• Published 10th Jan 2012
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Archives of the Friendquisition - Inquisipony Stallius



A Warhammer 40K crossover. An Inquisipony and his team must uncover and stop a dark conspiracy.

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Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The servitors guided Caballus and Chief Corpus out of the ballroom, past another pair of guards who verified their identities, and down another grand hallway. Around the corner they passed through a second checkpoint, which led to a huge red-carpeted stairway.

This way. Lord,” the servitors said in perfect unison, neither bothering to look back. They glided up the stairs as effortlessly as if they were floating on a cloud. Caballus found the climb only slightly challenging; it seemed to go on for several stories, switching back a few times, but an Inquisipony had to be strong in body as well as mind and soul. Stairs were an unworthy foe.

Chief Corpus, on the other hoof, was huffing and puffing by the time they had reached the top. Thankfully it was also the end of their journey. At the top of the stairs, through a pair of tall, oak-panel doors, the servitors ushered them into a large dining room.

Round tables surrounded them, each seating about six, and the majority were already filled. Ponies in suits and dresses, uniforms and ballroom gowns. And everywhere, the ivory-masked servitors wandered the floor, serving drinks and plates of food. At the distant end of the room, the entire wall was absent, giving the head table a commanding balcony view of the ballroom from opposite the stage. Caballus and Corpus, however, were seated at one of the tables furthest from it.

Just behind them, in a shrine-alcove that almost took up the entire wall, stood a huge statue. The stallion was easily ten meters tall, carved from red marble, and had been polished until it seemed to glow hot in the bright lights of the great hall. The golden suit of armor it wore gleamed even brighter, the double-headed Equila wrought on the breastplate, and an equally resplendent gold laurel wreath sat on its head. In one foreleg, it cradled an ivory rod the size of a lamppost. Eyes fashioned from emeralds the size of Caballus’s head gazed toward some distant horizon beyond the other end of the room.

Their servitors poured the two each a fresh glass of punch, and disappeared to fetch the first course. Once they had left, Caballus craned his neck to get a look at the head table.

It was rectangular, as opposed to the rest, and slightly elevated above them. A few ponies sat there already, but there were also a few seats vacant, most conspicuously the throne-like chair at the end.

“It seems Meister isn’t here yet,” Caballus said.

Corpus shrugged. “It’s his party. He arrives when it pleases him to, usually once everypony else already has.” The servitors quickly returned with alfalfa salads and mixed fruits arranged in a sculpture of a pony. The Chief plucked an apple slice from the sculpture’s ear and popped it in his mouth.

“What about the rest?” said Caballus. “There are a few empty chairs up there.”

“There’s one I suspect will stay empty,” Corpus said through a mouthful of apple, “but then again you already met the late Seneschal Abacus. Another was probably for Meister’s partner from Zirruswolke, but word is they’ve had a falling out.”

“Oh?” It was the sort of thing that undoubtedly happened all the time in the business world, but the timing piqued the Inquisipony’s interest. “Why is that?”

“Nopony but Meister and the Meq-priest could tell you.” Corpus took another bite off the fruit sculpture. “Some say he profaned the Lunassiah right to old Uhrwerk’s face. Or that he smashed some unruly kitchen appliance, which might be the same thing.”

Not quite, Caballus thought, but he kept it to himself, and picked at his salad. By the time he had finished, two new ponies had entered the room to trumpeting fanfare. They made their way to Meister’s table.

The first was a broad-chested, copper-colored stallion about Caballus’s age, with a spiked, black mane and a heavy-hoofed stride. He wore a white suit with the Ver Kaufer crest on the breast, as well as a fierce, grim scowl. The second was a petite mare, azure of coat, and with her platinum mane done in the elaborate beehive that the upper classes seemed to favor. Her gown was equally white and equally adorned with Trade House’s emblem, encrusted head to hoof with sharp, clear diamonds. She glittered like a snowflake as she passed by.

“Who are they?” Caballus asked.

“Huh,” Corpus replied in mild surprise, “Meister’s brood actually decided to show up this year. Usually they can’t stand to be in the same room. The mean-looking one is Waffen Ver Kaufer. The sparkly one is Juwel.”

Tier had mentioned that he was third heir to the Warrant when they first met, Caballus remembered. Here were the first two, it seemed. “So I take it there’s not much sibling love between brother and sister,” he remarked, noting how they had taken places at the table as far away from one another as possible.

“Half-brother and half-sister,” Corpus corrected, “and the other son was a half-brother to the both of them.”

“So Meister’s had his three children by three different wives?”

At this, Chief Corpus burst into raucous laughter. It was so loud that ponies at nearby tables stopped their own conversations to glare at him. If the blue pony noticed, he didn’t show it.

“I’m sorry,” the Chief said as he brought his laughing fit under control, “but that’s the most out-towner thing I’ve heard in a long time. Meister’s had three children, yes, but three wives would be off by a far cry. He’s an unrepentant serial monogamist. It’s rare that a wife of his makes it seven or eight years without leaving him over stress, neglect, or becoming collateral damage in the latest assassination attempt. And then it’s right on to the next one.”

That was a fascinating tidbit, to be sure. Caballus spent most of his time leading up to the mission scrutinizing the Trade House’s business records; details of Meister’s personal life were sparse in the archives. He needed to gain a better measure of just who this stallion was.

“And you said he has another son?” Caballus knew full well about Tier, but he had an act to keep up.

Corpus frowned. “Had another son. Tier Ver Kaufer has been presumed dead since they found his ship abandoned and adrift in Pferdian airspace a few days ago. It won’t be announced publicly until the port authority has conducted an investigation on how it got there and where the crew went, but it seems less and less likely that he’ll ever come home.” He sighed and reached for another fruit. “It’s a shame, too. Tier always seemed like a nice colt, at least compared to his siblings.”

That was something Caballus hadn’t known. Now there could be no doubt: Sniffles and the Children were in Pferdian. The Glücksritter turning up right where he had predicted was the smoking pie, all the proof he needed.

“I take it the remaining two are trouble?” he said, playing down his interest in Tier’s ship. He would need to visit it himself soon.

Corpus grinned like a filly with a juicy morsel of gossip. “The both of them are real pieces of work, and that’s saying something in this room. Meister has been pitting them against one another their entire lives, to determine which should earn the right to succeed him as head of the Trade House. When they came of age, he put Waffen in charge of arms dealing, and Juwel got the luxury goods department.”

“And Tier?”

“Tier struck out on his own,” Corpus said, shrugging. “He was always the black ovid of the family. Never really wanted to play the big-shot Rogue Trader like the other two, except to travel the world and collect exotic creatures.” He shook his head and chuckled. “That colt, always showing up to these parties with a new pet, each weirder than the last. And he loved them all, too. Adored them. That’s the real tragedy of Tier: he was the only Ver Kaufer that ever loved anything besides power.”

Caballus wasn’t about to tell Chief Corpus the real story of Tier’s demise, and how much less fond of zoonos the trader-turned-traitor had likely been. Maybe the pony Corpus described—one with a kinder heart and a love of animals—had existed once, but the one Caballus had executed was a pitiful, twisted thing. That pity welled up again, as Caballus once again lamented just how far a pony could fall into the clutches of the Archenemy.

“But I suppose he’s the one you’re least interested in,” said Corpus, taking Caballus’s quiet reflection for boredom, “seeing as he’s no longer involved with the Trade House. I’d keep my eye on those two, if I were you. They have their own ideas about how they’ll run Meister’s empire, and I don’t think those plans involve any friends Meister makes in the meantime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Caballus said.

Any further questions he had were interrupted by the blaring of trumpets. A herald in all his ridiculously antiquated finery trotted through the oak doors and stood at attention.

“Presenting,” the herald shouted, “his illustrious Excellency, holder of the Ver Kaufer Warrant of Trade and head of that esteemed House, Governer-Mayor and Plutarch of all Pferdian: Meister Ver Kaufer!”

More trumpets drowned out the modest applause that greeted the Plutarch as he made his entrance. Everyone stood, and Caballus had to crane his neck to get a good look.

Meister strode into the room as though he owned the place, to which Caballus had to concede that he did. The stallion was the same ivory white as the uniforms of the guards that flanked him, and his short, dark mane had streaks of grey running through it. He had elected to wear a relatively simple suit, though even at a distance, Caballus could tell it was made of the finest materials: silks, velvet, and gold for the trim. An ornate scabbard hung from his belt as well, the hilt made from woven threads of silver and platinum. Meister made his way to his seat at the head of his table.

Corpus leaned over to Caballus. “Would you believe he’s almost two hundred?”

Caballus would have pegged him in his mid fifties, and still quite vigorous at that, but he was well aware of how deceptive such looks could be. The immensely wealthy could afford to visit their spas and receive age-defying Juvenat treatments, extending their vitality for a few extra centuries. It was quite common among highly ranked ponies in the Equestrian government and military as well, and even expected for Inquisiponies who survived into old age, to prolong their service.

A slew of new servitors swarmed amongst the tables. They brought each table a huge roasted pumpkin, stuffed with peppers, mushrooms, and cabbage. A traditional Pferdian delicacy, and one of the most delicious, Corpus assured him.

“Honored guests and loyal subjects,” Meister said with a rich baritone and not a hint of sarcasm, “tonight is a night of celebration and remembrance. Tonight, we honor the courage and heroism of our forebears, who wrested this land from heathens and zoonos against impossible odds. We commemorate their victory, and the founding of beloved Pferdian by the invincible conqueror, liberator of a thousand towns, greatest of the Lords Solar: Saint MacIntarius.”

The Plutarch gestured to the gold and red statue towering behind Caballus. The Inquisipony turned around to find servitors unfurling ancient tapestries on either side of the shrine, and lighting hundreds of candles at its hooves. They depicted scenes of beleaguered Equestrian forces standing their ground against an unspecific horde of darkness, and eventually overcoming them.

“Now feast, brothers and sisters. Enjoy the bounty the Princess provides, but never forget the blood and toil and glory it took to win it. Ave Imperatrix Celestialis.”

Ave Imperatrix Celestialis,” the guests answered, completing the prayer.

His traditional duties performed, Meister seated himself and the rest of the room followed. The sounds of revelry and consumption soon filled the air, and the stuffed pumpkins at each table started to shrink with every bite.

Although he did partake in the feast, Caballus always kept one eye on the Plutarch’s table. At different intervals, a servitor would approach a table, and bring one of the ponies over to Meister. He greeted them all amiably, and spent a few minutes talking and listening to each before sending them back to their seats. With all the ponies in the room, it was a couple hours before most of them had been given their due time, and many had already returned to the ballroom, including both the Ver Kaufer siblings.

Only scraps of the main course remained when a smooth-faced servitor appeared beside Caballus.

Captain Corsair,” it said, “the Plutarch has requested your presence. Lord. Please come with me.

“Here’s your chance,” Corpus said, toothpick working out bits of pumpkin from his teeth. “Maybe I’ll see you around… though I hope it’s not while I’m on duty.”

“Thank you,” Caballus replied. “I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble.”

Then, briefly considering all the possible outcome of his meeting with Meister, he looked over his shoulder one last time.

“But no promises.”