Bunnygirls

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Bunnygirls Page 13

by Simon Archer


  Damn shame that the place was run by cruel monsters. But we were aiming to fix a part of that, at least. And I was aiming to find out about that steak at some point.

  “This place is…” Hopper looked out onto the town with me. “What happened?”

  “I take it there’s been some remodeling,” I said to her, guessing her dilemma already.

  “I only caught a glimpse of it running away, but,” she paused for a moment to ponder, “I don’t remember so many tall buildings.”

  “Is Timberpine’s estate somewhere in there, then?”

  “Yeah, right down there, at the wall, I think.” Hopper pointed to a spot halfway between the rightmost point of the crescent wall and the gate in the middle, more precisely at the large chunk of property built off of it, taking up more than a couple of blocks in its little district. I would have remarked that Timberpine must have kissed a lot of Baron ass to get the biggest place beside the Baron’s castle, but I knew better than that. Wolves only get more of anything by killing other Wolves. Timberpine was no different. The size of his property was a testament to the pile of corpses in his wake.

  “The place is still there, seems like,” I remarked gladly. With all of this time-hopping nonsense, I appreciated how lucky we were to be close enough to the time I wanted to get at Timberpine or at least the estate. “You’ve known this place longer than me. You got any tips on how to make this work? I’m open to suggestions.”

  “I’d never left the estate until my escape, my lord,” she answered. “I’ve memorized every hallway, but I don’t know what the city looks like.”

  “You boys know any more about this?” I looked over to my Wolves, lying on the ground next to us.

  “Do you have any more meat flakes, boss?” Old Yeller was lying on his back, panting his tongue like a slobbering golden retriever.

  “I’m all out, sorry,” I said to them. That wasn’t all true. I had a penny-sized chunk left over, which I was saving for if we ever found a fresh full-cup charm again. I was gonna have some of this jerky if I had to clone a new deer with magic and remake it.

  “I’m hungry,” Lassie moaned.

  “I’m tired,” Foxhound groaned.

  “Are we there yet?” Toby droned.

  “Woe be unto us of forest hearth and primal soul,” Scooby started up, “who languish upon this barren land with nary a morsel or-- ow!”

  I smacked his nose with the butt of my gun again.

  “I’m sleepy,” Scooby finally bemoaned, stopping his nonsense poetry he was prone to jabber off.

  “Alright, the Five Stooges here aren’t gonna be helping out with empty stomachs,” I reasoned. “Let’s see if we can’t feed them something.”

  “How do you plan to do that?” Hopper asked. “If you steal one of the cows, the ranchers will try to hunt you down.”

  “Are the cattle considered part of Wolf packs?” I asked her. “If I killed the rancher, would I get the ownership of the cattle?”

  “No, cattle do not fight,” Hopper explained. “According to some former ranch hand slaves, they’re treated like property, similar to Rabbits. More than likely, the ranchers work for a noble who owns it.”

  “Do they visit their ranches often?”

  “That’s up to them, my lord,” she answered. “Every noble has different ways of managing their estate with the Baron being inside his castle all of the time. He doesn’t give out many orders to govern how the nobles run things.”

  “Tell me what a noble usually wears.” I pulled out my hunting rifle to use the scope, spying the three different ranches for any signs of nobility as Hopper described.

  “They like wearing blue coats and frilly shirts, my lord.” She leaned next to me as I scanned the area. “Blue is hard to find dyes for, and frilly shirts are fashionable to them. It makes them look nobler to other noble Wolves. The blue is the easiest way to spot a noble in a crowd.”

  No pompous looking blue Wolves like that in the area, from what I could find. Even if I could just snag the blue coat, with my boys behind me, other Wolves might finally start assuming I’m a noble instead of an escaping slave. I might have been worried about being discovered before I realized something: Timberpine had no idea who I am, and neither did any noble in this world. And with the food supplies gone at the bunker where the boys were working, I guessed nobody checked on them, and they wouldn’t be noticed if they were missing. I’d been completely inconspicuous so far without even trying. I was starting this almost completely neutral. I didn’t need to piss off any nobles before I had a real foothold around here to push back on, and I didn’t want to start a war with so many Rabbits in the crossfire if I could avoid it. But doing so required that I be taken seriously as a lord. Which meant I had to find a blue coat at some point.

  “So, not to rush you, boss,” Toby wheezed out exaggeratedly, “but when are we gonna eat next if you don’t have any more meat?”

  “I’ll get to that, just wait a minute,” I rebuked him.

  I was answered by a collective groan from all of the Wolves.

  “Fine!” I caved into their terrorist demands. “I’ll try to get something now, you big babies!” I got up from my scoping spot to head down. “I’ll be back in a little bit, hopefully with some food. Wait here for me.”

  “Be careful!” Hopper spouted with a reaching hand, instantly blushing as she pulled the hand back. “My lord, I hope you return safely.”

  “Don’t you worry, honey.” I gave her a peck on the cheek. “If I’m in trouble, I’ll start shouting ‘waffle-fries’ at the top of my lungs. Don’t come down until I say that, okay? No matter how scary things are looking.”

  “Please don’t let it get scary, Hank.” Hopper wrapped her arms around the back of my neck. She then retreated again, sliding her hands down my chest as she looked away. “Um, my lord, I’m humbly requesting you use caution.”

  “I promise, I’ll never have to say the codeword.” I kissed her forehead, breaking away from her touch.

  I didn’t see any nobles around, anyway. Maybe I could wrangle up a beast with a dash of charm, a pinch of deception, and a great heaping pound of luck. Not my strongest area of skill, I’d admit, but stealing a giant cow completely undetected was even less so. What I lacked in skills, I made up for in calm during a crisis. If a rancher tried anything, I’d have to try to take them out quietly, but I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. Given our luck so far, though, that was completely up in the air. Given how stupid I’d known Wolves to be, this was still feasible. So I walked down to see where my fortunes lay.

  Time to put all of that acting experience I’d never had to work.

  With a hunch to my back and a shuffle to my step, I approached the closest rancher. He was a thin sort for pinkish-white Wolf, but still just as tall, wearing a tan tunic and brown pants, with a stick in his mouth that he was chewing on casually while he sat out by the cattle. The chair he sat in leaned against the side of the little cottage-like building his corral was attached to as the rancher stared out into nothingness, just enjoying the view.

  “Evening, good sir,” I meekly stated, trying to sound as weak and cowardly as possible. My falsetto was as atrocious as a fiddle handled by a monkey, but it’d kept me from sounding confident. “My master makes a humble request of you and your ranch.”

  “Why do you have a musket, slave?” The rancher immediately questioned my fashion choices with his breathy jug-like voice. This was fine, though, no need for any ‘waffle-fries’ yet. I was prepared for that question.

  “My master didn’t want to carry it, sir,” I explained. “He has me carry some things for him sometimes, just like he has me talk to others on his behalf sometimes. I was gonna leave it, but I knew I was gonna forget it wherever I put it, you know, because I’m a stupid slave.”

  “Yeah, you guys are pretty stupid,” The rancher agreed with me. “Why’s it look so weird?”

  “It’s… broken.” I replied. Maybe I should have prepared for that one, too.


  “Makes sense why you’re carrying it around, then, instead of him.” He reasoned. “So, what does your master want?”

  “He’d like one of your cattle,” I prostrated myself, “if it pleases you, good sir.”

  “You’re gonna have to take it up with Lord Manewood,” he responded. “They’re his cattle. I’m just watching them for him.”

  “My master already did that,” I lied. “Trade’s all finished and final. That’s why he sent me to come to collect. They’ve both agreed to one heifer.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He resisted my lie. “Manewood would be pretty mad if I let a cow get away. He told me not to let them escape.”

  “They wouldn’t be getting away, though, good sir,” I argued. “Manewood traded the heifer himself to my master. I’m just here to collect.”

  “How do I know you can handle it?” He questioned me. “You slaves are pretty stupid. Can you get them to your master, alright?”

  “I got his broken musket here well enough, didn’t I?” I argued again. “My master would be pretty mad at me if I let this cow get away.”

  “I guess that’s fair.” He accepted my logic, getting up from his chair as it slammed to the ground with a muffled thud. “Which one does he want?”

  “I think,” I pretended to inspect and identify the specific cow for the fake trade, “he said that he wanted that one--”

  “Get out of there, you vermin!” I heard a shrill voice shout from behind me. Both the rancher and I turned to see a light brown Wolf marching over to us from the next ranch down, followed by a dark brown wolf in rancher’s clothes running up to him with a towel. The tanner one was fuming, dripping wet from the chest down, had tiny braids in his blue-dyed neck fur, and wore a blue coat with a frilly undershirt. “What’s a slave doing near my cattle?”

  I found Lord Manewood. No one knew anything, yet, and could have stayed that way as long as I kept my cool. Still was gonna hold off on those waffle-fries a little longer since this might have been a great turn of events. I didn’t have to get them to believe my story. If I could get him to challenge me, I’d be in business with an official noble title and a blue coat to boot.

  “He said that you made a trade with his master, Lord Manewood.” The rancher next to me ousted me and confirmed my guess. “He wanted one of the heifers.”

  “I have done no such trade with any noble!” The lord’s high voice was like a needle straight to the deepest part of my ear. “I have been enjoying a hot steam soak in my ranch-bath all morning and have had no other business hence!”

  What, on God’s green earth or in the Great Burrows, was a ranch bath? Why would you have even considered having, buying, making, or inventing something to be called a ‘ranch-bath?’ What possible advantage could there have been to having a ranch with a steam bath in it? I couldn’t believe I failed to spot this pompous tan asshole earlier because he had a penchant for staying inside one of his ranches with a goddamn bath inside it where I couldn’t see him. A musky steam bath that must have reeked all day and night with dank cow smell.

  Uncomfortably eccentric lords aside, we were still fine. I was looking at too many witnesses to make this quiet, so I had no choice but to push onward and play dumb.

  “My humblest apologies, Lord Manewood,” I bowed before him as I continued my deception. “My master had informed me--”

  “Why does this slave have a musket?” Manewood demanded to know as his voice pitched to dog-whistle levels as he emphasized his words.

  “He says he’s carrying for his master, Lord Manewood.” The rancher defended me. “The master doesn’t like carrying it because it’s broken.”

  “Well, it does look weird enough to be broken.” Manewood agreed as he calmed down a slight bit. That calmness disappeared as soon as it arrived. “Why did you bring this broken musket along to steal my cows?”

  “I wasn’t stealing any cows, I swear, m’lord!” I stated my fictional case, playing the fool. “My master told me that you and he had made a trade, and I was supposed to collect the cow for him. I swears, m’lord, I swears!” I was overselling it a bit by the end, I’d admit.

  “Do you ‘swears’ by the name of your lord?!” He convicted me with an accusatory finger. “What is the name of your lord, anyway, if he is indeed a lord at all?”

  “Lord…” I struggled to come up with a name that might sound convincing enough, and maybe a little intimidating and mysterious. “Dragon. Oak. Lord Dragonoak. Good sir.”

  “Dragonoak, eh?” The lord pondered the name as he stroked the fur at the top of his neck like a beard. Out of his mouth, it made me wish I had just used my own damn name. “That’s a little intimidating and mysterious. But he has insulted me, nonetheless! Take me to this Lord Dragonoak at once!”

  “I’m exceedingly sorry, m’lord,” I said, trying to stall for time as I weaseled my way out of this mess. It was time for the all-or-nothing strategy. “But I must check if you know the proper vocabulary to speak with him.”

  “My vocabulary is impeccable!” The proud lord exclaimed. “It shan’t be questioned or doubted, least of all by the likes of a hare so hairless!”

  “I would never dream of such a thing, m’lord,” I said, praying deeply that my trick might work if I just kept at it. “But the mighty Lord Dragonoak must be appeased in this manner in order to indulge an audience with anyone, noble or otherwise. He is as eccentric as he is deadly.”

  “Deadly, you say?” Lord Manewood looked upon me incredulously. “Would he truly be so deadly as to so brazenly insult another noble without fear of retribution?”

  “I ask not any questions, m’lord,” I said, rolling with the idea as I tiptoed through my own web of lies. “I only help clean up the bodies of the other Wolves as he wishes.”

  “Pfft, I am not impressed.” He put on a face of courage. “I have ended the lives of many Wolves to get where I am now. There are few who are my equal.”

  “Then it would be no trial at all to recite the words he requires.” I reasoned. “Should you be able to do so, that is. It’s his way of rooting who he may challenge to claim their properties. If you cannot comply, he may inconvenience you with a fight to the death.”

  “Alright, have it his way.” He finally agreed, repulsed by the idea of such an interruption to his ranch-bath time. “What words must he know that I know?”

  “Repeat after me,” I instructed him, coming up with the phrase to say. “‘I.’”

  “‘I?’” The lord repeated after me.

  “‘Challenge.’” I said the next word.

  “‘Challenge?’” The lord followed suit.

  “‘You.’” The next word along.

  “‘You.’” The next word repeated.

  “‘To.’” I went.

  “‘To.’” He went.

  “‘A.’” I stated.

  “‘A.’” He stated.

  “‘Surprise.’” I spoke.

  “‘Surprise.’” He spoke.

  “‘Duel.’” I uttered.

  “‘Duel?’” The lord questioned the word. “What’s going on here?”

  “Please, let’s continue, m’lord.” I urged him. “It would be a shame for him to think you failed at this point, where so many others have.”

  “Fine. continue, slave.” Manewood gave me permission to move on.

  “To.’”

  “‘To?’ Wait,” The lord stopped me again. “I already said that one!”

  “It’s a different ‘to,’ m’lord.” I pulled an explanation out of my ass. Maybe I should have really thought through the wording on this. “There are many, and he wants to know if you have them mastered.”

  “Then he shall know of my dictionary acuity like no other!” he declared, getting into the spirit of my fake test. “‘Two!’”

  “‘The.’” I began reciting again.

  “‘The!’” He shouted.

  “‘Death.’” I said the last word.

  “‘Death!’” He blared out to the
heavens. The tan lord was putting his full chest into it as he successfully passed the test.

  “Would you be so--?” I started the next set of instructions.

  “Wood!” Lord Manewood kept going before discovering his mistake. “Oh, I thought we were still going. Please don’t fail me on the test.”

  “It is quite alright, m’lord.” I forgave the big noble jackass, setting up the trap. “Would you be so kind as to repeat those words back to me in order?”

  “I. Challenge. You. Two. A. Surprise. Duel. To. The. Death.” Lord Manewood said to me. “Hold on. I got the ‘to’s’ mixed up. Let me try again--”

  I shot him in the head with my .45 before he let out another word, the bang reverberating throughout the hillside. With only a small squeaky utterance, the lord slumped down dead upon the ground.

  “Challenge accepted.” I put the pistol away, looking at the two ranchers. “Both of you heard that, right? That wasn’t a sneak attack. He challenged me to a ‘surprise duel.’ That should still count.”

  “Sure does!” the rancher I was speaking to answered. “My strength submits to yours. You have my loyalty until one of us dies.”

  “Oh, uh, all that for me too,” the other rancher said, still holding the towel. “I guess. Who are you?”

 

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