episode 4: An Incident at the Royal

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-Interlude-

The pavilions rise and Master goes to Tea. His best invitation in seasons beyond counting, though not with Titania. Her favourites, though, are cruel. They ask for tales of new conquest. He bears it poorly, his stature only a memory. His claws flex and they titter. He is a shadow of himself tonight, and I am filled with shame.

Their servants look upon me and sneer.

Suddenly it seems too much for him, this scarce concealed contempt, for I see him frown and step from the throng. A few courtiers sense weakness and follow, the fat one making a comment. But Master is oblivious. I see Master’s eyes widen and I realize his attention is elsewhere. When he turns, it is with the old smile, the predator’s smile, and it is this that the fat one sees when Master turns back to face him.

He steps forward and the fat one stumbles back, hors d’oeuvre spilling from his plate like rain. The rest gasp in fear, remembering the legends and I am sure that he will strike at them!

Instead, he simply taps the fat one on the snout, sending another shower of treats to the floor, and Master plucks one from the air as it begins its descent.

Then he bows and says something polite. About Duty.

He wraps me in his power, and we are gone.

---

- Ellen -

I was humming to myself as I made my way through the afternoon hubbub of the Royal Winter Fair, tapping the butt of my pitchfork on the cement floor in time to my sub-audible tune. The livestock stalls were in a cavernous space; cool, and redolent of the odour of an agglomeration of species. I was enjoying the ambience and a lingering sense of accomplishment, despite being on my way to muck out Babe’s stall.

It was, arguably, not the most pleasant job, but Babe had done us proud, even after his strange adventure the previous night. As we’d paraded him past the judges this morning, he’d moved with the regal stature of a king, seeming to revel in the attention. He’d brought in the blue, both in class and in show, and Shigeto had gone off to fetch us a celebratory latte from a fancy coffee shop.

Now though, as I went about my chore, I felt like a parent that had barged into a teenager’s room to collect laundry; that my presence was deemed as unreasonable as it was necessary. Every time I shifted Babe to one side to get at the straw underfoot, there was a minuscule hesitation before he moved, usually accompanied by a huff of breath. He’d always been good-natured for a bull, but today he seemed, I didn’t know what, grumpy, perhaps?

I had a sudden recollection of myself as an associate at my first law firm, tip-toeing around the partners before they got that first cup of coffee (or swig of gin) under their belts, irritated by everyone and everything around them. I smiled, thinking of Babe in a barrister’s robes. He’d be quite striking. But then I saw him looking at me, and not with anything like a placid bovine gaze, or even a bull’s temper. But rather he pointedly lifted his snout, snorted, and looked away, and I realized that he was, pointedly, ignoring me.

I felt a sudden chill, recalling my conversation with Shigeto the previous night, after we’d returned from David’s house.

"The spell did something, Ellen. We need to keep an eye on him." He’d paused. "Maybe we shouldn’t put him in the competition?"

I’d balked at that, arguing that we’d spent a lot of money to come here, and that Babe’s success was critical if we wanted to get into the breeding business. Good, cogent arguments, that you’d expect from a lawyer, well, former lawyer, but the truth was, I just wanted to stick it to the folks who’d tried to screw with us, also like a good lawyer.

Like magic, those thoughts conjured a voice like gravel on a tin roof. "Well missy, you and that slanty-eyed boyfriend must be some happy. All that witchy shit done got the judges to ignore the pure unnaturalness of that great bleached beast of yours." Simmons spat a great wad of yellow phlegm in Babe’s direction.

Ah yes; my mood shifted, and like an old jacket I slipped into a cold rage and turned to face the bastard. Old man Simmons; he was a bitter man by nature, and his family and mine had history, both recent and distant. Even without that history though, I’d’ve detested the man — he was the back country version of the shitheads of the courts and boardrooms I’d encountered during my years in practicing law. Their presumption about their desires trumping other’s rights, their casual racist and sexist bullshit. I hadn’t tolerated that sense of entitlement then, and was not going to now.

I stood then and stepped too close to the bastard and looked up. He was a big man, but I’d intimidated big men before, and he was no exception. He didn’t step back, but I could sense that it was a near thing. His voice did become a little shrill, though, and I let the smallest hint of a smile tug at my lips.

"You don’t scare me, you crazy city bitch."

And I gave a big smile then, full of teeth, that I’d learned years ago, full of 'I told you so’. I could see the judges, who had come by earlier to praise us, now hustling their way towards us to avert confrontation.

"Too late," I thought to myself. The judges weren’t alone — John Andrews, a friend of Simmons, was also hustling over and possessed a look of deep irritation. The old man had brought him by earlier to showcase our ‘maggot bull’, as he’d put it. And Andrews had nodded along, clearly irritated at all the fuss Simmons was making. Andrews and I certainly had a fundamental antipathy, but he usually kept a veneer of civility.

He tried to keep things from getting completely out of hand. "Simmons, for God’s sake, will you please calm down? You’re making a scene."

Simmons whirled and shouted. "I'm making a scene?!! Me? You know what this bitch is. What do you think she and her whipped little boyfriend are up to? What kind of things they do on their farm? That thing ain’t natural, and should be shot before it breeds, not winning ribbons."

I heard the snap of a rope. I whirled to see that Babe had torn himself free from his hitching post. His eyes were rolling in panic and I knew that, somehow, he’d understood the full intent of Simmons’ words. I was about to utter soothing sounds to calm him – to reassure him that Simmons was just a blustering fool.

My intent was derailed as Simmons shoved past me, hurling me into John. He gave an involuntary ‘oof’, then shouted, "Simmons, for God’s sake!"

Our attempts to regain our balance became frantic when we both saw what Simmons had in his hand. A jackknife, which my panic saw as having a blade at least a foot long.

Entranced by his own righteousness, Simmons kept talking. "It should be put down before it fouls some other herd. The thing’s a plague upon the earth."

He moved slowly towards Babe, but faster than I could recover myself. As Simmons raised the knife, Babe shifted position to attack. Two versions of the same disaster. John shouted, "Simmons, No!"

But before any of us could move any further, there was an explosion of coffee and foam to the side of Simmons' face, accompanied by a bellow of outrage.

The bellow was Babe’s as his snout was suddenly covered with suds of frothed milk. He backed away, confused, eyes rolling, trying to focus on the strange substance that had soaked him, all his intentions of violence shattered by a well hurled latte. Likewise, John halted in his charge, trying to figure out what had happened.

Then there was a blur as Shigeto swept past both of us. Simmons just screeched, "You crazy son of a bitch!"

Then Shigeto had Simmons’ collar in one hand and his wrist with the other, immobilizing the knife. Using his momentum, he drove the much larger man up against a post, pinning him in place. I smiled. Shigeto was about to explain a truth. His arguments, on those rare occasions where they came to this, were very convincing.

What most people didn't appreciate about Shigeto is how solid he is. In almost every meaning of the word. They mistook quiet for shy, short as weak, gentility with cowardice; while, in truth, he is all of the former, and none of the latter. So when I saw that big man, one accustomed to his physical power, struggle to escape his grip, I admit I savoured this truth.

Shigeto spoke, and my smile faded at the sound of his quiet fury.

"Don’t. Ever. Ever. Touch any of those under my protection. That woman is my wife, the bull is from my farm. I swear that if I ever see you so much as frown at them, I will break you. Here or at home. Am I being perfectly clear?"

Simmons struggled and cursed Shigeto, but he was a butterfly on a pin. John shifted beside me, but he didn’t make any movement to help, but a quick glance told me that he was waiting to see what Shigeto would do.

"Do we understand each other?" asked Shigeto, giving Simmons a little shake.

Simmons tried once again, very briefly, to free himself. "Fine," he said, and Shigeto let Simmons free of the grip on his collar when the big man gave a shrug of his shoulders. But before he released the man’s wrist, he gave it a squeeze and a twist. Simmons made a small noise, and the jackknife fell to the ground.

Shigeto stepped to one side, and his boot came down on the weapon. There was an audible snapping sound as the blade broke from the handle. There it lay, on the straw strewn concrete, a five-inch blade, heavy and grooved for bloody work. The knife's edge gleaming and sharp. The handle was well worn and inlaid. I looked up and Simmons’ eyes flickered between the two broken halves with a stricken look. It occurred to me that this was more than a simple tool. That it was probably something generations old.

"Good," said Shigeto. "I think it’s best if neighbours understand one another. Now if you’ll excuse us, Babe seems to have freed himself, and I suspect it’s best if he didn’t wander."

With this last comment, Shigeto’s eye caught my own, and I had to look down, lest one of the other men present saw me smile, and misunderstood, and think I was gloating at Simmons’ comeuppance, rather than a small joke about last night’s escapade.

John hustled Simmons away, and I overheard a snippet of the conversation, "Why didn’t you help me, you son of a bitch," complained Simmons.

"You’re just damn lucky that Shigeto was more reasonable than I was," was John’s response. "You were acting like a damn fool!"

Shigeto wrapped me in a hug, and I gave a little shudder, the adrenaline of the confrontation burning away. I’d faced off with big men who’d threatened violence before, and I’d managed, with varying degrees of success. I’d taken care of myself for years, but there was something deeply reassuring in knowing that this man had my back in a way that no-one had had before. Even after all our time together, nothing made me feel safer than this man’s arms.

He stepped back and took Babe’s snapped halter rope and tsked. He knotted the two ends together and gave him a scratch between the ears. Babe seemed nonplussed at Shigeto’s equanimity. This was a shock to my mind, for this behaviour would only be consistent with someone who fully understood what had just happened. Shigeto looked at Babe, consideringly, then turned to me.

"I spilt the coffee," he said.

"Clumsy man," I said, and kissed him.

[photo credit - Gabriel Martin on Unsplash]