Page 4 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Here it is. This here. Your brand-new horse.”
Fenn clenched his teeth and gripped the stone so hard it hurt his fingers.
The sacking had indeed been fashioned into something vaguely horse shaped. It was like a badly made carnival horse except it was all of a piece with no join for anyone to get into. It had a tail like a tube and a raw edge of fringe stuck up for a mane. The head, perhaps stuffed with straw, rested on a post. Someone had sketched on an eye with a charred stick and from the mouth protruded a tongue at least a foot long. This had been daubed with red paint so it looked as if the creature had been lapping blood.
It was an ugly horse shaped scarecrow, life-sized but not terribly life-like.
An expectant hush had fallen. The crowd was all eyes. They wanted him to protest that it wasn’t a real horse, that he’d been cheated. Master Jerkin would contradict him, would perhaps point out the various merits of the horse’s conformation. The crowd would roar with laughter.
Some men would have played along: give them what they want. Let them laugh at you. Then, at the end, beg for a few coins or scraps. Everyone would be in a good humour and that sometimes made folk generous.
But hate was curdling in Fenn’s guts, made worse by the fact that he had, for one cruel minute, hoped the horse would be real.
He was damned if he’d play the fool.
He turned from the horse and began to walk north along the dry and dusty road.
Master Jerkin stepped in front of him. “Hey, Mr. Groom, you forgot your horse.”
Fenn glared over the young man’s shoulder at a clump of brown grass. “Let me by.”
“You can’t go without it!”
“Aye, fucking hilarious. Mind out.” Fenn side-stepped but the young man side-stepped with him.
“Take the horse, mate,” Master Jerkin said.
“Out of my way. Mate.” Fenn side-stepped again.
Again, the young man shifted to stand in his path. “Sun got your wits, old man? We shook on it. Remember?”
Fenn closed his eyes. He’d been knackered when he’d woken up and this day had been a month long and he’d dug a trench a mile deep. A mean pulse of pain hammered at his left temple. The desire to not be here was overwhelming. He opened his eyes. The young toe-rag was still there, all full of life and fun and spite.
“Don’t do this,” Fenn said.
“Don’t do what? You did your work. You got your meal, now you’re getting the horse. You want to make a cheat of me? Turn me into a cheating Lutian, eh?”
“Don’t talk to me about Lutians, boy. I’m from Mandillo.” He didn’t know where that had come from, but there it was. “You heard of it? You remember the war? Suppose you’re too young, but I ain’t. The sea turned to fire and those Lutians burned my home. And now you—you think this is funny?”
Master Jerkin rolled his eyes. “Gods, it was a manner of speaking. I don’t care where you’re from. You earned that horse. Take it. Then you can go.”
Things were about to get physical. A shove, probably. It was in the young snot’s stance. It was in his eyes. He wasn’t going to back down in front of his mates.
Fenn was taller, twice as broad, with fists like mallets. He could pound the little shit into a smear on the road. Give the flies something to celebrate. Ah, and it would feel good to smash the glint from the little bastard’s eyes, to feel his nose crunch in a gout of blood and pain.
Fenn breathed out, unclenched his fists. He didn’t hold with violence. It was tempting. But wasn’t never worth it in the end.
What would it hurt to carry the horse around the first corner and dump it under a hedge? Should have done that in the first place. Should never have got into this. All that bollocks about Mandillo. And it was bollocks. Fenn had lost his home years before the war. And his own stupid fault it had been too. He’d been trying for sympathy he didn’t deserve. Anyway, no one cared. He was bandying words with a louse.
He glanced at the horse again and saw a way to save a little dignity.
“All right,” he said. “Ain’t what you promised and you know it. You are a cheat so I hope you’re proud of that. But sacking’s good to sleep on so I’ll take it.”
He nodded to the serving woman. “Thank them in the kitchen for the food, missus. They was right generous at least.” He turned back to Master Jerkin. “And you, mate. I’ll keep you in my prayers. Hope nothing bad happens to you. You know, like falling and breaking your leg next time you ride that velocipede. Those corners, eh? They want watching.”
The lad knew an ill wish when he heard one. His face hardened and he took a step closer. But Fenn turned away and scooped the sacking horse off the fence, rolled it into a bundle so the long legs wouldn’t trip him, hoisted it to his shoulder. He took a step, then another, face burning as the crowd raised a ragged cheer. He wanted to vanish, to run, to be a thousand miles away in a flash of magic. He forced himself to walk slow. He would not hurry. He would not show he cared.
As he passed the young man, the fellow said under his breath, “I see you again, I set the dogs on you.”
