Mule PI: The Watchstallion

by Oat Cakes

4 Brass Tacks

"Why should I hire you?" the lord questioned as he straightened his posture slightly.

Mule matched his attention to posture and leaned forward as he stated, "I've only ever lost three cases, disregarding dismissal by a client, and I'm a stubborn old mule--that's half the job," and he nearly smiled.

"And the young stallion?"

"My apprentice, from university in Canterlot."

With intrigue, much to Quick's surprise, the lord asked, "Your family?"

Quick cringed as he told the truth, "Mundane," but it felt so much like a lie.

Taking a small effort to hide his disappointment the lord Horn said, "My apologies." The butler arrived carrying a small platter on his back with two glasses, a pitcher and a red tinted bottle. From the pitcher, Mule's drink was poured and from the bottle was the lord's. The butler had only just barely finished pouring his drink when it lifted in a dusky blue glow to the lord's lips. He took a long drink and a short cough before he said, "I suppose I should start at the beginning. In my youth, my younger brother drowned during a weather accident that flooded the countryside of River Horn. Loud Horn was eight at the time, no mark yet. It burdened mother terribly until the day she joined my late father. All three rest in the Horn family crypt."

The lord paused to take another long drink and Mule seized the moment, "May I ask, how long ago was the crypt last open?”

When the lord set his drink down he replied, “You may. Mother was put to rest in 984, in late Garnet. The crypt was not opened since, though the mausoleum above is regularly attended. And do not spare my feelings--ask what you must.”

“That was all I have, for now,” said Mule as he glanced at the curtains behind the lord.

“Very well, where was I?... Oh, the heirlooms. They were buried with a number of heirlooms. Mother was buried with her favorite pieces from the vault, father was buried with the original watchstallion’s charm, and my brother was buried with his favorite toy--a short whistle. He took it everywhere,” the lord took a short drink, “Hmm, I think he blew that whistle more than he spoke. I would tease him--”

“Excuse me,” Mule interjected.

“Oh, yes?”

“What is the original watchstallion’s charm?” Mule asked the lord.

“The watchstallion’s charms are meta-stable illusion artifacts that enhance night vision.” Quick answered in excited interest. ”They are typically set into helmets as small gemstones.”

Before Quick could go on, the lord smiled and said, “Yes, that is the modern charm--adapted for the Guard. The original is a necklace with a carved red garnet gemstone accompanied with a small inset blue saualpite grain.” While the lord went on, Quick met Mule’s crushing gaze and redoubled his effort to shut his mouth. “It would shimmer in the dark like a cat’s eye. The chain was bronze, coated to look silver. It is likely bronze again, but the main piece was real silver. My father developed the artifice with his mage, Sharp Baton.” The lord took another long drink, during which Quick could only further agonize under Mule’s hard look, despite the soft music. “She passed in the same flood as my brother, sun bless them.”

Mule relented his assault on Quick to ask, “Was there any enchantment on your mother’s heirlooms?”

The lord paused to recall, before saying, “No. They were finely crafted, but just mundane jewelry.” The lord looked between Mule and Quick while the flute faded and the clarinet began to play in solo. The sound danced in short staccato phrases, filling the awkward pause. When the flute rejoined in canon the lord regained his attention and asked, “Will you be taking this case, mule?”

Without missing a beat Mule met the lord’s eyes. “I saw your asking rate and it’s agreeable for this work. I would ask for some upfront payment or to bill your estate for the cost of the ongoing investigation.”

The lord looked relieved to say, “You’ll have it, but did you not bring funds with you?”

“Hah,” Mule smiled, “I am not in any shape to haul bits and I’m not trusting enough for a bank.”

The lord hummed to himself in agreement, “Silver, is the drafter in?”

The butler, standing motionless at the door, replied, “She has retired for the evening, but she is in.”

“So late already. Very well, then I will see you off with some bits for tonight. Silver Pocket will arrange your endorsement tomorrow.”

Mule nodded and asked, “When may we return for further questions?”

“Ask Silver,” the lord motioned to the butler, “I must be off, lest I finish this bottle.”

Silver Pocket approached the table, cork in hoof, and--on seeing the bottle closely--clarified, “Sir, you have finished the bottle.”

The lord hummed again and rose from his seat, “Before I start another--good night,” and on the uttering of ‘night,’ the music was cut short.

“Good night”, Mule returned as the lord exited the gallery.

Quick was in the process of collapsing into the soft couch as he relaxed his posture when Silver answered Mule, “The lord will be occupied until mid evening tomorrow, but you are free to enter the estate as early as dawn.” He then produced eight coins and hooved them to Mule.

“Thank you, we will be off,” Mule replied, pulling Quick from the couch. They were halfway down the hall before he released his hold on Quick. Having the Mule between him and the paintings, Quick found little to entertain himself besides the doors on his side of the hall.

When they reached the mudroom they had nearly left before Silver caught up to them. “Sir,” he addressed and caught Mule’s attention, holding his tattered hat.

Mule took the old fedora and said, “Hmp, thank you,” before following Quick, who waited just outside. They walked across the estate in silence.

The path was not lit this time, but the waxing moon was just enough to walk by, and so they reached the gate. The pair stopped before the gate and for a moment they shared the concern that they would have to wait in the cool night for it to be opened. When they approached the post Quick was true to his name in noting, “There’s another gem,” more to himself than to Mule--grunting in response--and lit his horn in a white shimmer. The gem responded, glowing in blue for a moment before the gate gently swung open.

When they crossed the gate, Quick sighed and stated, “So... That was a lot.”

“Hmp”

“What happened to haggling?”

Mule ear flicked as he said, “He’s not a disrespected noble.”

Quick stopped for a moment, though Mule kept his pace, and asked in mild disbelief, “He’s an imposter?”

Mule snorted, stifling a chuckle. When Quick matched pace with him again, he clarified, “He wasn’t disrespected--well he was, but that’s not why he commissioned me.”

“Oh?”

“He’s grieving. You can’t ask a grieving client for more... Even if they’ve been drinking.”

“It’s immoral”

“It’s bad business,” Mule corrected. ”And bad odds too.”

“Just business?”

“Hmp,” Mule grunted and looked to River Horn in the distance. “Don’t mix your money and your morals. You’ll be saving your self on both ends.”

“Sure,” Quick dismissed.

Author's Note:

For reasons of pacing and tone, I think this is where this chapter has to end. If only they reached the manor earlier in the day I could have made this chapter longer

Comments

[Alaric]

I also think you ended the chapter at the right place. Looking forward to more.

Don’t mix your money and your morals. You’ll be saving your self on both ends.”

Good quote.