by Simon Archer
“Honey, if we weren’t in a ranch-bath with some giant fusty Wolves,” I whispered to her, “these hands would be singing praise to all of you until their voices were hoarse.”
“All the more reason for you to claim Timberpine’s estate as soon as you can, my Lord Hank McCallum Dragonoak.” She brought herself up to a kiss. “And all the more reason for me to make sure I’m hidden from those who might want to harm me, so I can be there when you do, and hear everything they have to say.”
“Oh, thank god.” I sighed in relief, kissing her back. “I was trying my damndest to get that ‘hiding, but not shaming’ thing across without sounding like a total--”
“My lord,” she put a finger to my lips, “if I may be so bold again, would you indulge me in telling when we would be heading out to try to claim that estate? I seem to have accidentally… hastened my impatience by quite a bit.”
“Immediately after you get your hiding outfit done and on,” I said like I was starving. “I’ll start packing up everything else. Boys!” I yelled out to my Wolves, still having the time of their nightmarish lives in the bath. “Dry off, finish the rest of the beef, and pack everything up. We’re heading out soon!”
“Do you need somebody to stay with the cows here, boss?” Poodle asked.
“Do we have any extra Wolves at the other ranches?” I asked them. I would have taken all of them, but the cattle needed tending, and I wanted to keep those protected in the event of some kind of attack. The ranches were being consolidated later when I had the time. There was no point in keeping so many of them in one place when one big one would do the trick.
“There was one at the ranch-stretching-room.” Shepherd began listing off the Wolves stationed at each ridiculous location. “That’s where Poodle was. I’m the one at the ranch-bath. There’s three at the ranch-aroma-bar, five at the ranch-hair-salon, and nine at the ranch-full- body-massage-parlor. I think that’s all of them.”
“That’s… an odd amount of Wolves.” I commented. “Any Rabbit slaves?”
“No, boss.” Poodle answered. “He didn’t trust them to know how to treat a Wolf’s hygiene, so he never kept any.”
“Let’s move a few from the massage parlor and the hair salon over to these two,” I said, almost cracking under the weight of the idea of a ranch spa, which I now owned. Why yes, they were all ranches as well as spa stations. What else would they have been? Regular ranches? That would have just been silly. This spa resort run by giant Wolf monsters, with no customers and that doubled as a series of beef ranches, was now my real estate. I pinched myself to make sure things were still real. Still not sure if I was hoping for a dream or not.
With that, I loaded up my guns to get ready to head out, hoping that this was the last piece of property I would acquire with such creative architecture.
15
After redistribution of Wolf subjects to their new ranch posts, preceded by proving my lordly claim and further refining the Wolf naming process over another seventeen Wolves, I brought my seven along with me to enter the town. Hopper had created her disguise, consisting mostly of a cape and cowl made of denim and plaid to hide herself. I proudly stepped forward, showing off my blue lord’s coat as much as I could.
Thumperton Port’s front gate was fairly intimidating, and I was sorry for brushing off my boys’ previous warning about it as inane prattle. With an archway reaching up to at least twenty-five feet, the path leading in stretched to both ends at the bottom, with a couple of burly Wolf guards standing at attention at either one. I looked around for a Wolf captain but found no one who really fit the description. I guess simple solutions were too much to hope for. A murder- collect spree wouldn’t have been very low-profile, anyway. The only person of any official capacity was our first obstacle.
This pompous looking white-with-black-spots Wolf in a grey coat stood over a pulpit with a paper on it, holding a quill as he wrote something down on it. He wore a pair of Ben Franklin spectacles bent over the large bridge of his snout, seemingly holding no purpose as he looked below them to see what he was writing and also having no lenses reflective of the daylight. I had no idea what to expect from the Customs department of a Wolf city, and with no one in my entourage possessing the background to have a better idea, I was forced to fly in blind. I walked up to the Wolf toll agent to greet him.
“Hello, there.” I started in my manliest voice. “I am requesting--”
“Before we begin,” the toll Wolf interrupted me to start an official statement with a monotone drone, not taking his eyes off his work. “I must inform you that I have no property or pack to speak of and I am beholden to the Official Scribe in the Baron’s castle. I am not obligated to accept any challenge except from someone within a Baron’s pack or of equivalent or higher noble status or with sufficient land holdings and property. This is equally true of anyone within the Baron’s pack. None of these parties will be issuing any challenges, and any attempts to provoke a challenge from myself or any under the Baron’s direct control from any party of insufficient status shall be met with guards who will eat you alive.” Somehow, he kept going without even taking a breath. “This will not be recognized as a challenge by the Barony, the Official scribe, or any within the Baron’s pack and will not result in your increase in property or pack. All guards are also non-pack-leaders and will not have any property for you to claim should you challenge one. Entering the city as a foreign element is considered a challenge by the Barony. Therefore, upon your death inside any district or property not already part of another noble’s estate and outside the constraints of an official challenge will be considered losing to the Baron. Any and all assets you possess will be collected and considered a part of the Baron’s property and pack upon said death under those specifications. The Baron does not leave his abode in Thumperton Keep for any reason whatsoever and will not leave it for any reason beyond a full-scale invasion.” And on and on, he went. “This statement is meant to simplify the process of acquisition should a perceived ‘sneak attack’ occur and will not be repeated at any time hereafter. If any pack members within your household do not understand this or refuse to accept this statement for any and all challenging purposes regarding the Barony, those members will be subjugated by force by whoever the Baron deems fit or killed, wherein all previous statements about their death within the city will apply. If there is a failure on any lord’s part to understand this information, it will not be repeated by me or anyone else under any circumstances outside of an order given by the Official Scribe.”
I blinked my eyes repeatedly, the cogs and gears of my mind spinning into overdrive as they processed all of this information as quickly as possible. If I understood the gist of it, there was a bunch of legal jargon that kept the Baron from ever having to lift a finger, so long as he remained as powerful as he was. My boys were obviously oblivious to anything the toll Wolf just said, and Hopper was trying her best to remain inconspicuous, so I was sure she wasn’t focused on any of it.
However, every rule there was only as enforceable as the Baron and his soldiers could handle. At the end of the day, it was a challenge-or-perish game. The Baron was planning to sit on the top of the hill and watch the rest of the players kill each other. I was more than happy to play if Timberpine was a member. I just had to make sure I was getting challenged and not “sneak-attacked.”
Wheezing a bit, the toll Wolf gathered his breath again, apparently speaking all of that in one or two breaths alone. I was almost impressed.
“What land holdings are you declaring today?” The dalmatian-colored Wolf asked after he recomposed, still working and focusing on his previous tasks. “Keep in mind, all land holdings and property will be claimed upon your death within city limits regardless of any you withhold from stating here. Any and all lords officiated by the Baron will be informed of your property values, and their challenges must be considered while you remain within the confines of Thumperton Port and hold a title below Baron.”
That was intrigui
ng information. If the lords were impressed with my land holdings, they might just come up to me on their own. That’d save a lot of time. They weren’t going to, given what I had, but the thought made me happy all the same. I’d have more in just a bit, anyway.
“Er, uh,” I kept that cool up, just barely, “I’m declaring the ranch… spa… resort… as my land holdings here today.”
“Am I to understand that you are claiming landholdings currently claimed by Lord Manewood?” he asked me like a customer service representative would. “And you will be able to bring sufficient proof that you have challenged and claimed it properly?”
“I have his head if that’s what you want,” I said, looking back to Old Yeller. “Old Yeller, the head.”
Old Yeller pulled a sack he was carrying off of his back and walked it over to present it to the toll Wolf.
“Please do not move ahead of me,” the toll Wolf nipped at me with the most passive-aggressive tone that ever spoken through air. “I will be asking your lordly title in a moment after I record that-- CURSE MY FANGS!”
At long last, the toll Wolf had looked up from his paperwork to see our group, aghast at the sight. I was just about to take the head away from Old Yeller, though we had stopped to let the spotted Wolf shout his curse. With a wave of my hands, I beckoned the bag down so that it could be opened, and the head could be presented, then turning my attention to the distraught serviceman.
“Is there a problem?” I asked him. “I can present my lordly title whenever you’re ready.”
The toll Wolf’s jaw remained open in his disgust, looking at me as one might look at a shit taken on the couch. He then whipped his neck to look at Old Yeller.
“Excuse me, slave yeller?” He addressed my pack member with all of the insufferable tone of an entitled rich woman seeking to file a complaint about a slight inconvenience. “Your master’s Rabbit slave is speaking out of turn and wearing the master’s fine blue coat. I will overlook this grievous insult if it is disciplined harshly immediately. Where is your master? He was just here speaking to me. Get him here at once.”
I won’t say that I’ve had much experience with prejudice directed towards me. If any folk had a problem with who I was or where I was from, they never spoke about it to my face. I’m sure many people might have been plum scared, but it’d left me without the proper mental preparation necessary to let that blatant disrespect just splash off my back.
“The master is addressing you now,” I spoke plainly and directly. “I’d like to finish my registration if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Slave yeller!” The registration Wolf shouted in disbelief. “I demand that you bring your leader here at once, or I will report all of you to the guards! The slave’s impertinence persists. Are you not supposed to yell at it for doing something like this?”
Old Yeller’s joints froze up as he was caught in the toll Wolf’s awkward imposition. He woodenly turned to me, asking with his eyes for me to command him in some way. I nodded to him, prompting him to speak. I was hoping his voice on the matter would clear things up and move things along quicker than I could.
“I’m not a slave yeller.” Old Yeller told the grey-coated Wolf, seemingly coming to terms with the idea of a name. “My name is Old Yeller.”
“Oh!” The toll Wolf barfed out before my blonde underling could say more. “You’re the lord in question. Well then, why don’t you punish your slave before I report this, hmm? I would expect it would be something absolutely barbaric for being so unfathomably barefaced. I would suggest cutting out his tongue so he may speak no more insolence in his short life.”
“But I’m not…” Old Yeller turned to me again, and I let him speak again. “The master. He is. Lord Hank Dragonoak.” Old Yeller pointed to me.
“Who?” the toll Wolf looked around amongst my other Wolves, ignoring Old Yeller’s obvious indication. “Is it the brown one? The darker brown one? The red one? It can’t be the pale one, I’m sure.”
“It’s him.” Lassie pointed at me. “He’s Lord Dragonoak. My name’s Lassie.”
“That’s Lord Dragonoak.” Shepherd pointed at me as well. “I’m Shepherd.”
“His name’s Lord Hank Dragonoak.” Foxhound pointed at me. The other hand pointed at himself. “Foxhound is my name.”
“I’m Toby, I’ll have you know.” Toby stood up to the front, pride in his chest. “I’m the best Toby there is! Because that’s my name. Toby.”
At the sight of the overwhelming evidence contrary to his ingrained prejudice, the toll Wolf elected to ignore it, speaking to Old Yeller again.
“Old Yeller,” he addressed him again, “If you are indeed a lord with a noble name, but are underneath this ‘Lord Dragonoak’ then you will present the WOLF,” he glared at me as he spoke the word to emphasis that meant ‘specifically not this slave,’ “who is your master. I will not ask any of you again. Now, I might have assumed that this covered thing was your master if it weren’t so pathetically small. When I’m done, both of these vermin will be brought before the Baron. Then they will punish this impertinent rodent right here and now and cave his little Rabbit slave skull in with their heaviest--”
As if spontaneously, the toll Wolf and his pulpit crashed backward about ten or so feet, creating a pressure press of wood and stone on the beast’s chest for the briefest of moments before the pulpit exploded, showering his fur in sawdust and turning all of his white fur a tannish color. Papers wafted on the ghost of the pulpit before gently falling to the ground, while the inkwell had spun violently, spreading a splattered line of ink up Old Yeller’s leg and chest, before it crashed upon the ground with barely any ink left inside to spill. The force of the impact, plus the shock at the completely unheralded event by both the receiver and all bystanders, created a moment of silence at the gate area. The toll Wolf let out a faint groan before falling forward, landing upon the pulverized remains of his pulpit.
Were I pushed that much more to the edge of my goodwill by this Wolf, my focus may have been too blurred to see the culprit of the attack, the very fine leg of my favorite Hopper, who had concealed her leg as quickly as if it were never brought out at all. I gave my quick shot kicker a wink and a smile to let her know quietly that I was still very pleased. Maybe we weren’t coming in quite as subtly as I was hoping for, but now we were arriving in style. I could build from that.
“Does anyone know what happened?” I asked the guards nearby. They only gave me blank stares, telling me that they didn’t see what I saw. Thankfully, that blathering asshole was making enough of a stink to draw all eyes on him and away from us. “Anyone? Anyone at all?”
“I couldn’t see what happened, m’Lord Dragonoak.” One of the guards addressed me. “Did you use some kind of Rabbit magic on him?”
“Who can say?” I put my hands up, creating the faintest veil of confusion over what I obviously knew. “It could have been the wind, for all we know. A powerful wind of fortune like that tends to just follow some people. You know, I’ve had the same wind blowing through tons of places recently, helping me out where it can. That Wolf didn’t have anything, but he’s not dead, so no harm done, no sneak-attack made. If it was a sneak attack, I guess the wind would have gotten the punishment, right? If the toll booth isn’t going to be questioning us anymore, I suppose we’ll just be heading in.”
“Um…” Another guard spoke up, a quiver to his voice. “We’re not supposed to let anyone through unless the TollWolf allows them through. Captain’s orders.”
“If you, uh,” a third guard said, equally frightened but with a spear facing me, “if you try to get inside, we’ll have to… try to stop you.”
“Can you stop the wind, gentlemen?” I said, walking by them as I ushered my entourage forward. “I certainly won’t hold it against you, if that’s an official challenge.”
“Our kills don’t count as challenges.” Yet another guard tried to get in my way with a spear, with only a breath more confidence. “So long as we’re enforcing the Ba
ron’s laws.”
“You know, funny thing I’m remembering.” I walked up to the guard, looking at him dead in his big dog eyes as I spoke. “There wasn’t any real mention of any downsides to killing guards. It just says you guys also don’t have any property or place to protect you, and the Barony isn’t affected by it. So if you start a fight, for whatever reason, there’s really nothing stopping me from claiming the benefit of… gusting on by.”
The guards quaked in their little boots, shaking at the bravado I was giving off as I played up this ‘ghost-wind’ thing. My boys moved on through, walking up to the giant doors barring the pathway into Thumperton Port. Hopper followed behind them, with me behind them as we all slipped through the opening. I paused for a moment to talk to the soldiers.
“You’ve made a very wise decision, boys,” I said to them. “I’ll remember this later on when you’re each given a name. You’ve earned it. And remember, you can’t prove anything, so you didn’t see anything.”
Through their confused mutters to each other, I winked at them and slipped through, heading into the town. If they weren’t going to let me do my business gradually, I was going to make myself known.
“My lord,” Hopper whispered to me. “Two of them are whispering about you.” The hearing of Rabbits was like a mobile spy command center. And I was smuggling it right under their noses.
“I’m sure they all are,” I mentioned. “What are they saying?”
“They’re going to report to Timberpine.” She said.
I saw one of the guards slink off through a door in the wall, disappearing from sight with the clanking of the iron lock. A few turncoats in the royal guard was more than enough evidence for me that Timberpine and the Baron were only technically on the same side, which could play out in my favor and earn me that much more time for my own power play.