The Copper Horse #2 Pride (2 page)

He had to look
down to make up for not seeing much of what was around him.
Children were running up and down the street, chasing each other as
if there was no better place in Bylondon to do that. Still, this
was the first time in Reuben’s life when people actually moved to
make room for him in the street. Erik stopped him in front of a
store with a newly painted wooden framework around the shop window.
There were various books on display, a whole palette of paper,
inks, and other supplies Erik probably needed for his work. From
the corner of his eye, Reuben noticed Hans opening the door without
actually entering.

Feeling no
movement on the cart, Reuben stared ahead, waiting for further
commands; he looked around but kept aware of the reins, just in
case. The first thing he noticed was that there were a lot more men
than women in sight, which he found odd in a place that mostly
housed food vendors. He could see all kinds of products, from
fabrics to vegetables of dubious freshness and mincemeats. In
Reuben’s experience, mince was the worst choice one could turn to.
The safest bet on the market stalls was probably the tinned foods.
He furrowed his eyebrows at the long, yellow vegetable with a few
darker spots
.
He had never seen before,
but it wasn’t the only exotic produce he’d never once encountered
in the markets back home.

His focus
shifted when he realized someone was yelling something at him and
Erik. A young man in just a pair of pants and suspenders pulled his
gas mask over his hair so he could voice his anger louder.
“Gregorovich will not allow this when he gets into Parliament!
Bylondon should be a place of freedom, not slavery!”

“Gregorovich
can fuck my ass.” Erik was as calm as ever, and Reuben didn’t even
sense him moving on the cart.

He snorted and
shook his head like a horse, without saying a word.

“You are one
perverted freak, Bluefinger, and you'll regret all that you’ve
done!” The boy picked up a rock from the ground, and while he
seemed to just play with it for now, Reuben knew this kind of toy
could turn into a weapon all too quickly. “Humanists will win over
London, and people like you will be wiped out.”

Hans’s bulky
form moved closer to the young man, erecting a living wall between
him and Erik, who snorted loud enough for Reuben to hear.

“Let’s face it,
boy, all you people want is what people like me have. Like those
coins.” Reuben heard a clatter of metal behind him.

There was a
shuffling of feet and Reuben turned his head in curiosity. His
mouth went dry. Children kneeled in the dirt, elbowing each other
to reach more coins scattered all around the cart.

Even the
loudmouth Humanist supporter hesitated for only a brief moment
before hastily falling to his knees.

“You see that,
Copper? Such are the people who think so low of us.” Erik snorted
and traced the riding crop up Reuben’s spine. The sensation was so
unexpected that it squeezed a low groan out of Reuben. A few of the
children gathered at his feet looked up, wide eyed, and backed away
as if he were a real horse and could break their heads with one
swing of his hoof. He was surprised it didn’t upset him at all, and
there was a strange tingle of pleasure at the thought that his mere
presence could command even a fraction of the respect Erik was
getting.

Hidden behind
the mask, Reuben was completely anonymous, and he could only
imagine what effect he must have on some people. After all, he was
tall, brawny, wide-shouldered, and dressed in black leather from
head to toe. The moment he first saw Erik, in a mask that hid his
mismatched eyes, was among the most unsettling of Reuben’s life.
Could Reuben possibly have the same effect on people, even if he
was shackled to a cart?

“The supplies
you ordered, sir,” said a maturely dressed middle aged man, who
appeared in the entrance of the store. He disappeared from Reuben’s
sight as he walked up to the side of the cart, but from the sounds,
Erik was paying for the items. When the transaction was over, the
children had already dispersed, probably hurrying to use the coins
they'd gathered from the filthy road.

“That’ll teach
them a lesson,” Erik hummed, stroking his riding crop over Reuben’s
shoulder. It felt strange, like a mixture of a caress and
threat.

“It will,
master?” Reuben asked, liking how low his voice sounded through the
mask. Like he imagined one of those big workhorses would sound if
it turned human.

“I made those
coins myself, and they are a rather blatant fake, I must say. Any
reasonable shopkeeper will refuse to take them. I imagine it will
be quite painful for this lot.” Erik patted Reuben’s hip with the
crop, a signal that he was supposed to move.

Reuben nodded
and started forward without a word. Two voices argued in his head,
one feeling sorry for the children who could get in trouble, a
voice of Reuben who still felt like a part of the slum-dwelling
lot. The other, Copper, Erik’s stallion, couldn’t care less about
their plight, interested only in the wellbeing of his master and
getting him safely home. He wasn’t the only man pulling a cart
through the streets, and he soon realized that he hadn’t seen an
actual horse since leaving Erik’s home today, which was strange
considering they were in a lively, rather affluent neighborhood.
Instead, the wealthy moved in sedan chairs and carts much like the
one he was pulling, although he hadn’t yet seen anyone else dressed
up as a horse.

At one point, a
child touched his calf before being tugged away by its angry
mother. It really seemed that in an odd way he could blend in, and
apart from that one boy by the market stalls, no one dared to
insult them. On the contrary, not only were most people giving them
space so they could pass freely, but some even greeted Erik with
polite nods. He really was someone important in Bylondon, just like
Jack said.

“Hey,
Bluefinger!” yelled someone close by as they slowly approached
home. Reuben’s muscles and back were slightly sore, but thankfully,
Erik didn’t push him to go faster.

Reuben turned
his head toward the shout, but paid attention about where he was
going. He saw a man in a velvet coat and top hat, who could have
passed for a middle class gentleman back in London. The man sat in
a small metal cart pulled by a muscled man in simple, brown clothes
and a basic gas mask.

“Hey yourself,
Dermot,” Erik greeted him.

“Have you heard
Gregorovich is trying to change the bad reputation of the
anarchists by calling them Humanists? Guess it does sounds nicer.”
Dermot laughed and urged his servant to draw the cart closer to
Erik’s so that they wouldn’t have to yell.

Erik gently ran
his crop over Reuben’s side as he and the servant aligned the
carts. “They won’t keep it up. The Dals won’t allow it.”

“Ooh!” Dermot
seemed interested in fresh gossip. “Will you try to hunt down
Humanist activity in our Bylondon?”

“I’m going to
do whatever it takes to keep my life as it is.”

Dermot snorted.
“Gregorovich is not keen on sodomites, you think?”

“I think he’s
not keen on any kind of pleasure,” said Erik. “All he wants is go
to war, and I won’t let anyone recruit my stallion.”

Reuben smiled
behind his mask, surprised by that kind of answer. He hadn't
thought Erik took things like that, like him, into consideration in
such serious matters.

“The problem is
his new accomplice.” Dermot’s voice became serious. “Have you read
the latest papers?”

Reuben listened
on, but then a poster on the wall caught all his attention and he
stopped walking. It advertized a new play with Percy Preston,
Reuben’s favorite actor. His gaze locked on the blue eyes in the
picture. Reuben would recognize the face anywhere, but the long
waves of ginger hair surrounding the actor’s handsome features
baffled him.

Erik cleared
his throat. “Ah, yes, he’s gotten famous. A superior mind. It is a
shame he decided to side with a man like Gregorovich instead of
someone who would make better use of him.”

“Gregorovich
recently declared that Deverell is on the brink of finding a cure
for the Plague. Can you even imagine how much that could play in
his favor?”

“I am sure
there will be someone to help Deverell come to his senses.” Erik’s
voice was calm, cool like water under a layer of ice that could
crack at any moment.

Reuben kept
staring at the poster, completely mesmerized. ‘The Mad Doctor, the
Whores, and Monkeys’ was the title of the play, and Reuben had no
idea what it could be about.

“Like Frey,
maybe? Though I did hear your brother’s methods are more of the...
less genteel sort,” Dermot said with a chuckle.

“I honestly
don’t care about his methods as long as they get the result I
want.” Erik snorted. “I think I’m going to see that play. I believe
it could get me some necessary insight about the man.”

Reuben
instantly turned his head to his master. God, how he wished he
could go! Then it hit him—obviously the ‘mad doctor’ Percy Preston
was playing had to be a parody of this Deverell person. After all,
Ollie had said that Percy fled London because of persecution for a
play that mocked Gregorovich. He wouldn’t just quit after moving to
Bylondon. What a brave man he was!

“Yep, taking
your ‘insight’ from a farce." Dermot laughed. "Not the best way to
go around it.”

“Valuable
information can be found in the most obscure places,” answered
Erik, and after a brief conversation, he bid farewell to his friend
and urged Reuben to trot home.

The chat had
given Reuben a moment to relax, so he was ready to show just how
much strength he had on their way back. Instead of being tired, his
muscles enjoyed the strain, a different kind of exercise than
working at the treadmill. He couldn’t wait to hear that he'd done
well. Being useful was surprisingly fulfilling, especially when the
person he was working for showed him so much appreciation. Before
Erik had taken him in, it seemed like all Reuben’s efforts to
impress others were doomed. Even his own father had nothing but
foul words for him.

Jack let them
into the cart room, but Erik sent him away, keen to take care of
Reuben himself. The servant complied, exiting the room with
Hans.

Reuben watched
his master take off his own mask, his handsome face flushed and
shiny, hair in a bit of a mess. It felt comfortable not to say
anything and just hide behind the mask, free to admire his master’s
beauty. But Erik was also a keen observer.

“So... why did
you stop by that poster?” Erik put the mask into a box and walked
over, gently running his hands over Reuben’s stomach, teasing the
tired muscle underneath the leather.

“Oh... I’m
sorry master. I saw Percy Preston and got so curious...”

“Is he really
so handsome that you forgot your orders?” Erik stroked the long
forehead of the equine mask, as if Reuben were a real horse, so he
played along, nuzzling his master’s hand. It put Reuben at ease
that Erik didn’t sound angry.

He swallowed,
hoping with all his heart that he wouldn’t be punished for letting
his attention slip. “He is so famous, Master, I got
distracted.”

“And much more
desirable than anyone else?” teased Erik.

“Um, that’s not
how I would have put it,” Reuben said but smiled behind the mask.
He had the feeling his reasons were understood.

“How would you
put it then?” Erik nudged Reuben’s arms down, wordlessly asking him
to kneel. Reuben complied without hesitation, his wrists still
attached to the wooden thills. Was it time to suck Erik off? He
licked his lips, finding it hard to think about anything else now.
There was a beautiful, warm cock hidden underneath all the leather,
and it would smell of it, too.

“That... I’m
sorry, you’re confusing me, master. I said he is very famous.”

Erik sighed,
slowly taking a ribbon out of his hair, allowing it to fall to his
shoulders, still slightly curled from the pressure. “How much
exactly do you like that man?” Erik slowly unfastened the back of
Reuben’s mask, his moves gentle and slow.

I’m a bit
obsessed with his beautiful face.
“Hmm... I think he has a lot
of
insight
into... things,” he repeated the word he'd heard
earlier that day.

“Why?” Erik
pulled off Reuben’s mask, leaving his face to cool down. The cart
room was big, empty, and eerily quiet with just the two of them
here. And as always, he had no idea what to think of Erik’s
intentions.

“He does comedy
but puts... important things in there... So you can laugh and
learn?” Reuben wasn’t sure if it made sense. All he knew was that
Percy Preston’s ass made sense in a pair of skintight pants. Reuben
took in a few deep breaths, savoring the feeling of unrestricted
access to air.

“Oh? You must
be a very smart horse to acknowledge that.” Erik put the equine
mask into its box and stood in front of his kneeling slave. From
this perspective, Reuben had the most perfect view on his master’s
crotch, at the cock pressed against that taut stomach under the
tight leathers. Just thinking about it made Reuben perspire under
his costume.

But he wouldn’t
reply to the mockery.

Erik sighed and
curled a strand of Reuben’s mane around his finger. “I bet you’d
love to see him again.”

Reuben’s heart
skipped a beat. “I would very much want to, Master.” He wouldn’t
dare ask for it though; that would have been a stretch.

Erik exhaled,
gently rubbing his fingers over Reuben’s sweaty scalp, pleasantly
massaging his skin. “I am very happy with your performance
today.”

“Yes? I did
good?” Reuben looked up at his master, anticipating more praise. He
liked the way Erik’s leather-clad hands ran over his arms in a kind
of gentle massage.