As the Seven Years War came to a close, a Prussian valet finds himself in the British Army. Though not much in his pockets, his last Master was generous enough to place him in a nearby British Dragoon regiment. After an incident, he soon awoke with Earth no longer under his feet — or rather hooves. However, even in death, one’s past may follow, be it post-mortem or living.
Follow along with his journey to see what a former valet will do to avenge his death. See Equis through the eyes of a man from the 1700s. Would he who only worked in nobles’ backstage be a force to be reckoned with? He may fail, but by Frederick II’s crown, he will make Prussia proud. Now, what will he do to make Equestria a foe to be feared by any that dares to challenge...
Wood met with leather drums. Bannermen waved their flags as companies marched. Line infantry moved to the drum’s beats as their bright red coats shined with the sun’s rays. Bushes rattled with long sticks protruding out in front of them.
In the small army’s flank, next to the smoking canon batteries, a soldier exhaled deeply and the person next to him snickered, saying, “You shan’t be worried, Kaffee. The chances of them hitting us is slim, and so is vice versa.”
Kaffee felt comfort from the use of his nickname. ‘Leicht Willus Wilhelm’ just did not appeal to him. He also hated that his name actually repeated itself. ‘Leicht Wilhelm Wilhelm’ showed precisely how creative his parents were.
“But, I’m a specialized marksman, one of the captain’s guard,” Kaffee squeaked, not even paying much attention to his own argument. He slouched under the trees’ shadow, flinching at the sound of his horse stepping on a twig.
“And how is that bad, comrade?” He gave off a big, comforting smile as he wove through bushes and fallen branches with his light charger.
“Okay, I thank you for your effort in comforting, Red.”
Jasper Redsword raised his head at the sound of cannon fire. “A Royal Dragoon should not be worried by a small skirmish with deserters leftover from previous battles. Those subpar excuse for target practise should rethink their choices before facing off with one of his majesty’s companies.”
“Ye—yes. They should,” Kaff stammered.
“Did you hear that, gents? Even Kaffee has spirit. So why don’t we rise up to his level of morale!?” He raised a musket to the air to emphasize. “To his majesty’s guard!”
“To his majesty’s guard! Let Brittain never fall!” every other dragoon roared, and birds flocked from their nests from its volume.
Still seeing Kaff in discomfort, Red neared and spoke, “Remain calm, Kaff. Stand by our routine: I slash, and you provide cover fire. A few months past, and you were ecstatic to finish basics.”
Kaff remembered those first days. He missed having that ignorance. “Yes, but… back then I know not of the realness of… the real thing.”
The hails upon hails of bullets were more than enough to cause his squadron to fall into disarray. He learned from it, but much of his classmates weren’t alive enough to use that knowledge. It was certain that breaking formation would only lead to death, and his classmates learned that the hard way.
Not far away, a bugler sounded his instrument, alerting the squadron of an order. Kaff halted his march and dismounted, his left leg jolted by a sudden shock of pain, almost causing him to fall. He hastily bent down to correct its angle.
A prosthetic change was in order. The wood down there had already started to rot under Northern Americas’ forest climates. Soon, parasites were bound to start appearing, and he wasn’t not letting his left leg get infected.
“Are you certain you do not wish to use your personal leg, instead of these cut-prices the military provide?” Red raised an arm up for Kaff, which he gladly took after the corrections were made.
“Yes, ...I am certain. I do not want those to be damaged. They weren’t made to sustain the user on wet grounds, and the swamps we marched through proved that point.” As he made his way to the lineup of of infantry, he looked from one place to another with unease.
Red placed a gloved hand on Kaff’s shoulder, being sure to not stagger him. “Perhaps you could ask for a replacement from that one baroness fellow of yours. The lady was generous enough to gift you your current.”
Kaff, for a quick moment, gave a small smile, before stress loomed back over him. “You should not ask a noble for more than what you receive.”
“Fair enough, Kaff. Fair enough.”
A man wearing lighter colored, and more ornately decorated clothing began pacing in front of the lineup of dismounted cavalry, a pouch of tea leaves attached to his holster. “Listen clear, lads! We are to fire a Fool’s Volley, and reload. After a single wave of fire by rank, we will remount and head west. This illusion will grant the enemy further fears of our ‘reserves’.”
They were deep inland. The thirteen colonies already called for their return, but some officers refused to comply, seeking glory in men’s desertion. The only reserve they had were the few mailmen connecting them with settlements nearby.
A soldier next to the officer pulled out a bugle, relaying the captain’s orders to men on the far side of the line. Moments after the bugle call, the first line let loose their volley, continued by the second line of men over the crouching and reloading first. Both were soon followed by the third, before the first started to remount their horses. A few minutes later, and squadron was off to the west flank of the skirmish.
“That was not at all difficult, was it not, Kaff?” Red’s smile was replaced by concern when he caught Kaff staring at the ground, as if there was a ghost there.
Kaff jerked at the question, almost dropping the rein wrapped around his wrists. “Huh? Oh, y—yes, it might have had been, I think.” He continued to look at the ground, counting every rock they passed over in an effort to keep composure. His breathing was loud enough for some riders to feel pity, though he still left a few annoyed.
“You have done this before, Kaff. You have kept calm when protecting your masters before, what is the difference now?”
Without awareness, he glared at the mere comparison. “The difference is that then, I was a valet, and the opponent didn’t have weapons that had high chance of causing amputation!” He glanced at his rotting leg, admitted to having teary eyes. “I can’t concentrate while legions of infantry fire waves at us. The best I could handle is a knife by some… some criminal that did it to survive out on the streets!”
“Quiet back there! We have no information on this area,” one of the other soldiers hollered through the squadron, uncaring however much more rank Kaff had over him.
Kaff bit his tongue, all eyes on him. Their cold, judging eyes meeting his scared and watery ones. He looked all around him, not seeming to catch a break. Branches waved a mocking farewell to signify his incoming demise. Birds atop their nests stopped their chirps, gazing their eyes to the frightened soldier. Clouds above blocked the sun, already mourning for the soon to be fallen.
Even nature taunted him.
Bang. Everyone’s head turned up at the sound, their eyes locking to the north. A faint whistle could be heard, its volume increasing as time passed.
“SCRAM!” The captain galloped away from the still squadron of cavalry, not caring for the rest of his men.
Boom, Bushes just meters away went up in a torrent of flames. The shrieks of critters ripping away at what’s left of their lungs with beggs of relieve.
Bang, another ball of fire erupted, careening into one of the dragoon’s chest, and taking a few others to their scorching demise.
Crack, the tree next to Kaff shattered into splinters. The horse beneath him jumped at the shock of a few fragments that dug deep into its skin; nature’s bullets doing the same with the rider.
Kaffee shivered and rattled in place. If he were in winter baring nothing, there wouldn’t be a difference. The tremble on his arms moved to strike the rein. “Ya!” He could feel the wood digging away at his body. Screams of ‘run’ filled his head as he pulled out a big chunk of wood in his arm.
The mount whined from the pain; he didn’t care about that. kaff was not going to be part of this for any longer. But, one last look at his friend was something he needed as he ran further from the group.
“Get that soldier back here!” The captain glared at Red. “You!” The saber in his hand raised faster than Red could even blink. “Get that bastard back in formation or you’ll be hanged with him!”
In a mere second, Red was on the chase. Kaffe saw it, but he kept riding onwards. Bleeding or not, the horse under him was no equal to Red’s charger. Its shaky hooves pounded the ground as the woods became denser with each step.
“Do not do this, Kaffee!” Nearer and nearer he closed distance, but it would not matter. It was all futile to catch Kaff without a change of mind. “Come back while you still can. The captain might spare you some mercy.”
“No, I’m done with this. I can’t handle another day. I can’t handle another wave. I can’t handle another limb!”
“Yes you can.” Over a fallen tree, he rocked from the jump, quickly regaining balance not long after. “I will always be here with you. I will keep protecting you till the end of every battle. I will be by your side on every meal!”
Kaff stared back into Red’s eyes. Long, drawn-out seconds flew passed them, much like the forest did. Both pairs of eyes began to waver, until Kaff shouted, “I’m not dying so far away from home! I’d rather fall by the Ottomans’ hands than be forgotten in the Americas!” When he faced the incoming branches, he swore that his vision became blurry.
“You will only make this worse by running away!” Red sniffed, but it wasn’t from the bugs or foreign plants that glazed him.
“I… I’d…” Kaff choked. He swallowed the broken words down his throat, and spat it back out, “I don’t care!”
Finally, Red was close enough that shouting Was no longer needed. “Choose the correct path, Kaff.” He idly looked beside Kaff, patiently waiting for him to process what came next, though the chase prevailed.
Kaff only glanced at Red. “No!” He won’t change his mind.
“Kaffee…”
He didn’t spare the energy to pass another look. Though, he kept attention to every word of Red’s argument. “No,” his voice started losing the vigor it once held.
“Kaff…”
“No…” His heart pounded away at his chest, but his lips quivered from forming soft answers.
“Comrade…”
“...” He slowed his pace, and the mount whined at the needed rest.
“Friend,” Red‘s whispers flowed through his ears.
He fully stopped.
Eye contact was something he couldn’t gift to the one who called him friend. He hadn’t the will for it. “...Yes?” It was clear from the tears caressing his cheek, the posture on his tremor-edged body, the arms that hugged the poor mount that now had splinters deep within itself; he was in distraught.
Red neared, and did the only thing that came to mind. His arms needn’t be told what to do either, as they had already wrapped themselves around the crying soldier, being careful as to not let pressure meet with the bloody splinters. “If you go, you’ll cost us both our lives.”
“I… I can’t do this, Red. Sniff I was not born to be in battle.” The motion of weeping on his friend’s shoulder felt painful, yet it was oddly comforting.
“Then we will push through this together.” The coat on his chest, along with a few of the decorations, were drowned by Kaff’s tears. But, no matter came to that. The two just sat on the mounts, one horse at attention for its master, while the other stood strong with a few gashes.
“I feel cold...”
Red looked down to find the splinters had made wounds deep into Kaff’s body, and were letting out continuous streams of blood. The pupils of his eyes shrank, scouring for cloths of any type to craft a tourniquet with. They quickly fell on the sash on his own shoulder.
The fabric parted away from his coat. Despite being careful, Red’s knife still managed to pierce a few extra holes by accident. As he tightened the knots around Kaff’s limp shoulder, the thoughts of hanging by the gallows and losing his friend left him. He breathed a sigh of relief as Kaff could only moan from the blood loss.
“Head… camp…” It was a short and simple answer, one that was understood by Red.
They fled the site as much as time fled from them. Unfortunately, the horse that stayed true under Kaff’s rein had to be abandoned. Red couldn’t waste precious seconds on the animal. But, Kaff kept his eyes at the shrinking companion till only the forest could saw it.
Already, he missed his travel partner.
“Hang tight!”
As Red galloped through the woods, Kaff gazed at the passing scenery half unconsciously. On the edge of his vision, a white furred horse stood in silent stillness. That was off. He didn’t recall anyone leaving their mount out here. Especially a mount that looked to be from the General’s Bodyguard. Wait, wasn't the general with the infantry battalion?
“They’re within sight!” Kaff could feel Red’s arms raising up for a wave. “We’ve an injured soldier!”
Heavily, Kaff tried to bare open an eyelid. His vision may be distorted, but he was sure there weren’t any men in the artillery camp. No sound of wad-screws cleaning canon bores entered his ears. Not a trace of smoke came up his nose. At dawn, he didn’t even hear a single mouth utter ‘desertion’, for if there was some sort of plan, he would most definitely be asked to join.
“Hello?” All around the camp, the charger went through. Every step knocked Kaff further into reality. Red didn’t voice anymore concern for him either, his focus solely concentrated in finding a medic. “It’s an emergency, the duke’s valet is in danger!”
It was all futile. Neither voice nor body came to greet the two. Though, Kaff’s ear picked up the sound of two boots splashing against mud.
“Why hello there, redcoats.” Ever so slightly, Kaff cracked a glance at the voice. It was a French, a deserter of the nation that once challenged his own. It was an officer by the stride of confidence in his walk. “How rude of us to ignore thy plea. Please, do handover the duke’s valet, so that we may hand him to the proper keeper.”
For a moment, no air met any lungs, beats of hearts jumped, and the atmosphere so tense, it could withstand a cavalry charge. Soon, other footsteps began to form all around them, and Kaff could make out the sound of another officer ordering for a surroundment. Also the order of steady fire.
“Let us make this quick and easy.”
“Let’s.” Red’s hand was gentle when it wrapped that tourniquet, and so pulling a knife was no task for his dexterity. “I’m sorry.”
Slit
Both of Kaff’s lungs began to fill with choked blood. His mouth gurgled every drop, and they dripped onto the already stained uniform below. The pristine gloves that once held the steady aim of a marksman was now dirtied by holding an open throat.
He was drowning.
Though surprised, Kaff understood the deed Red had done. Even in dire moments, Red gave him relieve. His mouth wanted to form words: A goodbye, a thanks, and an apology; these were the things Kaff could no longer give to his comrade. In his last breaths, he could only watch in horror as to what came next.
“Quite mortifying: A soldier killing his own. Though, you are the smart type, I will admit. Such a shame that you were on the Brits’ side.”
The knife forgotten like the horse, Red’s hands held Kaff’s free, coldening fingers. “I am, and always will be.”
The act of comforting did not go unnoticed by the officer. “Take your sentiments with you.” His brow furrowed, while his arm raised in opened palms. Soldiers all around them raised their muskets to eye level, and the officer’s palm closed.
Wet, it was something Kaff hadn’t perceive death to feel like. The coldness of water gripped him into consciousness. Twas not the kind of response anticipated after one’s life had been lost. If this was Hell, Kaff surely can withstand it.
Hurk.
Perhaps he had thought too soon. Hell didn’t seem to possess any oxygen. It felt that Hell wanted to choke him with some sort of light liquid. It didn’t taste much of anything, not of copper, thankfully. He started to feel the torment of the afterlife.
“Hang tight!” a distorted voice shouted. Did Red follow him into Hell as well? Surely his act of heroism earned for a place up above. “Hmmph!”
Kaff’s chest felt air being heaved out of him. He screamed for the action to be stopped, arms flailing wildly. The tightening on his chest weakened, but it felt as if his body began to descend deeper into whatever place this was.
Once again, the pressure returned. This time it was not leaving, not by a longshot. Both his arms pushed for the offending appendages to let go, but it was determined to do whatever acts it desired.
“Nghaaa! Quit trying to drown yourself!” the voice said. Was that the sound of water splashing around him? “Please, I can’t drag you to shore by myself!”
Both his eyes shot awake, and quickly regretted it. For the split second it was opened, the offending bright colors of the outside pummeled his corneas. Blinking rapidly did not do him much help, as it only encouraged the assault to be rapid in succession.
“Please, mister!”
Kaff’s mind reunited with reality. It took no time to process the events happening before him. He was in a body of water, clearly in danger of some sort. His head moved to face the source of voice, greeted by two gigantic, purple irises attached to a… woman by the sound of it.
“Uh, yes, of course!” Kaff’s instincts finally kicked in, responding by putting motion into his legs. Again, he felt a discrepancy. He was sure that knees bent the other way, but he had also tried to drown himself. So for the time being, it was not wise to trust his personal observations. Thankfully, shore didn’t seem to be far, and luckily, it consisted of soft sand rather than pointy rocks.
Face in sand, he paused for a breather. The sand caressing his cheeks felt like a touch from Heaven, opposite of the Hell he just escaped. Fresh air filled the once choking and liquid-filled lungs. His body embraced the sunlight, and the heat dried his fur. It felt nice for his fur to finally be rid of water.
Fur.
The obvious didn’t click. But, his mind raced to find a conclusion: He was naked. In front of a lady, no less! While still facing the ground, both his arms hurried to cover his privates, face gaining a shade of burgundy.
“Are you okay?” the lady said with a foreign accent, followed by a twinge of innocence sprinkled all over. Sweet, merciful lord, he was naked in front of a young lady.
“I… am not sure,” Kaff answered, the sand muffling his voice. Perhaps it was the water, but his touch felt oddly cold and… flat. He raised each hand up for inspection, crossing both legs tight in doing so. Mouth spitting sand, he turned to face the world for the first time since death.
A squint was far easier to handle. He may look silly, but that had no matter in his situation. Taking an eternity, his eyes finally adjusted. He gazed at his hands, finding that they were not present.
Maybe if he found a favorable position, he could comprehend the situation better. He hoisted himself to a sitting position. Still, no hands on either limb. The only thing he found were black fur on some sort of stub at the end of his arms.
“What are you doing over there, mister?” the voice called to him.
He turned to look, and something strange met his eyes. A small horse with reddish-orange fur confused by something Kaff was doing. Where did that lady went off to?
The horse, for some reason, broke its stare to paw at something by its side with a small frown. “Why are you looking at me funny?”
He didn’t seem to have escaped Hell. Though, why did this demon rescued him? Whatever Hell this was, he pondered what he had done to deserve it. Kaff raised an arm up, mimicking an index finger pointing to the sky. “Pardon me.” All he felt afterwards were two more stubs pushing against his back, and feathers cushioning him as he met the ground once more.
In the hallway and between two paintings of his master, Kaff stared at the letter in his hands with scrunched eyes, looking back and forth between it and the door in front of him in turmoil. He turned and placed his back against the wall, clasping both hands on his face. A passing maid glanced at him as she went on her way to the another part of the estate. With a final sigh, he knocked, but the answer came far faster than he would have liked. He should have waited for his heartbeat to slow.
“Master Westswell.” Entering the office, he was accustomed enough to no longer be awed by the various honors and trophies adorning the walls. “Please, do pardon my unprofessionalism, but I require your assistance.”
The man Westswell looked up from his ink and parchment. “Of course, whatever is it that you need of me, my esteemed servant?”
“It’s… rather complicated, sir.” Kaff produced an opened letter from his back, and gently placed it on the sandalwood table, gulping as he did so. “I’ve an issue with my… familial heritage.”
A pause of dead silence filled the room as Westswell went still.
“Let me see, dear Kaffee,” West rhymed as he began reading the piece of paper, noting the sender was from another country.
Dearest grandson,
Following the end of our recent war, of which nearly two hundred thousand of our fellow countrymen had lost their lives, it has come to my attention that you did not participate. If I may remind you, our family had served the nation since Duke Albert Frederick, when Prussia was but a mere duchy.
My request is that you participate in the national military of any friendly nation as an official enlistee. If you fail to do so, I am afraid that you may no longer bare our family name or receive a single thaler from your inheritance.
Thus far, you have brought great shame onto our family. Living with and serving a redcoat does nothing to persevere my opinion of you. For heaven’s sake, I had to write this letter in English so that it doesn’t get burned. Do not fail this for me, Leicht Willus ‘Kaffee’ Wilhelm.
-Kapitän der Ersten Dragoner
“Rather saddening to hear that your grandfather is disappointed in you. You’re certainly a pleasant fellow to be around with,” West said, scrutinizing the piece of paper. The elegant penmanship overshadowed by a few drops of dried blood. He came to terms that there may had been more than one courier.
Kaffee stood at attention. “Thank you, Sir Westswell.”
“I can see that you are troubled by this, though I wonder why you need me to have a part in this.” He put a hand on his chin in thought. “To think of it, you’re rather stiff, not the usually cheerful valet I’ve come to know.”
Kaff willed himself to spit out the words clogged in his throat, “I came here for your input on the matter, sir. I am at a crossroad. My mind is set in being your valet. Yet, I regret deviating from family traditions.” Kaff put both hands on the table. “I do not know what to do, sir. I was born to be the servant of a gentleman, not the servant of a king’s army.”
West kept the hand under his chin, and peered into his valet’s amber eyes. “Follow me, friend.”
Through long hallways and extensively decorated rooms, Kaff followed Westswell. His eyes casually viewed the giant windows that let light befall on the numerous paintings inside the room, until West halted.
“Tell me, Kaffee. What do you see?” West said, gesturing to one of the paintings.
“One of your great grandmothers, sir. She’s sitting by the fireplace and reading a book while her husband reads one of his own.”
He faced another painting. “What about this one?”
“Your cousin from grandfather’s side, sir, aiming his crossbow at a fowl in the sky.”
“And this one?” Another painting.
“A niece you particularly favored, drawing a picture of her own while the artist painted the scene.” This went back and forth a few times, until Kaff questioned, “Where are you going with this, sir?”
“What are they doing, dear Kaffee?”
He glanced back at the pictures, answering, “They are each doing each of their hobbies, sir?”
“Swell! Now, what do they have in common?”
Kaffee needn’t to think for a response. “All of them are related by blood?”
“Good eye!” He patted Kaff’s shoulder. “How would you conclude what I've mentioned thus far? Tell me what you have come up with.” West waited, a minute then became two, quickly turning to five. “Come now, it is most literally in front of you.”
“I… uh…” Kaff paced forward and back, even stopping to tap his foot at times, but nothing came. “I do not know, sir.”
West shook his head. “Kaff, you are a clever one, cunning I dare say. But as your friend and employer, I’ve come to the fact that you have your own faults.”
Kaff blinked. “May I ask what that fault is, sir?”
West began to lead Kaff once again. Each step he took clicked through the hallway, still audible through the taps of droplets raining down through the storm’s flow outside, and breaking at the decorative window panes.
“You are indecisive, and let small things cloud your judgement.” West faced the door of his office, entering the room. “Though you are smart, loyal, and understanding, at times you crucially need someone to guide you, to reassure you of your own choices; particularly when you’re under pressure.”
From the storm clouds that loomed over the estate, the room began to feel darker. “I... am sorry to disappoint, Master Westswell.” Was he truly that weak? He never felt that he was so dependent on someone else.
“There’s no need for apologies, friend. We each have our flaws.” West once again patted Kaff’s shoulder, before sitting back down his chair. “If your mind is still thinking on that conclusion, it was diversity. We all have our best talents and worst inabilities, but we are connected. Family should be there to help you stand by your weaknesses.”
“You are saying that I should do as my grandfather told, sir?”
“Not in particular. I’m merely suggesting that family would be of help to you. However, some families are like the royal court; you cannot say for certain where their loyalty lies.”
“Sir, if I chose to do grandfather’s wishes, will you be happy in letting me go?”
“I’d be delighted with whatever you chose. Life grants us a path, but we can still make our own. You can walk wherever you please, Kaffee.”
“Then, sir.” He placed another letter onto the table. “I give you my resignation. It has truly been an honor to serve you and your house.”
West answered by giving a smile. “And I thank you for the years you’ve put into making my family happy. Now, make yours the same.” It was now time for West to pull his own letter out of the table’s drawer. “As a gift for all the pleasures you’ve granted me, let me give you ease for your future.”
Kaff could see that the letter was marked with a seal and signed by a captain. An officer of the British Army, he guessed. He took it, though not without hesitation.
As the meeting drew to a close, Kaff said his final goodbyes, before leaving with a smile and a letter of recommendation to accompany him.
West stared at the door, and sighed. “Oh, Kaff. Perhaps this is why you are a successful valet. No master ever worried your betrayal. For you cannot do so even if you wish.” He continued his focus to his parchment.
“...found him!?” a voice said, its baritone having the masculinity of a man after drinking a concoction of snake poison, raw eggs, and nails mixed together. “What’s your plan with him, young missy?”
Kaff kept both eyes closed.
“He needs our help! Just look at him, he’s plumb tuckered out on the bed like a newborn foal,” the woman Kaff met earlier said.
“So, what do you want me to do about it?” the manly voice asked, not nearly having the accent the lady had.
“Stop sitting on your flank, and get the pony a jacket. Yours are thicker than that there bed he’s sleeping on.” Quite nice of them to care for Kaff’s well being. He wasn’t sure why, though. After all, he only made the rescuing harder by flailing his arms like Master West’s mace collection. However, it’d be fine if they stopped with the equine analogies.
“Fine, fine.” Footsteps began to echo around the room.
Kaff stretched both arms up, finding them rather stiff, and so he moaned internally. His eyes mustered the energy to open, assisted by both hands that cleared dust particles off of them.
“Oh, thank Celestia. You’re awake!” Kaff peeked to the source of the voice, meeting once again with the horse from before. The mare still had the reddish-orange fur. Her gray and sand colored mane gave him the impression of the lakeshore he landed on, while her purple pupils peered politely into him. A smile found its place on her face. “Feeling any better, Mister…?”
Oh that was right, he was in Hell, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was time to go night, night again.
“No, no, no! Please don’t faint again. We don’t have much in the medicine cabinet!”
It felt dizzy for him to think, but he asked, “When will I meet the Devil?”
“Uh… oh! The gate pony said that you can head on over to the Canterlot Administration Center once you’re feeling better. Something about documents and stuff.”
He took a few seconds to digest what the mare said, but he caught the point. “Camelot Administration Office?”
“No, Mister, Canterlot. You were drowning for an awful long time. You’re lucky I was visiting a friend in Ponyvile, but… sorry that it took me awhile to realize there was a pony under that there stream of bubbles.” The horse—no, pony pawned again at the ground, having the look of regret.
Once more, Kaff took a moment take in the information. Perhaps he had also gotten a concussion, since his head could not handle the tsunami of words coming from the pony’s mouth. His brain thumped against his skull, and he couldn’t even distinguish between the beats of his head or the ones in his chest.
“Ugh… do you perhaps have any medicine I could procure?” This would all be easier if he could think straight. But unluckily for him, he couldn’t think straight. Though, his hand was there to support the throbbing head. Or at least, what semblance of a hand attached to his arms did.
“I’ll look for some painkillers…” the mare said, leaving the room with hurry.
Kaff turned to the pillow under his head, then at the blanket on his person. How bizarre. A pony taking care of a man. The turns have tabled it seemed. Wait, no… that was not the term. He shook his head.
Kaff rose from the bed, taking in the surroundings. Not much by the looks of it. A simple bed with white covers, a rustic end table, and some sort of lantern on the ceiling. He had never saw lanterns that compact and bright. Slowly, he sat back down and pressed his back against the wall to stare at the light. And again, something abnormal was present.
The wall felt weird. Never had he met bricks that smooth. And who would put two… stubs just beside the bed? It would be awfully inconvenient for the placement. And why did the stubs have feathers anyways?
The door swung open, revealing a large pony barging in with the amount of force only a bull could achieve, resulting in a sound louder than that same bull during mating season when the door hit its hinge. “Alright, son. What’s your deal?” A folded piece of clothing hit Kaff’s chest, forcing him a huff from the brunt of the impact.
Kaff looked up to the stallion, giving him an eye. “Pardon?” The clothing weighted rather light, feeling rather thin. It could be that the stallion had hearing issues, since even Kaff managed to eavesdrop without trouble, or he was simply uncaring to Kaff’s health.
“Your kind of ponies always manage to bring trouble whenever near my family. Whatever it is you’re up to, spill it.”
“Good sir, I do not lie to anyone I hadn’t known. My hope is to retain honor amongst common, clean-handed folks.”
With one swift motion, the stallion put Kaff in between walls and his two hooves. “Listen here, colt. You high class ponies can go and put your stick-filled plots somewhere else. We’ve struggled through enough of your manure to care about petty police matters.”
“Wheeze I can assure you, righteous sir, I have none whatsoever to be willed against you.” The stallion mentioned ‘police’. He had heard something like that in Paris. Was he in France? Or at least one of their colonies? He didn’t know that the French had talking ponies.
If ever so minuscule, the pressure on his shoulders subsided. “Watch what you do.” With a puff of wind from the stallion’s nose, he let go. It smelled rather fresh for a horse.
Again, Kaff was left to his devices with an ajar door to his inventory. He placed a hand in front of him, and blew a small breeze. A wince escaped him. Now he felt duplicity from his judgement, followed by sadness, knowing that a pony had better hygiene than him. Still, he looked at his hand, hoping for something to falsify his nostrils.
He looked down. There it was again, a black stub in place of his fingers. He felt the need for a scream, but suppressed it. The only thing he showed was a quizzical look. One that you give when reading an illiterate doctor’s note.
Hell was a whore.
The door creaked, and a head poked through. “Listen, Mister Stranger. I’m awful sorry for the way my Pa acted. We’ve been having a few ahem heated conversations with some upper class ponies.” She fully entered the room, sitting next to Kaff on the bed.
“My apologies. I will be ou—“ he paused. Where was he? He didn’t have any sort of valuables. Was he even mentally sane? There were a few things he learned in the army. One if which is knowing when to swallow pride. There was no telling if there was anyone compassionate enough to take him in. “I… may I stay here for… some time? Until I find my bearings?”
The mare smiled, reminding him of when he parted with West. She gave Kaff a bottle of pills, which he just looked at in puzzlement, before taking it. He should just hold onto this… thing, whatever it was. “Of course, Partner. You can take your own sweet time.”
The smile was contagious, it crept up Kaff’s own lips, bringing about an awkward silence between the two. “If I may ask, where are we currently located?”
“Yeesh, must’ve had a concussion too, didn’t ya? Equestria. Ever heard of it before?”
No, it was not France. The name didn’t have the touch of elegance that French had. The Americas perhaps? It would be sound, considering his place of passing. The name did seem like something out of the English dictionary, and Britain did have territories in deeper parts of the Americas. Plus, ‘Equestria’ was practically ‘Equine Land’ simplified.
“I don’t believe so, and I’ve memorized every county documented in the atlas by heart. However, settlements I know only a small percentage of. Would you be glad to educate me in the matter?”
She placed a hoof on her forehead, somehow bending it to massage her skull. With all reason, that motion should be impossible. Though, he wasn’t even one to question her ability of speech, so priorities were a bit of a hassle at the moment. “Mister, can you be blunt with the questions?”
“What town are we in?” Simple as a Consommé.
“I already told you. We’re in Canterlot.” Kaff was about to put in another question, before she placed a hoof in front of his mouth. “Before we go on, I really need to ask some questions.”
“By all means, feel free to ask.”
“How come you were suffocating in Canterlot Lake? You’re one of them pegasi. You should be falling from skies, not drowning in lakes!”
“Well, falling from skies aren’t in any way better tha— what did you just say?”
“Mister, do I really need to slow down my talking? You were the one spouting about atlases and stuff just a second ago!”
“Wait, wait, wait. I’m a what!?” In a moment of realization, it finally dawned on him. The stubs, the wall feathers, the equines surrounding him, it was all in front of him. “The Devil is a swine,” he whispered under his breath.
He placed motion into his back, and there it was, two feathery wings moving in sync with one another. He was a horse with wings; a pegasus, if he recalled correctly. The feel of two more appendages felt… wrong. Yet, it was like he had been missing wings for his entire life. It was always supposed to be there, wasn’t it?
This place was most definitely not in human knowledge. He could not believe what had transpired to him. In turn, these ‘ponies’ would most likely not put faith upon his words if he proclaimed the truth. It would be like spouting ‘the King of Great Britain is a reptile’ all over Europe.
“I’m still waiting for that explanation.”
At the very least, he still kept his sundry skills. One of which was deception. “A misfortune occured when I was swimming.” He rubbed his arm with the other, looking at the wooden flooring. “Something impacted my head with great velocity, and so I fell deep into the lake. After the event transpired, I could not recall much of my memory.”
“You’re saying that you had amnesia? Why would you pick Canterlot Lake to dip your hooves into, anyways?”
“It was a matter of filth; I’d have had rathered swim in a swamp than be as dirt ridden as I was. Still, I’m merely saying that the impact caused loss of some basic knowledge.”
“So, you had amnesia?”
“I do not know the definition of that word.”
The mare rolled her eyes, and glanced at the nearest clock. “Gasp We’ve gotta go downstairs! Pa’s gonna be madder than a wet hen if we don’t show for supper!”
“‘We’, Ms…?”
“Questions at the dinner table! Come on!” Without thought, she pulled Kaff out of the bed and out the door, galloping on three legs while Kaff hopped on one. He dropped the bottle of strange looking stones the mare gave by accident.
“Wait!” Kaff held on to the mare tight with his hoof. “I don’t have—“ He managed to hop his way out of the room, though the two jumps from the door were his literal downfall.
The mare stopped with a skid against the floor, still not letting go any bit of grip. Her gaze went to the disheveled mess of pegasus lying on the floor. At first, she raised both ears up at attention, and later forming a gasp when she trailed to Kaff’s left leg.
“Oh Heavens to Betsy, I’m so sorry! I—I didn’t notice!” She wasted no time in getting Kaff on his three hooves. “Lemme help you down the stairs.”
“It’s fine.” One at a time, Kaff tried to place a hoof in front of the other, but after a few steps he already found himself on the floor, again. “I am not used to walking on all threes. Perhaps you could assist me in finding a walking stick.”
The mare’s eyes shifted to a door next to her. “I think we’ll have to improvise.” With a click, the door opened, revealing a broom closet. She got herself a broom, and cut off the fibers with a knife, handing him the stick right after.
Kaff took the makeshift crutch, finding the act both sweet and unsanitary. Not because it was a dirtied broom, but rather because she had used the knife with her mouth, same like the door knob. Also, why was there a knife in the broom closet?
Kaff fiddled with the crutch, looking at it from all angles. He noted that his hooves could be used as substitute fingers while holding onto the item. “How do I use this… thing? It is far taller than the canes I’ve come accustomed to.”
“Just stick it in your armpits, and point that there end to the floor.” The mare pointed a hoof at the handle.
“My axilla?” He looked at his armpit, recognizing the black fur covering his attireles body was natural; thank heavens for that. With a bit of a tickle, he placed the crutch as how the mare said. “Am I using it correctly?”
The mare looked him over. “You got it!” She gently held his hoof and shoulder. “We should go now, Pa’s probably already fuming. Try to hide that there crutch from him, he won’t like losing brooms to strangers.”
Kaff rolled his eyes when the mare wasn’t looking. Some things remained the same in Hell as it did on Earth. Greed shall always be everywhere.
After a bit of a scuffle, they started descending. The floorboards, as well as the broom, creaked under the stress. Once the first few steps were conquered, the stairs were nothing less of a thought to handle, though care was still present in each movement.
As they reached the ground floor, tables and chairs started to come into view. The chairs were all set on the table and red checker-patterned tablecloth were folded and placed neatly on a display case filled with empty plates.
“Care to sit down?” One of the tables wasn’t prepared for the night. Instead, it was occupied by a stallion with a plum colored fur that complimented him with the room’s colors. The white and slate mane atop his head emphasized his already masculine body structure, and the stallion’s lime colored eyes pierced into his soul, almost meeting sight with Kaff’s great grandfather. “Enjoying your stay?”
“Y—yes, sir. I thank you for the hospitality,” Kaff stammered. He had experience dealing with military officers with vengeance against his masters, but this stallion held a stare that could turn Medusa to stone. “I will try my best to steer clear off of unwanted deeds.”
The mare helped Kaff with his seat, before trotting to her own beside ‘Pa’ or ‘father’ in French.
“Good, we wouldn’t want to disappoint, now would we?” He turned to his the mare, presumably his daughter. “Had fun chatting up with the stranger?”
“He ain’t a stranger no more, Pa.”
“What’s his name?” The simplest of questions sometimes had the most effect.
Her eyes immediately darted to Kaff. “He… he’s…” To give credit to this mare, Kaff didn’t know hers either. She gave Kaff a look that screamed ‘help me’ in response.
“—Kaffee. Just... Kaffee, sir.”
“And where in good Equestria are you from?”
He put in some thought before answering. “I don’t believe that my place of origin is nearby.” The stallion raised an eyebrow, and Kaff replied, “Prussia, though I do not know what direction that is located from this specific point.”
“Never heard of that damned place.” He pointed a hoof at Kaff. ”Lying won’t get you anywhere with me, colt.”
“Ooh! I think he meant that Germaneigh place somewhere in west yonder!”
“You don’t sound Germane, you’ve the tone of voice of a high society Trottinghan.” A smile was contagious, but this stallion’s intimidation brought plagues of fear. The stallion stood at his full height, blocking the lamp on the ceiling and drowning Kaff once again in shadows. “So, let me repeat what was already crystal. Do. Not. Lie.”
Ding, a bell sounded from the kitchen.The mare stood, wanting to serve dinner, but was stopped by her father’s hoof. “I’ll get dinner.” He gave Kaff another look. “You better come up with a believable story once I come back.”
The only thing that sounded through the room were the loud, and clearly angered hoof steps of the stallion leaving the room.
The mare looked down on the table, the other side only holding one participant and an empty seat. “I’m mighty sorry for how Pa’s been acting. I can’t lie to you, Stranger. That stallion has full spite for high society ponies.”
“It’s quite fine, Ms…?”
“Jati Cloves. You can just use ‘Jace’ if you’d like. But, try to keep off of the Missus thing, if you could.”
Kaff nodded. “Does that name mean ‘teak’ in any way, Jace?”
Jace looked him in the eyes, blinking a few times. “How’d you know? The name’s more remote than a bag of bananas floating in the Lunar Sea.”
“I’ve traveled.” He remembered the years when he essentially got stranded in the Spice Islands. It was not something he desired, but it gave memories that he’ll likely tell his children with great joy. “It was rather nice, actually. That is if you discount the colonial unrest.”
“Actually, I never set hoof on any Bat-Avian lands. Those griffins and minotaurs keep a tight leash around the ‘land where gold grows on trees’ with them sail ships.” Jace gave a quotation with both hooves to stress her point, before she sighed. “Never got to see ma’s parents because of it.”
Perhaps Hell liked to make silly names for their Earth counterparts, because was sure it was called Batavia back home. Though, he couldn’t help but feel cheered at how adorable some of the names thus far had sounded.
“Perhaps you might. Age doesn’t seem to be a problem as of yet, and political power is bound to changing hands.”
“I like your thinking, stranger er- I mean Mister Coffee.”
He chuckled. “It’s Kaffee, and thank you for the thought.” He looked back at the door behind him. The stallion took his time. Kaff didn’t know what poison awaited him inside the dish, if he was even to receive one.
He tried to search for something in Jace’s eyes—a sign of deception, or anything of the sort. Though, he found naught, but the same stare back at him, added with a sheepish smile. Without knowing, he tapped his foot on the ground in a rhythmic beat, waiting for that stallion to come barging out the door.
Perhaps he shouldn’t be harsh on Jace. All she had done for him were nothing short of sincere, human sympathy. Jace reminded him of the many children his masters had. The same kind of innocence was present, he could feel it. But yet, he believed the need to take precautions. Perhaps the nobility’s world had done a toll on his way of thinking.
Thump, three bowls of soup met with the table, shaking him out of his thoughts.
“Nothing special for today,” That stallion could gallop through Chinese pottery, and let butter-cutting sound louder. “since nothing special happened.”
Kaff stared into the bowl. As the stallion said, it was uninteresting. Just a splotch of brown, gooey liquid with nothing but a spoon inside of it. Kaff could do better with a cup of water and a pinch of salt.
“Dang it, Pa. Why can’t you just be nice to Mister Kaffee?” A fierce glare was fixed on her face, causing the two to throw looks at each other; tightened lips were coupled with teeth grinding. “This is why those ponies keep stirring us up. If you can’t be nice, why should they?”
The stallion’s brow furrowed. “It doesn’t work like that in the real world, sweetheart.” He began cleaning his spoon with a napkin. “Helping others will do nothing more than put weight in our work and lighten our supplies. Helping others make ponies think of us as naive, easy to manipulate and take advantage of. Helping others does nothing to help us survive! You promising him shelter was a perfect example of it.
“Now, eat your meal so we can end the day. Tomorrow is restocking day. You know how long those days are.”
Jace peered down into her bowl in defeat. “Okay…”
“I suggest you do the same, colt. Tomorrow I want you doing chores till either your back brakes or you leave. If you think I care about any of your disabilities, you can go and shove that broom up your plot. As long as you’re living under MY roof, on MY land, and inside MY house, you work for me full time. You got that, Sunshine?”
“Yes, sir.” Kaff fidgeted in his seat. “That much, I will keep promise.”
“Good.”
“...and he just walked in and gave you that letter?”
“Yes, though I question his reasoning. The man was rather discreet with personal information.” The glow of lanterns covered the officer’s tent. A captain sat with a cup of tea in his palms, in front of him laid a map of the Americas. The table held two other officers that had started to show loose skin and graying hair.
Another officer began filling tobacco in his pipe smoke, lighting it with a burned paper. “Surely you kept him out of trouble with the other soldiers?” A long puff of smoke escaped his lips. “He once served me, and I know he would not stand with more than one opponent in his way. Nevertheless, I envied you having him, Ambrose”
Ambrose sipped his tea. “I do, though he seemed to have made friends with a noble’s disowned. What was that lad’s name? Blue? Whatever it was, the disowned, by King George’s crown, was bent on keeping the valet safe. For what reason, it is also beyond me.”
A man with the most decorated overcoat began twirling his walking cane on his seat, unentertained by the conversation. “For Hell’s sake, stop puffing those things in my face, Smithley! Your canon batteries produce less smoke and damage than that chamberpot-smelling piece in your mouth.”
“I will stop this habit once you stop using a pike as a cane.” Smithley gestured his pipesmoke towards the walking cane.
With a grimace, he impaled the ground with the cane, leaving it perfectly vertical and making a mouse squeak its last breath. “Over mother’s dead body.”
“Then we’re at an impasse, Claxton.” Smithley began eying the map, a piece of parchment in his hands while he kept smoking. “We can finally cross off Montcalm-Gozon from our list of unwanteds. A shame that he killed the valet and the disowned. It was nice having him serve us tea in these meetings.”
Ambrose ran a hand through his long and messy hair. “I particularly favored his skill in barbery. The cuts he did made me feel ten years younger.”
“Be silent with your whining, Smithley, Ambrose. He’s only one ancillary.”
“As if you do not miss sparring with him. Be truthful, did you enjoy someone beating you in sword duels?” He puffed another wind at Claxton, mocking him both verbally and physically.
Ambrose set his cup down on the table. “All right, enough of these nonsenses. Let us focus back to our plans to be rid the Americas off of those white-coated sorry excuses for surrender flags. The damned fools from the colonies only left three bloody officers to organize a half-assed brigade...”
“Sssh, Mister Kaffee, wake up.” Jace shook Kaff’s shoulder ever so gently.
“Huh? Yes, whatever is the matter?” Kaff awoke with a startle, squinting his eyes from the room’s light.
“It’s four in the morning. You should make yourself look busy for Pa. He’ll pour coffee on you if you don’t. And I ain’t keen on letting him tell stories of how he woke up Coffee with a gallon of coffee.”
He gave out a yawn. “Why so early, Jace?”
“We don’t want none of the good stuff to be out when we hit the shop for supplies.”
Kaff heaved himself out of bed, rubbing his face. “Fair enough. Though, I’m used to waking at five.” In truth, five was probably late for him to wake. Some of the masters he had had made very specific orders on what to do each morning. Of which, one was serving breakfast in bed while bathing them and reading their mail in a scottish accent. He couldn’t say that he was underpaid, however.
“Why so early, Kaff?”
He giggled to himself at the repetition, before answering, “I was a valet.”
Kaff took a personal craft from the side of the bed, attaching it to his left leg. It was surprising what that roll of sticky paper could accomplish with the fiberless broom. His hooves even prevented splinters when he broke it down!
Jace gave a hoof out for Kaff, which he gladly took. “Oo, you handle those fancy carriages when the important ponies get out, right?”
Kaff began walking around the room with two hind hooves, abandoning the idea of using all fours. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one saw it, he was quite small for a pony, so the height difference was not all that bad. He almost stood a full head taller than Jace.
“Not quite, imagine a personal assistant, though more personal with the assisting.” Kaff held the door open for Jace. “Valets do an assortment of tasks for the master. We’ve to be there for them, and do whatever it takes to make their life easier. Those things could range from anything between serving them food to shaving their personals.”
“W—what!?” Jace took a step away from Kaff, looking at him with a blush and stutter. “What kind of ponies grow fur so much in their nethers, to need regular trimming!?”
“It’s... I was exag—”
“Gasp Is it because Germaneighers are so thick with them fur coats? If that’s the reason...” She took another step further.
“Oh, over with it, Jace. Let us return our focus. Speaking of which, what shall I be doing?”
Jace left the room, motioning for Kaff to follow. As she guided him through the building, he glanced over the interior. Not many decorations were to be seen. Only wooden flooring and the occasional white lanterns were there to greet them. Though, there was one askew painting of a potted fern. Of all plants, why did the painter choose a fern?
“Pa said you should just help me with the heavy lifting when we head on over to the shop, but I think you can help sort out our stocks with some fancy mathematics.”
“Good show, Jace. May I ask what business we are in?”
“Darn, I forgot, didn’t I?” Jace opened a door, revealing a room full of boxes and large white blocky containers. The blocks let out coldness that chilled Kaff to the bone as Jace hung onto the door handle, hugging it. “We’re a bar, or coffee house. It mostly depends on how Pa’s feeling at the moment.”
He let himself into the storage room, finding that most of the shelves were still full. A few packs of fish still seemed untouched in the corner inside one of the white blocks. “What about recipes? What sort of refreshments do you serve?”
“We serve the kinds of stuff that Ma brought over with her from Bat-Avia. She had a noggin like an elephant!”
“Hmm.” He pushed boxes and packages on the racks to view deeper. “Quite, do you have a list of the usual supplies?”
Jace sat on one of the barrels of rum that sat all over the room, a few noticeably empty. “Here. Don’t mind the barrels. Only Pa usually finish them off, so don’t count them as our monthly supplies.”
Kaff looked the list over, doing a double take as he finished reading. How could it be so short? It mostly consisted of various items that would be found in normal cafes and bars, not a coffee house with a Dutch East Indies theme.
Once more, he examined the list, the number of ingredients missing giving surprise. “How can there be no gingers in here? Or palm oil? Or coconut milk? These are the core of Batavian coffee shops.”
“Well… the recipe book got burned when we tried to use it.” She averted eye contact, and spoke with the pace of a sloth. “And only Ma knew them by heart.”
“And you did not question that there were some boxes right there,” Kaff pointed a hoof at a comically dark corner of the room. “that had some strange ingredients leftover from heavens know what?”
“Pa told me to ‘forget the past,’ so I listened with both ears up and wide,” Jace said as she stroke her raised ears with her hooves.
He glanced back to the shelves, sighing. “But, I assume you still have the book, since you could make out part of it?”
...serve with a two biscuits and a cup of milk...
It took time, but he finally rewrote the first few recipes from what was barely able to be distinguished as a book. It was mostly the common items at the front, so he could experiment in implementing the recipes later. Nevertheless, he was pleased with the results. Maybe he should make a hardcover version later on, to make sure it could withstand most of the kitchen’s hazards.
Jace looked over his shoulders. “Nifty wing writing, Mister Kaff!” Did he use his wings? He was sure that he utilized hands when making use of that quill. Least enough, he kept his penmanship.
“Sekoteng, bajigur, bandrek… yup! These are definitely things in Ma’s book! We should definitely try cooking these up later.”
“Most assured.” Kaff glanced outside the window of the restaurant’s dining room, the sun barely over the horizon and birds still atop their nests in slumber. “I had calculated the amount we need based on the list you gave me earlier. We should probably take a visit to that shop now.”
“Then let’s leave before Pa’s back from his jog. It’ll be a nice surprise for him.” With saddlebags on her back, Jace was ready for a morning walk. A noticeable skip was in her trot as she made her way to the door, ushering for Kaff to follow. As Jace locked the door behind him, he took in the sight that was Canterlot.
London and Berlin had little hope of competing with this city’s beauty. It was all so clean, so… purple. How could they possibly afford that much purple dye? The colors alone would cost Berlin its yearly tax to cover.
Across the road was a pony was cleaning the streets off of nature’s foliage, the words Public Service boldly proclaimed on his shirt. The pony whistled a merry tune as he swept away with his broom.
All around him, the ground was paved with bricks, though they still left room for trees and gardens to grow. Not a stench was present in the air, as the road was free of waste. No beggar to be seen, only the occasional citizen mingling about their dawn. None but collared pets roamed the streets, strays being nonexistent in the city. These ponies placed much attention to their environment.
The walk was in relative silence. Jace could see that Kaff had rathered admiring the scenery than to prefer a conversation. Though before they knew it, they were already at the shop front.
“This here’s where we usually go for our supplies. The pony running this place is an old friend of Pa’s.” A jingle of bells sounded as Jace opened the door.
In front of them laid the register, a path clearly made so that the cashier could view anyone entering. On both sides of the shop were rows upon rows of shelves and long tables. Every furniture was organized in a fashion that if a customer wanted something, they were required to see all other products first. It was a labyrinth of a store, made by a person with knowledge of marketing.
“Well hello there, little lady. Back for your weekly shopping?” A pony greeted from the counter, his voice having the pace of a con-artist. His orange coat accentuated the clearly fake mustache on his muzzle. He tipped his hat at Kaff. “My, my, who’s this handsome devil? Your new coltfriend, I presume?”
“He ain’t, he’s just a… new employee. Say hi to Kaff, Mister Sales.”
Sales waited no time in shaking Kaff’s hooves, be it with much vigor. “Fabulous! You look like a pony straight out of the country club!”
“Uhh… yes, thank you. I go as Kaff, and you are?”
“Sales, Marked Sales the third! Son of Marked Sales the second! Father of Marked Sales the fourth!”
Kaff peered into the pony’s eyes, seeing untold horrors on the other side. Was that the Underworld he just spotted?
Jace reached into her saddlebags, pulling out the list Kaff had made. “We’ve got some extras to buy for the shop. Hopefully, these things’ll bring in more ponies.”
“Yes… yes… fantastic!” He smiled as he went through the list. “Though, sorry to say, some of these things I need to order from Manehattan. Rice flour and buffalo milk aren’t exactly things in demand.” That was not surprising. In the Spice Islands, even Kaff had a hard time finding buffalo milk. Traders never saw the commodity as profitable.
“But, you do have most of the things in that there list on stock now, right?” Jace rubbed her hooves together slowly in expectation.
“Of courses we do! Here at Sales’ Absolutely Literally Everything Store, we cover absolutely and literally everything your household needs on a daily basis!”
“Sales, you’ve said that since I was still in diapers. It’s the one line that made me think of you whenever I hear the word ‘absolutely’ and ‘literally.’ Quit it.”
“Then that means the conditio— I mean mantra works!” Jace was about to protest, before Sales slammed his hoof hard on the list, still keeping the big, creepy smile on his salespony face. If Kaff knew any better, he’d say Sales did a good job of changing topics. “Hey, how are you going to pay for these? The only thing keeping me from hiring debt collectors is your father’s petrifyingly horrible stare.”
It seemed that Kaff wasn’t the only one that thought of it as stone-inducing.
“Please, Sales.” Jace placed her elbows on the table, and held Sales’ hoof. “You and Pa hadn’t been a stranger since kindergarten! Do this for him, he’s been out of it, and I don’t know what’ll happen if he just gives up.”
Sales retreated his hoof from Jace’s grasps. He turned his back towards the two as he muttered something about business and useless friendship incoherently.
A minute was spent in contemplation, before he huffed, “Fine, fine! But you owe me a favor, little missy. I’m only doing this because I pity Noholds Barred. Now, wait here.” He disappeared into the backroom, stomping on his merry way.
Kaff raised an eyebrow at Jace for the ‘Noholds Barred’ part, and she mouthed ‘Pa’, which caused Kaff’s mouth to ‘ohh’.
The name was foreign to him, though it somehow felt fitting for that stallion. One of the things Holds must have hated about Kaff was him never asking for a simple name. He shouldn’t forget basic manners now, not when his future depended on how he faired with this family.
What will he do here? He sure as Frederick the Second’s greatness won’t be getting a position as a nobles’ right hand. Not until he got the reputation to show for it. With all the marvels this city possed, it would be a hefty task to find a place to give oneself meaning. Kaff had no aptitude other than serving. Sure, he could try and hogwash his way into a profession, but intrigue is a world more complex than politics.
What of culture? Serving wine before appetizers could be a cardinal sin for all he knew. And from history, he knew that Inquisitors weren’t ones to be expected.
Perhaps he should enroll in school once again. Though, a man in his late twenties would be a most unusual sight at non-university educational facilities.
This reminded him of something.
That colorful box of ‘detergent’ on the other end of the store was not that hard to make out, he needn’t even to squint to see it. Pastries yards away smelled nicer than what he could recall, the strawberries ever so fresh to his nose. Sales’ hoofsteps were audible from the other room, a few of his rants almost recognizable.
He had to make sure. “Jace, would you like to guess my age?”
Both her ears raised up. “Sure is a weird way for you to make conversations, but I’ll take a shot. And if you’re just wanting to know mine, it’s seventeen.”
She began circling around him. Her eyes went up and down as her hoof poked at odd places. For whatever reason, she even came close, and took a sniff right behind his ears. He shivered as a chill went down his spine.
With a plop, she sat down like a bunny, pointing a hoof at Kaff. “I’ll be darned if you ain’t twenty!”
If Kaff ever meet the Devil, he’d be sure to pucker up and give him a frenchy.
The glass let out a continuous puff of steam out from the top of it as Jace sprayed something named ‘whip cream’ on top, putting a sprinkle of cinnamon afterwards. Kaff examined the single glass of coffee on the table. All around them were evidence of their recent work, leaving the kitchen dirtied.
Jace rested her elbows on a counter, pushing a few used utensils behind her. “Ma’s personal touch makes it all the more fancy doesn’t it?”
Indeed it did. Kaff just nodded, and stared in admiration. He hadn’t made that recipe in years, and yet he could remember it like Master West’s schedule.
“Ma would be so happy right now. She’d kiss my cheeks, and I’d feel her little fangs press against me.”
“I’m confident she would.” When Jace showed him the picture of her mother, he thought of it as a bit off, but the smile she had made all else fade. Though not much similarities, considering she was not even Jace’s species, Jace clearly had her eyes. “Any mother would appreciate a daughter like you. They’d rest easy, knowing she’ll be kind to anyone needing help.”
A blush passed over her face. “It’s really nothing, Kaff. You’ve already paid us back by rewriting Ma’s book. Why, I bet Pa will give you one heck of a hug when he knows what you did.”
“I doubt that, but twas a nice thought.” He spared a glance at the clock. “When will open hours begin?”
She shrugged. “Whenever Pa feels like it, I guess.”
He raised an eyebrow, maintaining a small frown. Now, Kaff knew he had pinpointed one of the store’s weakness. Not knowing what to label the business and varying opening time was a horrible recipe for coffee houses to go under.
Disregard for punctuality was something that needed to be stopped. Perhaps he should take matters to his own hands. Though, what will Holds think? That stallion already had a lust of murder for him, and angering him will only put that vision to reality. If fear was worth a thousand words, Kaff would have had a novel whenever he stood near Holds.
On one hand, Kaff could easily shape this establishment into what coffee houses stride to be. But on the other, if he was to fail, there was no telling where his spine could wind up locating.
A gasp escaped him. You are indecisive, and let the small things cloud your judgement.
Jace shook his shoulder, concerned by Kaff’s silence for the past minute. “You okay, partner? You look paler than an apple four months after picking.”
Kaff pulled himself back to reality, blinking vigorously. “Yes, yes, I’m quite fine. Though, I have to ask some few things...”
_____
With pride, Kaff placed the chalk sign next to the front door, numerous items written in practised calligraphy as ‘Coffee House’ was brightly put on bold. That ought to catch a few eyes. It would suffice for the time being.
Jace changed the rotating sign to ‘open’, letting the newly raised sun shine upon it. “You sure about this? I can just take you to him, and make sure he don’t spit too many cusses at you.”
“One cannot expect life to give handicaps to men who can walk. I will be fine.” He always loved the irony whenever he said that bit of wisdom.
“I ain’t sure if Pa will listen to any of your philosophies, but you can darn try it out.” She gave out a small, worrisome frown as she waved him off. “Just make sure you don’t be looking different from other ponies. Canterlot don’t like no foreigners in their home, especially a Germaneigher missing a hind hoof.”
“Hush, Sales didn’t think awful of me.”
A chortle escaped her, followed by a giggle. “Sales ain’t a normal pony. Now git, I’ve a shop to run!”
Starting his his journey, Kaff couldn’t help but look back for one last time. “Auf Wiedersehen, Jace.” He needn't to say another word as his day finally began.
Needless to say, the scenery was enjoyable. This time, there were more ponies to pave the streets. A few carriages were even present to louden the morning, the wheels ever going for their masters. It was a paint factory of a city, he admitted. Da Vinci would be inspired to create an entire gallery from a mere glance.
Oh how he wished Berlin was this rich when he was of residence. His life would not know of what dullness meant. To a degree, he had eccentric masters to counteract the lull of his tedium.
In the corner of his eyes, he spotted a few giving their attention. Though, they’d always pretend not to notice whenever he looked back. Not uncommon for locals to be afraid of outsiders. When he first came to Britain, the local neighborhood wouldn’t give much of thought when he passed. However, the children had naught to do, so it was always the little ones to be staring and tugging his overcoat, asking so innocent questions.
“Where are you from, Mister?”
“Who’s the king there?”
“Do they have horses?”
“Why are you here?”
“Could you spare a coin?” Some queries were more common than others, however.
“You look funny, Mister!” And there it was.
Kaff swiveled backwards. It was a foal running towards him with hurry, barely old enough to reach Kaff’s waist in height. No wings were present on his back, just the blue fur blowing against the wind as he galloped closer and the messy hair atop his head.
Faces weren’t seen till masks were opened, he noted. Still, the foal held a smile that reached into his heart, pushing him to move the dubiousness aside.
“Where’s about do you come from?” All this foal needed was a touch of powder, and he’d have none to differentiate from the common scamp. Though, the foal’s pronunciations were a bit off from the British’s norm. It was more… casual, for a lack of a better term.
“I cometh from Prussia, humble child.” He peered down at the foal, keeping an eye as he continued his stroll. “To whom am I having the pleasure to greet?”
“Daily Words, Mister Funny Trot.” With swift, he circled around Kaff, showing the energy that children never seem to run out of. He stopped right at Kaff’s path, effectively stopping him in place. “An awful long way from Germaneigh to visit Canterlot, don’t you think, Mister?”
“Twas not a matter of choice, twas predicament that brought me here.” Daily took in a mouthful of air, readying for a long stream of words, but Kaff cut it short. “Tis of personal matter that I wish none to know.”
“Okay, fine…, Mister…?”
“Kaff. Though, it’s not the name mother gave. So, let the past be.” He extended his arm for proper introduction, realizing too late that the gesture might not be appropriate for ponies. Nevertheless, Daily took it with gusto, shaking it with all the energy he could muster.
“Nice to meet you, Mister Kaff! It’s the dog’s bollocks!”
He spared Daily a quick stare. The choice of words being too real for his comfort. Daily had the slang to show, but the accent was more or less absent. “Yes, quite wonderful for us to cross paths.” He resumed to make his way, letting Daily keep his hoof as he moved onwards. “You may let go, if you wish.”
“Nu-uh! I need to more about you before I let even an inch of your hoof go!”
Kaff quickly checked his sides for missing items, which there were none to begin with. “Fine, fine, I will permit you minor information, but no such else.” He pulled Daily closer as he pushed onwards. “I am twenty years of age, serving nobles is my way of living, Prussia is my place of birth, and I love that country more than what is considered to be healthy.”
Daily pulled out a pad of notes from his saddlebags, jotting down Kaff’s information word from word with the strange, wooden quill in his mouth.
Kaff entered a rather deserted street. The carriages continued bustling behind him as he moved through the ghost side of the city. Was that one stallion pointing a knife at him? Nevermind that. Just look ahead, and don’t meet anyone’s eyes...
“How come—“ he started, quickly hushed by a panic-filled Kaff.
“Sush, I gave you the amount I had promised exactly.” Daily still clung to him as he doubled his pace, the streets becoming ever paler after each blink.
“Aww, come on, Mister! You can cough out more than that, I know you can!” he argued by halting his legs, considerably diminishing their speed. This was not the time.
Kaff could hear many hoof steps nearing, and shouts a bellowing. He didn’t take the chance to look to know what these ponies’ intentions were.
“Fine! Just dash with me to edge of this horrid place!” Perhaps shouting was not a good idea for the moment. Attention should be less on them for his liking, considering that metal-unsheathing was the only sound other than hoof steps. Thank heavens for that broom being sturdy. Otherwise, he could only hobble away from his current position.
“How did you wind up in Canterlot?” Oh, it had to be the question hardest to lie about first, didn’t it?
Putting his imagination to good use, he began funneling ideas. “I washed ashore from a sunken ship!” He turned to another street, greeted by more unpleasant looking fellows. He doubled back with haste and three more on his tail.
“Why were you on that ship?” Daily began moving past him, being the one to start dragging others around. Though, the roads he chose became denser by each corner they took.
“Military reasons.” Even if the choices Daily made were less than stellar, Kaff let him took the lead. There were only so much he could juggle before losing his composure. Fair timing as well. The streets started to become dense with stacks of litter and debris.
Kaff wheezed as his one good leg landed from a jump over a fallen street sign. A rancidly awful and foul smell welcomed itself inside his nose. He quenched a spew of breakfast back down his throat.
“Be more specific, Mister Kaff!”
He swore that a dart had whizzed past his face when glanced backwards. To his left, a storefront set free a million shards of glass. It didn’t take much for him to put two and two together. Lucky timing was always appreciated.
“We were heading to a new land for an expedition, but was intercepted by a larger flotilla!” After pivoting into a rather poorly lit street, Kaff began leading again when a long chain of sizable stores began popping into view.
“What army did you work for? I thought you said serving nobles is what you do.” Despite the intensity, Daily kept on writing his notes, either uncaring or unfeeling for their well being. Though once he looked back, the pad and strange quill were hastily thrown back into his saddlebags, as if only now coming to understand the magnitude of the situation.
“The army I work for, I cannot tell you. Please understand that it is confidential and out of my rights to disclose. All I can say is that the army was privately funded for an expedition.” An open door presented itself on their path. If anyone up there is listening, let there be a door in the back of this building. Please. He took a turn into a large store. “I wound up in the army because of familial reasons. Grandfather wanted me to enlist, else I lose family ties altogether.”
It took no time for the door to be slammed closed into one of the chasers’ face. Unfortunately, so did reopening it. The act seemed to only further their drive to catch Kaff, evident by the colorful vocabulary thrown throughout the building.
At the end of the hallway was a large wall mirror, looking rickety from a distance. They quickly closed the gap between them and the mirror. With a quick burst of adrenaline, he began heaving it down, Daily doing his best to help. When the mirror finally started to loosen its grip on the building, Kaff pulled Daily’s hoof, and continued their flee.
Crack!
Here was to hoping one of the chasers would hesitate, and fall into the sea of fractured reflections, resulting in a pileup of confused and bleeding chasers. That idea was generous when including hooves into the equation.
“Bloody Luna’s fairy dust, that hurts like mother’s nick on a Tuesday!” echoed through the abandoned structure. Kaff uttered a quick thanks to nobody in particular.
“Where did you wash up on, Mister Kaff?”
Through gritted teeth and suppressed curses, Kaff answered, “Trottingham! Please, I promise to answer more, just not at the current moment!” Luck was starting to run out. There were naught, but a staircase on their path of escape.
Kaff was not keen on jumping from a the second floor, but options were limited. So, to Hell with common sense. He will jump into a pit of crocodiles if he had to. The people hounding their tracks weren’t the type to let runners take the easy and painless way out. These ponies were bloodthirsty wolves.
He’ll take his chances with the crocodiles.
The top of the staircase led to a more extensive hallway. Doors lined both sides as a large window barely lit the room through dust-covered panes. He began opening the doors one by one on each side.
The first door; locked.
The second; locked.
The third; no difference.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth row; same as the previous ones.
It was all bleak. From the beads of sweat burning his forehead, to the jittery hooves that ever so desperately scrambled to open doors, their hope was dying.
On the second last door: The seventh, the dusty, golden knob finally turned. He physically couldn’t dart into the room faster than he did. Daily began pacing to the edge of the room, while Kaff opened one of the windows; it creaked of rust.
As the pane opened, dust particles entered his lungs and out the window. With a cough that could cut throats, he looked down as numerous hoofsteps began to echo once again.
His eyes widened as big as inner plates, down below was a pool …filled with crocodiles. Earlier, he may had exaggerated his extent to outrun these ponies, but adrenaline had its effects on quick judgments. There was not a single inch of gap between the building and the pool, it was a still body of water straight down from the window. Damn the architect.
The sound of an object being uncloaked entered Kaff’s ears. “There’s only a single ponnequin here, Mister Kaff!” At first, he wondered what a ponnequin was, until he saw it: A pony version of a mannequin, still as a statue and perfectly his size.
An idea struck him.
With a beaming smile plastered onto his face, he took hold of the ponnequin, and ran out into the hallway. Taking a moment to fill his lungs, he shouted a deafening war cry, before throwing the ponnequin out the window, the glass being no match for the force of the throw. That ought to draw everyone’s attention.
Backing himself inside the room, he closed the door, quietly waving for Daily to come closer. He hid next to the door, he plopped down on the floor, placing Daily’s head at his chest. Kaff hugged him for both their comforts. “Mother save us both,” he whispered under a cold breath.
The floor vibrated as shouts creeped into the room through various nooks and crannies on the wall. Daily hugged Kaff back, freezing and pausing his breath once the stomping came to a halt. Kaff counted his last moments, wondering what it might be like to die twice in the same week.
...
“The daft fuck jumped through that window!” Floorboards from the other room thumped with galloping, and a splash soon followed.
The fool actually jumped.
“I’ve got him! He’s a hard skin for a runner!”
What Kaff could only describe as a blood curdling shriek filled the air, its period lasting only mere seconds. A splurge of vital fluids met with the rusty window next to him, evident by Daily’s sudden jolt.
Even if the fellow had wanted to stab Kaff in the kidney, he still felt horrible to have done a part in his demise, the screams made sure of that. He had done many despicable things in his life, but killing someone he barely knew was a crime most unfortunate. Another reason why he hated the army.
Sure, he may had done a tad bit more than just polishing his masters’ cat o’ nine tails, but those masters taught him that laws sometimes weren’t truly just, for the signature behind them were ill fitting for a country of order, only benefiting the men behind the quill. However, stating that the masters were vigilantes would be overly generous. Kaff scrapped most of their ideologies, but still kept some things close to his heart.
“You boys ain’t getting a single roll of leather from my crocodiles!” Kaff and Daily peeked out the window, seeing a hunched-back stallion tugging what was doubtfully ever a living thing to the side of the pool with a staff. Kaff instinctually covered Daily’s eyes before he could take a closer look, the rips and tears too many for what a single crocodile could possibly accomplish.
Heavens have mercy for that poor fool.
“Don’t you be making me get the hounds do you the same like this here dumb stallion, leaping through my perfectly cam’o-flaged window and breaking my cover!”
The chasers replied only with murmurs, before one had the courage to answer, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll leave your stupid farm. You can keep Hindsight if you want. The bastard’s only good for springing traps anyways.” One by one, Kaff could hear them leaving the scene.
Hiding back in the corner, Daily looked at him with glassy eyes. They had managed to escape only with the assistance of a ponnequin. The chasers never even bothered to check the rooms, they were so distracted. The two just held each other in an embrace, though now it was filled with relieve in the stead of fear. It was soothing, a moment that couldn’t be more easing to their minds.
Perhaps Kaff could survive in this new world after all. Be it with a few friends to help along the way.
____
There it was, the very building where Kaff sought to face Holds in. He half expected it to be something extravagant, though a bricked, four story building still fit the bill. In a way, the roughness of its walls felt right for Holds. Just the brown coloring made it scream ‘only people who eat raw hops may enter’.
“I can’t believe you made that damned turn into Trotinghooves territory.” Yes, it was indeed a stupid mistake, and Daily had every right to underline it. “I’ll make sure you get a map if you survive going in there.”
Perhaps it was the building, but Kaff had second thoughts about going inside. “Perchance, do you know of any unlucky fellows who ahem was not suited to enter?”
“Well… there was that one nutter who thought he could be a stallion named Holds in a game of shots. Fair to say, the tosser got alcohol poisoning and one less tooth in his muzzle.”
Huh, a punch was not that bad.
“Then again, there’s a story about Holds wrestling a bear, and winning it. I think that bear is in a coma or something.”
Well, his hope just flew out the window. “Wish me luck, I may not return with all of my bones intact.” The first step was always the hardest, but least Daily was there to assure him. The feeling of someone’s hoof holding his own was multitudes of comfort. Heavens knew he would be needing the support. If not, high tailing out of there would have been done yesterday fast.
“Break a leg, Mister Kaff!” He let go, and slapped his hindquarters, hard. If Kaff once had the chance to turn back, it had now vanished, for Daily put strength into his hooves, and pushed him straight through the door. Kaff didn’t even resist it, for he was stiff with fear. As the reception was visible, Daily backpedaled without Kaff noticing. “See you on the other side!” the voice muffled by the door.
The mare behind the counter spared him a glance, withholding her attention not long after to view back into the magazine in her hooves. “How can I help you?” she said, her voice very much defining the word nonchalant.
“May I ask if Noholds Barred is present in the building?” He gave a sheepish smile to pair with his dread.
Two eyes looked up to met Kaff’s. “You may.” With a sly grin, she blew a streak of mane from her cheek.
The change of pace from life-threatening to lax was sure to be appreciated, though the adrenaline still made him exhausted. So, the reply took far longer than what normal people took to achieve. “I...—Yes, is Holds in the vicinity?”
Chewing her cheeks, she stared him, before asking with surprise, “You’re that Kaff dude Holds’ been talking about, aren’t you?” She carelessly flopped the magazine on the table, rising from her chair. “Man, I’ve gotta see this! Follow me, Mister K!”
For the upteenth time, someone took his arm, and dragged him to Heavens know where. The numerous doors they passed were rather thick, from what force they hit Kaff with. He’d also be sure to not underestimate women’s speed in dragging men around in the future.
With the final door slamming into his face, a room filled with floor mattresses and metallic exercise equipment came to view. Strange how everything had identical copies next to each other. Wait no, that was just Kaff’s eyes seeing diploidic.
“Hey, Mister Holds, look who’s here!” The mare waved his arm up in the air, boosting his dizziness twofold, same like his vision. There was naught a soul but his own, the mare, and Holds in the training room. The mare made her way to a rack of gloves, leaving Kaff staring at an angered Noholds Barred.
A boom of a smashing blow met Kaff’s ears, the sound coming from a red padded glove hitting a dummy, knocking it to the ground. “Well, looks like someone has the balls to face me!” Holds took the gloves off, throwing them to the side as he made his way to Kaff. “You have something to say, colt?”
His vision may be distorted, but there was no mistaking the large, furious stallion right in his face. It was directly snout to snout. Any closer, and the moment would have been romantic.
“I… have a few matters to inform you of.” Behind him, the mare tossed a pair of those red gloves Holds wore earlier in his direction.
Holds caught the gloves expertly. “If you want to talk with me,” He threw them on Kaff’s chest, emptying his lungs. “you gotta fight for it.”
He needn’t be told what came next. As Holds put his padded gloves back on, Kaff was already on the mat.
It was unfair, to say the least. He wasn’t completely sure, but he betted that Holds wasn’t seeing double at the moment. Kaff had no idea how much longer the impairment would last, but refusing the challenge was no option. Holds would not take no for an answer.
As the two readied themselves, it was clear that size had quite the gap. When on all fours, Kaff stood taller. However, when the two had the same stance, Holds was gargantuan compared to him. Forget losing a tooth. If Holds’ hit connected, Kaff would be deprived of his jaw.
Kaff took deep breaths, putting his weight on his good leg. A click then below him sounded. He looked down to find that mare had attached a professional grade leg to his hoof, casting the surrogate one away.
“Let’s make you have a chance, Mister K! Last five minutes and you can keep it!” If it was any other day, he’d be eager to win himself a new leg, but mind you, he just ran a marathon, got slapped silly by multiple doors, and there was like two of everything.
Final seconds before all Hell broke loose. He stood the same like Holds—in the opposite corners of the mat. His best chance was copying Holds on what to do, and so he raised two arms up in front of him.
Ding, ding, ding. Was it too late to pull out now?
With the speed of a spirited coarser and the hit of a heavy warhorse, Holds was already in arms reach, aiming for a right hook. Barely missing, Kaff dodged it at the last second, his brain lagging behind in processing what was happening.
He tried to move behind Holds so he could take steps backwards. Jabbing Kaff’s ay out, Holds simply took his own retreat, before the punches became too predictable. After a few hits to the air, Holds simply countered Kaff with a cross blow, meeting his shoulder and staggering him rearwards. Kaff was now open.
The first hit collided his gut, but the second was closed off by Kaff’s block. It nauseated him, but he pressed forward to push Holds’ position, gaining success. Holds reared for another hook, but this time Kaff was focused on the push, so it met with the side of his head, spinning him in place.
He centralized his weight, and the spin was over. His advance was now lost to a single hit. Behind Kaff were only two steps to the edge of the mat. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the bell rang, but he had to make an offensive move. Focusing defense against Holds would only mean bruises to his everything.
Kaff didn’t know any techniques to back him up and his aim was thrown off by the doubling off his perception, but that didn’t stop him from placing hope and energy into his blows. As Holds neared, Kaff feigned a hit from the side, and Holds covered with a block. The real clash came for an uppercut to Holds’ jaw, but Holds had experience, so it never connected with anything.
Holds made a few jabs to his chest, heaving more air out, and pushing Kaff right to the edge of the mat. When Kaff attempted to block, it was already too late, as the barrage was already over.
Screw it all. He was hitting jackshit, so why not make it look like he was actually trying? The next punch would probably his last anyway, so he’ll just have to make it convincing. All that doubt, fear, and anger would be placed into a single blow.
With his left hoof, Kaff feigned another hit, and Holds covered, closing his eyes from anticipation. Kaff pulled back, and heaved for his right hoof to connect, targeting the hook right between the two distorted Holdses in front of him.
Smack.
It smashed right into Holds’ face, making a literal bullseye to his left optic. The blow managed to throw Holds rearing backwards. As Kaff readied himself to continue, Holds fell down on his back.
Not believing the trick, Kaff took large steps behind Holds, making good use of the adrenaline in his system too tighten his stance. But, Holds remained on the ground, and so Kaff stared down on him with eyes that finally focused, as everything finally came back to their singular form.
Holds wasn’t rising back up. His body was laying still. Kaff questioned if he was even breathing at all.
“Let the enemy not pass this forest!” Ambrose led his cavalry squadron over fallen soldiers, their arrow-torn uniforms painting the field red as men who remained kept pushing through the waves of arrows piercing the air.
Ambrose spited the order of cease fire the colonies had given. He did not care of the soldiers who surrendered, they were all just numbers sent by the bureaucrats. They knew the risks, what was wrong with simply putting that idea to reality? The real results came from frontline officers such as himself that would push for total victory.
Though, in the stead of the French stood those natives. A rebellion, against the sovereignty of Britain? Had they half a brain, the bloke that proposed the idea would’ve been labeled as mentally insane. Unfortunate for them that the proposal caught momentum within the region. He’d make sure the person who started this gets his brain splattered all over the execution grounds when this stupidity ends.
A soldier not of his company galloped next to him. “Sir, one of the enemy officers has been caught! Captains: Smithley and Claxton is waiting at camp for your input.” How lovely, a man soon to be dead was waiting for him. Just as he thought today was going to be boring.
“Fine, I will head there at once.” Ambrose turned to the company lieutenant behind him. “Keep pushing, I want their village burned by sundown; women and children be damned. No matter how many losses we sustain, you are to keep these men moving forward.”
The lieutenant replied with a simple nod, before he began relaying the order to others around him.
As he left the field with a few guards to accompany him, the battle raged on beyond the forest line. Ambrose had done a good job of observing the local wildlife, whether it be flora or fauna. Though, the fauna had a bit of a scuffle in the documenting, leaving a few soldiers in the medical tents. Nevertheless, this territory was ripe for exploitation.
If there was one thing Ambrose liked of the natives, it was that they had done good work of keeping nature’s glory. This land was just begging to be colonized. As soon as this region was captured, Ambrose will be bidding the highest and bribing the most.
Think of all the exotic creatures he could put in the private markets. Forget the East Indies, this region practically had gold running around in the wild.
“Ambrose, could you possibly have taken a more leisurely pace!? This fool attempted to poison our supplies, and you kept saying these natives had no brain to do so.” Claxton practically pulled Ambrose down from his mount, wasting not a single second in dragging him through the encampment.
Claxton seemed a little fatigued and bruised when Ambrose faced him.
————
Kaff stared down on the text he had written. It had not too many pages to be called a book, but he decided in cataloging recipes by type. So, there were still volumes left to continue. He’d see about meeting a leatherer to make a hardcover of it.
Rising from the store counter, he checked another day in the calendar. A few days had passed over his victory over Holds. Now, whenever Holds was in vicinity, Kaff was a little less intimidated, and Holds had none to say as well.
He wondered if Holds had more or even less respect for him. But, whichever one it was, Kaff tried his best in being respecting, and not flaunt it in his face. Holds was a honorable stallion, so Kaff will make his best to do the same.
Jace was a mixed bag of results. She had congratulated, and even so far as to say celebrated his victory, but Kaff knew there was a twinge of sadness in her eyes. He still played along in the celebration, however.
It later came to his attention that Holds was something of an opponent to face in the ring. News had travelled to many ears, and there was a rumor of a new player in the game of boxing. Kaff just laughed it off. Though, he received an invitation by a noble of some sort.
Fancy Pants had sent a letter wishing for an interview with him. Kaff had naught to know of what he wanted, but he intended on getting a reputation as a valet once again. He was likely going to be asked to fill a domestic security position, if he had to guess. He was just going to have to spin the idea of him being a valet to the noble. Heavens know that years in the nobility’s world gave him experience in disinformation.
So there it was, the tavern where his soon to be master shall meet him. It was near the city’s palace, looking rather empty in the daylight. Of course, Kaff took the luxury of coming a tad bit early. Thirty minutes should put in the right impression.
Without much extravagance, he entered quietly through the rustic swinging doors, the other patrons replying by continuing to stare at their half empty glasses, the room barely lifting their shadows. Kaff sat down in a rather isolated table, adjusting his seat as he looked at the menu.
‘The Rusty Spear’, seeing much of the patrons had the figure of soldiers, it was appropriate. Come to think, there were a few racks filled with golden armour. Most likely the city’s watch of some sort. Though, the choice of colours was something unusual to look at, and the armour style seemed ancient.
“Can I take your order?”
He looked up to see a mare with a notepad and ‘pencil’ in her mouth; he’d be sure to check in on a dictionary later. “I will be waiting for another.”
“If you’re looking for something romantic, here’s ain’t the place.”
“Duly noted.” Kaff waved her off.
The menu was quite the paper piece. It reeked of sweat and alcohol, yet it was clean to the eye. After a few minutes of browsing, he placed it down, reaching to clean the utensils of the table with a napkin.
He shouldn’t ruin his chances. Sir Fancy will have no less than stellar for the place of his interview. This place may seem down-trodden, but Kaff was not to question it or do nothing to improve. The master would get what the master wants plus his excellence in service.
The possibility of that letter being fake was near zero. He spent years reading through mails in a Scottish accent, now he had the eye to spot whichever ones were poisoned, forged, or even ciphered. The noble managing to find him was already enough evidence to prove his status. No common could simply ask for his whereabouts without other eyes and ears helping.
“How wonderful of you to be present early.”
Kaff dropped the fork and napkin in his hands, immediately standing up to greet the stallion. He gave a quick bow, before pulling the seat back for him. “Diligence never hurts anyone.”
“Not quite what I expected from a pony that managed to triumph over Noholds Barred.” Fancy sat down as Kaff pushed the seat forward and dusted off his black suit. “Certainly not the warrior I envisioned.”
“Yes, quite, Mast— ahem Sir Fancy.” He laid out the utensils in a neat arrangement in front of Fancy. Backing down his own chair, he made sure to straighten himself up to appear proper. “May I ask why you’ve called for an invitation?” Kaff looked straight into Fancy’s blue eyes, of which one was monocled.
Fancy swept a hoof through his mustache as his mane tussled in place. The blue in his facial hair and hairstyle was one that took regular visits to professionals, his shining white fur contrasting them ever so gracefully.
Kaff was sure that unicorns were nothing more, but scams created by the norse, though here was those vikings’ proof that their ‘severed unicorn horns’ were not narwhals’ tusks. Sir Fancy’s one was rather generous in size in proportion to his head. Kaff wondered if it was functional.
“A captain of mine recently resigned his position, and so I intend to promote his second in command. This will lead to much of my security staff receiving a promotion, leaving one post vacant. I have faith that you have desire to serve a noble yet again. Some of the ponies under the chain of command does not merit the elevation.”
“Pardon my questioning, but with all respect, why have you chosen I?”
“It is not often a ‘Prussian soldier’ finds themselves in Canterlot. Especially one that was able to join a private army of a high ranking noble from Germaneigh.”
“How did…”
Fancy pulled out a roll of newspapers, levitating it in front of Kaff for him to see. ‘Prussian Soldier Saves Journalist and Finds Illegal Crocodile Farm,’ was proclaimed in uppercase as there was a picture of a hunched-back stallion being arrested in front of a pool of crocodiles.
Daily Words will soon find a rather irate and delighted Kaff before him.
“I do not usually take what the press tells with whole trust, but this piqued my interests. I heard great discipline from your lands, though much of your culture and trotting style is still foreign to me,” Fancy pointed towards Kaff’s bipedal nature. “My thoughts are that you must be one of great talents to perform the deeds you have accomplished. Your mark, however…”
He pointed to… Kaff’s hindquarters? “Um, yes it’s… quite the posterior that mother gave me.”
“Not to demean your biology, but that is not the focus of my query. I meant for the mark that gives ponies their destiny—cutiemarks. Which, in no way am I shaming you, I question you this: What is it that you are proficient with? You have well reached maturity, and yet no mark is bestowed upon your flank.”
What in good Prussia was a ‘cutiemark’? If everyone had those, Kaff’s eyes hadn’t wondered into their rears. No gentleman would do such a thing. It was mortifying enough that clothing was optional, now it was an etiquette to know what marks were on others’ behind? The first few days he’d been in Equestria, he had to contain the pressure of blood rushing to his cheeks to just get by!
His fabricated falsehoods were starting to get more complicated. “I believe there is a term for what I am experiencing—amnesia.”
“Ohh, I am sorry to hear. I know what it is like to lose years from loved ones. One should never bear the burden of forfeiting fragments of their lives.” It seemed that Kaff had struck a sensitive matter.
“I thank you for your empathy. Tis not often that nobles are genuine in what they say. The emotion in your voice was not something that could be faked.”
“You are quite something of a pony. A warrior with eyes that could see through the royal court’s deception.” Fancy waved for a waitress. “May I inquire about any bit of previous experiences that you may recall, seeing that you know your place of origin?”
“Very well, Sir Fancy,” As the waitress jotted down Fancy’s order, Kaff requested the same for himself. “I started my work with serving a baroness, one that was a friend of mother before my chin met the barber’s razor. Not in guarding the estate, but in making beds and holding trays. I came as a footman, and resigned as a valet.
“At the time, many were seeking what I had to offer, so opportunities were vast, but I hadn’t much luck. I will be open, with you, Sir Fancy. One of the ‘worst’ masters I served was a count that had more people in oubliettes than there were blood relatives. I regret to admit that I had held the whip far too many times to prove my loyalty.
“I went through a few more masters, till one was unlucky enough to relinquish life in the middle of a vacation. Needless to say, I was effectively stranded in Bat-Avia. There, I lived up to my name: Kaffeine, working behind the kitchen and putting to life local recipes.
“I later came across the ‘best’ master, one who rescued me from a band of not so civil corsairs, taking me to a land closer to home. He was a man seeking liberty in a land of untamed woods and mountains. The man was a duke of a king that he sought to rebel against. He unshackled slaves, but kept the wealthy under leashes. Never had I met a man so virtuous, yet so sinful.
“Soon, I received a letter from a man that had far too high of an expectation for me. Grandfather and his son were the only reasons I left my beloved nation. I had tried to cut ties with them altogether when mother passed, but the past was always one to catch up.
“The letter… explained something about a recent war, and that my live was nothing short of dishonour to the family. I later went on to prove myself. That was by far, the biggest mistake of my life.
“The military was not a life I intend to live off of. It was something of a blur. The only thing I can remember was losing a leg and washing ashore after a nasty encounter with a hostile fleet.
“I remember nothing of my early childhood, some of the masters I worked for were nothing but mists in my head, and the few months of service to the army was better off forgotten than to be haunting me for the rest of my days.”
The only lie was the memory loss and the army. He fully remembered the cindering smell of black powder and the childhood he and mother trudged through.
“In short, I believe that I am most proficient in personally serving a noble by their side. I have met many masters, and gained many of their beliefs and knowledge, whether it be righteous or unjust. You may take what I’ve said however you please, but note that my time in as a soldier was a mistake that I intend not to repeat.”
Fancy just stared at him in contemplation, ignoring the plates the waitress had placed on the table. Even if Kaff’s lies had fell into deaf ears, reputation was reputation, and now it was his own.
In the past, Kaff had never made his past as clear as today. He’d always give basic personalities and name a few masters, but not so open as to directly testify against one of his employers’ actions. Information had its price, but he was near desparation
Kaff looked down to see the food had began to lose their steam. He poked the pieces of vegetables with a fork, but waited until Fancy had taken his own bite of the meal. Rather long for Fancy to digest the information.
“Will the rank First Lieutenant be able to persuade you?”
——————
As the sun beared down on guards that clashed their swords in single battles, the palace grounds were livid with sounds of training. The paraperted walls of the palace mighty as it seemed were overshadowed by numerous towers being constructed all throughout their rigid walkways.
Master Fancy had spoke of a great disaster that had struck Equestria a few months past. A being of monstrous power that consumed the life force out of every living thing it wishes had once simply meandered through the garrisoned walls of Canterlot, and the monarchs present did not wish for it to be the same thereafter.
Kaff walked above the cobblestoned road which encompassed the entirety of the royals’ dwelling place. Every so often, a guard clad in golden armour would give looks of bloody murder to him as he followed along with Master Fancy. Even fewer attired nobles would pass a glance of curiosity to a foreign that tread on their grounds.
“I have assembled a modest company of soldiers to form my household’s first formal levy. Luna herself wanted every noble to own a small fighting force to reserve the newly reorganized Earth pony Unicorn and Pegasus, or EUP for short.”
Kaff eyed a group of soldiers sitting in an open field with an instructor at the middle, the instructor’s hoof holding a crossbow and bolt. “I wish not to call your work modest, Master Fancy. One has to start from somewhere to make progress.”
The instructor placed the crossbow’s end on the ground and stepped it’s cocking stirrup steady with his hoof as he wound up the cranks. The instructor then placed in the bolt, before firing at a round target some thirty yards away; a bullseye. Kaff had always wanted to go hunting with one of those things in tow.
“You need not to honey your words, Kaffein. I know full well that the hodgepodge of mercenaries in my company is less than satisfactory compared to what my colleagues had managed to accomplish.”
The two made way for a small column of palace guards patrolling the area with spears at the ready, their hooves resounding with the stone path as their heads stared forward with a fixed glare.
Kaff continued to follow behind Master Fancy. “May I request to reside in a place of my own while I serve you, Master Fancy? Tis actually not very far from here, and I wish to return help to a family in need of support.”
“Any Commissioned Officer not scheduled for the night is allowed to stay at their own domicile, and I cannot deny my workers repaying deeds to others in need; which reminds me of something.” Fancy procured a key from his pocket, placing it in front of Kaff. “You shall share a room with the captain, seeing that you will be mostly working for him instead of me.”
Kaff took the key. “You will still have my loyalty, Master Fancy. The orders you instruct are superior to that of any officer above me in power.”
“Then you may prove it to me, good Lieutenant. I trust you are a stallion of your words. You may do as you wish against any that sought to dispute your power, but know that any extreme action you take should have my approval.”
Fancy stopped in front of a large wooden door, holding the handle closely. Next to the door was a sign that read ‘mess hall’, creaking in one-nailed suspension. He seemed hesitant to open it, steeling himself to look at Kaff before going onwards.
“Through these doors are your new comrades. Some will welcome you with open hooves, but I advise you of the envious officers. They are the reason why the previous captain left. I imagine they will seek to prove that they are better than you to stroke their own pride or to advance their own position.” With a small frown, he pushed it open.
Much of the ponies inside met their appearance with passive intrigue, while ones who wore bright uniforms looked with disdain, pointing their muzzles up in the air. Only a handful kept their gaze.
The room held nearly fifty ponies, both stallions and mares. Master Fancy was not lying when he used ‘modest’ to describe it. Fifty ponies did not make a company. A single cavalry charge could cut through them much would a steel saber against the open skin.
Everyone was seated in their own cliques. Some were arm wrestling, while others played a rather nasty game that involved a knife and a wing. To his side was a group that played a game of cards. One of them, a mare with red fur, made an inspection out of Kaff’s entrance, moving her burning roll of tobacco from one side of her lip to the other.
The mare with the smoke in her mouth began to break the silence, “This the new CO, Chief? Can’t help but notice the attention everyone’s giving him,” her voice raspy like dry leaves under a mount’s hoof.
The rest of the ponies in the mare’s table only half-cared for their arrival, thinking higher of the game of cards on their table. A small pile of random goods sat on the center, and an odd-looking, wavy dagger stuck out from side as was a roll of half-eaten cheese wheel.
“Yes, indeed, Miss Fire.” Fancy turned to face everyone in the room. “Everypony, this is First Lieutenant Kaffein.” All looked at him, but some opted to return to their circles. “He will be replacing the newly promoted Captain Steady Hooves. Some of you may not like his origin, but I know this company will be a force unmatched under his and the captain’s guidance...”
Kaff watched idly behind Master Fancy, eyes looking to the floor in timid reservation as Fancy carried on with his speech. Miss Fire locked eyes with him, so he moved his sight far from hers and a few others that looked his way. He tuned out Master Fancy’s words so he could find himself some time to think.
The room had a scent of alcohol, though it was massively overshadowed by a smell that somewhat reminded Kaff of concentrated soap, or cleaning substances in general. The chairs creaked, but that only meant that it had character and a touch of rustic charm. There was even a longbow inside a glass display, one that will keep others from forgetting its bearer’s legacy.
It was a sight that was reminiscent of home. Just a patch of land that humbled a mighty capital. One of his cousins used to invite him to small gatherings after the cousin’s tavern was closed for the night. He could never hold much alcohol, but the time he spent with his dear friends was what kept him from leaving. Plus, it ended up with the cousin hiring him as a waiter, there he founded his love of serving others with a smile that wasn’t a facade.
One of the uniformed ponies stood up from his seat, cutting off Fancy’s speech, “What does he have that we don’t!? My brothers-at-arms and I served you longer than any of these goons that crawled out from Ghost Canterlot! Our seniority should put this bastard’s head under a cadet’s helm!”
The stallion’s outcry rallied the other cleanly-dressed ponies, putting a few heads behind his back both literally and figuratively. The ones who didn’t rise simply scoffed and scowled at their scene of schismless squabble. But Kaff didn’t bother to look, he only did when the stallion had thrown a mug over his head with his telekinesis.
“Listen to me, outlander! Your little guise is over. Your fur is barely old enough to be in a suit of armor, but you claim to have served a far away noble’s army? I call you a liar; a stealer of valor. You don’t know what it’s like to be in a real battle!”
Kaff turned his back, picking up the spilled mug of beer lying on the floor. Curious, it had landed beside Lady Fire, who gave him a puzzled look of one eyebrow above the other. But none of that mattered. Kaff eyed the mug closely. Such a waste for what hop farmers had labored to land on others’ tables.
“Officer, you may not like me, but I need not to have an opinion that differs towards you. Simply put it, you will be treated as how you treat others, a lesson one of my masters had yearned for others to follow. You know not of the truth, nor the perspective of which I hold, and yet you berate and belittle one that had yet to speak their own name to the audience.”
Kaff placed the mug on a nearby table, sliding it to the middle; far from the edge. It appeared that he had garnered everyone’s attention.
“Officer, you say that I have yet to meet the fields of battle, but acting as an officer devoid of virtue and lacking of respect for others in command gave the clear image that neither have you. I do not know how it goes here, but where I came from, officers who graduated from the academy do not give their comrades words of sneering undervalue.
“Officer, you threw that simple mug over one that had not done anyone harm. You did that for show of power, to show that you possess both the bravery and the half-mindedness to defy your superior. A leader may lead others by force and fear, but a good leader leads by example; something you gave everyone in this room a very good illustration of what not to do.
“Officer, you challenge the wishes of your very Lord. Master Fancy’s choices are his own, without the ramblings of others under him to give influence. His decisions are final, and it is your duty to put his words to reality, not to dismay it. You served him for some time, but you cannot follow his orders out of the sheer ego that clouds your judgement.
“Why you little—!”
“Yes, I am little, I am new, and yet I know that you do not deserve that promotion. I may not always stand and take charge of pressing matters, but I will always defend my Master’s honor and wishes till the last drop of blood seeps out of my skin!”
Kaff had done this before. Some of the footmen in the estate had done things that had near-landed them in rotting cells below the manor’s basement, but it was in his interest make the Master’s life easier. So, he usually gave them ramblings that could burn ears and send threats that would put Ivan the Terrible to shame.
Though, some never took his words with earnest, even though Kaff had done it for their own well-being.
With the look of bloody murder, the stallion stared at him. Kaff was unamused, however. To him, it was all just a routine: One would cross the line, he’d tell them how it would go, and it would end with them giving back threats, before storming off to vent some steam.
“You keep talking, that’s the only thing your type can ever do. Without officers like me to actually run this place, this company would mean nothing. You remember that, Lieutenant.” Without another word, the stallion left, taking a few of his peers with him. Kaff was left with the mind-numbing silence and all’s eyes, filled with some sort of expectation from him.
Sigh… this was not going to be easy.
Smithley took a lungful of tobacco from his pipe smoke, its scent masking the charcoal smell of gunpowder that hung in the air. The cannon loaders next to him reeked of the stuff; practically bathing in it. The steed under him kept calm even with each passing volley that erupted from their iron artilleries. By now, the smoke that accumulated in the battery’s hilly fields was normal to the men’s lungs. He couldn’t say that it did wonders for their view of the enemy, however.
There were usually six to twelve cannons in a normal battery, but this team held fifteen. It was quite the task: Organizing the salvaged artillery pieces leftover from previous battles. What was harder was keeping it together. Unlike the men that filled the brunt of their force, the shortage of officers couldn’t be helped by the local villages. Smithley was only left with a single lieutenant, but that didn’t mean that he was not caring for their wellbeing. Lives were irreplaceable.
The men holding the muskets upfront may be taking the bigger casualties, but the cannons and the loaders’ wounds couldn’t be mended by local villages once it was harmed. It had to be shipped all the way from the thirteen colonies. Any man can easily be taught to bear a musket, but loading a cannon with both speed and accuracy took time and practise; things this brigade couldn’t afford. The Indian tribes made sure of that.
The attacks, both the Indians and their own, were long and drawn out. With every wave of musket fire, more of the Indian hordes came, outnumbering the very bullets whizzing through the air.
The cavalry, oh the Indian cavalry, they ambush at every angle, at every turn, but their numbers always by the hundreds. So many cannons had to be burned or outright abandoned, but so many more men were slaughtered by their roaring stampedes.
More were the sabotages they had planted throughout the British encampments. Rums poisoned, gunpowder lighted, and necks lacerated by their inhuman skills of infiltration. Like the spirits of their legends, they haunt each and every one of the colonial soldiers. Some of the men had nightmares.
“Lieutenant, could you perhaps keep these men in line? I need to check and rid our camp of any infiltrators,” Smithley asked the officer beside him, receiving a salute. “Good. Keep these men alive. Do not hesitate to withdraw if things went awry with the battle ahead of you.” With a pat on the officer’s shoulder, Smithley left the battery, and headed towards camp.
Men were in doubt, some outright refusing that it was the Indians who had done it all. Ambrose was such one. He denied the clear evidence that the local tribes were the source of their troubles. The wildlife did it all, he said. Yes; of course, the beavers, squirrels, and canaries were the ones who had claimed the lives and sanity of the men inside the camps.
Ambrose and Smithley may had different views on how this brigade should be run, but that greedy lizard only cared for profits than to see Britain and its men victorious. The bastard Ambrose even ordered some of the men to capture a bear to ‘trade in for supplies’, nearly killing them. The poor private that got maimed will be getting checks from Smithley’s own pockets if the lad ever got back to Britain safely.
Nevertheless, Ambrose was a decent officer, one that was better than anything the colonies could replace. If Smithley had the Academy's worth of officers in reserves however, he’d no doubt poison Ambrose’s tea himself.
Smithley sighed. Ambrose’s arrogance was one thing, but the lack of officers meant that the responsibility of planning and coordination were dropped onto him to bear through late at night with only his pipe smoke to keep company. Sometimes he despised being a good tactician. Whatever troubles that arose in battle kept his mind reeling with worry. Plans simply never survive contact, and he was the only one to really keep the men in formation. Just let this rebellion be over.
At least Claxton was there to keep him and Ambrose safe. That duelist never ceased to amaze him by what he could accomplish all by his lonesome. Such a surprise that that Kaffein fellow had managed to beat him in fencig without trickery. Then again, that valet never ran out of luck.
Down the path between the pine trees, Smithley could see Claxton in front of a campfire with a few medics by his side. A group of his personal guard stood at the ready with bayonet-plugged muskets behind him. Wait, why was Claxton so bruised and battered?
Kaff sat down with a long sigh, arms hanging lazily at his sides. A lone candle accompanied him on the table, washing away the darkness of the shop’s dining room. None but Kaff’s breathing flowed through the room.
After the mess of introductions earlier, not many words were spoken. Master Fancy simply guided him to his new office without any further exchanges. However, Kaff did notice the smile Fancy snuck in when leaving him to fill in paperwork.
At the moment, Kaff only wished for some peace, and perhaps a cup of coffee. It was rather late when Kaff entered the house, so Holds and Jace were likely to be asleep. They surely wouldn’t mind him brewing something for himself. He’d be sure to pay at a later date.
It may seem impractical to drink coffee before dropping off into sleep, but it was a habit that the East Indies had rubbed onto him. In Batavia, coffee was practically tea, so the locals there liked to sit out in their porch, blissfully gazing the starry skies with a glass of dark beans in their palms.
The cup laid still with boiling water filling its contents as a small sack of coffee beans rested inside. Filtering it shouldn’t take long.
Kaff collected the ingredients, putting them back in their places. As his legs stretched to reach the cupboards, a book below on the counter caught his attention. Making sure to tighten his newly acquired prosthesis to his leg, he couldn’t help but wonder why a lone book was left there. Well, if it was there out in the open, then nobody was going to stop him from viewing its contents.
‘Year 2672,’ was the only information the cover gave. Such a strange title. Then again, he hadn’t read it yet. He skipped right to the middle.
“...June, an overall bad month for the shop. Same as all the damned months before it. Stocks should be reduced in the future to avoid spoiling. Balance is exactly twenty Bits. Details are in the other journal. Next month is tax season.
Week one of July. Opened late for most of the days, but that won’t be affecting shit since customers only come at night. Things are looking the same as usual.
Week two of July. The only patrons that keep coming back are the loners that always have some sort of ‘tragic backstory’ for their alcoholism. I usually get along with those ones. Not that I ever actually talk to any of them. I had to wrestle a patron out of the shop the other night. Took me a bloody nose to do so, but he gave out. Now that’ll really draw more customers in.
Week three of July. Less customers, more mouths feed. A stranger appeared to stay, and basically became a deadweight since there’s no actual work for him to do. I’ll figure him out after gym practice tomorrow.
Week four of July. I can’t. I just can’t anymore.
Jace will be writing these from now on. If you’re reading this, Jace, you can make out just how bad of a situation we’re in right now. Please, kick that pegasus out. We barely can stay afloat as it is.”
Shut. Kaff nearly threw the book away. It didn’t come to him that this was not a published work till he had read that last paragraph.
No, it couldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be. He knew that there weren’t many customers, he served some of them them himself, but was it really this bad?
With his new line of work with Master Fancy, a schedule won’t help. He needed to do something, anything, with Jace perhaps. But what? How will he manage to push this shop through tax season? At least, to his knowledge, tax collectors shouldn’t come knocking on their doors till the end of the month, so he would have his time, however little it was.
After he was within the bed’s covers, the sweet bliss of sleep never came, only the angering feel of being ignorant and the stress of what was to come clung to him. If he did manage to fall asleep, he could no longer recall it, as the birds had already chirped the morning welcome.
Few would ever sit with him through the morning breakfast, but Jace was one of those few. “Jace, if I may ask, how eligible is this house with claiming a bank loan?”
Jace stirred out of her half-asleep state, finally taking a bite out of the toast that had been in her hoof for so long. “Oh! Ah… I… don’t think those bank ponies are willing to give us any. Something about our credit score,” she said, mouth filled with bread, and accidentally spitting some out.
Well that idea went out the window. Financial institutions shouldn’t be trusted with debt anyways. Perhaps he could figure something out while he was still off work with his new occupation. At least it was nice of them to give saturdays and sundays off for the month.
“Say… why’d you ask? You iffin’ some Bits for something?”
Kaff slowly took a sip of his mug, painstakingly so. He took time in choosing between lying and the truth. He forgot that reading the book was technically a breach of privacy.
“Spit it out! And I ain’t talking about that coffee in your mouth!”
No use in lying if he was going to help her. “I read the shop’s journal last night, Jace. My curiosity presumed that it was a simple work of fiction, but I was wrong.”
“Sigh. Don’t worry your head about it. I was gonna tell you anyways.” She took a beat of silence, before saying, “You know any way we can scrounge up some bits before the end of the month? I know one way, but I think your input matters, Kaff.”
Putting the mug on the table, he pushed his coffee and doubts down his throat. “Business comes down to one thing, Jace. The people’s wants; it can blind their judgements to do the unbelievable. At least, that is how manipulation works. I believe the same principles could be applied to this shop.”
Jace blinked. “Okay, no more coffee for you today. Just tell me what that jumble of sentences from your mouth means.”
Kaff put his hoofs together in front of him, reclining back into his chair. “Let’s advertise.”
Coffee was something that almost anyone from any age could like. Though, sometimes one had to start small, so one could learn from their mistakes without the impact being too much to bear for the future. Kaff and Jace chose one specific group: Scholars. With long nights of study and exams right in the corner, it was caffeine’s job to help them trog through the nights of dreamless information cramming.
Kaff remembered the masters’ families who hired professional crammers to pass their tests at the very last seconds. Those nights were always the most hectic and caffeine induced.
“How’re we gonna do this, Kaff? We can’t just march in their universities and yell, ‘Come to our shop!’”
Kaff scanned the newspaper in his hooves, eyes landing on the journalist headquarters’ address. “I do believe someone owes me a favour. A particular someone who used personal information without my consent.”
“Oh? Who’s that? And how’re you gonna get them to help?”
“Oh, how? I will do what I do best, dear Jace. The use of words arranged in a threatening manner with the best intimidation a valet could offer.”
Chortle. “How are you gonna do that, Kaffein? You gonna park his carriage in a busy corner?”
“Who’s side are you on Jace? I’m trying my best to save your shop. For heaven’s sake, we haven’t even entered their office!”
“Oh, stop your whining. I’m sure you can do it. I was just imagining how intimidating you can be.”
...
Giggle.
Kaff looked looked between the newspaper and the address on the gated fence. Foal Free Press. He wondered why the place needed a wall to incircle itself with. The gate however, was unguarded with the exception a horizontal pole in its walkway.
As they made their way inside, many walked with them on the cobblestone road with strange metal boxes in their hooves. Inside the building, the first to greet them was the reception, a long line in front of it.
“Look, all I’m asking is to meet your chief editor. I’m carrying about fifty other ponies’ complaints with me, so this’ll actually make things easier for both of us if you let one pony see him instead of fifty.” A stallion at the ahead of the line waved a rather thick piece of dossiers in front of the the receptionist.
“And I’ve already told you, the chief isn’t going to see anypony today,” a mare on the other side of the counter said, patience wearing thin.
“So, when will he see anypony? I’ve been coming here everyday for the past three weeks, and every time it’s the same answer.”
“Like I haven’t noticed. Look, mister, I only do what the chief says. And the chief says that nopony is allowed to see him.” The mare stood from her seat, yelling to the line, “Everypony who’s here to meet the chief, you can go home. He wasn’t seeing anypony yesterday, he isn’t seeing anypony today, and you can bet that he won’t be seeing anypony tomorrow!”
With disgruntled murmurs and scowls, everyone left, clearing the line to the very end. They all moved passed Kaff as would a stream of water with stone, some colliding with his shoulders.
Well, that was... fortunate. He’d take whatever help Lady Luck was handing out. “Hello, we’d like to meet with one of your journalists.” Kaff smiled at the mare.
The mare looked through the numerous notes on her table, passing Kaff a glance. “Looking for Mister Daily, right? I’ll get him for you, Mister Kaff. Please teach that boy a thing or two about asking for permission.”
Kaff rested his head on the waiting sofa, arms and legs splayed out with little care. Nobody was watching, so for once he could leave behind his formalities. There was the exception of Jace, of course, but she had found herself resting her head on his shoulder, smiling.
He didn’t know if he should move. But he didn’t want to ruin the moment. It had been this way for the better part of the hour, and he didn’t want it to change. Least enough, she wasn’t sleeping. Not that he’d mind.
Jace shifted her head a little. “I’ve been thinkin’.”
Kaff’s body tensed as those words poured into his ears and Jace most definitely noticed.
“Now don’t you freeze up on me, Pal. It ain’t nothing drastic enough for you to worry your little head off.”
A sigh of relief escaped him. “Yes, okay, thank you for ushering my worries away.”
Jace gave out a stifled chuckle under a hoof. “Ah always liked how I never know what string o’ words are gonna come rumbling out of yer mouth next.”
He smiled back. “Perchance, my tongue catches your fancy?” he teased.
“Yeah, it does.” She sounded happy. Kaff was thankful that he at least could put some of the colour back in her life.
Though, now she turned silent once more. Kaff peered down to his side, looking further into her eyes, something unsettling staring back at him. “Listen, I know we just met only a couple days ago. But…”
There was a pause in her words. Kaff seeked to fill the silence before Jace could. “...But I am still as magnificent as the day I flailed around, drowning in the lake?”
“No, ya silver-tongued goose!” Least she will be smiling when she finally brings about the bad news. She hadn’t said it yet, but there was no mistaking what would come next.
He never believed that Jace would’ve taken him in for anymore more than a few days. By now, he definitely had worn out his welcome. Holds were boiling, and even if Jace was saddened, Kaff knew she couldn’t afford to let him stay. The numbers on their financial journal said so.
“It’s just that... I think you’re trying too hard.”
…
What?
“Kaff, it’s mighty rude of me to let you into my family’s problems so soon after you’ve just got here. Sure, you work for us now, but what I have going on don’t mean nothin’ to ya personally. This stuff’s bupkis to you!”
“And you shouldn’t think that you’ve done nothin’. You’ve helped us plenty! Why, I wouldn’t even be able sit on this darn couch if you hadn’t convinced that foal that he owes ya.”
“N-no! Jace, I should care for this. Your home is on the line.”
“Now, now. I don’t mean that you should be putting on a blindfold and go on walking a tightrope for me to trust that I can keep a roof over our heads, but I just think that I should do this on my own.”
What was she again? Sixteen? At that time, the little masters would’ve needed to learn to juggle faster than a court jester. Didn’t she say she had schooling on top of running the shop?
“You’re so young Jace. You need to focus more on—“
“—on getting my life planned out. Yeah, I get that. Everypony around me’s been yapping about it ever since pa’s been acting silly, but ya shouldn’t worry.” She gave out a heartfelt smile just between the two of them. “I got this. Really.”
Kaff thought about it, keeping Jace to shift looks all about the room. His mind passed over the matter. He couldn’t refute Jace’s arguments. He so dearly wanted to hold her in his embrace like any caring person would, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t brave himself enough to do it.
Empathy; very few had Kaff’s. However, whoever had it, Kaff would pour his soul onto them. It was what he did; it was how he did his job. To understand a man’s needs, one should wear their shoes. And Kaff, he was ready to nail Jace’s shoes onto his feet and walk a hundred miles for her. But now… Now she wanted Kaff to stay right where he was while she walked her path alone.
Morals were a fickle thing, and Kaff wasn’t all experienced in the matter. If anything, he’d gotten lucky with how many people that kept saying how noble he was. Perhaps, this choice he was presented with could be the first step in walking in a clear direction — a road of improvement, self consciousness, and understanding. Perhaps, just perhaps, he should give Jace the chance she deserved.
“Jace…” Kaff looked deep into her big, wonder-filled eyes with all the seriousness she deserved, knowing full well the road he chose was the right one. “I trust you.”
“Sir, please don’t shoot me.”
Kaff eyed the red mare through the iron sight of his crossbow, acquainting himself with the weapon. “Nonsense. You said your magic had its range and that you cannot shield objects if they were too far away. I am not aiming for you, it just so happens that you are in close proximity to where I am aiming, Corporal Misfire.”
Through the sights, the unicorn fidgeted in place. Beside her, a practice dummy laid rest behind a white, aurora-like wall. She moved two steps back, and the shield flickered ever so slightly.
The training grounds were clear, save for a few passersby who seemed passively interested with the little experiment Kaff was performing. They were at a fair distance, so Kaff was certain the environment was safe enough to be tested on. The only thing keeping him from starting was Corporal Misfire’s complaining.
“Wording it differently doesn’t make it any less true. Just putting this out there, Sir, if you hit me that’s technically firing at a friendly. Which means it technically counts as treason. Which means—”
“Shush, or I might miss.”
This bolt in the machine would prove to him what wonders the arcane could put to reality. What opportunities would lie in his path. Whatever it held, however unready he was, Kaff would face it head on.
Steady on his hooves, Kaff aimed the crossbow. He held his breath and let loose.
Tink. The bolt hit the shield directly, causing sparks to fly out everywhere. While the shield barely noticed the iron contacting its surface, the bolt bent right down the middle, falling to the ground in an unspectacular fashion.
Well… success? More or less. Kaff didn’t actually expect it would work, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless. That would be one more aspect he could tinker with to improve Sir Fancy’s guard. God knows he’d need a miracle to succeed.
He went to jot down the results on his notepad, the feeling of being quadruped still as foreign to him as the Spanish. He might as well fit in with the locals, Kaff thought. He didn’t want to be singled out for simply being a few feet taller in the battlefield anytime soon, that was for sure. Being two feet taller than other ponies had gotten him enough odd looks to pressure him into fitting with society.
Least enough, his penmanship was starting to shine once again. Though, he doubted mother nature ever intended on making the mouth as a primary way to use pens. Least it was more accurate than when he had used his wings when he first tried writing. But God forbid if he had to go back to using feathered quills while using this technique.
Kaff reloaded the crossbow, shooting the practice dummy a few more times with the shield having various strength levels, as Miss Misfire would put it. The bolt never seemed to penetrate, however. Not until the shield itself was barely noticeable.
Nevertheless, the data would prove useful. There was still so much to learn that the books couldn’t teach him. For other tests, he could try and find a stronger crossbow, another unicorn to see if fire could defeat fire, or simply a weaker unicorn who had less experience with shielding. Whatever he chose, he’d likely need Corporal Misfire’s help again.
The sky began to darken itself orange and Kaff soon found himself alone with the Corporal, all other guards seemingly done for the day. “Thus far I’ve been precise and accurate with my shots, though I still worry for your wellbeing as there is still the undeniable chance of failure. Why can’t you stand further away, Corporal?”
“You’re only asking this now?” she said, just out of Kaff’s earshot. “It’s because I’ve been out of practice. Most unicorns can only make shields that hold up like mine did after months or even years of training. Me, though… I just have a high mana pool. I just used excess magic to compensate for my lack of experience.”
Kaff noted that down. “If you don’t mind. I require you to train yourself in that regard for both the sake of your health and my standing as Lieutenant. I cannot research arcanal sciences with a corpse, now can I?”
A bewildered look crossed her face. “When did I sign up for this?”
“When you had commissioned yourself to join Sir Fancy’s Guard. In times like this, I just wish to finish my work as fast as possible so that I can focus on the more... complex matters later with the slightest bit more experience in hand.”
“Do I have a say in this?” A nonchalant look came across her face. By now she didn’t care what Kaff’s answer was, because deep down she already knew.
“No,” Kaff said simply. “Who are the sergeants in Sir Fancy’s guard?”
“Dunno.” She began to levitate the practice dummy around in the air out of boredom. “I think most of them hightailed out of here when you talked to those guys at the mess hall yesterday.”
“Splendid, Staff Sergeant. I think that concludes today’s arrangement.”
The dummy fell to the grass. “Hold on a fast second, did you just—“
“Did I stutter, Sergeant?”
“No, sir, you did not.” The faintest of smiles found itself on her face. “But I’m guessing you’d want my continued help if I want to keep that title?”
Kaff packed his notes onto his saddlebag and strapped it onto his back. “If you so kindly would.”
The mare helped Kaff pack the equipment and return them back to the quartermaster. Kaff slipped the stallion behind the counter a pouch of coins for the damaged bolts before the stallion could even complain.
Along the way back to the barracks, Misfire kept up conversation, not letting silence befall the two of them. The weight on Kaff’s pack felt never so light with someone accompanying him through the darkened halls.
As she chatted, Kaff couldn’t keep his attention. The regimental colours strung about the cobblestone walls distracted him. Colourful, glorious, and no doubt prestigious. What did Sir Fancy expect out of him, he wondered.
Clearly, Kaff’s name brought something to the table. Something worthy enough for a Noble’s attention. He had learned Sir Fancy was a Duke whose crown shadows over various economic centers of the country. That confused him. Was he really worth that much?
If a high ranked Nobleman allowed Kaff to skip ladders on his own personal guard, that must mean something. The honor would be tremendous. More than what he had earned in most of his early life. The prestige alone had already angered the senior officers within the ranks and caused them to confront him directly.
“Misfire, what do you expect out of me?”
The mare’s ears rose and mouth formed into an o. “Was I being too informal? I could stop talking if you want me to, Sir.”
The mare stopped on her tracks, leaving Kaff to turn around and face her. “No, not that. I actually appreciate how casual you’ve let yourself be around me. It’s just that… I’m not sure if I will be able to bring enough to the table for what Sir Fancy expects.”
“Ohh, umm…” She shifted her looks about the floor, staring back at him after finding something. “You care about this company enough to actually question yourself, so that’s always a good sign. Any other pony could easily breeze through their work without any care, but I can see that this means a lot to you.”
“How could you possibly bring yourself to that conclusion?”
“You read up on how to do the job properly.” She gestured to a book protruding out of Kaff’s saddlebag. “You’ve faced those officers who had a mile-long stick up their plots and made them walk away without a fight. Which means that you were willing to defend what you believed in full heartedly. That’s something new.”
“You’re saying words, but I feel as though you’re honeying facts simply so that I may feel better.”
She firmly shook her head. “No. You actually care. That’s a hard thing to find. Look, I ain’t old enough to justify this, but I’ve never met anypony who wasn’t in it for the bits and doesn’t care about pride. You letting me be casual is a good example. If I walked up to any other Lieutenant and talked this way I’d have my plot handed to me. It’s ironic that of all ponies you’re the one who doesn’t care about formality.”
Kaff let those words sink in for a moment, before coming to his own rebuttal, “Ask a man to throw himself into the fire, and you will be sure to find him blinding himself to the orders of the so-called superior. Ask a comrade to throw himself into the fray, and you will know he will be waiting for you on the other side.”
“Preach, brother.”
She just smiled, all this time they’d been talking she was listening. It felt fulfilling for Kaff to finally be able to let loose and throw the weight off his chest. This was what he needed. It had been a long time since Kaff had a good conversation, and the mare was all ears.
Kaff smiled back. “Heh, look at us. Is this what camaraderie feels like? To have someone to call as a friend?”
She threw her arms on his back. “You got it, bud.” He hadn’t felt this kind of sincerity since Red. This was truly comforting.
“Already so open with me, Misfire?”
“Well, you shot at me for the better part of an hour, so that’s one hell of an introduction. Hey, just be glad this target’s not shooting back.” They stopped right at the gates, a guardspony giving a glance before returning to his newspaper. “You got a place to go?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. These past few weeks have just been a haze for me to go through in the dark. I’ve lost my way home, I found a family that needs repairing who wouldn’t admit it, and now this job. I’m… I’m lost, honestly.”
“Well,” She pulled Kaff to go down the street with her, “I know just the place where lost folks can find themselves.”
“...Flew fer three days straight, no food, no water, and no gin ta keep me warm out there on the mountain ranges. Alone, young, scared, and nobody, but my own shadow ta’ keep me company. Started hearin’ voices too. That was about where I found my wits and high-tailed back to the nearest recruit’n sarge. Think I’d rather die buried than lost out there in the cold where the wolves are yer only gravedigger. Long story short, I hopped between flags ‘n banners till I ended up here.”
“Did you ever miss it, Sarge?”
“Pepper, I oughta scrub the wax out yer tuffed little ears than to repeat that damn story five more times.”
Kaff fidgetted on his seat, trying to get comfortable in the old, sweat-soaked booth, finally finding one after Misfire glanced his way. It felt calming that tonight there was only the bartender and this clique of ponies lounging about the tavern.
The night-blue thestral blew back her olive and amber mane as the old, brown-bark stallion reclined in his seat. She took a long drag of her cigarette before saying, “Hey, don’t blame the curiosity, old man.”
“I said ear wax, woman, not curiosity.” Sarge took a big swig off his bottle, before turning his head to the newcomer. “How bout you, Churchill, how’d you end up with this little dysfunctional group o’ grunts?”
“Well…” Misfire nudged Kaff’s shoulder, giving him the courage to lean forward. “First off, please keep in mind this isn’t what I told Sir Fancy.”
The stallion nodded. “Shoot.”
“From the start, or do you prefer if I keep it simple?”
A new voice chimed in, “Keep it how you like, mate. No need to be stiff around us.” The gray unicorn played around with a deck of cards with his magic, being intricate with it until it all fell to the floor after he missed a catch. “Damn, almost.”
Sarge grumbled, almost shouting, “Ya ain’t gon be a bookie on my watch, boy. That stuff’s ain’t worth nothin but trouble in the long run.”
Pen snorted. “Hey, this job doesn’t pay for shit when we're on reserve, Sarge. A colt’s gotta make his money somehow.” He passed a smug grin, and tossed the cards into the air, only for it to burst into flames. “Okay, maybe not tonight.”
“Don’t hope none for hazard pay, boy. Ya just need a good month when the ups are watching till you get a promotion. Being a rookie’s only hard if ya try and break the rules, like housing an illegal gamblin site by being a bookie.”
Pen rolled his eyes, stroking a hoof through his messy purple mane and bumping shoulders with Kaff. “Just start talking will ya? Before Sarge really starts breaking my balls.”
Kaff took a deep breath, pushing aside all sorts of formalities for the time being. “Okay. So, all of this had to do with a letter from grandfather.”
“Lemme guess, disappointed because you’re not making time in the army?” Pepper said with a knowing look, rolling her cigarette to one side. “Sounds all too familiar.”
Kaff could only nod. “He was Captain of a very prestigious regiment, and I was a servant of a foreign noble. I’d blame myself too if I were him.”
“Hey, don’t punch yourself too hard, kid. That’s what the army’s for,” Pepper reassured. “Anyway, you sucked up to your granpappy, and ended up in the field even though you didn’t want to. So how’d it go?”
“Terrific in the most terrifying way possible. I was used to the discipline, but completely unready for everything else. I was scared shitles. As a cavalry unit, we plunged deep into enemy territory, all the while the looming threat of enemy ambush kept us terrified enough to stay sharp at all times.”
Misfire piqued up, “I’ve heard the old captain say the word cavalry a few times. What’s that about?”
Sarge waved her off. “Is jus a fancy way o’ saying a buncha ponies that charge head first into battle with the odd flank here and there. And I ain’t talkin’ bout the good kind you’d see in a whorehouse. That right, Churchill?”
“More or less. Though I never felt home with them. The noble I last worked for put in a good word for me, so all I could ever think of was how I did not warrant enough experience to be there. What’s worse, I served the captains more than I served the regiment. They would’ve lynched me if the captains hadn’t the need for a hairdresser and butler.”
“Well, you had a knack for one thing and kept with it wherever you go. I’d say that’s a plus.” It was Pepper’s turn to talk. “Some colts who already have their cutiemarks don’t know where they belong. You, your ass is as blank as your face and you’re already a Lieutenant. It takes some talent to catch Fancy Pants’ eye, and this time you did it without a noble. Tell me that’s not impressive.”
“Wait, you’re a Lieutenant?” Pen said, suddenly inching away and giving Kaff more room to sit. He then looked below the table. “Wait, you’re a blankflank!? Where’s my shiny badge?”
There was a sound of someone’s magic going off and sure enough, in the corner of Kaff’s eyes, he could see Misfire hitting the back of Pen’s head with a rolled up newspaper, seemingly satisfied. She then promptly gestured for Kaff to continue.
“Right. Well, while your words have merit, Pepper, I still have my own personal doubts.”
“Eh, you’ll see for yourself sooner or later. But back to your story. I still wanna hear this.”
Kaff took a moment to take a deep breath. “First, let me tell you something. Our warfare is different from yours. The deafening guns, the roaring explosions, the shrieking cry of men… it all scarred me to my core. They were slaughtered like pigs, unending carnage across the fields, slowly marching to their deaths, knowingly signing their souls to the crown. All in a column, three men deep, a thousand more long, marching forward in practiced discipline as the enemy kept their barrage, a hail of bullets uncaringly whizzing through flesh and bone.
“Hours of shooting would leave screens of smoke in the battlefield and dissolve most units into uncoordinated chaos. Routes were the deadliest part of battle, the aftermath leaving piles upon piles of unblinking corpses staring right into your soul with those cold, vacant eyes that once fought for a country with different ideas from yours. I was lucky to be cavalry, lucky to never have routed. Luckier to have survived most of the battles we fought.”
Sarge was the first to speak up. “Wars are long, scarring, and taxing in every sense of the word, but the amount of death you’re talkin’ about sounds a tiny bit far-fetched to me. There’s lots o’ ponies fighting in armor, sure, but death ain’t as high as ponies tend to think. A swordspony can only slay so many in one battle.”
Kaff shook his head. “We no longer use swords and the old doctrines they utilize to the extent your kind does. We have units dedicated for melee, sure, and some officers are issued swords, but they do not make the brunt of the army. Firearms do. Anyone could pick up a musket and kill any soldier however thick his armor is.”
“What’s a musket?” Misfire asked.
Pen piqued, “Yeah, I’m on the same boat as Red here. Take a moment and tell us what half the things you’re spouting means, why don’t cha?”
Kaff tried to think up an analogy. “Imagine a crossbow that propels its bolt with a tiny explosion and that the bolt itself is actually a ball barely an inch in diameter. The result is a projectile whizzing through the air at high velocities that can penetrate any armor at fifty yar—”
“—Son, lemme stop you there before this turns to a fairytale.” Sarge downed the last of his bottle and set it aside. “Don’t get me wrong, you don’t seem like the lyin’ type, but what you’re saying’ is horseshit.”
“Pardon?”
Pen was the next to voice his complaint, “Mate, we know a tall tale when we hear one. I mean come on, a pebble killing a fucking knight? You’re high!”
Red took the tall bottle of whiskey in front of Kaff, surprised by the weight. “Huh, you’re not drunk and the bottle’s still full.” She put a hoof on his forehead, Kaff only sparing her a blank stare in return. “And you’re not warm either. You alright, sir?”
“Stop calling me sir!” He violently jerked his head away from her grasp. “And I’m not drunk, sick, nor under any herbal influence.”
“You’re fuming, that’s one thing,” Pen pointed out, taking a sip from Kaff’s bottle. “You’re not drinking this, by the way.”
“I don’t care about the drink, all I care is that none of you believe that firearms work! It can easily penetrate the thickest of armor you have, and that is fact, plain and simple.”
“You willin’ to put your money on that, Churchill?”
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes, any war-torn grunt from home would say the same,” Kaff answered, still giving Pen a stink eye.
Sarge signaled the bartender for another round, downing most of the bottle in one go. “Think you’re confident enough to wager on it? Or is that just a big mouth you got on your face?”
Kaff was almost offended. Being called a liar was not at the top of his to do list. “Of course I’m confident! If you wish for proof, while I may not harbor many scars from the war, I still have but one.”
Kaff made sure his left hind leg was visible for the table to see. While new, Kaff quickly grew fond for the recently acquired, and professionally crafted, prosthetic. Quite a nice gift Sir Fancy gave to cement his position, far better than whatever makeshift he could create on his own.
“You’re twenty aren’t cha?”
Kaff nodded to Pepper’s words. “If memory serves.”
Solemnly, she nodded back, more for Kaff than herself. She offered a grim smile. “Well, my words aren’t much, but... good luck with… life, I guess. You can only march on from here on out, but I think you already figured that out long ago, haven’t ya?”
“At least it’s not on the knee.”
Once more, Red made use of the rolled up newspaper, this time making sure to have the ink stuck to the back of Pen’s head.
A faint, but noticeable grin grew on Sarge’s face, the alcohol starting to kick in. “I have what’cha calls a proposition.” He coughed after his voice cracked.
Hearing those words, the table groaned. Kaff though, he instinctively put on his poker face, doing his best to not sound interested. “Go on.”
“Oh, come on, Sarge, you’re not gonna drag him into a deal when he’s stoned on Celestia knows what, are ya?” Pen said.
He ignored him, the confidence was practically flowing from Sarge’s tongue. “Since you’re so darn confident with yer wonder weapon, how’s about you put it to the test ‘n show us? Your ‘gun’ against the strongest set o’ armour I can put on the table.”
“Might I enquire some details?”
“Daylight, palace grounds, for all ponies to see. Loser gets to be the victor’s errand boy for a month. Ya get the picture.”
“Slavedriver,” Pepper muttered, taking a shot from her drink.
“Your proposal sounds enticing, good sir, however, let’s not be crude nor demeaning. Loser serves the victor as vallet. Manners and the whole package that it may bring.” Of course, Kaff had to bring the tiniest bit class to the table. If he were to lose, least it would be with dignity.
Sarge took no time to answer. “That sounds like a deal to mah ears. You sure yer not gonna back outta this, Churchill?”
“Per one condition, friend. I require assistance acquiring the weapon. Promise me this, and you have my word that I will accept.”
This time he took a moment to consider Kaff’s answer, the idea of doing the brunt of the work for a wager weighing on his whisky-riddled mind. “What the hell, I ain’t got much to do anyhow. Ya got yourself a deal, Lieutenant.”
Contrary to his nickname, Sarge was better at manning the anvil and furnaces than the frontlines, though he could still outclass many of his non-commissioned peers as an officer. Or so he told Kaff.
Sarge scanned over the parchment a few times until he could make sense of it. “Ugh, why’d ya have to go and write with cursive? My head’s still throbin’ from last night. I ain’t young enough to drink on a workday, ya hear?”
“Hey, no one told you to drink that much,” Pepper retorted.
“Least you two know how to do your work and what to expect.” Kaff looked down to his list of ingredients. “I have near zero clue on how to get these.”
