The Owl's Observance

The night had deepened by the time the owl landed for a rest. His belly, empty only moments before, was now sated by the likes of a small field mouse. Scant pickings for some of the larger birds of prey but a tasty, satisfying meal for him. He had dove the moment he saw it and snatched the sorry creature up, swallowing it bones and all. Now he clutched to the old oak joist of a familiar resting spot to him, digging at an itch in his feathers.

Sounds ushered from down below to echo among the deep rafters and thick beams. The gentle nickers and hoofbeats of horses and a monotonous crunch as they chewed hay in the darkness. One defecated, adding a plopping to the background of noises and strengthening the smell that had long saturated the place.

The barn owl made ready to fly back to his nest when movement below froze him in place. The light of a lantern filled the far end of the long stables. A door closed, and three people walked the length of the building. Friendly nickers from the horses greeted them, but they paid no heed. Whispers passed between them. It wasn't until they were close that the owl picked up their words.

"I'm telling you, Generfer, bad idea. Bad idea," said a young man. Curly blond hair fell around his ears, and burly muscles filled out his simple green tunic.

The girl named Genefer stopped and crossed her leather-cuffed arms over her white linen shirt. "Be more specific, Arren. Bad ideas seem to be our bread and butter of late. If only I could get paid for them, I'd have no use for you stinky oafs."

The third person, also a youthful male in a somewhat grimier green shirt and burlap breeches examined himself. "We don't smell that bad, do we?"

"Zip it, Abe." Arren turned to Genefer. "I'm talking about the food you stole this morning, against my better judgement, and the fur hats you took this afternoon. Now you want to add horse thieving to the mix. The quartermaster might only take one hand for stealing a loaf of bread. But a horse? I've heard dark rumors about the man. I don't want to cross paths with him suspecting me of a crime."

"You think my brother is gonna get better on his own, do you?" Genefer spat. "Or will good wishes perhaps do the trick?"

"No, but there are better—"

"There are no other ways, Arren. We take a horse, sell her at the market in Bringgam, buy the medicine. Whatever's left we use for food."

Arren shook his head. "And what happens when they find a mare missing, hmm? They're just gonna forget about it? 'Ah well, it happens.'"

"They wont know it's us who took it. I've accounted for everything."

"Divulge in your accounting then. I stand with open ears."

Genefer sighed. "Abe is a groom. He works the stables every day. Well tonight, he forgot horseshoes that needed brought to the ferrier in the morning. You, being Abe's good friend, were at his house. Together you come to the stables to fetch them. That's when you see the horse being stolen."

Abe scratched at the patchy black stubble on his chin. Arren shook his head again.

"You immediately run for help at this new and alarming discovery," Genefer continued. "You tell the stablemaster what you saw."

"And what did we see?" Arren asked.

"Everything opposite of me, you mummer. A tall man with dark hair, riding away north on his stolen mare into the night. Meanwhile I ride south, sell the horse on the morrow, be home by high noon. I'll say I was with my brother all morning if asked."

"Sounds swell," said Abe.

"You're thick in the head," said Arren. "I say this is a stupid idea...but it seems I'm overruled."

"Good," Genefer smiled, perhaps a tad too eagerly. "Let's proceed."

The barn owl watched with an angled head as the three took a piebald mare from her stall. Arren held the lantern high while Abe brushed her out and Genefer prepared her tack. Together, they donned her blanket and secured her saddle, adjusted her girth, inserted her bit and tightened her bridle.

Everything was fine. According to plan. There was a silent tension between the three, as if speaking now might ruin it all. And it might have. Just as Genefer gripped the pommel and hunched with a leg in the left stirrup, a voice sounded at the end of the stables, loud and commanding.

"Hey, stop! Who goes there?"

"Shit," Arren breathed. "It's a guard."

"Relax," whispered Genefer as the guard marched towards them, spear in hand. She turned to him, completely composed. "Good night to you, good fellow. How fares your family?"

The guard scrunched his brows, taken aback. "Pardon?" The strength in his voice was replaced by confusion.

Arren picked up on her ploy. "The lady asks if your wife in children are well."

"I—I suppose they are. Who are you?"

"Lady Genfried, of course," she said. "And these are my attendants, but I don't need to explain myself to a common guardsman. Who are you?"

The guard pulled a face half afraid, half utterly baffled, but a guard's good sense was always to play subservience in the face of authority. He knew it well. "Forgive me, lady. I did not recognize you." He clumsily went down on a knee and bowed.

"Oh enough silliness," said Genefer, "stand up."

The guard did. "Why brings the lady out at this hour, if I may ask?"

"Why a night ride, of course."

"Oh...I see. Does the lady need any help?"

Genefer smiled a bright, fake smile. "That's what attendants are for. As you can see, I have two. What's your name, good fellow?"

The guard glanced at Arren and Abe, then back to Genefer. "Dolan, milady."

"Well, Dolan, if I need help upon my return within the hour, I will call upon you personally for aid."

The guard blushed. "Alright, milady. Thank you, milady." The guard turned to go, gave them a glance, and started for the far door. He gave them another at it, then disappeared from sight.

Abe sighed relief. "That was close. We're lucky he didn't recognize us."

"Nor I him," Arren said. "He must be a new recruit. What are we to do now? Can't say that a tall man with dark hair rode off on this horse. We'd be pegged liars and thieves."

"Let me think," Genefer leaned on the horse and said. "Just let me think."

"I guess we have the hour for it, then we hand ourselves in," joked Arren.

It didn't take her the hour, but fifteen minutes at least passed in relative silence. Abe would occasionally ask a stupid question. Arren would occasionally tell him to shut up. Genefer moved her hair around, scratched her chin. Her back. Finally, she pushed away from the horses and beckoned them closer.

"It's actually rather simple. As you said yourself, that guard is a new recruit. All we do is pin the thievery on him. Say we saw him at it while we were horsing around the in the stables."

Abe chucked to himself.

"What?" Arren whispered sharply.

"Her joke."

"Not you, stupid. You want us to tell on a guard? Are you crazy?"

"Not at all." Genefer crossed her arms. "If you don't want to help, then you can leave."

"And what of this guard and his family? Do you know what the quartermaster will do to him, if he believes you?"

"Not my concern." Genefer mounted the mare and yanked the reigns from Abe.

Arren moved to protest, but before he could say or do anything, the doorway at the end of the stables was thrust open. Instead of one guard, this time it was five. Two carried lanterns, and a tall man in finer clothing entered behind them.

"It's him," breathed Arren.

"Who?" asked Abe.

"The quartermaster, dimwit. Genefer!"

She was beyond reasoning, though. She urged the mare into a canter towards the other end of the stables. The guards rushed after. Had the large door been open, she would've been free. Her crime would've been set in stone, but she hadn't accounted for that need of a speedy escape. The guards reached her at the end as she struggled to control the mare and pulled her shouting from the saddle.

The quartermaster reached Arren and Abe and looked down at them from his height. He stature was domineering, and his voice unsettling in its calmness. "Hmm," was all he said to the boys before walking past.

Genefer was dragged to him. She flung curses at the guards who gripped her arms. They dropped her at the quartermasters feet, but she didn't stay down for long.

"I'm not afraid of you!" she said after standing and pointed a finger in his face.

The quartermaster was unperturbed. "No?"

"No," Genefer said, her hair in her face. She blew it back with an angry puff.

"I wouldn't be either." The man examined himself. "Just look at me. I'm and utter joke."

"Huh?" Genefer's eyes lost their fire.

"Why are you doing?" the quartermaster asked.

"What's it look like? Stealing a horse."

The quartermaster laughed. "I love the candor, miss. I did, however, know that already. My guard here informed me of it." Sure enough, the guard they'd spoken to earlier was among the others. "I do need to know why, though. Only utter need drives one to do such a thing"

Genefer was suddenly shamefaced. "My brother is sick. I need the coin to pay for medicine."

Arren and Abe had inched over. The quartermaster observed them all. He didn't raise his voice, or have his guards restrain them. He only sighed and shook his head.

"That's too bad," he said sincerely. "I'll have my attendants see to him on the morrow."

"You will?" Genefer's eyebrows raised with suspicion.

The quartermaster nodded. "But you must know, this type of thing is unacceptable. If not for your honesty...well, I would not be so generous."

"I'm sorry." Genefer's voice cracked as she said it. "I just didn't know what else to do."

The quartermaster put a hand on her shoulder. "Tough times ask strange things of us. We must always be wary, and seek the right route through them. Come now, lets get you three home. I hope lessons have been learned tonight."

"They have," Genefer said, her head bowed.

"Aye," agreed Arren.

"You know it," said Abe, almost too cheery.

The quartermaster nodded. "Good. If only finding the thief who stole my fur hat was as easy as all this. I think the fool—"

The barn owl didn't get to hear what the quartermaster thought. A sound in the rafters startled him into flight. He pushed off his resting joist with extended wings and flew through the open window at the top of the stables, out into the fresh night air. The moon greeted him with its light and turned his feathers, normally gray licked with white and gold, into shades of blue and black. The hoots and screeches of other owls filled his ears. The ground below crawled with life, human and not. The owl didn't care.

He flew for his nest. He wanted home.