“Because he’s so cruel, he would punish us for months. I suppose the others are getting thrashed as we speak. The only luxuries we have are the old scientific journals he gives to us to practice our English. What publication are you interviewing him for?”
“The Scientific Journal of International Science,” I replied.
“That’s my favourite!” he cried in excitement “As you write for the SJIS I’ll let you in on a little secret: You’re presence here has changed things. I imagine that when Theodore McRumpleton attempts to beat the others the tides will turn.”
“Oh no, I haven’t finished asking all the questions! We’ve got to get back now!”
“Hold on!” Wallace commanded as he galloped back to the stables at full speed.
As we arrived at the stables horror dawned on me. There, lying motionless in a pool of his own blood was Mr McRumpleton covered in hoof prints. All the horses stood around him with their heads turned up towards the sky as they cheered and whistled. They then did a celebratory dance upon the corpse, which I thought was a little demeaning but I’m tolerant of all cultures even that of the talking horses.
“Have no fear, my friend,” said Wallace “We mean you no harm, especially as you write for the SJIS.”
We watched as the horses lifted the body with their front legs and carried him to the edge of the nearby cliff. They then threw the corpse into the sea below and another round of cheers broke out. I was introduced to the rest of the herd before I could make my excuses and hastily retreat to the car.
Upon returning to SJIS HQ the supreme editor-in-chief was actually happy with my work, despite not asking all the questions he’d given me. He seemed particularly pleased that I had debunked the psychic and immediately set about finding me someone else I could expose as a fraudster.
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