Square Sails had given Applejack a quick tour of the Croupiere, describing the different sections with nothing more than a curt uttering of their name before quickly ushering her onwards. So far as she had managed to garner, the top of the ship was the main deck, the captain’s quarters was on the aptly named quarterdeck (where the helm, which is what he called the steering wheel, was situated), and her cabin was located on the gun deck, accessed via a stairway set next to the quarterdeck.
He had quickly pointed to the front of the ship where another raised section stood, and called it what sounded to Applejack like foxhole, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t right. Regardless, he had added that she was best off avoiding that section of the ship as it was where the lowest-ranked sailors would spend their time and, while he was certain Applejack could handle rough language and crude jokes, figured it was best all the same if she didn’t get in their way.
“At any moment’s notice, the bosun’s whistle might sound and you’d find yourself under a dozen sets of hooves before you can blink,” he cautioned her, while leading her down the stairs to the gun deck. “As a representative of the Crown, you’re entitled to stay in the officer’s quarters, astern the gundeck.”
They walked underneath the main deck, ducking heads under lanterns that hung from the low ceiling and trying not to run into any of the cannons which had been stowed away. It was certainly a new setting for Applejack. The familiar scent of aged lumber and burning lantern oil from the multitudes of barns she had been in throughout her life clashed strangely with the permeating salt-water fragrance. The low ceiling and stacks of crates and barrels surrounding her made the deck feel immensely claustrophobic, though she welcomed the sensation. Already the gentle bobbing of the ship had set her nerves on edge, and the enclosed quarters helped her feel a bit more grounded.
Square Sails reached the officer’s quarters and stepped aside. There were four cabins, two on each side of a somehow even smaller hallway, and judging by the door placement they were only slightly larger than an outhouse. He pointed at the far left one and simply muttered “Yours.”
Applejack squeezed past the captain and slipped into the tiny room. It was slightly more spacious than it had appeared to be, owing likely to being built into a section of the ship that was cut off on the interior. It had a tiny glass window which was so etched by salt and algae that it was only good for letting sunlight in, a dresser built into the right which doubled as a writing desk, a single chair beneath the window, and finally a solid looking mattress affixed within a cubby sticking out of the left wall.
She set her saddlebag down between the chair and the dresser and slid onto the bed, testing it. It was no softer than packed, dry earth, and once again she found herself grateful for what would normally be discomfort. Nothing like something solid to cheer an earth pony up, she figured.
Square Sails stepped into the room after her and sat down on the chair, then checked his watch with a rapid and rigid movement.
“Comfortable?”
“Absolutely,” she replied.
He nodded. “You’re a good liar,” he said, and continued on before she could object. “The mess deck is below us, follow the staircase under the fo’c’sle, you’ll see it easily. Dinner will be in oh-one-hundred hours.” He tilted his chin up, thinking. “Are you familiar with military time?”
Applejack nodded.
“Excellent. We depart tomorrow morning with the sun. I won’t wake you up on purpose but expect to be woken.”
“I wake up before the sun anyways.”
“I expected that.” He nodded once again and then stood up. “You’re welcome to get your bearings about the ship until light’s out, and then I ask you remain in your cabin until informed it is safe to exit. Understood?”
“Absolutely. Thank you, Captain.”
“Welcome aboard the HHS Croupiere, Applejack.” With that, he walked quickly out of her room, letting the door swing shut behind him.
She took a moment to lay there, adjusting to the ‘silence’. In truth, it was loud; hooves clomped and clattered above and below her. Whistles and shouts abounded, the words just distant and unknown enough to blend together into background music. Waves splashed against the ship and the whole thing creaked and groaned with each gust of wind. But it was quiet in her room.
The letters were a curiosity. More lessons, perhaps? She wasn’t really sure what the purpose of them not being ordered would have been, but felt that they must not have had any relation to any of the others then. So what would they say?
She rolled over and looked at the saddlebag where she had stashed them. There were five of them, after all. Reading one now would probably be expected, at least so she would know the purpose of the other four. She decided that Princess Luna wouldn’t be upset if she had somehow opened it up at the wrong time—besides, Applejack thought, it wasn’t like she could do anything about the letters now. She was on board the Croupiere, the gangplank had been raised, and there was only a couple hours left before she had to settle down for the night.
Decided, she slid off the bed and grabbed the saddlebag before rummaging through it and pulling out the first letter she reached. After another brief but thorough inspection she concluded it indeed had absolutely nothing telling about it, and broke the seal.
She pulled out a single sheet and immediately recognized Luna’s hoofwriting. Setting the envelope onto the desk she rolled back onto the bed, shifted until she was as comfortable as she could get, and started to read.
Dear Applejack,
If you have opened this letter, it means you have decided it is time to do so, or that you needed it. Although perhaps you were just curious, I suppose. It is all part of the fun, of course.
Applejack smirked, shaking her head at the fact she had been called out in a letter.
I wanted you to have some of my words to aide you on your journey and bring you comfort. Being far from home is difficult — I know this so much, as I’m sure you’re aware. Being far from home all on your own is even tougher.
You are not alone, however. You have my words and my wishes here with you. Know that you will always have my support, and if your journey brings you troubles, take solace in my belief you shall prevail.
I bring you more than encouraging words. In the western sky, towards the south, is the constellation Hydras. I have drawn a small example of it here; with your practice, I’m sure you will find it easily. The three stars on the top half of the constellation always point due east. Should for whatever reason you lose your way, just remember: find Hydras, find home.
Your light at night,
Luna
Applejack found herself blushing hard. Not only was it unexpectedly sweet, but she had also noticed very quickly the omission of the title Princess from the signature—something which had adorned every letter received from her prior. After studying the constellation quickly she gently folded the letter up and slid it back into the envelope.
Already the uneasiness of being off land had seemed to evaporate from her body. The gentle swaying of the ship felt more like a cradle rocking than a churning danger. It was one of the most thoughtful things she had received, and Applejack realized then exactly what the letters were for and when she should open them.
They were for when she was homesick, and though she had been much further away from home many times before, something about the lack of dirt beneath her hooves had hastened the onset of the feeling.
Applejack lay back with her hooves stretched out above her head, and breathed in deeply.
“That’s one sentimental alicorn,” she muttered, unable to stop herself from smiling.
There came a sudden sharp whistle, louder than the rest she had been hearing for the last little bit, and glancing at the small clock on the dresser she realized it was seven at night, and dinner was being served. She got up from the bed, stretched, and then snuck out the door to the gun deck.
The trumping of hooves seemed to organize itself into a sort of unison as sailors all directed themselves to the mess deck, and Applejack found herself at the end of the line by the time she reached it. This deck was dark, being twice removed from the sky above and with windows just as grungy as the one in her room. The only source of light now were the lanterns that swung ominously with the ship. All kinds of earth ponies and unicorns were milling about, sliding past a tired, whiskered stallion who was ladelling out oatmeal.
Applejack waited patiently, tipping her hat to the few sailors who walked past with their bowls while muttering hello, and in relatively quick manner she had reached the pony on kitchen duty.
“Ah, the passenger. What’ll it be, lass?” He said, staring at her with a lidded eye.
“Uh, well, what do you have?”
“Grits.” He said it as if he was starting a list, but nothing came after, and a few seconds later Applejack chuckled and winked.
“Well they all sound great, but I’ll take the grits,” she answered, earning a low rumble from the chef that could be interpreted as a laugh.
He dropped a large ladleful of porridge into a bowl and slid it towards her. “You’ll do alright here, lass. Watch out for squinty over there, though,” he said, leaning down close and whispering. “A new recruit usually gives me the willies for a time, ‘till they get their sealegs. But that unicorn already seems settled in.”
Applejack raised an eyebrow. “There ain’t no other ponies on no other ships these days, then?”
The chef shrugged. “Fairer than not, I suppose. Still creeps me. Just watch your rump for a time, til I says it’s fine.”
“My rump’ll be just fine under my care,” Applejack said proudly, “But thanks all the same.” She tipped her hat at him and stepped away, finding a spot at the table to eat.
It wasn’t so much that she was ignored or excluded by the rest of the ponies around her, and moreso that they hadn’t much to say towards her. Introductions and greetings were quickly exchanged before conversations resumed on their chosen subject. Applejack didn’t mind, happy to focus on eating her food and simply learning what sort of characters she was going to be living with for a while.
One pair exchanged insults back and forth and worked off each other’s wit so well that Applejack felt they might have been married. More than once their scathing underhanded responses caused her to choke on her grits with laughter, and each time it happened the offending speaker had tossed a quick wink her way.
Next to them were a group of three who were all talking about their home lives; one earth pony had apparently just become a father, and was gushing to the full extent the others would allow him to. When the excitement came a little too much, one of the first pair would utter a quick jab at the sailor, causing him to smile and close his mouth.
Able to get a word in, the other two talked of their families. One of them had two siblings she was supporting back in Canterlot. The last was from Applewood, the daughter of a rich movie magnate who was tired of her lazing around and had pressured her into joining the Royal Guard to learn some backbone. It apparently had worked; the rigid order and clear expectations of her had been well appreciated—apparently being somewhat lacking at the house of the producer—and she had recently re-enlisted.
“There’s a certain charm to having work to do consistently,” Applejack said to her once she finished recounting her story. “Lotta folks think about getting up before the sun and feel sick to their stomach, but not me. My friends sometimes wonder how I keep myself so positive toiling away most of the spring and fall. They’re well meaning, but don’t quite get it.”
“Right?” The mare—a unicorn named Showcase—had pressed her bowl away from herself and was leaning on an elbow, listening intently to Applejack. “We had house cleaners and tutors and gardeners and everything, and then he got all up in arms about how I lounged about the house all the time not doing anything.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “All it took was somepony to give me something to do and I fell in love. Wake up, do your job, get paid, spend it on things that make you smile. The perfect life for me.”
Applejack nodded along with her, and reached out and patted her on the back when she had finished. “It’s nice to meet a pony who feels the same way.”
“Same to you. Applejack, was it?”
“Yup.”
“Nice to meet you, Applejack.”
“Likewise, Showcase.”
As they exchanged names and smiles, a whistle sounded from above, and it was as if a strange hypnotism had taken over the crew. All of them snapped up and sat straight at their seats, looking directly ahead. A wrinkled and scarred earth pony—almost as thick as Troubleshoes—stomped into the mess before scanning the room and grunting.
“Lights out in one hour!” she belted, causing Applejack to flinch. “Team two on two-thousand to oh-hundred watch. Team three on oh-hundred to four-hundred watch.”
“Aye, bosun!”
The huge mare stomped back out, and the crew visibly relaxed, heaving a heavy sigh all at once.
“That sort of order,” Showcase giggled, pressing back from the table. “That’s what I love. Ponies give me strange looks for it. I’m on the team two watch, so I’ve got to go get ready. Have a good night, Applejack.”
“Take care,” she replied, getting up with the other ponies. The ship heaved slightly in a larger wave, and she stumbled, garnering a hooffull of chuckles from various sailors. With one last look around the mess, she decided she was better off getting some rest, and returned to her cabin.