Mute - Revised (A Black Butler Fanfiction)

Chapter 2

I head outside, taking the shortcut through a small patch of trees to get to the stables. Did Dahlia had her foal during the night? Had everything gone smoothly? Is he - or she - healthy? Is Dahlia healthy? Are they both alive? Are they both dead? Did they get food and water? I know we have someone to take care of the horses, but Mother sold most of them after father died, having no need for them. I managed to persuade her in her grief to keep Dahlia, Flint and a few stallions, explaining how they were a symbol of his deep love of horses, and keeping them would, in turn, respect his memory. Sadly, Flint passed not long afterward, and the stallions were never properly trained, so no one can ride them. I always see them in the pasture grazing or trotting around each other. One must be the father, but I don't know which.

I jog through the door to Dahlia's pen. She perks her head up as I approach and sniffs me delicately. I look into her big brown eyes, petting the white blaze on her muzzle. A Thoroughbred, her walnut coat gleams and her hair falls in my face, making us both snort. She tosses back her head as I unlock the pen door, guiding her to the grooming area and properly cleaning her hide.

It was a bit of a tight squeeze, her bulging belly taking up the majority of the little room, not leaving me a lot of space to work with. But I managed and replaced the hay in her pen before leading her back into it. I just sat there with her for a little while, stroking her head and breathing in the heavy scent of the barn.

I've known her since she was a foal, growing up with her as my horse. I got into the habit of coming every day to take care of her. It took some hard work but she accepted that I can't speak to her and have to rely on her instincts as well as my own if we take a wrong turn or get lost on a trail. It's never happened before, but I still had to learn to guide her without my voice. She learned to be constantly aware of the reigns and now turns at the slightest movement of my hands.

It's wonderful to ride her. I haven't since I realized that her growing belly was holding a baby horse, but I can remember the feeling I got when I never had to say a word to her: it was like a ball was filling with golden light in my chest. I can't wait to ride her again, and care for her foal, and train it, and see them both happy and healthy - my heart longs for it with a strength words could never justice.

Of course, I had to leave eventually to get ready for the arrival of the Earl, but I looked into her eyes and let her know I'd be back later tonight to check in again.

I went to my favorite place, that only a few of the most trust-worthy butlers and myself know about. A special clearing to practice our shooting. I stand in the middle of the clearing, bullseyes on every side and pull out my handgun. A .45 Adams Third Model introduced just a few years ago. I checked to make sure all six cartridge holders in the barrel were full before raising my gun and aiming at the first target, 3 yards away. I took a deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, tightened my grip, and pulled the trigger. I fired in quick succession, hitting the inner rings each time. I reloaded the barrel with six more cartridges and spun around, aiming now for the 5-yard target.

I repeated the process until I was facing the 9-yard target. Anything past 9 yards wouldn't be considered an immediate threat, so this is just to hone my aim. I hit within the first four of six rings, with one stray bullet landing in the sixth ring. I filled my gun with three cartridges, slid it into my waistband and walked around, examining the bullets permanently stuck in the trees from years of practice. The aforementioned butlers and maids all come here at least three times a week, honing their aim and the speed at which they can fire. We all have either an Adams II or an Adams III, so the guns can be fired by anyone.

Satisfied with my work, I took a detour through the gardens, so it was past noon when I got back. I passed the kitchen, peeking in to see Henry skillfully cooking up a feast. I smiled and continued on towards the game room. The only games are some checkers boards and used decks of cards. I amuse myself with a few rounds of solitaire.

I'm halfway through the fifth round when the door creaks open. I turn to see a mountain of boxes stumble unsteadily through the door. I rush forward, taking some of the boxes to lighten the poor person's load.

"Wha - Oh! Mary-Clara darling, thank you. You're so helpful!" It's Grace, Henry's wife. There's around 40 years old, childless, and have worked at the mansion since a little before Carlotta was born.

"Oh yes, perfect, right on that table, wonderful. Thank you, dear! That was quite the heavy load, goodness. What's that? What's in the boxes?" she sighs, "Oh, some of Master's old things. Mistress must have had them packed up and stored away. Can't blame the woman, grief is. Such a strong emotion, but . . . well, anyways, what are you doing? A card game? Solitaire? Ah yes, a game played solo. I did hear through the old grapevine - you know how the younger maids gossip - that Dana would be on an errand today. I guess I didn't quite make the connection that that meant you'd be mostly by yourself today . . . . mm, okay, well, if you've got nothing better to do, you're more than welcome to help me with my chores! We can get it done in half the time if there are double the hands, and we could get Henry to play some checkers with you afterward."

I nod enthusiastically. Anything is better than just sitting here by myself.

We mop the floors, polish the windows, clean the silverware, and dust the curtains. It wasn't too difficult but I'm sure she had gotten most of her other chores done earlier that day. She talks a little about how she met Henry and their engagement and wedding. I found it to be quite entertaining, I learned a bit about her and Henry, and I liked the way she'd glance at me to see if I wanted to ask a question or was getting bored. It made me feel more respected. Is that the right way to phrase it? Mm . . . .

We enter the kitchen to see Henry atop a stool trying to reach something on the highest shelf. I tug on his pants, waiting until he climbs down before jumping on his back. Henry grunts and Grace chuckles but, scowls right after he attempts to climb the ladder with me on his back.

"Henry, be careful! If you slip, she'll go down with you!" she shouts anxiously. Henry, impatient to get the spice he needs, calls down to her, "If it makes you feel better, there are some flour bags in the corner on your left. Surround the ladder or something to cushion our fall. Not that we're going to." He mutters the last part under his breath.

I'm at the top of the ladder now. I straighten up, just able to reach into the cupboard. I rummage around, trying to find the spice. My fingertips brush against the little bottle, pushing it further back. I'm having to really stretch now. I feel it. I can get it! I just need to . . . got it!

I exhale sharply as I lean backward, pulling the spice out and clenching it tightly in my hand. But I've leaned too far and Henry starts to topple over. We sway on the edge for one heart-stopping moment before he loses his balance and we fall to the ground.

I land on a hard pillow, the impact ripping the bag and a large cloud of flour surrounds me. The spice is still tightly clenched in my hand as I sit up coughing and shield my mouth, attempting to not breathe in the flour-filled air.

"Henry, what were you thinking? Mary-Clara could have gotten seriously hurt. You could have gotten hurt! You could have broken your back, or your neck, or Marly-Clara's neck, or both your necks!l" Grace frets, dusting flour out of his hair and into his eyes. "Hey!" he shouts indignantly, grabbing a handful of flour and flinging it onto Grace's shirt. She gasps, smirks, and dumps a fresh bag over his head.

I join in, and we proceed to throw flour at each other, lodging it in our hair, mouths, clothes, and everywhere else. It was the most fun I'd had all afternoon.

But we had to clean up afterward, which wasn't quite as fun. Grace instructed me to get some clean clothes on so if Mother came in she wouldn't think I had anything to do with it. I left, changing into those black pants and lavender shirt Dana had picked out for me earlier today, but I kept the jacket, dusting it off the best I could. I left the flour in my hair, liking the whitish-gray streaks much better than the usual brown.

I'd just finished when I heard the door open behind me. I spun around to see Mother close the door with a soft click.