User:Posti/Strapped for Cash
Strapped for Cash
Donnie stared at the ‘Help Wanted’ sign and sighed as his fingers explored empty pockets. He’d been penniless more than once in the past few months, but this was the first time he’d ever been threatened with jail. You were a traveler only as long as you had money – without it you were a vagrant.
Maybe it was time to give up this aimless wandering. He’d struck out to see the world on his twenty-first birthday, determined to have some sort of adventure before joining the rest of his classmates as yet another clerk or salesman. The planned month stretched into two, then three. When funds ran out, he’d sold off the few possessions he had carried, until all that he had left were literally the clothes on his back.
Curiously, what most would consider hardship, Donnie found refreshing. It wasn’t work itself he objected to but the trappings of ‘normal’ life. No one expected him to behave or dress a certain way, no debt or obligation hung over his head. For the most part, he didn’t have a care in the world. Well, except on those cold nights when he shivered under some old bridge, or days when his belly was empty.
Like now. As gruff and unpleasant as the constable had seemed, he’d directed Donnie to this remote farm as a place to find ‘fair treatment for honest work’. True, it was more an alternative to being locked up than a friendly suggestion, but ten days behind bars would do nothing to improve his finances. Whatever the job, it apparently wasn’t good enough to entice locals. But then, Donnie had much lower requirements than most. Any wages could go towards resuming his travels when the weather got warmer.
Sighing, he bent down and pulled up the sign. It would serve to announce his intentions. Besides, if the constable was to be believed, no skill was required. After a moment straightening his cap, he squared his shoulders and strode towards the stone cottage beyond.
“Out here, lad!” A cheerful voice hailed him before he reached the front porch. It took a moment to locate the source – a white-haired man who was barely visible in the field of grain behind the house. “Be with ye in a wee moment.”
Donnie waited patiently, encouraged by the friendly manner. This was obviously a working farm, with a few goats and chickens wandering about. No cattle, but he spotted a large off-white horse grazing in a grassy pasture just beyond the barn.
After couple of minutes, his potential employer walked over to greet him. The man was quite short and solidly built, looking like a miniature Santa Claus in jeans. Copper-red eyebrows indicated the previous color of his tangled hair and beard.
“Now then.” Emerald green eyes glanced down at the sign in Donnie’s hand. “I’ve not seen ye around here. Passing through?”
“Uh, yes sir. I was told you were looking for someone.”
The man grinned. “Had a run-in with the local constable, no doubt?” He chuckled at Donnie’s flush of embarrassment. “He’s the only one who’d a’ sent ye my way. Not a worry, lad. I don’t care who you are or where you come from. You’re young and healthy. Better ‘n most I’ve dealt with over the years. Last fellow was a real ne’er-do-well, but he served me well nigh on fifteen good years.”
Fifteen years? If someone stuck around that long, the job couldn’t be too bad. “Uh, what kind of work is it? I mean, I’m willing to do pretty much anything, but I’ve never been on a farm before.”
“Oh, just muscle power. What little skill you need comes natural.” The man looked up at him thoughtfully. “What’s your name?”
“Donnie. Donald Whitlow.” He extended his hand.
The man made no move to shake. “Donnie. Good enough. I’m Periwinkle. Been farming this land since.. well, let’s just say I’m older than dirt.”
Donnie dropped his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Periwinkle.”
“No ‘Mister.’ Just Periwinkle will do for as long as it means anything.” The man stroked his whiskers. “So, what’s a young fellow like you doing wandering about the countryside?”
Donnie was hesitant at first, but Periwinkle seemed both friendly and interested. Before long, the little man not only knew most of Donnie’s life history, but the fears and desires that had brought him to this point.
The man listened until he was done, then frowned slightly. “Ye seem a good sort. If it wasn’t harvest time, I’d not waste ye in the fields. But Stanley’s earned his retirement, and truth be told, it’s not a bad life for a lad with no ambitions. Simple work, all your needs seen to, and no worries or obligations. Pretty much what ye seem to be after.”
Though he felt vaguely insulted, Donnie realized Periwinkle wasn’t far from the mark. It did seem like an ideal situation, at least for the time being. A few months here, and he’d have another Spring and Summer to wander. “So you’ll take me on?”
Periwinkle snorted. “Aye, lad. Ye be part of the farm now. No point in dallying. I have to move the thrasher out of the field.” He gestured over to where he had been when Donnie arrived.
“Uh, OK.” Donnie took a step towards the field.
“Oh, it’s a wee bit heavy even for a strapping young lad. Go around the barn and bring me the tack hanging up there. Ye can’t miss it.”
Giving a little shrug, Donnie made his way around the red-planked building. As promised, there was no missing the tack. The dark brown leather harness looked old but well polished, with ornate brass buckles that glinted in the afternoon sun. Periwinkle must be planning to use the horse after all.
One of the thinner straps had fallen on the ground, and he bent over to pick it up. As he straightened, a sudden spasm shot up one arm and down the other. Before he could react, yet another jolt raced down his legs, and up, quite curiously, through his ears. The effect was far more startling than painful, but Donnie gasped and stumbled, catching himself against the barn wall.
What in blazes? He stared at the hand supporting him. A blue-green mist appeared around dark, swelling fingers, swirling up his arm and out to the closest piece of tack. Dumbfounded, he saw himself reaching for the glowing blinders and tried to stop. When the limb failed to respond, he grabbed at it with his other hand. His traitorous finger closed on the bridle just as he yanked back, pulling the entire harness on top of him as he fell backwards.
Donnie scrambled up, trying to shake free of the tangled straps, only to find himself surrounded by them. Violent spasms hunched him forward with enough force to split the seams of his trousers. It should have been painful, yet all he felt besides the pulling muscles was an almost pleasant heat. Or perhaps it was all happening too fast for him to even recognize pain. His hands had doubled in size, becoming thick lumps that stretched away from him on lengthening arms. At the same time, his nose and mouth thrust forward into the dangling bridle. Jerking his head back only caused the bit to fall into his mouth, and the straps caught around ears too high and too large.
Tremendous pressure around his feet suddenly vanished as his stout leather walking hiking boots pulled apart. Balance shifted, and he fell forward with the sound of more ripping cloth. His hands hit the ground far sooner than expected, impact dulled by numbness. Clothing fell away, yet he did not feel cool air – instead there was an odd sense of thickness – not only of skin, but of body and mind as well.
He twisted around in time to see the top half of his left boot fall away from what was unmistakably a hoof. The change had occurred so quickly that he’d been unable to put the sensations together, but as the last scraps of clothing dropped off and the colorful mist evaporated away, Donnie knew instantly what had happened. He’d been turned into a horse.
The overall look was familiar. Vision was blurred and colors were off, but if memory still served he was pretty similar to the animal in the pasture beyond. Stanley? The ne’er do well who’d worked well for fifteen years? Donnie stared at the scraps of cloth on the ground, then dropped his head to pick up his cap. It was the only part of his past that had survived.
Why wasn’t he terrified? The experience had been bewildering, but if there had been any real fear at all it was already forgotten. In fact, he felt rather good. The straps around his body and head were oddly familiar, as was the sense of mass and strength. But he’d been turned into an animal, dammit! How long did horses live, anyway? Not as long as a man, for sure. He didn’t want this!
“Don’t worry, lad.” Periwinkle strode up and patted his side. “It’ll all be right as rain in a few more minutes. Ye be a five year-old gelding, sound and well formed. I’ll work ye for fifteen years, then let ye spend whatever’s left in the pasture. In more than two hundred years, I never lost a beast to illness or injury, and when the end comes, you’ll just lay down and go to sleep.”
Fifiteen years? Donnie shook his head, trying to clear a creeping fog that was making it hard to concentrate. And a gelding. He’d lost his sex and more than half his expected life span!
“I suppose it’s a waste of time explaining.” Periwinkle stared up at him. “Ye won’t remember a word. Every thought in your head is becoming that of the horse ye now are. Still, I don’t like to have my animals upset.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a thin brownish stick. “Cinnamon sugar pole. Your favorite treat.”
Donnie snuffled at the candy, then dropped the bad-tasting object he had been holding in his teeth and lipped the offering into his mouth. Periwinkle rubbed his chin and made happy sounds, then took the pulling thing and led him towards the field. For just a moment, Donnie felt a flicker of resignation. This was exactly what he had signed up for - simple work, all his needs seen to, and no obligations. Then even comprehension of such thoughts was gone, and the horse plodded after his master with not a care in the world.
The End
