iosa sipped her drink, then stared at Argos. “Well? Tip the man.”

Argos sighed, and retrieved his billfold. “Two pistols in plain site is hardly armed to the teeth.”

Iosa snorted. “And that’s hardly all you’ve got strapped to your body.”

The coyote retrieved a bank note, larger this time, and passed it to the bartender. “For pretending to ignore our conversations.”

“I’d like to think my discretion is always as good as my mixology.” He tucked the bill away, then turned towards Iosa. “Speaking of which, how’s your Sunfire Passion?”

“Delicious, as always.” Iosa took another drink, before setting the glass down. “Thank you.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” The bartender offered a little bow, then swept his hand towards the counter. “Would you like me to bring your water over, as well?”

“Yes, please.” Iosa pointed at Argos. “His too. Perhaps he’d rather wake up with a raging hangover tomorrow, but we can at least try and prevent it.”

The bartender quickly brought two glasses of water over, and set them on the table. “Another Avalin Twenty-One, Sir?”

Argos shook his head, holding up his half-empty glass. “Not quite yet. Trying to make this one last. But I’ll let you know.”

“Certainly, Sir.” The bartender turned on his heel, walking to the bar.

When they were alone again, Iosa moved closer to the coyote, then leaned out over the rail, watching the crowds. “What the hell were we talking about a minute ago?”

“When?” Argos took a sip of whiskey, then set the glass down.

“Something about a hole in time?” Iosa scrunched her face, ears splayed. “How the hell did that come up?”

Argos studied the crowd until he spotted the cheetah with the giant luggage counter. He’d reached one of several wraparound style check in desks, and was now having an animated conversation with the clerk. “Glasses McSuitcase down there.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Iosa smirked at Argos. “Spots McLuggagecart.”

“Cat McTooMuchShit.” Argos swept his eyes across the crowd again, only to find them drawn back towards the cheetah.

“That one’s a stretch.” Iosa folded her arms. “Anyway, you said a hole burning through time itself wouldn’t be any worse than what’s happening nowadays. I posit…” She bumped her glass against Argos’ arm. “It would be much worse. I’ll even grant you the whole dying sun theory without argument. But that’s at least hundreds of years away, right? If the cat incinerated time with his glasses, I’m pretty sure that would effect both of us, in the here and now.” She tilted her head when Argos didn’t reply. “Are you listening to me?”

“Not really.” He pointed down to the cheetah, who was now pacing back and forth in front of the counter. “Whaddya see there?”

Iosa’s posture straightened, her tone sharpened. “The cat’s angry. Guards are giving him the eyeball.”

“They’re looking the wrong direction.” Argos snatched up his whiskey, and drained the last of it.

“Distraction, you think?” Iosa pinned her ears back. “Hell, even we spent a lotta time making jokes about all that luggage.”

Argos quickly studied the rest of the crowd. Quite a few people were watching the cheetah, but only those near him. The room was too noisy and there were too many others already shouting for his antics to really draw that much attention. Yet, to the coyote, something still felt off.

“Nah. That ain’t it.”

He focused his attention on those around the cheetah. The check in clerk, a human male, was doing all he could to remain patient in a trying day. The people behind the cheetah were shaking their heads, annoyed he was taking so long. Several of the gnolls and the kobold working security kept an eye on the cheetah, but they were unlikely to intervene unless he grew violent, or the clerk called for assistance. Similar scenes had been playing out all day long, so what was it about this one that put him ill at ease? Argos swiveled his ears forward, trying to pick out the cheetah’s voice.

“If it’s a question of finances…” The cheetah’s voice held a unique tone, a lilt that helped it stand out slightly above all the other voices. Yet even then, Argos could only make out bits and pieces of what the agitated feline was saying. “Extensive monetary grants!” The cheetah dug into his coat, and retrieved a pouch made for keeping documents safe. He slapped a pile of bank notes down on the counter, followed by what looked like some kind of deposit slips. “The Church authorized as much payment as is required!”

Nearby, a tall wolf slowly made his way through the crowd. He gently nudged people aside, excusing himself, heading for the front desk. The wolf held ticketing documentation in his hand, but Argos could tell in an instant he was not interested in checking in. Instead, the wolf’s eyes were fixed on the cheetah. His pointed ears were swiveled towards the cheetah, twitching and flicking. The wolf was listening to every word the cat said, watching every new monetary document that hit the counter. When he finally reached the cheetah, the wolf leaned against the counter, casual as could be. He spoke quietly to the feline, then waved his hand towards a quieter hallway. The cheetah looked between the lupine and the check in clerk, then slowly began to pack up his documents.

“Shit,” Argos said, his ears flat. “You seeing this?”

“I sure am.” Iosa straightened up. “We really should have taken bets, cause that cat’s definitely getting robbed.”

“Robbed if he’s lucky.” Argos eased away from the railing. “Killed if he ain’t.”

“Damn.” Iosa slapped the railing. “That woulda paid double!”

“Guess you’re outta luck then.” Argos waved for the spotter kobold, but the little lizard’s attention was elsewhere, where a scuffle had broken out. “Damn it.”

Iosa leaned forward, scowling. “That fucker’s working fast, too.”

Argos glanced down again. The wolf was already leading the cheetah into the crowds, and away from the guards. “Guess I gotta do this myself.” He walked away from Iosa, adjusting his vest. “Watch the cat’s luggage, will ya? Make sure no one steals his shit while I’m busy saving his ass.”