Drag Hunt by Pat Kelleher

Author:Pat Kelleher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

CHAPTER EIGHT

Coyote and the Pissing Contest

THE BUILDING HAD stood off Piccadilly for almost two hundred years, implacable in the face of London’s changing fortunes, a neoclassical monolith around which humanity lapped like a feeble tide.

These days nobody gave the old building a second glance. It had built up a grimy countenance, common to big cities, and faded into the background. It was obvious its membership didn’t like to advertise. The only indication of its use was a brass plaque by the large black door within the embrace of the Doric portico. It simply read ‘The Club’. The place had no need to assume an air of grandeur. The very brevity of its name spoke of entitlement.

“So you’re telling me this is an exclusive club for gods only? Doesn’t look all that exclusive to me,” said Richard, considering the facade.

“Don’t let the building fool you,” said Coyote. “Even though it’s reinforced with wards, sigils and immurements, I can still sense psychic leakage from those inside. Apparently, they take their privacy seriously. I still can’t sense my younger brother but, from Nataero’s last words, someone here must know of its whereabouts.”

“So you can get us in. You’re a member, right?”

“Me?” laughed Coyote. “No! Couldn’t think of anything worse. Besides, I wouldn’t join any club who would have me as a member.”

“Ah, Groucho Marx.”

“No, actually. Me. I told him that.”

Richard rolled his eyes. “So, is this wise, then?”

Coyote said nothing. He watched. He waited, glowering at the building across the road. Richard sighed and gazed longingly at a nearby coffee shop. Coyote looked up at the upper floors. The silhouette of a bird caught his attention as it disappeared over the roof.

It was an omen.

On the street, a car backfired. An agreement.

Coyote cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Wise? Seriously? You’re asking me?”

Coyote pushed himself off the railing with his shoulders. He had stashed his war bundle somewhere secret, somewhere safe. There was no point in advertising his intentions. They had underestimated him so far and that was just the way he liked it. He operated best like that. They expected the trickster and the fool, so he would play the fool. It was time for a little controlled folly.

They crossed the street, Coyote striding with purpose, Richard hurrying to keep up.

“Remember, Richard Green, through this door, no matter what it looks like, it is no longer your world. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not eat or drink anything offered. Decline, but decline with grace.”

Richard looked Coyote up and down.

“Right. Know my place. I’ve been told that all my life, and look where it’s got me.”

Nonetheless, Richard found himself polishing the toes of his shoes against the backs of his calves as Coyote rapped the huge brass lion’s head knocker. A sonorous boom echoed on the other side of the door.

Coyote looked over at Richard, who screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a thought. It was the psychic wash of a concentrated number of gods. The proximity of so many deities was clouding Richard’s mind.

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