22

"Oh, it's not mine."

You blink down at him as he falls asleep. You look up at the sign of the pub which the gentleman likely just haunted—The Pudding and Python—and resolve never, ever to drink there.

"Come, Brute, back goes the hat," you say gently, reaching down to your ape.

From Brute's indignant reaction, you'd think you'd demanded the beast trade ears with the snoring drunk. The more you cajole and insist, the more the little animal latches onto the cap with every ounce of its considerable strength. Finally you give up.

"You can keep it if I get the rest of the currants."

Brute applauds feverishly, the top half of its body obscured by the new cap. A passing merchant looks in wonder at the animated headgear before you and tosses you a farthing. This might not be so bad after all, you think.

Onward