Love, Sugar, and Sails

by DSNesmith

19. Just Enough Rope

Rye woke with just enough time to flail his legs before his face hit the floor.

“Urgh,” he moaned into the wood, feeling the familiar ache start spreading through his head. He pushed himself upright, gingerly massaging his nose. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken it after a week of smashing it on the floorboards every morning. Rye glared at his treacherous hammock, swinging innocently.

Around him, the other crewmates were getting dressed for the day. He must have slept late. Oh, but so worth it, he thought with a grin, running a hoof absently along his bottom lip.

After fumbling with the hammock, he retrieved his green bandana and tied it securely around his head. His shirt and vest were still on from the day before, and the day before that. He never took them off, even in private. The chance that someone would see his wings was too great.

Rye wrinkled his nose. After three weeks in the same two pairs of clothing, he was starting to feel—and smell—rather ripe. Sadly, he’d have to wait till they got back to Zyre for a proper wash. Fresh water was too precious on the open sea to waste on bathing; and besides, he didn’t dare risk washing off his speckles and fake cutie marks. Being filthy was preferable to being dead. He could take some solace in the fact that nopony on the ship smelled much better, including Tyria.

He followed the rest of the pirates up to the deck, where they would receive their daily tasks from Zab. Rye hoped he wouldn’t be bilging out the hold again. His hooves still ached from running up and down the stairs all day.

Out in the open air, he took a deep breath. The ocean air was pleasant and cool today, with just a hint of the always-present salty scent. It hadn’t given him any more panic attacks lately. Those private moments with Tyria were marvelously therapeutic. He hadn’t been seasick much, either. He was sure he’d turn into a useless ball of quivering nausea the first time they ran into really rough water, but so far the voyage had been smooth and breezy.

The crew lined up on the deck as they did every morning. The first mate would start at the far right end of the line and work his way down, assigning individual duties for the day. Rye looked to his left and caught a glimpse of Tyria, six zebras down. Their eyes met, and they gave each other small nods, but no more. They’d already drawn too much attention to themselves yesterday to risk more.

Waiting for their next private conversation was always torture. It wasn’t just the necking sessions that Rye loved, it was the chance to talk about family and home, to take their minds off of this whole mess for a while and pretend things were normal.

The necking was pretty wonderful, though.

Zab paused in front of him. “Apricot, you’ll see that the bow deck is shining spotless by the end of the day. I want to see my reflection in those floorboards.”

Rye nodded. As Zab moved on, he left the line to go find soap and a bucket.

After he’d tracked them down, he made his way to the front end of the ship, dropped the bucket to the deck, and pulled out the brush. He placed it on the wood and pressed both hooves on top, and then began to scrub.

Cleaning the deck was mindless work. His thoughts were free to wander, but these days they never wandered far. Once he and Tyria were free of the pirates, it would be simple enough to warn the Marquis about Breyr’s coming attack. They weren’t sure when exactly it was coming, but Breyr clearly planned to move sometime in the next month or sooner. If the Navy was prepared for him, even a dozen of their ships would be able to hold the city against the rag-tag pirate flotilla. Maybe the Marquis would even be grateful enough to let Equestria send the extra escorts the Princess had requested.

Although he wasn’t sure he really wanted that. Rye frowned as he scrubbed at a stubborn lamp oil stain on the wood. The sooner the Marquis caved, the sooner his mission would be over, and then he’d be on his way back to Canterlot for the Princess’s next job.

He’d just have to find some excuse to stay here. Some reasonable pretense like I want to monitor the political situation here further for a while or I might be able to improve trade relations if I have another month. Somehow he doubted the truth would get him the reprieve he needed.

Dear Princess Celestia; I’ve fallen madly in love with the girl of my dreams, and I need more time to win her heart. P.S., haven’t written due to pirate kidnapping.

While the Princess had a sense of humor, he wasn’t sure it was large enough to let her most valuable diplomat go to waste, even for a month. Despite the self-deprecation back in that cage, he knew he had an important job. For instance, if he hadn’t worked out that border dispute with the Isle of Cariba last year, Equestria might have been caught up in a messy legal or even physical battle for decades.

But he couldn’t leave, not so soon. He just needed more time to…to what? Rye paused his scrubbing. Just how serious am I about this?

As serious as I’ve ever been about anything, he realized, startled. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

They’d only known each other for a little over a month, but lethal danger had a way of showing what a pony was really made of in a very short time. Tyria was silk covering steel; a quiet and gentle artist with an inner determination and loyalty that was utterly unbreakable. She’d proven that much back on the island.

As for his side of things, well, she’d already encountered the worst of his insecurities and flaws, and she still seemed interested. Rye scrubbed the wood, feeling that wonderful lovesick idiocy fluttering through his chest again. She’s amazing. And for some reason, she likes me back. Yes, he thought with growing enthusiasm, I want to marry this girl.

But not so soon. They needed time, still, time to let their relationship flower. He’d wait at least, oh, four months before asking her. Three months. Two. No, three. He didn’t want to make her feel pressured.

Unless she asks first. It was usually up to the mare to take the lead in marriage proposals, but that tradition had been slowly dying out for centuries. If she asked, he’d accept in a heartbeat, but he wouldn’t put her under that spotlight until he was absolutely sure she loved him as much as he loved her.

Of course, what if she thinks I’m just stringing her along, and loses interest? Arrrgh. Rye scrubbed more intently, paying no attention to the now-spotless wood.

Before he could argue himself into further circles, there was a shrill whistle from high above in the crow’s nest. Rye’s head jerked up, and he dropped his brush into the bucket, alert for the news he’d been waiting for for days.

“Ship off the port bow!” yelled the zebra on watch. “Flying Antellucían colours!”

Zab, up near the captain's quarters, placed a hoof in his mouth and gave an even louder whistle. “All hooves on deck!”

There was a mad scramble as the crew assembled. A group of zebras emerged from the hold with several heavy chests. The chests were placed near the starboard railing, and the pirates pressed around to grab at the weapons within.

Hatchets, machetes, and spears flashed around as the crew armed themselves. When it came Rye’s turn, he took a small axe, judging it to hold the least chance of accidentally lopping off his or somepony else’s limbs.

The pirates stepped away from the armory chests, lining up on the side of the ship in preparation to board. Rye heard a clunk and turned to see the bosun, who had set down a small blue chest beside the weapons. He felt a chill as he realized what must be inside. I guess they’re going to wait to see if it’s needed. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be. Rye was seriously hoping the antelopes would simply give up. He hated bloodshed, especially for something this pointless.

The Antellucían ship was coming into view on the horizon. Rye felt a thrill of anticipation at the sight of his and Tyria’s ticket to freedom.

But as the Nightingale drew closer, his heart began to sink. The other vessel wasn’t fleeing from them. In fact, it didn’t appear to be moving much at all. After another minute’s approach, it became clear why.

The ship was in shambles. Of her three masts, only the farthest bow mast remained standing. The middle one was shattered into three pieces held together only by fraying cords, dangling limply over the side like a dead fish. The rearmost mast was completely missing. The sails were barely attached to the yards anymore, flapping freely in the wind against their few remaining tethers. The cracked paint on the side that read Cevanah was barely legible. The entire ship appeared to be listing slightly to starboard.

Already, Rye could feel his plans crumbling away under his hooves. He grimaced. What on earth happened to it? Well, it might still be able to get us back to Zyre. We can’t know until we board. A little hope was better than none.

The Nightingale pulled alongside the devastated vessel, her sails furled. The pirate ship slowed to a stop, drifting with her prey.

The pirates brought out the boarding planks and lay them across the gap between decks. Thirty-odd zebras raced across, brandishing their weapons and shouting curses. On the other side, the antelope crew appeared to have gathered on deck, but to Rye’s pleasant surprise they were not holding weapons or preparing spells.

“Hold up, lads,” said Captain Zevan, his strong voice cutting through the din. The pirates slowed to a halt on the deck, surrounding the clump of antelopes. The rest of the crew continued streaming onto the ship behind them.

One of the antelopes stepped forward. “I am the captain of the Cevanah. Who am I addressing?”

Zevan pushed aside the zebras in his way to meet the captain with a broad grin. “A Captain, are ye? I be one meself. Though it looks like I’m a better one than you are.” He pointed up at the ruined mast. “Have a bit of trouble with the weather, eh?”

The antelope captain appeared to bite back a growl. “We’ll offer you no resistance, pirate, so long as you leave the oars and enough supplies for us to make it to one of the islands in the archipelago.”

Zevan eyed him for a few moments, then nodded. “Fair enough.” The leering smile returned. “Ye heard him, boys! His ship’s too heavy to get to shore! Let’s help him out like the fine neighbors we be.”

The pirates laughed, sticking their weapons into their belts. Rye gave a nervous chuckle, trying not to show his relief.

Zevan began talking to the other captain in a low voice, no doubt demanding a full manifest of the cargo. From somewhere else in the mob, Zab’s voice called out, organizing groups to clean out the ship.

“Lem! You and Zadagon take a team of five and haul all the rum and wine over. I want the liquids stored first, so they’re not sloshing around while we try to steer. Tyria! You can write, can’t you? Go with them, and keep track of our haul. I want every crate and barrel accounted for. Apricot! Apricot! Apricot, you lazy dwarf, where are you?”

Simmering at the height crack, Rye pushed his way toward the belligerent first mate. “I’m right here,” he spat, summoning his best diplomatic abilities to not insult Zab’s intelligence, parentage, or personal hygiene.

Zab gave him a disfavoring look. “You stay up here on deck and guard those antelopes.”

“Alone?” asked Rye, incredulous.

“They won’t try anything,” said Zab, waving a hoof. “And if they do, don’t worry, I don’t expect you to stop them. Your screams’ll be enough of a warning.”

Rye bit down on any of the responses that leapt to mind, simply bowing his head and heading off toward the antelopes. He might as well make the most of the opportunity.

The antelopes had gathered toward the bow of the ship, near the railing. There were about twenty or so, with long, curved horns. They looked a little worse for wear, but relatively unharmed. The captain looked up as he approached. “Does Captain Zevan require something?” His quavering voice betrayed the calm on his face.

“No, everything’s fine,” said Rye. “I’m just here to make sure nobody does anything stupid.”

The antelope swallowed. “I see.”

Rye gave him a friendly smile. “My name’s Apricot. What’s yours?”

The captain raised a wary eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, there’s no reason we can’t be polite.” Rye extended a hoof.

“My name is Tenerico,” said the antelope, still eyeing Rye cautiously.

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Rye, with a bow of his head. He gave up on the hoofshake and lowered his leg. “So, Captain, how’d you end up in this mess?”

Tenerico sighed. “It’s my own damn fault.” One of his crewmates, a weary-looking doe, gave an irritated grunt of affirmation. Giving her a dark look, the captain continued, “The pirate attacks in this area have gotten especially bad of late. I hoped we could avoid your lot by skirting the Serpent’s Maw.”

Rye tilted his head. “The what now?”

“The Maw. You know, the most dangerous spot in the entire Carriagibbean?” Seeing Rye’s blank expression, Tenerico tried again. “The reason most merchants avoid this part of the sea? Well, it and the lodestone. And the pirates.”

“Look, I’m… new to the area. Mind explaining?”

Tenerico now seemed more curious than frightened. “You’re different from most pirates I’ve met.”

“More than you know,” said Rye, dryly.

With a shrug, Tenerico continued. “Well, the Serpent’s Maw is a gigantic maelstrom at the southern end of the Serpent Archipelago. It gobbles up any ships unlucky or stupid enough to wander in, hence the name.”

“How big, exactly?”

“The central vortex is supposed to be a few hundred feet wide, but the tidal currents extend out for miles around it. They can spit you all the way out at the lodestone near Shipwreck Isle on the other side of the channel.” Tenerico shook his head. “But the real danger isn’t even the currents or the swirling whirlpool at the center. There’s a vast storm that hangs over the maelstrom at all times, causing winds and waves powerful enough to destroy ships completely before they ever reach the center. It’s been raging for nine hundred years without stopping.”

“That seems awfully specific. What happened nine hundred years ago?”

“Phoenixia, of course.” Tenerico frowned. “Surely you know the story.”

Rye waved a hoof. “Yes, yes. Power-crazed nobility, fountain of youth, volcano, pride is dangerous, blah, blah, blah. What does that have to do with this whirlpool?”

“Well, when the volcano erupted and the city slid into the sea, the magic they released had to go somewhere. It’s said that it still pours out of the earth, causing the whirlpool and the storm.” Tenerico sighed. “The latter was our fate. In our efforts to avoid the pirates, we strayed too close to the storm, and our sails were caught by the winds before we could furl them and row away. Our escort, a frigate half again the size of your ship, vanished in the chaos. For all I know, they’re dead.” His face fell. “The captain was my cousin.”

Rye felt a twinge of pity. “What will you do now?”

“We’ll never be able to make it to Zyre in this state. Our only hope is to make for one of the nearby islands, where we can live off the vegetation for a week or two while we use the trees to make repairs. Palms are worthless for shipbuilding, but they’ll let us patch the Cevanah together long enough to limp back to Zyre, or at least to Zendruga on the northern end of the archipelago.”

Rye cursed inwardly. So much for our plan. “Well, I wish you luck, Tenerico.”

“Thank you,” said the antelope, blinking in bafflement. He offered nothing else, and Rye did not pry.

It did not take the Nightingale’s crew long to empty out the cargo hold. Rye watched, impressed despite himself, as the pirates swiftly unloaded every ounce of sugar, rum, and gold the Antellucíans had carried with them. He caught occasional glimpses of Tyria, paper in hoof and quill in mouth, but there was never a chance to speak to her about their ruined strategy.

The chance finally arrived when one of the zebras she was supervising dropped a barrel. It rolled across the deck toward Rye, thundering across the wood. He stopped it with his front hooves, looking up just in time to see Tyria hurrying to him.

“Good work, Apricot,” she said.

Rye wasted no time. “The ship’s ruined,” he whispered. “It can’t get us back. We should stay on the Nightingale when it leaves, or we’ll be stuck here for months.”

A grimace flashed across her face. “I’ll get this barrel on board, then.” She lifted it onto her back and trotted away.

Rye racked his brain for ideas. His plans always seemed to fall apart at the last minute. Just once, Celestia. Just once is all I’m asking. Maybe they could wait until the ship swung around north of the archipelago and try rowing a lifeboat to Zendruga, and catching a ride back to Zyre from there. Of course, Zevan was planning to deliver a message somewhere in Zyre. They’d have to go there at some point before the attack. But leaving her in the pirates’ hooves was not an option, and he had a feeling that Tyria would be closely watched while the Nightingale was in port.

Come to think of it, how was Zevan managing to get in and out of the city? Especially with the military checkpoint at the opening of the bay. There was no way any half-competent Navy captain wouldn’t be able to tell this was a pirate ship on even the most cursory inspection.

Breyr must have them on the payroll, Rye realized with a chill. Some of them, at least. I wonder if that’s what all his crewmembers are doing in Zyre. Did the Marquis know her military was compromised? How far up did the corruption go? And how in the blazes was Grypha involved? He still remembered that overheard conversation with Tatius Gableclaw.

Rye was starting to realize just how big this was. Breyr might not be mad after all. If this attack of his is being backed by somepony in Zyre's political system, or some third interested party, he could have a chance of holding the city. And by extension, the ocean.

They desperately needed to inform the Marquis. And now, Rye intended to go straight to her, without informing any potential traitors in her midst. But how to get to her?

Someone yelled from the rear of the ship. “Ship! Ship off our stern!”

Beside Rye, Tenerico sat up. “A ship?” His face lit with joy. “It must be the Caraninto! My cousin’s ship! They survived the storm, after all!”

Rye only had a second to process this before Zab’s shrill whistle broke the air. “All right, lads! We’ve got enough of the booty, time to make ourselves scarce.”

Yes! Rye looked around excitedly, trying to find Tyria. This is it! We’re home free once that frigate gets here. Just let the pirates run away, they won’t notice we’re gone till they’re far away from here.

No doubt the captain of the frigate would want to chase down the pirates once he'd made sure the Cevanah was capable of making it to shore. Rye would have to convince him to head for Zyre instead, but that would be no problem once the robes hidden under his shirt proved he was an Equestrian ambassador.

He scanned the deck for Tyria as the pirates stampeded for the boarding ramps. In the sea of moving stripes, he could find no blue. Worry wormed its way into his stomach. Most of the pirates had reached the ramps, they were running out of time. Finally, he caught sight of her—across the gap. She’d already boarded the pirate ship.

Tyria made eye contact, and Rye waved for her to come back across. Her eyes widened as she realized what he meant.

She tried, but the press of zebras in the other direction was too thick. Tyria shoved against them, but the crew pushed her back onto the pirate ship. The planks began sliding back across the gap. Tyria scrambled to the railing, meeting Rye’s eyes. She bit her lip, and shook her head.

Rye took one look at the ship that was closing in the distance, the best shot he might ever have at freedom, and weighed his options. It might have been the easiest choice he’d ever made.

He took off running for the boarding ramps. The last was being pulled away by a hurried zebra just as he leaped into the air. His hooves touched down hard on the wood, stopping it for a brief moment. Rye thudded down onto the deck beside the zebra, panting. The pirate yanked the plank over after him. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

Rye ignored him, racing to meet Tyria. Zebras scurried all around the deck, preparing the ship for a hasty departure. In all the confusion, Rye and Tyria went unnoticed. They nearly collided beneath the main mast. Tyria, her eyebrows furrowed angrily, braced her hooves against Rye’s shoulders. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “You could have gotten away!”

“I’d never leave you behind,” he said with a simple smile. “You didn’t leave me.”

Tyria’s anger instantly melted away. Her hooves raised from his shoulders to his cheeks. “Rye…” She dropped her hooves, clearly wishing they weren’t in public. Suddenly conscious of how they might look to the pirates, Rye took a half step back. Tyria sighed, biting her lip again. “I… Thank you. I’m sorry. Let’s… let’s go look busy.”

“The lifeboats—can we steal one and get picked up by the antelopes?”

“There’s no way we could get it into the water before the crew noticed us.” Tyria frowned. “We’re so close, though. There must be some way.”

The Nightingale was pulling away. The sails unfurled above, instantly billowing in the wind. The wreck of the Cevanah began to slide away from them.

Rye stamped a hoof. “There isn’t enough time. Can we sabotage the ship in less than five minutes?”

Tyria shook her head. “Not subtly.”

“Maybe something in the loot—” Rye stopped as the idea hit him like a charging buffalo. “That’s it!” he said in a strangled whisper. “The loot! We can—look, meet me down in the cargo hold as soon as you can, okay?”

“Wait, Rye, what are you thinking of—”

“Tell you later. No time to lose!” Rye tore off for the cargo hold, eager to see if his new plan could work.

He charged down into the hold, slipping past a zebra carrying a crate, ducking under the barrel on another’s back, and entering the storage deck at last. It was filled to the brim with all the new cargo, a virtual maze of wood. Rye made a mental note of the hatches on the sides, and pressed inward.

Passing the little brig area that he dearly hoped he’d never sit in again, he arrived at the large collection of wine and rum barrels. They were incredibly valuable, judging from the labels, each one probably worth half his yearly salary. The wine, especially; a shipment of 286 Antraeus Red. The last time he'd been this close to a drink that expensive was his stay in the gilded halls of Dromedaria. Rye didn’t particularly care about the alcohol’s quality, though. More important was that the barrels would float.

He waited a few minutes until the last few pirates dropped off cargo in the hold. They rushed quickly back up the stairs to help get the ship moving. When he was sure he was alone, he began working on the ropes securing the barrels. It took him almost ten minutes to undo the first knots, but once they were loose he managed to wrestle one of the barrels off of the stack. The barrel was twice his weight, but he began making slow progress as he half-rolled, half-slid it around the crates and boxes toward the nearest hatch.

“What are you doing?” asked Tyria’s voice from behind him, sounding like an aggravated mother who’d found her colt pulling up her rose garden.

Rye grinned sheepishly. “Can I get a hoof, here?”

Tyria pressed a hoof to her forehead. “Do you realize what they’ll do if they catch us fiddling with the loot?”

“We’re alone down here, though. Everypony’s upstairs doing whatever it is they do to get the ship running.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Did it occur to you that Zevan might send someone to check on the haul?”

“I haven’t seen anyone. Except y—” Rye paused. “Oh.”

“Oh is right. You’re lucky I volunteered to double check the cargo list I made before he sent someone else.”

Rye swallowed. “Oops.”

Tyria sighed. “Rye, you’ve got to think these things through. I could have warned you if you’d just told me.” Her frown softened from annoyance to worry. “Don’t you want my help?”

Rye touched her shoulder, concerned. “Of course I do, Tyria. Without you we’d never have gotten off the island, let alone this far.” He smiled. “You’ve grown a lot from the shy, reserved little embassy officer I met a few weeks ago.”

She smiled. “That’s because I’ve been hanging around a lunatic. Some of it’s rubbing off on me.” Turning serious again, she said, “But please, Rye. Don’t go charging off every time you get an idea. I’m not psychic, we’ve got to communicate.”

He recalled that first day in the markets when he’d escaped her to go after Tatius. Tunnel-vision, Cranberry had said to him, once. Rye nodded, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I know I can get a little overenthusiastic sometimes.”

“You mean most of the time,” she said, rolling her eyes with a grin. “Just my luck. I had to pick a manic-depressive to fall in love with.”

Rye’s heart soared. “Tyria…”

She blushed. “Well, it’s true.” The grin returned. “And so’s the first part.” She nuzzled her head against his in equine affection. “What… what about you?”

“I love you more than anyone in the world,” he said, breathless. “You’re the best mare I've ever met, Tyria.”

“Again with the flattery,” she said, her face lighting up like a star. They kissed again, the taste of her lips as sweet as it had ever been. I used to think being close to someone was hard, Rye thought, pulling her closer. But she makes it so easy.

“Okay,” she said, once they ran out of oxygen. “Now what’s this crazy barrel idea of yours?”

“We’re going to leave that Antellucían ship a breadcrumb trail.” Rye tapped the barrel. “Zevan can’t hope to outrun an antelope interceptor forever. A heavy cruiser, maybe, but not a light military frigate. His only hope is to lose them on the open sea. We’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“Well, then,” said Tyria, wrapping a leg around the barrel, “Let me give you a hoof.”

For the next four hours, they hid down in the cargo hold by the barrels, shoving one out of the hatch every twenty minutes. Tyria left to give the first mate a progress report on the cataloging process every hour to allay suspicions. In the chaos of the pursuit, Rye’s absence seemed to be going unnoticed. Both ponies waited hopefully for a sighting of the frigate, but so far it appeared that Zevan was still keeping ahead of it.

They passed the time with conversation. Rye talked about some of his childhood misadventures with Cranberry, and Tyria yielded more about her siblings. She was halfway through a story about her sister trying to tame a wild raccoon when she gasped.

“Hang on a minute. I just noticed. Look behind you.”

Rye turned to see a familiar blue chest wedged into the mass of crates. His eyebrows rose. “Is that…”

“The elyrium, yes! Without that, the pirates won’t stand a chance against the antelopes.” She gave him a devilish grin.

He returned it. “Think that chest will float?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

Together, they hauled the chest over to the hatch and tossed it out into the waves. For good measure, they followed suit with all the spears, machetes, and axes that hadn't been claimed earlier. Rye dusted his hooves together as the last of them went overboard. “Good riddance.”

Tyria laughed. “I guess we don’t have a full stock. I’ll have to inform the bosun.” She yawned. “Speaking of which, I’d better go make another report.”

“Have fun.” Rye caught the contagious yawn.

“Back in a few.” Tyria stood and left.

Rye looked out the hatch and off behind the ship. He couldn’t see the frigate, and there was no way to tell if it was still following them. Still, they had to keep trying.

While he waited for Tyria to return, he was struck with a sudden idea. He began rattling some of the crates marked FRAGILE, stopping with a smile when he heard the clink of glass. The top had been pried off and replaced earlier by someone checking inventory, and was secured only by two loose nails. He managed to get it off easily enough, and was rewarded with a crate filled by high-quality wineglasses.

He pulled out two of them and re-closed the crate. He opened the spigot on one of the remaining wine barrels, filling the glasses and setting them on another low crate. After all, it would be a shame to throw all this wine away without at least trying it. He'd wait for Tyria to get back, though. Not fair to start without her.

The minutes dragged on, and Rye watched the gray afternoon turn into an equally gray dusk. The weather had been pretty dismal all day. He supposed it must have been due to those storms Tenerico had mentioned. He wondered how close they were to the Maw now. According to Tyria, Zevan was still sailing evasively, so for all he knew they were almost where they’d started. Part of him—that adventurous part—wanted to see the massive whirlpool for himself, though it was not something he was particularly desperate for.

Rye looked at the wineglasses and frowned. Tyria had been gone for a long time. Normally, she came back after fifteen minutes or less, but it had been over half an hour since she’d gone upstairs. Rye could still hear hooves creaking on the decks above, so he knew the crew was still attending to the ship. Still, he was starting to get worried.

She can take care of herself, he thought, twiddling his hooves. Maybe she’s playing cards with some of the crew. He’d be a little disappointed, but he could understand the need for keeping suspicions at bay.

He heard hoofsteps coming down the stairs and smiled. As they approached, he leaned back against the wall of crates with his wineglass in hoof. The steps came to turn around the opposite wall. “Welcome ba—”

Two zebras marched around the crates, machetes in their mouths. Rye's eyes shot open as he jumped to his hooves, dropping the glass. He scrambled backwards, but there was nowhere to go. The zebras were on him in seconds, followed by a third. They slammed him up against the wooden bulkhead, holding the machetes terrifyingly close to his neck. The third closed on him, glaring. He felt his stomach go into freefall when he recognized Zab in the dim lantern light.

“Take his shirt off,” ordered the first mate.

“No!” Rye jerked forward instinctively, but the zebras held him tight. One of them stuck a hoof under his shirt and ripped it up over his head. As the vest and white shirt came off, his yellow robes spilled out onto the deck. His wings spread for the first time in a week, incriminating beyond all excuse.

Zab’s face turned even colder. “Bring him to the captain.”

Comments

[Cystenian Remir Rhys]

One quibble; antelopes have horns, not antlers.

Besides my inner anatomist having that to say, excellent chapter and the ending has me on the knife's edge, such a cliffhanger!

[DSNesmith]

3848450
Gack, fixed it. I had elk on the brain for some reason.

[Cystenian Remir Rhys]

3848535

Smooth sailing from here on out, Word-Smithy.

sheppardsoftware.com/content/animals/images/mammals/gazelle_i_thompson.jpg

[Orthoros]

this story isn't getting the attenition it should have :( It's just sooo good :D

[Subatomic Seal]

I only have one word to say.

Shiet.

[Silver Wind]

Dat ending XD

[Connor085]

Dat ending