Dawn found Clay staring at the ceiling of his bunkhouse bedroom.
His room-mate, Blaine, a stable pro at the age of fifteen, was a bit concerned. "You're going to be late this morning."
"I have to go to court this morning," Clay said without looking at the younger rooster who was supposed to be keeping an eye on him.
The rooster plucked at his yellow feathers, anxious to let the tawny adult feathers to come in. Of all the bird morphs Clay had known over the years, Blaine had the most dexterous fingers. It annoyed him to no end that a stupid bird could draw better than he could now. That was why he usually resented Blaine (although Blaine just assumed it was because he was in charge of the older boy and not the other way around). Today, however, Clay didn't have the energy to resent anyone. This calmness disturbed Blaine more than anything else. "That's right," the chicken said, "today, you're dad's trial. Do you want to talk about it?"
Clay sighed. "It's not that. I've come to the opinion that my dad and my brother won't be any good to anybody until someone decides to rip the skin off their meat and make coats out of them." Dead total silence filled the bunkhouse. Blaine was shocked. The worst thing he'd EVER heard Clay say about someone in the months he'd been here was that Blaine had "funny ideas about what tea should taste like." He never thought Clay could really hate someone, much less his own father.
"Did you want to talk about it?" Doug was big getting people to talk out their problems.
Clay smiled and then sighed. "Ever have sex, Blaine?"
"Yes," came the immediate reply, but it was an obvious lie. Blaine was too young a bird, but he could have had sex when he was still human. He hadn't, but his room-mate gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"Neither have I," the horse morph sighed. "I almost did last night." He looked at the bird morph. "I came so close. We touched each other all over and did other things. We laughed and I wanted to so much..." The stallion could only look back at the ceiling and remember the stars as seen through Laracin's branches as Grey's semi-rough voice told ocean tales. "But I didn't know..."
"Ah, come on," the rooster crowed, "you just stick it in her. That's all you gotta know."
Clay smirked and looked at the rooster. "I have it on good authority there's more to it than that." The stallion sighed, letting it come out as a whicker. This started Blaine, too, as Clay never made horse noises. Never. He'd been insulted that Doug had insisted on docking his tail in the tradition manner for Fell draft ponies. "Besides," the horse morph continued, "I was going to say 'I didn't know if I should.'"
He did not know if Laracin was fully dormant, or if he'd been a reluctant chaperone and witness to his silliness. Laracin was supposedly accustomed to becoming part of the background, but Clay felt guilty about fooling around like that beneath the silvimorph. Clay had a cruel streak sometimes and he wondered if it had been showing in his behavior last night. If only he'd been sure of its dormancy, Laracin's court would have been the perfect spot.
Blaine managed a beak smirk, which wasn't easy. "Oh. Was she ugly?"
"She was a guy. Unchanged human."
"Oh," the rooster said easily, "Well, give it a few days, that'll change. So, what exactly DID you do, anyway?"
The stallion seemed a bit put off by that question. "What? We... unm, sorta... held each..."
"What? Where?"
Clay sputtered. "I really don't think I should discuss details with you... you're... ummm, kind of young."
"Yeah, but both my parents are guys."
An odd look came over the horse morph's face. "Yeah, but..."
"Hey, you opened this can of worms, you know..."
Clay got a trapped look and quickly clambered off the floor. What was he thinking, talking to Blaine like this? "I've got to get ready to go to court."
As soon as Clay threw the privacy curtain back, Blaine started laughing quietly. He resisted the urge to tease Clay through the curtain as he dressed. He could tell the guy was too stressed out to appreciate it if he noticed.
Clay was done in record time and he charged out of the room, trying not to look in Blaine's direction. "Hey," the little bantam called out, "Wait."
With reluctance, Clay stopped and the rooster smiled. "What? I don't want to be late."
"Your tail's undocked."
Clay blanched. "I don't have time!"
But the rooster had the tail in his grip in minutes. "Just a quick fix. Nothing fancy."
Clay did not like his tail touched, but his own fingers felt clumsy and thick when trying to dock his tail. Court was a formal occasion, however, and he'd probably hear about it from Doug, so he put up with it while Blaine tidied him up.
"Clay," the rooster paused. "There's nothing wrong with two people loving each other, no matter what happens. You know that right?"
Clay nodded sullenly, only half convinced that the rooster even had a clue what it was like to be attracted to someone.
"And there's something my Dads' told me I should tell people when they ask about bird sex. 'A gentlemen never tells.'"
Clay nodded and seemed to think about that.
"And, if you used your mouth," the bird continued, "That counts as sex. In a way."
Clay digested that silently and then his eyes burst open wide. He couldn't believe the brashness of the younger cock. "Really? What if only one of us... um, used... ummm, the mouth... does that mean only one of use, err, us had sex?"
Blaine finished tying up Clay's tail and slapped him gently on the rump. "That's gross, Clay. Now, hurry up, you're making the Duke wait." At first, Clay started and blushed but he smiled and trotted off, his hooves clip clopping until he hit the dirt.
Blaine couldn't wait to tell the other guys the big horse was gay and that he'd won the pool.
Wheeler found the draft pony in the court room easily, but he hesitated on whether he should sit next to Clay. They hadn't really talked much about how Clay felt about the trial. He had turned in his own father, afterall, and Wheeler imagined that it must be eating him up inside. Wheeler, who couldn't even remember what his own father looked like, realized he'd never be able to do that. As it turned out, he had to sit next to the horse morph, as they were witnesses for the prosecution. Wheeler frowned as he was told this but let himself be led to the stallion's side. What was he going to say? Would Clay try to make him drop the charges?
But then he smiled when Clay's face towards him with an anxious expression. Of course he would do exactly if Clay wanted him to drop the charges. They nodded silent greetings, neither sure how to proceed with their relationship at this point.
Wheeler knew he could take care of Clay. This was exactly what he had been looking for, someone he could be master of, the way Chang had been his loving master so many years ago. He was too old to be a sub anymore. He needed to start acting like a man and to stop allowing himself to be a victim. Clay needed him and he needed the horse morph, and unlike what he had with Chang, nothing would be make-believe. They would be good for each other, but, still he recalled with a thrill the power in those hands and wished for that now.
As the crowd settled down, Wheeler slipped his large but unchanged human hand onto Clay's knees. The muscles under the horse morph's clothes rippled outwardly from his touch and the horse looked at him and blushed a bright red, although Wheeler barely saw it in the horse morph's ears and pink exposed flesh of his nose. "Would you like it if I dropped the charges?"
The horse's demeanor suddenly changed and he seemed to grow larger. Given how the curse worked, Clay thought, that was entirely possible. His brown ears slammed down into his head and a there was degree of whiteness whirling within his eyes that would have made Wheeler flinch if he'd seen it in a real horse. "I want them to rot." Then it was gone and the horse morph seemed confused by his sudden outburst.
Within moments, the courtroom became as hot, stuffy, and as smelly as the Deaf Mule became when the kitchen was going full tilt. Except for the absence of the pleasant aroma of beer, that is. Wheeler gave the horse morph's knee another squeeze and didn't press the matter.
He wouldn't have had time anyway. No sooner than Clay's blunted hands touch his own, did Thalberg stamp the ceremonial Bill, a large pike-like staff with a hatchet near the top, indicating that court was now in session. And just to be sure, he announced in a large ringing voice that Prime Minister Mal would be presiding over today's docket and would everyone stand, please.
Wheeler stood up all right; he almost hit the ceiling in fact.
Luckily, the others standing a mere second after he was on his feet, so he didn't think Thalberg had the satisfaction of seeing his face. "That reptile," he muttered like it was a curse. Somewhere it was, he was sure. Logically, he knew that this last minute substitution could have happened for any number of legitimate reasons. Even the Duke, himself, could have simply cancelled his appearance on a whim, but Wheeler had the distinct impression Thalberg was getting a laugh out of keeping the two distant cousins apart.
The woman who took the stand came out in a powdered gray wig and a black robe and banged her gavel loudly before she was ready to sit down herself. Wheeler got the distinct impression she wasn't a morning person. She was lovely, even scowling. Wheeler fleetingly wondered what she looked like before as a man. Oddly, he didn't find the idea of sleeping with a one time man as attractive as he had first thought he would have. He liked the equipment too much, he supposed.
Fleetingly, he wondered what it would feel like to be a horse morph like Clay. His mind's eye was overtaken with an image of two horses chasing each other in the field popped into his mind, but then one stopped and became a furry little man who dropped onto the other's back. Then after a bit, the two switched and he saw that the rider was now Clay and he was the steed. It was a nice daydream. It took the edge off his anger and he sat back down automatically with the others.
Clay seemed annoyed with him for some reason and then the prisoners were being hauled out, so he never got to ask why.
Henri, the white tiger, looked like hell. The dungeons did not agree with him, it seemed. His son, Wicker, did not appear the worse for wear, however. Henri did not look up but the large orange cat made it a point to look everyone in the eye... until his eyes fell on them. The large gem like eyes narrowed as if committing every detail of his face to memory.
A lot of good that would do him. By the time he gets out, I'll be... different.
That thought didn't end as satisfying as it had started.
Mal made it clear she wasn't going to be intimidated by a pair of low-life carnivores. Or anyone, for that matter. She called Wheeler up for his testimony but she hardly gave him the room to speak his piece. She cross-examined him and got him to admit that he was under the impression that he was going to have sex with the white tiger. She dismissed Wheeler curtly, and he returned to the gallery burning with embarrassment and anger. Clay tried to take his hand, but Wheeler pulled it away sullenly, not wanting to be touched while he was angry. And a little ashamed.
The Prime Minister then asked Henrik Potter if what Wheeler had said was true. In part, the white tiger admitted, because the liquor was talking and Wicker's involvement was limited to mistakenly defending his father. Wicker, wisely, said very little. The purse was stolen, only to make it look like a robbery, Henrik said. The story was full of holes and Mal was not amused.
Mal surprised Wheeler by calling Donny the barkeep as a witness. The bovine morph did not take the stand, as Mal only had one question for the man and she did not have time for formality. She stopped him as he started to make his way to the stand, "How much did Henrik Potter have to drink?"
"One maser of wine," the barkeep said, "but he did ask me to top it off several times."
Mal raised an eyebrow at that, "Guess."
"The one maser of wine," the bull-man said, "He said it was too strong so he had me top it off with water. By the end of time he left with Mr. Wheeler, it was little more than colored water."
The courtroom buzzed excitedly as Donny sat back down. Not because what he said was particularly earth-shattering, but because many people had never heard the barkeep say so much at one time. A few in attendance were surprised Donny could talk at all.
The gavel slammed down and quieted the court room. "Before I ask the jury to consider your case, is there anything either one of you would like to say?"
Henri nodded. "I would like to ask the court to remember that my son is only a young boy, barely old enough to hold down a job. Please look past his size and remember you are seeing only the curse and not the boy beneath."
Mal nodded, as if she hadn't expected the older tiger to say otherwise. "And, you, Wicker Potter? What would you have the court know?"
The big orange cat had been glaring at the jury since Donny had sat back down. Wheeler was unsure what the group's function was, but apparently the four Trans-sex humans, the four faux-children, and the four animal morphs held some responsibility to the Potters' fate. At the judge's question, Wicker casually looked away from the 12 Keepers and looked directly at Clay and Wheeler. Without question, Wheeler felt the full attention of the engine of destruction fall upon him. His hand found the horse morph's and squeezed it without conscious choice.
Looking right at them, Wicker spoke in a low voice that carried evenly across the courtroom. "Some people," he said, "are just born prey."
That cut right through Wheeler and he barely heard the gavel fall repeatedly as the courtroom buzzed angrily.
Wheeler was horrified and his own thoughts did nothing but his increase his unease. What if it was true?
Clay did not like crowds. His ears tended to rotate by themselves when a stray noise caught their attention and in the courtroom, his ears felt like they were going to wander off his head at any moment. He could feel his muscles twitching under his clothes. His whole body was responding to the excitement of the others and he was ready to bolt at a moment's notice. There were too many carnivores near him to ignore, but he tried to concentrate on Grey's scent. My rider, he thought with a thrilling mix of emotions. My trainer. My groom.
Clay knew he was just being silly. He doubted Grey actually thought of himself as his rider or trainer. Grey was so much older and more mature... he'd been around the world. Literally. How he thought of Clay or his relationship to Clay was a mystery to the stallion. Horny kid, maybe. Someone to teach, maybe. Playmate, maybe. Or maybe even the man thought of him as a weird kind of surrogate son. It had only been one night, afterall.
Just one long night that he had bared his soul to someone in the dark, that was all.
That thought just about covered his whole body in a blanket of goose bumps and he had to shake them away as the gallery suddenly rose as Thalberg announced the Prime Minister as the standing judge for cases today. Mal was beautiful, in an angry and severe sort of way. Even Grey stared at her and Clay found himself dealing with a pang of jealousy he hadn't expected.
His first impulse was to dismiss all these emotions and stray thoughts, but since becoming a horse, Clay had to learn that he must listen to his body. And his thoughts. It prevented unwanted surprises further down the road. Other morphs encouraged this, although they all cautioned that some instincts the animal bodies brought with them were to be ignored. Kimberly the rat, for example, admitted some reluctance to being in a room with a cat morph. She did not let this rule her life, however, and she only acknowledged it so she could deal with it. Life was too complex to waste time lying to yourself.
Wheeler was called to testify and Mal cut him to pieces. When Mal asked him why he left with Henri, the unchanged human glanced miserably back at Clay. The horse morph's heart went out to the poor man and he nodded supportively. After last night, Clay knew the older man was attracted to other men, as he himself was. There was nothing to hide; nobody was going to judge him.
Nobody that counts, in any case.
"I had been drinking heavily. I'd just come back from a talk I had with the Steward. A talk that did not go well. By the time Henrik sat down at my table, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and very alone. Henrik suggested we leave and I agreed."
"Why? You had a room over the Deaf Mule, as I recall. Why didn't you go upstairs?"
Clay saw his friend's ears turn red. His semi-rough voice was barely a whisper when he did answer. "He said he had some toys he wanted to... show me."
"To show you?" Mal's voice was doubtful.
"He thought," the man said as if the question was a crushing weight on his shoulder. "I would like them."
Mal glared at Wheeler as if he was the one on trial. Clay wanted to run up to the man and protect him, and hold him and cover his ears. He could have trampled Mal when she asked the next question, it was so unfair. "Why did you go off with the tiger? Was it to so you could pay for sex with him?"
Grey looked like he'd been slapped. The man might look like a bronzed skinned, blonde haired warrior from tales of yore, but Clay had learned last night Grey was soft and fragile in his heart. "My lord?" he asked and his voice broke pitifully.
"Nevermind," Mal said, "We can just assume Henri was not discussing his spinning top collection, alright? For the court's purposes let's leave it at that. Did the subject of money ever come up?" Grey started to shake his head no, but stopped. He swallowed and Clay imagined he could feel Grey's dry throat and his fear and embarrassment. "Actually, I let him know that I had some money, if that was an issue."
Mal nodded. "Did he ask for the money?"
Grey shook his head. "No. He acted like he didn't hear me. He said that... That... that maybe it was the alcohol but he wanted me. That we should just go to his place."
The questioning continued along the vein right up until the attack. "I think we can safely remove prostitution then from the charges against the two tigers." Mal finally nodded with satisfaction and signaled for Grey to sit back down. Grey was shaking with emotion when he sat back next to Clay. Clay tried to take his hand, but the older man pulled away. Clay watched Grey carefully as he struggled with his rage and embarrassment.
As expected, Henrik lied to Mal, but with enough truth to make everything look all twisted. Clay could not believe that man was his father. The tiger morphs really could rot for all he cared about them. His father did look like Hell, however, and would not have been surprised to learn that Wicker was stealing his father's rations. He had completely no sympathy for either one of them. Henrik made Wicker seem like the hero of the piece and for the first time realized that Henrik was not frightened for Wicker, but frightened of the big cat morph. Even that revelation did not endear his father to him in the least. He wanted to kick his father. He wanted to kick Wicker and he wanted to kick the Malissa and everyone who would hurt Grey. Clay couldn't ever remember feeling this way about someone before.
Mal got a few words out of Wicker and then called upon Donny the Barkeep. Clay was shocked at the length of his testimony, for he'd never heard the minotaur like creature say more then four or five words. Wicker finally spoke up when the judge gave them a chance to ask for mercy. His brother wasted his chance by pointing out, "Some people are just born prey."
Grey blanched visibly at the threat and suddenly their hands were once more intertwined. Clay willed as much strength through his hand and into Grey's body. Grey smiled weakly at the gesture. Clay got the distinct impression he wanted the horse morph's arms around him, but not in public. Clay moved his hand where no one could see it, stroking his new friend three short times. It was a bit forward, but it felt like the right thing to do. Grey squirmed a tiny bit and that hidden cuteness in the big man bubbled out. Clay got a thrill just knowing that he was the only one who could see it.
If anyone had told him a year ago he'd be flirting with a sailor while the fate of half his family was being decided by a group of 12 of his fellow Keepers, he would have laughed. Not so much in doubt, but in evil delight. Clay was quiet, a hard worker, and had a softness towards those in need but he also had a cruel streak that manifested itself when he was opposed. When his own body betrayed him by refusing to change quickly enough, he began slicing his arms and stomach with broken pieces of pottery to punish it. Sometimes, he would hurt his friends accidentally just to care for them later. He tried to limit himself when the urges came upon him as that really wasn't the person he wanted to be.
Of course, in the Keep, people rarely got to chose the kind of people they want to be.
Mal set the jury out to deliberate. Grey suggested that this might be a good time for a trip to the outhouses. Clay doubted the jury would take that long, but nodded seriously. On the way, they fell into talking as if they were old friends. Grey complained bitterly that the Duke was avoiding him. Either that, or Thalberg was conspiring to keep him from the Duke. Both of Clays ears shot straight up in the air and he stopped in place in the middle of the street.
Wheeler really should have used the chamber pot before leaving the Deaf Mule, but being on time was more important than being comfortable. Now as he tried to find a spot to relieve himself, he grumbled, "The Duke is avoiding me, I think. Either that or that overgrown lizard that is the Stewart has taken it upon himself to keep me from Thomas." He stomped on and it was three long strides before he realized that horse morph was no longer by his side.
Wheeler looked back to find the pony looking at him in a funny way. "What's the matter, Clay?"
The pony unfroze and shook his head as to clear it. "Let's go this way to the stables."
Wheeler smiled slyly and followed Clay through the twisting streets of the Keep. Within minutes, they were at the stables, heading for the Royal row. A set of six stalls separate from the other stalls and each marked with the seal of the red stallion. "There's nobody here. Not even horses to bother us."
Clay made it a point to stop and check into each one. Wheeler looked also and saw that each stall was not only empty of everything but straw and a few pieces of equipment. "This week was a good time to clean," he said when they came to the last empty stall, "I was able to spend a whole day in each stall cleaning."
Wheeler felt confused and he didn't see a chamber pot. Clay made a point of not moving as he fingered the bridles they had cleaned and replaced a few short hours ago after their little experiment. There was an undertext Wheeler felt he was missing, and it had nothing to do with a few spare pieces of horse tack. He stepped in front of Clay and cupped the horse's nose in his right hand. It was warm and fuzzy and reminded him of another piece of anatomy. "Why was it a good week to clean these stalls?"
Clay closed his eyes and pushed his muscular lips into Wheeler's palm. "Why was it a good week to clean the stalls where Thomas keeps his mount? It's rare that all the horses are gone at the same time, that's all."
Wheeler ran his hands on the cheeks of his new friend. "Thomas' mount is not here?"
"He's not where he belongs, that's all that I'm saying."
"Where is he?" Wheeler stepped back from Clay.
"I don't know."
"Where's Thomas? Is he even here?"
"I can't say."
Wheeler was flabbergasted. "He's been gone all week? Why didn't anyone tell me? What is he on a secret mission or something?"
"I can't say."
"What can you tell me?"
Clay seemed to think about that and he smiled an evil grin. "You picked a bad week to come to the Keep."
Wheeler felt his chest tighten and he rubbed the tattoo automatically. It didn't help. "When is the Duke coming back?"
"I don't know. Of course, if I did know, I'm sure I couldn't say."
Wheeler felt himself unwrapping a bit. "I'm almost out of money. I don't have a job yet. What am I going to do?"
Clay leaned forward and touched the unchanged human. He was watching Wheeler very carefully, as if frightened by the way he was reacting. He wanted so much to be strong for the Stallion but it was too hard right now. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to stay," Wheeler said.
"You can," Clay said easily. "Nobody gets turned away from the Keep. We've taken in criminals and assassins because everyone literally gets a new start in Metamor."
"Why won't Thalberg give me a job or let me stay within the Keep proper, then?"
Clay shrugged at that and hugged the man. Then he started and smiled. "Did you try asking for a job or did you just ask to speak with Thomas?"
Wheeler opened his mouth and then closed it again. "I asked for Thomas, not a job. And, if Thalberg put me within the Keep proper, it would be harder for him to hide the fact Thomas was missing."
"You're cold, aren't you?"
Wheeler started. "I didn't pack warm enough clothes. We're in the mountains and I wasn't thinking." Clay pulled him into his arms and hugged some warmth back into him. "You know, if there's one thing we have in Metamor Keep, it's a heck of a lot of clothing that no longer fits their owners properly. I bet I could find you something."
"You'd do that for me?"
Clay blinked. "Of course I'd do that for you." And then he whispered, although there was no one else around to overhear. "You're my Rider."
To Wheeler's surprise, that whispered phrase brought a sob choking up his throat. Hot tears dribbled down his cheek which Wheeler pushed into the horse morph's chest. And his arms wrapped around the pony.
"My mount, my stallion, my steed," Wheeler choked. They had only known each other for a few hours, but this felt so very right. "My true companion."
Clay grasped him tightly, unable to believe that anyone could want anyone so much so quickly and yet too afraid to question it.
They held each other until they heard the signal that a verdict had been reached.