The Sign of the Prancing Pony by Uvatha the Horseman

The Pranked Tavern Sign (PG-13)

The first of April dawned bright and clear. Nob left his bed in the attic and found his way downstairs. In the kitchens, Mrs. Barliman was taking crusty loaves from the oven. The aroma of newly-baked bread filled the room.

“Have you heard?” Mrs. Butterbur asked.

“Heard what?” Nob put on his most innocent face. He assumed it was about what they’d done to the tavern sign.

Upstairs, Mr. Barliman was standing in the door of the common room. “I always said them Rangers was trouble.” He stepped aside. The common room was a shambles. Furniture had been knocked over, the floor was covered with broken pottery, and two of the windows were smashed.

“You and Bob wouldn’t know because you’d already gone to bed, but we had some excitement in here last night. Two gangs of Rangers bumped into each other and got to brawling. It got so bad, some of them jumped through the windows. Through the windows, as in, not opening them first. I watched the whole thing and I still don’t know what it was about.”

Nob and Bob were outside hanging the sign when it happened. Nob was steadying the ladder when the glass broke behind him and the bodies hit the ground. He would have liked to find out what happened, but he had to get Bob down first.

Nob set the tray down on one of the few tables that hadn’t been overturned. Then he picked up the nearest chair and set up upright. He swept up fragments of broken glass and pottery. As soon as he had a spare moment, and was sure no one was watching, he stepped out onto the street to check on their sign. It was still there. And it was beautiful.

The pranked sign combined Bob’s desire for a horse theme with Nob’s sight gag. And it looked so much like the original, people wouldn’t notice at first.

Now to wait.

It took until about ten in the morning. The bell jingled over the door, and one of the regulars came in, a shopkeeper from a few doors down. “Morning, Barliman. I see your tavern sign has acquired a second horse.”

“What? I don’t have a new sign. It’s the same as always.”

Nob polished the same piece of glassware over and over. If he laughed, he’d expose himself as guilty, and if he didn’t, he’d explode.

Mr. Barliman came around the counter and stepped into the street without taking off his apron. Nob followed, and so did everyone who’d overheard.

The new sign looked even better in bright sunlight than it had in the dimness of the stables. Bob had pained an almost perfect replica of the original pony, then added a second pony beneath it.

In a script identical to the original, careful lettering announced the Inn’s new name. The Covered Mare.

Barliman looked appalled. “What are those two horses doing?”

“I couldn’t say, but it looks like they’re having a pretty good time,” observed the oldest of Mr. Barliman’s daughters.

An old farmer rolled his eyes. “What does it look like they’re doing? Don’t you know about the birds and the bees? Well, I’ll have you know the birds and the bees do that, too.”

Mr. Barliman wrung his hands. “Who could have done this” Who could be clever and wicked enough to pull this off?” He turned to the boys, his face suggesting that, while he hadn’t yet, he was about to put two and two together.

Nob grabbed Bob by the arm. “Run!”