Horse Thief's Conundrum

Fog from Heaven's mount rolled across the field as a furtive figure crept between haystacks. When hooves sounded through the haze, the man dropped beneath his drab cloak to the dark earth and lay there stone-still.

He recognized the hoofbeats of his Atreus—the finest horse within 40 leagues if not all of England. The black destrier would be heading Viscount Escofet's procession to the joust, and Escofet would undoubtedly be bringing his second horse as a reserve, which left his third-best behind in the stables.

The would-be horse thief didn't mind stealing the Viscount's third-best horse. Relentlessly optimistic, he didn't think of himself as a thief either. He simply thought of himself as Wayne who didn't intend to keep the stolen horse, merely use it to win back Atreus.

Wayne waited impatiently for the Viscount's retinue to pass out of earshot. The plan, as seconded by his steward Zachariah, was to repurpose one of Escofet's horses, paint it a different color, then ride it against the Viscount in the Coventry tournament.

That plan dissipated as Wayne edged around the next haystack. All pretense of stealth forgotten, he stood there transfixed.

Wayne was by no means ignorant: He could read Euclid in Greek and the Bible in Latin, but his privileged education hadn't prepared him for this… this impossible chariot.

It had no yoke and four wheels rather than two, but what else could it be from the silver horse emblazoned across its front?

He saw no chink in its crimson defenses, whose brightness kept the day's mist at bay. There was no perceivable opening above the sleek armor, just darkened unblemished glass topped by brown tightly knit fabric. He slowly circled the apparition and wondered at its strange mirrored ears.

Perhaps it had rolled here with the fog, a boon from Heaven's mount.

Wayne had no way of knowing this, but he was, in fact, staring at a 1999 red Ford Mustang convertible.

And as he reached for the subtle handle set along its smooth side, the chariot came alive with the sound of a thousand angry swans.

A section of back glass retracted into the red armor as the chariot continued its cries. Wayne leapt back and drew his dagger.

"You think that blade scares me? Try it. I'll beat the bejeezus out of you with my tire iron," said a square-headed being from within once all cacophony had ceased.

"Forgive me, I knew not that this chariot came with a rider."

"What… what is this? You trying to tow me? Don Won said I could park here to sleep. Shit, what is this?"

Hoofbeats trailed by the baying of hounds thundered towards them, the Viscount's watch drawn to the din.

"I must ask, are you aligned with the Viscount?"

"Who the what?"

"Then retreat with me. I did not mean to wake your chariot, but you must abandon it if you value your skin."

"Not a chance."

A horse with a rider cut through the fog, followed by another. They drew up short at the sight of the strange chariot.

The hounds had no such qualms.

Wayne took off with the dogs at his heels. The horse riders regained their composure and followed suit.

Chancing a glance backward, Wayne saw the horseless chariot racing towards him. It outpaced the horses and hounds then passed him as well.

It came to an abrupt stop just ahead. A section of its armor spread outward like a red wing.

"Oh, for chrissake… get in!"

He dove for the opening as a flail spit the air above his head and jaws savaged the dirt below his boots.

"Door. Door. Close the door," the rider within said as horse and hound flew past their flank.

Wayne gawked at the stout woman, who reached across him and folded the outspread metal wing back into the chariot—no, not a chariot, but a mechanical horse. He was sure of it as she shifted a lever that sat between them.

Her side of the mechanical horse contained a raised wheel with numerous dials set behind it. She turned the wheel and a single hand on a nonsensical clock moved until it pointed at 40.

The horse hummed from within, and its mirrored ear revealed the dwindling figures of guards and dogs alike before they were lost in a cloud of dust.

"I owe you my life, my lady."

"Yeah, definite fever dream." She squinted at him for a moment then went back to staring straight ahead. "Must be that old guacamole I ate. Dammit, I can't afford to be sick."

"Something ails you?"

"Hey, why aren't you a damsel in distress? Oh right, because I never get the girl, even in my dreams."

"You speak in riddles?" Wayne ventured.

The woman let out a tired sigh and looked at him again as they rolled along a raised path. "So, what are you supposed to be, some kind of homeless knight?"

"Landless, yes. A mere knight, no. I remain a baronet."

"Great, a made-up word. Guess I'm not waking up anytime soon. So, where am I taking you sparky?"

Wayne struggled to place the woman's accent. He guessed she must be Welsh—a strange people by all accounts, but he liked her all the same. He settled back into his seat, a well-worn leather chair comfortable as sin.

"From your spiked bracelet, I gather you are a warrior?" he asked.

"A bouncer at Don Won's," she said with a hint of pride.

"A bouncer?"

"I throw them to the pavement. They bounce."

"Most impressive."

"So what do I call you, sparky?"

"Wayne the Younger, son of Wayne."

"I'm Herbie."

Herbie held out her hand, but when Wayne bent to brush his lips against it, she grabbed his own hand in a peculiar sliding handshake instead.

"Okay Wayne, where are we going?"

"To reconvene with my steward Zachariah beneath the Horned Elm."

"Right on, Wayne. Just point the way."

He did so then proceeded to pepper her with questions. He learned that her miraculous steed was named Karr and that it had the power of 190 horses.

But the woman grew reticent when he marveled at the narrow bed behind them and asked if she slept in Karr.

Herbie, perhaps to shut him up, coasted to a stop and let Wayne get behind the wheel. The baronet dutifully followed her instructions with respect to the three pedals, but every time he released the one called clutch to press on the one known as gas, Karr jolted to a stop.

"Your Karr responds only to you," he said, wishing that his Atreus were the same.

"It's not the Karr, it's the driver," she told him as they switched back seats.

With Herbie at the wheel, they were soon at the Horned Elm.

They were welcomed by the sight of a spry old man scrambling up the tree's forked branches at Karr's approach. This was Zachariah, erstwhile steward who had stood by Wayne the Elder even after the dissolution of a once-proud household.

It was during those last days that Wayne the Elder, deep in his cups, had sold their prized horse Atreus to the Viscount for a paltry sum. Wayne the Elder died soon after, perhaps due to shame, and Wayne the Younger had been trying to get Atreus back ever since.

Once Zachariah got over his initial shock and let Wayne coax him down from the tree, he grumbled about the paints and pigments he'd spent all morning preparing. Now there was no horse to disguise, and Herbie refused to let him anywhere near Karr with his concoctions.

"Do you hail from the new city of Orleans of which the French control but a quarter?" he asked their visitor.

"New Orleans? Yeah, how'd you know that?"

"I have heard tales of your kind visiting us before in the time of Garth." Zachariah folded his arms and nodded at the sagacity of his own words.

"Garth the Lighthearted, or Garth the Damned?" Wayne asked.

"I recall not, but I do know they come for a purpose. What is your purpose, Herbie of New Orleans?"

Herbie felt the old man's expectant eyes bore into her. Her purpose? Find an apartment with affordable rent so she didn't have to sleep in her car.

That was pretty much it, but she'd rather die than say it. She had to remind herself that this was just some bad guacamole dream.

"She's here to help me win back Atreus of course," Wayne said.

"Does this Atreus mean a lot to you?" she asked, grateful for the redirection.

"When we were together, our bodies became as one."

"Wow… so that's a 'yes.'"

Then Wayne and the old man were arguing. From what Herbie could gather, they had this dramatic plan to convince Atreus to leave some guy named Escofet and get back with Wayne. It involved starting a fight at a public sporting event.

"Hey… hey, hey!" They finally shut up and looked at her. "I have an idea. Why don't you just go talk to him right now, you know, like an adult?"

Zachariah scoffed. "The Viscount has at least a half day's ride on us. We would never catch him before Coventry."

"No, old friend, you have not seen the speed of her steed. We could overtake them within the hour… or better yet, lay in wait." Wayne paused then frowned. "But we would still need a third party to bear witness to the wager."

"Between here and Coventry there is only the crazed Carmelite."

Wayne stared at his steward for a moment. "Well… at least we would have it in writing."

"Great, so road trip then." Herbie got back into her Ford Mustang, expecting them to follow right away.

Instead, she ended up spending the next 30 minutes helping Wayne stuff about 80 pounds of armor into her trunk.

Next, she wedged her pillow and blanket under the passenger's seat to make room for Zachariah in the backseat.

The old man sat there, reverently holding a small wooden box.

Finally, she put down the convertible's top to accommodate Wayne's seven-foot lance.

***

Atreus cantered down the road, fluid black motion across hard-packed dirt. He carried neither rider nor load, too important to be so encumbered for purposes of mere travel. That was for the lesser horse, mules, and wagon behind him.

The morning mist which had vanished with the midday sun crept back in as afternoon called to dusk. And with that returning mist, Atreus caught a whiff of something odd. It smelled like apples and hope, and it stopped him short.

He glared at the lesser horse behind him, and it, too, stopped. This was the horse on which Viscount Escofet rode to keep Atreus fresh for the morrow's joust. The Viscount was about to dig his spurs into his mount when a man emerged on the road ahead.

"Do not fear the devil spawn that awaits you, for I have seen the eye-covered wheels through which God views all."

The man, a wild-eyed friar whose ring of hair stuck out like a bird's nest beneath his bald pate, moved to block their path.

The Viscount tsked but said nothing. He had heard of this one, the crazed Carmelite, an outcast among even his own order. Still, it was bad luck to harm the ordained, especially on the eve of a joust.

The crazed Carmelite handed up a parchment to the Viscount.

Escofet's lips curled with distaste as he labored over the written words and their meaning. A challenge from a contender whose name he failed to recognize. Ridiculous, they were miles away from the Coventry tournament, where all wagers would be set.

Still, he took the time to don his armor and switch his mount for Atreus.

One never knew what they might encounter along the road.

As the Viscount's retinue advanced with the friar in tow, sticks jutted from the ground, a barrier dividing the path lengthwise.

Then came the sound, a guttural growl that rose then fell then rose again.

An armored Wayne with lance raised skyward appeared on the other side of the raised sticks. He stood before a horseless chariot from whence the sounds came.

"Do you answer my challenge?"

The Viscount held up his fist to stop his men's advance. "What say you?" he called to Wayne.

"Do you not read?" He pointed at the parchment still in Escofet's hand.

"What do you wager?"

"My Luminara Cross against your ill-gotten horse."

"I must see this Luminara first."

Wayne nodded, and Zachariah handed his small wooden box to the crazed Carmelite.

"That guy on the horse is Atreus?" Herbie asked from the driver's seat where she'd been revving the engine at Wayne's insistence.

"No, that is the Viscount. See his magnificent steed? That is Atreus."

Herbie raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

The friar stopped several yards from Escofet and opened the wooden box to reveal the Luminara Cross.

"Beautiful blasphemy." The crazed Carmelite dropped to his knees and wept, holding the Luminara on high.

The cross was solid gold with a ruby the size of a sparrow's egg set in its center. It was the final piece of Wayne the Elder's fortune, spirited away by Wayne before it could be squandered on drink.

Greed enveloped the Viscount's heart as he gazed upon the Luminara, but he was by nature a cautious man.

"From what saddle will you joust? Your chariot driver is on the wrong side, and we shall not do it left-handed," he said.

In answer, Wayne wordlessly climbed atop the Ford Mustang's hood while Herbie shouted at him to get down.

Wayne staggered and somehow brought his lance and shield to bear before finding a tenuous balance.

The Viscount stared incredulously then laughed.

"And your horse?"

"You ride upon him."

"I have never been unseated."

"Then you sit too comfortably."

"You are more crazed than the Carmelite. Very well, I accept." He made his mark on the parchment and let it fall to the ground to be retrieved by his lessers.

There was nothing left to say, but Herbie said it anyway.

"Wait, so this is like a Karr-horse joust? Get off, Wayne. I'm not driving you to your death."

Wayne wobbled as he turned towards her and lifted his visor. He smiled sadly. "I am sorry to burden you once more with my life."

The Viscount had already ridden to the other end of the makeshift tilt. He waited, unmoving as Atreus's tail twitched once.

The crazed Carmelite stood off to the side of the road. Still holding the Luminara Cross, he set it against the sky to shroud the retreating sun.

Then, he let out an earth-shattering scream, his signal to begin.

The Viscount galloped toward his quarry, but Karr stayed put.

"Wayne, get off the Karr… Wayne? Goddamnit Wayne!"

Herbie let off the clutch and hit the gas. First. Second. Third.

She was shifting to fourth when the brief brutal impact took place.

Wayne's lance struck true, shattering cleanly on the Viscount's breastplate and shattering Wayne's thumb in the process.

The young baronet slammed back against the windshield, causing spiderweb cracks to spread across the glass, but he did not fall to the ground as the Ford Mustang sputtered to a stop.

The same could not be said for the Viscount. Knocked clean off his horse, he carved a furrow into the earth like a shallow resting place. He would not find his feet for many minutes.

Unencumbered once again, Atreus crossed the line of sticks to stand beside Wayne.

In the end, Escofet's lance had dealt Wayne only a glancing blow, but tragedy had struck all the same. A 3-foot section of the Viscount's broken lance had lodged itself in the Ford Mustang's hood.

Wayne rushed forward to render aid, but beyond pulling out the lance, he knew not what to do.

Herbie tried to call Karr back to life, but her marvelous mount only wheezed once then died.

"It was all I had."

They remained silent for a long moment.

"I will give you Atreus," Wayne finally said.

"Oh, for the love of—keep your horse. You earned him. As for mine, hey, what a way to go."

It was a bittersweet victory as Zachariah and Wayne, with his one good hand, helped Herbie wheel her Karr away from the joust.

Later in the night, as Herbie slept in the body of her Karr, Zachariah and Wayne held a hushed argument over the dying embers of a fire.

"You are a fool," the old man said. "What if you lose Atreus again? You will have nothing left."

"I have been thinking on what you said, that her kind come for a purpose. I do not think it was to win back Atreus, but to teach me."

"And what have you learned in your infinite wisdom?"

"That it is not the horse, but the rider."

Zachariah harrumphed but gave no further argument as they quietly packed up camp.

***

Herbie woke to the purple neon glow of Don Won's sign. What time was it? Her shift should be starting soon. Another night of scraping by. Food, medicine, rent: Choose 2 of the 3.

But man, what a wild dream.

She caught her breath as the New Orleans night light shimmered through her shattered windshield.

The light coalesced into a golden glow, a wink of impossible red: The Luminara cross hanging from her rear-view mirror where Wayne had left it.