40

Your eyes widen at the sight of the black-furred creature waggling its fingers through the bars of the cage. It resembles woodcuts you've seen of great leaping bands of apes, racing through treetops with the same ease as you would display strolling into a pub. If this creature is such an ape, it's quite a long way from home.

The beast doesn't meet your eyes, or indeed look at anything for more than a second; it is flailing in paroxysms of anxiety, and keeping up a steady guttural tattoo all the while.

The laborers turn to go.

"Excuse me—you can't leave this here!"

"Put it in your lap if you'd rather," one of the laborers calls out, not bothering to look back.

"The little savage's a gift for His Majesty, same as you! Now settle in for your trip…you two'll have no end of what-all to talk about, I'm sure!"

Their laughter blends with the ape's hoots as they walk away. You do your best to get comfortable, eyeing the cage, in the few minutes remaining before the wagon train departs.

Onward