Null and Void

by Susan Copperfield

  “Not really,” I confessed, running my fingers through Runs Amok’s forelock while the horse lipped at my shirt. “And I can ride this horse? I’m not going to wreck his mane or tail?” I kept a tight hold on the dinky little rope and pointed at his hooves. “Or those feathers?”

  “You’re not going to hurt him,” Geoff confirmed. “It’s a pity he showed up at the slaughter auction. Someone spent a lot of time working on this horse. You don’t get a stallion this friendly by accident. Someone loved him a lot before he was dumped. He might’ve been stolen, but we haven’t been able to find any information on a horse matching his description in the police records. When someone loses a horse this nice, they report it.”

  “Considering he was dumped at an auction, I really doubt it.”

  I frowned. “He was dumped at an auction and someone mysteriously contacted His Majesty to tell him he was there?”

  “He gets calls whenever a young horse shows up; the local auction masters don’t even bother putting them up for auction.”

  “And how often does a young horse show up?”

  “Not very often.”

  I could think of one man who’d pull such an awful stunt to saddle me with a horse. “And where was this horse found?”

  “There’s an auction house a few miles down the road. I only know because he ditched his agents to retrieve Runs Amok.”

  “Jessica?” I asked.

  “What, Mackenzie? Oh! You made a friend.”

  “Call the jerk. I bet this is his fault.”

  “The jerk? Why would…” Jessica’s eyes widened. “Oh. That is something he would do, isn’t it?”

  Grabbing her phone from her pocket, Jessica dialed a number and snapped, “Are you the damned reason my husband has been sleeping in a stall? Mackenzie’s right, you’re a jerk.”

  Geoff pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really hope she’s not talking to who I think she’s talking to. I didn’t need a diplomatic nightmare today.”

  “Asshole! You sneaky little piece of shit.” Jessica launched into a tirade, and my eyebrows rose as her language turned rather colorful.

  Pat’s eyes widened, and he claimed Glory’s line from the queen. “I haven’t seen her do that in a while.”

  “He’s the worst jerk to ever walk the Earth. I hope she flays him with her voice alone. He deserves it.”

  With a snicker, Pat attempted to claim the rope from me, but I clutched it tighter and slapped his hand. “No.”

  “I was going to take him back to the barn, missy.”

  I slapped his hand again. “No. If he tries to take my horse, shoot him, Geoff!”

  “I’m not shooting the king, Mackenzie.”

  “You can’t have my horse. I like this one.”

  Pat sighed. “Let Geoff take your horse into the barn, then. He’s wearing better shoes.”

  I frowned and looked at Geoff’s feet. “He’s wearing dress shoes.”

  “These dress shoes are equipped with steel toes,” the RPS agent explained, reaching for Runs Amok’s rope. “The next rule of horses is to never stand directly behind a horse. Nothing will ruin your day faster than getting kicked, and even the nicest horse can be startled into kicking.”

  “Okay. Go around a horse from the front. Got it. I can handle that.”

  Jessica screamed and flung her phone, where it landed in the grass. “That jerk!”

  “She threw her phone!” I gasped.

  Geoff chuckled and shrugged. “That happens with surprising frequency. If she broke it, we have spares. It’s frustrating ruling a kingdom of stubborn Texans. We encourage her to throw her phone so she doesn’t decide to use her talent instead. It makes her feel better. She even aims for the grass to minimize the damage she does.”

  Jessica retrieved the device, wiped it off on her leg, and huffed triumphantly. “It still works.”

  “I need a vacation,” I whispered to Geoff.

  “You’ll be all right,” he replied, patting my back. “I’ll show you around, and you can have your first ride on your new horse. Everything won’t seem so bad on the other side of a good ride, you’ll see.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I learned the bitter truth an hour after arriving to the ranch.

  Pat and Jessica were out to kill me, and they intended to use Runs Amok to do it. True to her threats, Jessica put a pad on the big black horse, took me to a sandy arena, and had me climb onto his back. Then she handed the lead line to Pat, who began the torture session.

  Pat expected nothing but perfection, and patient Runs Amok did whatever Pat wanted, which involved carrying me around in circles while the Texan king criticized everything from how I sat, the position of my feet, and where I looked.

  If I didn’t ride like he wanted, I wasn’t getting yams and chicken, and he’d eat my share of the cake. Within an hour, my entire body ached, but I hadn’t fallen off my horse, and my horse seemed to love every minute of it.

  After two hours, they took pity on me, allowing me to slide off Runs Amok’s back. My feet touched the sand. Instead of my legs holding me up like they were supposed to, I melted to the ground in a mess of aching, sore muscles.

  Runs Amok chewed on my hair, Pat laughed so hard he joined me in the sand, and Jessica took pictures.

  By the time they allowed me to leave their clutches so I could go to work tomorrow, I considered crawling to my car. I made it at a wobbly stagger, and Geoff took my keys, laughed at my efforts to wrangle the seatbelt, and took it from me before I hurt myself.

  I barely remembered making it home, and the next morning, Geoff had to lure me out of bed with fresh coffee.

  “You have an emergency congressional hearing this morning. The good news? It’s private. The bad news? There’s going to be drama,” he warned me.

  I groaned at him, drank the coffee, yelped when I scalded myself, and guzzled it anyway. I hurt head to toe, and he winced in sympathy when I limped towards the bathroom.

  It took an hour longer than normal to get ready, and Geoff drove me straight to Congressional Hall in Baby, drawing the attention of everyone on the streets as he eased the Ferrari into a spot newly reserved for me. “I win the car wars,” I mumbled, looking over the selection of vehicles parked in the lowest level of the garage, which was the most secure in the building and required a special pass to access.

  Geoff had parked on the second level the few times he hadn’t picked me up at the front doors.

  Every step hurt, and upon my arrival, I was directed to the podium. I limped my way down the steps, swore vengeance on the king and queen for turning me into a living ache, and hoped my horse wasn’t as miserable as I was.

  “You look like hell, Mackenzie,” the King’s Herald whispered, handing me a sealed envelope. “Here’s the details on the session. You’re on in five.”

  “I had my first riding lesson yesterday,” I whispered back. “I might be dying.”

  “We’ll make a Texan out of you yet.”

  I hoped not. I considered the probability of successfully escaping while driving a tracked car. If I escaped right after session and dodged Geoff, I bet I could figure out how to drive while wearing the boot. Plunking the envelope onto the podium, I tore into it to discover the New York royal seal, which was a convoluted blend of the flags of the states New York had absorbed upon the formation of the Royal States.

  I much preferred Texas’s rearing horse and star, a nod to their history and acknowledgement of the trade that made the kingdom thrive. Clenching my teeth, I turned the sheet over to discover a list of accusations from Her Highness, including an unfair preference for Montana’s royal family, a direct attack by the Texan congress on her sovereign right, and a claim I was prejudiced against her for personal reasons.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I complained, picking up the folder and beating the podium with it. The gathered congress laughed, and I wielded the declaration as a weapon, pointing it at them. “Have you read this drivel?”

  A ch
orus of confirmations filled the air.

  “Show of hands, how many of you think this is a waste of our time?”

  Every hand in the room went up.

  “Show of hands, how many of you think we have better things to do today?”

  Not a single hand went down.

  “Two ballots, two votes. Vote one—”

  The King’s Herald cleared his throat.

  “What?”

  “You still have two minutes before the session officially starts.”

  I pointed at my face. “Is this the face of a woman who cares? They can doodle on their ballots while waiting for the official start. Half of these geezers could use the extra time. They should be thanking me.” I slapped the podium with the papers again. “Issue one. Yes if you want me to tell Princess Ambrose to bugger off until we have a proposal. Issue two. Yes if you want me to remind her that she agreed in writing to mirror His Royal Majesty’s betrothal agreement and structure, thus invalidating the entirety of her claim. You know what? There’s a third one you can vote on. Yes if you want me to tell her that she can withdraw from the auction if she doesn’t like it. It has come to my attention His Royal Majesty of Montana has other siblings. We could showcase the lot of them.”

  “Miss Little,” the herald complained. “Please.”

  “She is wasting this congress’s time. They have more important matters to discuss, including next year’s tax budget, the impending poverty allowances bill, several health care bills, and an education bill.”

  The man sighed. “You can start the session now.”

  I dropped the envelope, picked up the brand-new gavel, and did my best to break it, too. It survived, much to my disappointment. “Three ballots, three issues. You have ten minutes starting now.”

  I limped away from the podium and sat on the nearest open chair, groaning as I stretched my legs. The King’s Herald joined me, shaking his head. “You’re in a mood this morning.”

  “This is an utter waste of our time.” I scowled and pointed at the offensive envelope and its contents. “Unless the sky is legitimately falling, I’m abusing my non-existent powers as chairwoman of this awful committee to bar her from having any ability to trigger emergency sessions. If His and Her Majesties don’t agree to the session, in writing, I’m not showing up.”

  The King’s Herald reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to me. “Their Majesties anticipated your reaction to this situation. Read and sign this, and that edict will become an official ruling. They’ve already signed. Her Majesty was laughing during the morning briefing and thought you’d be furious when you found out.”

  I unfolded the paper, which was on Royal stationary, had been signed by the queen and king, and was a declaration very similar to what I’d demanded with the inclusion of only His Royal Majesty of Montana having rights to propose a special session of congress.

  There was a spot for me and for the King’s Herald to sign. “Pen,” I ordered.

  He offered me one, and I signed before handing him the paper and pen for him to finalize.

  “I’ll make certain this is delivered to them as soon as the vote is over.” Taking out his phone, he photographed the page. “Should the original be lost in transit, the digital copy will suffice for this measure.”

  “That alone was worth the hike here this morning.”

  “Bad first ride? Geoff looked like he was considering carrying you to the podium. RPS agents get sensitive when their principals are in pain.”

  “It wasn’t bad. It was just long, and His Royal Majesty wouldn’t accept anything but perfection, so he wouldn’t let me get off the horse until I was sitting like he wanted.”

  “It’s hard to break bad habits once formed, so the best way to teach you is to make sure you don’t learn any bad habits. How long were you in the saddle?”

  “What saddle?”

  The King’s Herald arched a brow. “You were bareback?”

  “There was a pad.” I pointed at my boot. “I can’t use a stirrup with this thing on.”

  “Which horse were you riding?”

  “His name is Runs Amok. He’s big, he’s black, and he’s fuzzy. He wears bellbottoms over his hooves. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but he’s really pretty.”

  “He wears bellbottoms over his hooves?”

  “I’ve been told it’s called feathering. It’s a lot of hair. A lot of hair. This horse has all the hair. I think he stole hair from other horses. Her Majesty was ready to kick him out of her barn because His Majesty wouldn’t come home. I had to take him so there wasn’t a regicide.”

  “So, you took your first lesson on your first horse?”

  “Coercion,” I muttered.

  “How’d they coerce you?”

  “I was told I needed a horse because any visiting dignitaries for the auction would demand to go on a ride, and as the chairwoman, I needed to be able to ride with them.”

  “Welcome to Texan politics, Mackenzie. You know you’ve made it when you get to join one of those rides. Get in as many lessons as you can before the first group of diplomats arrive. You’re going to need it.”

  I hung my head and groaned. “This is a nightmare.”

  “It’s not that bad. I’ve been on a few of the trail rides. You’ll be one of the few on your own horse, so you’ll have an advantage. Just pretend the dignitaries are uppity members of congress. You handle them just fine. You have two minutes before you have to dance to their ballot tune. Try not to throw the gavel at anyone, however satisfying it might be.”

  I laughed, grimaced as I lurched to my feet, and swore I’d spend the rest of my day soaking until the soreness went away. The ballot box wasn’t designed to handle multiple rounds of voting at one time, and ballots stuck out of the slot and had spilled onto the podium. None had fallen to the floor, to my relief. I watched the clock, and as soon as ten minutes had passed, I smacked the gavel as hard as I could.

  It broke, and I waved the splintered shaft in triumph. “I am victorious yet again.”

  The congress dissolved into a helpless fit of laughter.

  I began the slow, tedious process of sorting through the ballots, reading the results for the first vote for recording, and much to my dismay, everyone had scrawled goats on their votes. By the time I made it through the ballots for the issues up for vote, all but three members of congress had voted to tell Princess Ambrose to bugger off, and the three who hadn’t forgot to vote as they had been too busy drawing goats.

  Unfortunately, the King’s Herald counted their doodles despite their lack of a valid ballot, increasing my imaginary dowry to eight hundred and twenty-two goats.

  For Mireya’s father.

  Crestfallen, I picked up the broken gavel. “It’s not as much fun to hit the podium when it’s broken. Now, if you don’t need me for anything else, I have a phone call to make informing Her Highness that she has no powers over this congress, and that if she doesn’t like the agreement she signed, we’ll release her from the auction without penalty.”

  Dorothy raised her hand.

  “Representative Dorothy Hughes of Dallas,” I called.

  “If His Royal Majesty of Montana accepts your dowry of goat doodles, have you given thought who will replace him for the auction?”

  “No, Representative Hughes. His Royal Majesty of Montana will be participating in the auction.” That he was participating so he could have a chance to do what I’d challenged in my own damned dreams only stoked the flames of my fury even hotter. “As this auction is for charity, imaginary goats are not a viable currency.”

  “I’ll contribute five hundred dollars per goat,” she chirped.

  “I second the motion,” a woman called out. “I motion we open the floor for discussion on the monetary value of the goat dowry.”

  I set down the broken shaft of the gavel, bowed my head, and covered my face with my hands. “The floor is open for discussion. I don’t even know which one of you seconded that motion,
but you’re not my favorite person today. Representative Hughes, you have first right to discuss.”

  Everyone laughed, and rather than making use of her microphone, Dorothy jumped to her feet and skipped down the tiers to take the podium, shooing me away. “Sit, sit. This old woman can wrangle this congress for a while. It’s my motion, so I get to do everything but call the vote.”

  “You assume we’re going to be voting.”

  “We’re going to be voting. I have money to spend on goats.”

  I returned to my seat, sat down, and crossed my arms, glaring at the entirety of congress. Once again, the King’s Herald joined me. “Next time, I ban the damned goats.”

  “Let them have their fun. They had an hour scheduled in for the emergency session regarding Princess Ambrose, and the next item on their docket is not going to be a fun discussion. It’s the poverty bill, and it’s a split congress.”

  “As I have no intention of spending a cent on His Royal Majesty, the charities will enjoy the increased contributions. That’s a lot of goats, so they better make sure they have the money. If they go overboard, I won’t complain, as they’ll be less likely to draw more damned goats knowing it’ll cost each of them more money.”

  Judging from the lively discussion of amounts, the congress was about to go overboard, and I sighed and stared longingly at the door.

  Forty minutes later, Dorothy relinquished the podium, handing me a card with the details for the vote. If the motion passed, every member of congress would be forced to write a check to the charity of my choice, and every goat drawing would be worth two hundred dollars, with a maximum of five new goats per ballot per vote relating to the charity auction. Included was a requirement for unanimous vote.

  Sighing, I read the measure, and an unfortunate number of men and women seconded the motion to bring it up to vote. Within ten minutes, my dowry goat count had increased to over nine hundred and the entire congress had decided to participate in the auction through me. I beat the podium with the broken gavel shaft, confirmed the measure, and fled before they could think of anything else to torture me with.