15minuteficlets exercise.

[camwyn]

This one ran a little over time-wise because I was repeatedly interrupted and lost track of time. Should be okay, though. The word: devotion.

"He's gone mad, Clapper," Constable Harry Neugold said morosely. "I can't think of another explanation."

Clapper nosed at the young Mountie's shoulder affectionately.

Harry smiled a little, pushing the black horse's head away. "Stop that. You know I can't get your poll brushed if you keep doing that- I'll give you the carrots later, all right?"

The horse whuffed at him, but did as it was told. Harry nodded and returned to running the round rubber brush over the high parts of the horse's neck. "Good boy, Clapper, that's a good boy. . ." He sighed, picking out a bit of dried mud with his fingers. "I don't know what's going on any more," he said, half to the horse, half to himself. "I mean, I guess I could understand Inspector Moore's orders. I don't mind being sent along with Sergeant Preston on a secret mission for the Crown- that's kind of exciting, you know?"

The floor lurched briefly, causing Clapper to whinny unhappily and toss his head. Harry hopped away from the gelding, pressing his back against the wall of the hastily improvised stall. It steadied a moment later; with a grimace, Harry put down his brushes and dug out the promised carrots. "Here, boy- here-"

Ears slanted back against his skull, Clapper craned his neck towards the enticing smell. Harry's hand was absolutely steady as the still-nervous gelding first lipped at the carrots, then picked one up and started crunching away at it.

"I don't like dirigible travel either," Harry said sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

The horse finished its first carrot and turned back for the next. Sighing, Harry stroked Clapper's forelock with his free hand. "I guess I just wish this all made more sense," he murmured. "If it were something in Canada, I could handle it. Or if we had to go to England for some reason, or even Scotland, I could understand. But. . . he said Oz."

Having finished the carrots, Clapper nudged Harry's chest, whickering softly.

"If it were anybody else in the Mounted, I'd've thought it was a joke." Harry picked up his brush and started in on Clapper's neck once more. "But I don't think I've ever heard of Sergeant Preston joking, Clapper. Not ever. Even if it was a joke, or a- a cover for a secret mission- well- he just looked so serious! As if he hadn't said anything strange at all!"

The horse stamped one hoof against the floor, but was otherwise still. Harry shook his head sadly. He'd only joined the RCMP recently; his red tunic was still so new that it practically squeaked when he turned around. It was a good, respectable job; his old grandfather had all but burst with pride when Harry had told him. His superiors had already remarked on his dedication, and there were notes in his record praising his devotion to his duty.

It was just. . . Well, when the most respected sergeant in the Mounties' history could look thirty men in the eye and tell them all that they were on a secret mission to the fictional country of Oz. . . at times like that, devotion bit down hard.

He made another desultory swipe at Clapper's neck, then gave up. He couldn't hide in the stall forever. Sooner or later he was going to have to go back and face the others. His stomach might feel like a lump of icy lead at the prospect that the Sergeant had somehow gone mad (hadn't he been in Frank the night of the Slide? Could that have unhinged him, three years after the fact?), but there wasn't anything he could do about that. He'd just have to put on a game face and hope it was enough.

"Thanks for listening, Clapper," he said, patting the horse's neck. He dropped the brushes back into their carrying bucket, along with the hoof-pick, and squeezed past the gelding. As he closed the stall's half-door behind him, he added, "I'm glad someone around here has their head on straight- even if it's only you."

"Why, thank you, Harry," Clapper answered. "But could you bring sugar cubes next time, please? I'm getting a little bit tired of carrots."

The bucket clattered to the floor.

Clapper tilted an ear at the pale-as-ashes Harry. "Something wrong?"

Comments

[aberrantangels]

Wonderful ficlet. Wonderful choice of POV. Bloody wonderful ending.

That is all.

[camwyn]

Thank you. I'd been considering how the Mounties who got tapped after the end of the Diary would react to the orders they were being given, and Harry seemed like the right mouthpiece for them. And, well, they are going to Oz...

[dragonwhishes.livejournal.com]

This would have happened if the horse talked to Melinda.

Horse: *Talks.*
Melinda: *Gose pale, wets her pants, and faints.*
Horse: Was it something I said?

[redwolfoz.livejournal.com]

Brilliant. Well aside from me misreading Inspector Moore as Inspector Morse and having a brief moment in the grip of a surreal crossover.

And I do love the ending.