CHAPTER 24 My Horse Picked That Lock?

CHAPTER 24

My Horse Picked That Lock?

Brownie

Donna was not happy, and Brownie could tell.

One minute, the bard was relaxing in companionable scone-chewing silence with Rufus, and the next, she was getting a very affronted message from her horse.

The level one bond wasn’t strong enough to actually send verbal messages, but it was strong enough to let Brownie know that if she didn’t get to the stables now , then someone might lose a finger—or worse.

“I have to go.” Brownie jumped up from her plush chair. It was only thanks to her Dexterity eighteen that she placed the tea on the tea trolley without spilling.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Rufus was on his feet almost faster than she was; level difference made a difference. He also expertly divested his snacks.

There was a brief moment where she was tempted to jump out the window to save time … but the windows were glass and latched.

“I have to check on Donna!” she said, already running out the door with Rufus hot on her heels.

The room they were waiting in was literally just inside the doors to the castle, and the stables were outside. The second they exited the main door, they heard the problem.

“Blasted horse!” A young man, pale and human, was trying to put a muzzle on her mare. He wore the duke’s livery, as well as boots and gloves that marked him as a stable hand.

Donna was having none of that nonsense . She reared up, kicking out at the man. One hoof clipped his shoulder, and he cursed again. Donna wrenched her face out of the offending accessory, and the muzzle was sent flying.

“ Excuse me .” Brownie’s voice was stern and loud, startling the young man into distraction .

She flinched as Donna whipped her head around to bite flesh. Instead of the expected agonizing scream, Rufus was suddenly standing there, catching the mare’s chin and petting her nose. He pulled out a sugar cube he must have swiped from the tea trolley earlier and offered the treat to the horse.

“Shh, beautiful. Bronwynn and I are here,” he spoke softly to the mare. Brownie was surprised Donna let him. “You were magnificent . And we are unworthy.”

Granted, his low voice was smooth and comforting. That beastman knew how to talk to a woman— horse. Female . Of the equestrian variety. He knew how to talk to mares .

Brownie turned her attention back to the stable hand, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

When Rufus had appeared in the spot between Donna and the unfortunate stable hand, the stable hand had been forced to vacate the space to somewhere else.

Which was just a nice way of saying he’d been laid on his rear.

“Are you the owner of that beast ?” the stable hand demanded, climbing to his feet and rubbing his shoulder.

“She isn’t my owner, no,” Rufus quipped. Bronwynn let out a very unbecoming snort. “Do you always call the duke’s guests by their race?”

The man’s head snapped back like he’d been struck.

“That is my horse,” Brownie interjected, knowing the words would irritate Donna but accepting her fate. She stepped forward and demanded, “What gave you the right to treat my mare like some pack animal to be muzzled?”

“If she’s your animal, then you probably already know,” the stable hand accused, his voice acidic. “She’s a terror , and she ate our Bensen’s prized oats!” He waved wildly at a container deeper in the stable hall with its lid open and the oats in question pilfered. An open lock dangled from the lid latch.

Brownie resisted the urge to glare at her horse, instead activating [Liar’s Palace].

[You have attempted to use the Perk: Liar’s Palace . You have succeeded. +2 Charisma. Anyone with a Rogue Skill equal to or greater than yours may see through your lie. Anyone with a Perception equal to or higher than your Level 31 + Informant 6 Skill will be able to see through your fabrication. All others will recognize that you believe what you are saying. This Perk is in effect for Charisma 23 x Level 31.]

[ Liar’s Palace remaining time 00:11:56]

[ Liar’s Palace remaining time 00:11:55 ]

Brownie scoffed, pointing at the box. “So you are punishing my horse because you didn’t lock up the expensive oats?”

“What?! Of course I locked that box. Your horse must’ve …” He trailed off. After a look of sheer frustration played across his features, he decided to push through. “Your horse picked the lock while I wasn’t looking!”

“I’m confused.” Brownie crossed her arms and stared down at the young man. “You are telling me that my horse picked that lock .”

The stable hand turned red—from anger or embarrassment, she knew not—but before he could say anything, a loud voice called out, “Here now, Jimmie, what’s happening?”

Everyone turned to the servants’ entrance and found seven liveried attendants all dressed in the same black tunic and dark gray pants that the man Brownie was arguing with sported.

“Mister Ling!” Jimmie bobbed a quick bow to the older man standing at the front of the group. His next words came out in a jumble, and the stable hand’s cheeks burned even redder. “You see, I, uh, I’m …”

“This esteemed gentleman,” Brownie stressed politely as she inwardly regretted having to throw the man under Donna’s metaphorical carriage, “claims that my horse picked that lock.”

The eyes of everyone standing there turned to Donna, and Rufus kindly coaxed the mare out of the way so the empty wooden oat container was in full view. The lid was slung up and back, with a metal padlock ring open and dangling precariously from the lid ring.

“She must’ve!” Jimmie exclaimed, panicking as his fellow hostlers started to give him strange looks. “I locked the box myself after feeding Bensen. Then I tied the mare in the hall while I finished getting clean water, and I come out to find this one eating the good oats!”

“Jimmie.” Mister Ling looked like he had some mix of fae and fair about him. Old but ageless, his voice soft and firm.

The young stable hand let out a breath and made an exasperated sound. Quieter, rebellious, he mumbled, “It’s true .”

“Mister Ling?” Brownie stepped forward to the senior attendant. “I don’t want there to be any trouble, so I will pay for the oats. Jimmie was injured by my horse and might just need some time to rest.”

Mister Ling raised a single eyebrow, appraising her and her horse. “Are you sure, miss?”

“I’m sure.” She pulled out a silver coin, more than enough to cover for high-quality feed, and used her thumb to flick the coin. Mister Ling caught it in the air. Brownie turned to Jimmie and pulled out one of her low-grade healing potions then handed it to the startled stable hand .

She kept her few potions and most of her wealth in the spatial storage ring on her right pinkie finger. It wasn’t the kind of thing a regular bard would have—the ring cost more than her house back in Drendil. A fan she’d met in Servalt gave it to her, and it was a very impressive thing to show off to the castle staff. It wasn’t the kind of thing she revealed often; not to anyone who might get ideas . Of course, she wasn’t worried about Rufus—he probably had a chest full of these back home.

The beastman was still distracting Donna with pets and adoration, for which she was immensely grateful. The mare, for her part, was decidedly ignoring Brownie’s eyes.

Donna was a horse, yes, but she was a magical horse . Like a pegasus or a unicorn. Just because she couldn’t talk didn’t mean she wasn’t intelligent. At the same time, she had been raised in the Dark Enchanted Forest and often ignored the rules. The stable had prize oats, and so she would eat the prize oats. If the elves had a problem with that, then it was an elf problem.

Brownie was more surprised that Donna had gotten caught. She resisted the urge to glare at her horse or send pokes through their bond, giving up on wasting the energy. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“As you say, miss, there’s no trouble at all.” There was a subtle edge to Mister Ling’s words that broached no argument. The other stable hands, who’d quietly stayed back until now, jumped to action with seamless efficiency at his next words. “We’ll clean up here and take care of your horse properly. Jimmie.”

The young stable hand’s head snapped up from where he’d been gaping at the health potion. “Ah, yes?”

“Take the evening off and heal up,” Mister Ling ordered. “I want you in proper form for the guests tomorrow. Laurence can fill you in on the schedule tomorrow morning. You’re to work with him.”

“Yes, Mister Ling—”

“ Found you! ”

Brownie looked up at the pinched frown of the tea attendant. The woman looked about as happy as she sounded.

Which was to say, not at all.