Mule PI: The Watchstallion

by Oat Cakes

3 Entrance

Mule walked and Quick followed, both with a brisk pace. The sun on their backs stretched their shadows further and further. When the boarder of the estate was in view Mule slowed his pace, “Listen up,” he demanded, “I don’t care who raised you, I don’t care what you know, I don’t care how annoying this will be--you will not mess this up.”

Mule looked to Quick who responded in turn with two nods of his head.

“Hmp. You will speak when I tell you and you shouldn’t say much. You can look board, but you cant look annoyed--that face. That face you made looking out the train--make that face if you can manage.” Mule huffed--paused--and said, “If you must leave, say, ‘please excuse me,’ and immediately leave. And say it quiet, you’re--”

“Why am I here?” Quick countered.

“Hmp. You’re my errand colt, but you will be running errands on the lord’s bit.” Mule’s words dripped with annoyance, ”You can’t do that if you don't meet the lord.”

“Okay, okay, got it.”

“Hmp. Say it back,” the mule challenged.

“All of it?”

“Hmp.”

“Fine--um--be quiet--if I can’t, leave--and meet the lord and... don’t look annoyed.”

“Hmp. Good enough.”

It was nearly five minutes later when their shadows touched the gate to Horn Manor, and another minute after when the two reached the gate themselves. The estate was fenced in its entirety in vibrant green hedges that, on closer inspection, hid a dense layer of thorns which in turn hid a fence beneath it all. In the center of the fence was a wide ornate gate made from golden brass and framed by two large brick posts.

The gate was free from the surrounding greenery and through it the entire manor could be seen, in the center of the estate and surrounded by a massive patio to the left side and a vibrant garden to the right. In the ornamentation of the gate it appeared as though the pickets and rails were tubing for a massive brass instrument and atop the finial tips were works of art. Each of the fourteen tips sported a miniature instrument. There was a trumpet, an alto horn, a tuba, two prench horns, a conch, a slide whistle, a harmonica, a megaphone, and five variations of a bugle.

The entire gate was lit by a white gem lamp at each post and an orange gem was inset under a brass plate on the right post. On the plate was no lettering, only an embossed picture of a rain cloud being spewed from a pipe. As Mule reached to tap the orange gem it sparked to life, glowing and vibrating in matching intensity, “Business?” the gem asked in a voice that was difficult to discern from crackling static.

“Confidential investigator from Trottsville,” Mule replied without hesitation, though Quick was intrigued by the talking gem.

The gem crackled for several seconds, saying nothing, before it went silent and dimmed.

The sun plunged past the horizon and the moon rose dimly in its first quarter.

Quick fidgeted as a light breeze picked up and danced across the green fence.

A light in the distant tower lit in its highest window. The window darkened as the next lowest lit, then again and again the light traveled down the tower before disappearing. Quick made to ask if they should return to town but Mule prodded him with both a pointed look and a pointed hoof. Getting the message, they waited in silence as the light returned to the bottom of the tower, then rose and rose. When the light reached its origin the gate gem returned to life.

“You are expected,” the monotone stone intoned, then shone the lone flagstones to glow. As if compelled by incantation, the gate swung open.

Walking along the path through the yard, the silence between them was filled with waking nightlife. Upon reaching the door, Mule produced a weathered old fedora from nothing, to Quick’s bewilderment. Mule donned his hat, then pulled the knocker back once clack, twice clack and spoke softly, “Walk behind me.”

Before Quick could question Mule’s conjuration capabilities the door opened to show a well furnished mud room and a stallion at the door. He was a pale yellow and dressed to impress in a rich brown vest and pants that covered him from shoulder to dock. The earth stallion’s mane was a layered turquoise and sea green that matched both his tail and a tuft on his upper lip that bounced as he said, “Welcome, please enter.”

“Thank you,” answered Mule as he stepped into the spacious mudroom, Quick in tow. The room was furnished with benches and racks with hats. At one wall was a small coat closet and to the other was a washroom. Between them, trimmed and ornamented in carved and lacquered wood, at the opposite wall was a doorway and in that doorway approached a figure from down the long hall--a stallion in dark colors and a red robe.

“May I?” the butler requested and gestured with his ears.

Mule gave a slight nod and was relieved of his hat as the stallion reached the mudroom. “Your lordship, how may I assist you?”

The lord Horn studied Mule and Quick studied the lord. He was a tall unicorn, though his stature was hunched, and your attention could hardly be pulled from his billowing, yet short mane. Matching his short beard, his mane was a deep blue that contrasted the rich red of his robe but blended well with his muted deep purple coat. The lord’s scrutiny had passed and he said, “Hmm, you’re the mule. Come, the gallery is where I do business,” then turned and walked down the enormous hall.

Together they walked in file--lord, mule, clerk, butler--for nearly half a minute at a decent pace. The walls were broken up with many doors, but for a long while the right wall was instead decorated with paintings. It was only Quick who’s eyes were caught by the canvases. The first few were standard fare with the recognizable harsh white shapes in a recreation of Star Skipper’s Portrait of Hearth's Warming and Celestia’s gentle smile in Sun’s Justice by Bristle Brush. What followed were something between landscapes and portraits; the paintings captured beautifully realized depictions of concert halls, each with a different lone performer.

While all the doors they had since passed were singular, when the lord Horn stopped it was to open a set of decorated double doors on the right wall, framed in whittled and painted musical motifs. Entering the doors was like a portal; where wood and earthen tones once claimed the walls was instead gold, brass, and warm reds and oranges. The room--nearly square--was dominated by heavy curtains along the entirety of its longest opposite end. Accented with gold, the curtains began from the ceiling, two storeys up, as a deep red and became crimson, became rust, became vibrant orange and finally reached the floor.

Quick's attention was pulled from the wall of layered colors by the soft sound of a violin. In the very moment his eyes strayed from the curtains all thought of the violin vanished.

At the furthest end of the room was a stage, boxed in gold with curtains partly drawn, and on the stage was it. It was a throne of brass, of pipes , of ivory, of enormous scale. Polish and no small amount of bits had made the already impressive inner workings of an organ into a work of art.

The lord lit his horn and for a moment there was silence. The violin whisked away, hardly noticed in front of the massive organ, and was replaced by a flute and clarinet. When their soothing melody began, Quick's eyes were drawn back across the room, noticing a ballroom floor, then paintings on the near wall, then plinths decorated with instruments, then a small table set before them.

Around the table was a couch and two cushioned seats. The seats, opposite each other about the table, were taken already by the lord and Mule. It was as Quick reached the couch when the lord Horn called to behind the couch,"Cider, hard."

"Slick cherry?" the butler asked.

The lord clarified, "Something hard, maybe rosé."

"Coffee? Tea?" was offered to the guests.

"Water." Mule ordered.

Quick shook his head.

When the sharp clacks of the butler on the ballroom tile became knocks on wood the lord Gloom Horn spoke.

Author's Note:

OOOoooOO its mystery time!