The Markets of Numubya

▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░ ░░██████▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░ ░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░ ░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒░░ ▒▒██▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒░░ ░░▒▒▓▓▓▓██████████▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░▒▒░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░▒▒██████▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░ ▒▒████▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░ ░░▒▒████████████████████████▓▓░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒ ████████████████████████████▓▓▒▒▒▒░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ████████████████████████████▓▓▒▒▒▒░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓████▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓████▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░ 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“They have hash,” Pique said, picking the last of his lunch from the crook of his beak. A piece of cartilage from the rat he’d just devoured had become lodged there, and he used his pinky talon to dislodge it. “Right there in the open. You can buy it with bits.”

The sound the talon made against his beak was something like a metal scraping tool against a tooth. Springa cringed. Let it alone, she thought, repressing a shiver. A little bit of rat in another griffon’s beak wasn’t any of her concern. 

“Have you seen any of our ponies buying it?” she asked Pique.

“A few. No one important.”

“They’re all important. Especially when they’re on guard duty.”

“They’re not smoking it on guard duty. They worship you, Springa. They’d sooner fall on their swords.”

She let out a low hmm, not sure how to acknowledge that last morsel without coming across like an ass. “Still, I don’t like the idea of them smoking when they might be called to fight at any moment.”

Peque stopped digging in his beak long enough to shrug. “We know they never attack on Thursdays, so they get high no Wednesday night.”

“What if that changes?”

“The day we are attacked on a Thursday is the day all of Numubya converts to Diarchism. They pray on Thursdays. Never attack. Only pray.”

“So I shouldn’t punish anyone?”

“If you really feel like it’s getting out of hand, throw an officer in the brig for a night. But don't confiscate anything, and don’t make a show of it. The rank and file hate it here. Don’t give them a reason to hate it more.”

Springa tried to mull it over in her head, but every time she got close to an answer Peque’s talon made a scraping noise against his beak, and she remembered every awful tooth cleaning she’d ever endured as a foal, and there was no room in her mind for anything else.

She stood up abruptly. “Take me to the market. I want to see the hash stand.”

Peque raised an eyebrow. Just then, he finally liberated the piece of leftover lunch from his beak. He held it up in a moment of victory, then ate it a second time. 

Springa’s stomach flipped. The color was unmistakable--it was the poor rat’s tail.

---

Numubians of every shape and size stormed through the market, screaming their indignation at the prices, endlessly bargaining for better. The market was really three consecutive blocks of stalls spilling out into the street and filling up alleyways.

Springa kept her head clear by feeling the vibrations of stomping hooves through the ground and guessing how many ponies surrounded her. Her guess never fell shy of a thousand, and she was very good at guessing. 

“It’s the next street over,” Peque said into her ear. “Remember. Main street, scarf on. Alleyway, scarf off.”

Springa nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. In the main market thoroughfare, common decency laws were tightly patrolled by the local religious police. Any mare without a male escort and a headscarf was liable to be dragged away for “questioning.” The alleyway, however, was where the drug dealers and pornographers plied their trades. Mares weren’t allowed to set hoof in there, so Springa had to appeal to her higher authority as an Equestrian soldier. 

Do what you need to do. Piss off as few locals as possible. Don’t lose your headscarf. The shawl felt bulky wrapped around her helmet, but she dared not remove a shred of armor and make herself even more of a target. 

As they turned into the alleyway, the din of the market abated somewhat. The light shifted as the shadows of buildings smothered them. Springa set her headscarf around her neck and pressed closer to Peque. 

The hash stand was directly ahead. The owner, a stout mare with fur the color of bricks and shockingly blue eyes, tensed as the two approached. 

“I have my papers in the back room,” she said. Her voice sounded strained. Springa noticed there were bruises around her neck. Where had they come from, she wondered?

“We don’t need to see your papers,” Springa said. “We’d like to know how many soldiers come through here each week.”

The seller frowned. “I don’t keep track.”

“Try to remember. Guess.”

“Springa,” Peque mumbled gravely. 

Springa tried another question. “Do you only sell hash?”

The seller shook her head. “We sell many things. Sleeping aids, antiinflammatories, herbal supplements. Aphrodisiacs.” Her eyes shifted between Springa and Peque. “We also sell numbing agents for those engaged in matters where size is an obstacle.”

Springa’s face went redder than the seller’s fur. She could feel the crooked smile on Peque’s beak. “That’s not necessary, no.” 

“Then I don’t know what you want. Please leave, you’re scaring off customers.”

“Do you sell sand basin mushrooms?” Peque asked suddenly. 

The seller nodded. “We sell teachers, mothers, and jealous lovers.”

“I would like to purchase some jealous lovers. Five grams.” Before Springa could object, Peque had fished a bag of imperial bits out of his pocket and exhanged it for a tiny cloth drawstring. He looked inside, nodded his head, and turned. “Thank you. We’ll be going.”

Springa remembered to put up her headscarf as they approached the mouth of the alley. “Are those what I think they are?” she asked. 

“I don’t know what you think they are.”

“Dammit Peque, I don’t want that stuff in my camp. It’s bad enough my troops have a hash problem.” 

She was about to ask him to give them back or sell them to someone else when they heard a commotion in the main marketplace. A table overturned. Coins jangled. A mare screamed. 

The two raced to the main market just in time to see two Numubians, their faces obscured by masks, draw their swords and cut into the marketgoers. They moved in opposite directions to each other, attacking civilians seemingly at random. Terrified ponies in full-body shawls stampeded away from them, some falling to the ground and curling up, others trampling them in their haste.

Springa turned her head and bit down on the grip of her sword. Just as she was about to draw, Peque put a massive talon on her chest and pushed her back into the shady alleyway. 

Fury leapt into her eyes. She slapped Peque’s arm away. “Coward,” she growled. “C’mon.”

Peque pointed across the bloody marketplace. Another half dozen Numubians had appeared at the opposite entrance, all wielding curved swords. They formed a line and advanced towards the crush of civilians in the center. Whether they were with the initial two attackers or not, she couldn’t tell.

Springa’s iron composure finally started to crack. The smell of blood filled the hot air, cloying and metallic. She spared one final glance at the body of a mare on the ground, her limbs twisted up in her black full-body covering. 

Then she turned tail and ran.

---

Back at camp, Springa and Peque sequestered themselves in her tiny administrative office. She played with the safety latch on her sword’s holster. Peque poured the contents of the drawstring onto the table and picked at them with a talon. 

“Have you ever tried psychedelics?” he asked. 

“No.”

He looked at her with sad sincerity in his eyes. “Would you like to? We’re safe in here.”

“No.”

Peque took the hint and stowed them in your bag. “Don’t hate yourself over what happened. There was nothing you could do. Ponies die like rats. It happens all the time.”

“We’re here to prevent that from happening. That specifically. Ponies in masks cutting down civilians.”

“We’re here to kill everycreature who aligns with the crown prince.”

The clasp on her hilt forgotten, Springs put her head in her hooves. A sigh slipped into a sob, but she caught it before it could come out. Still, she was certain Peque heard it. She didn’t care anymore. Let him think whatever he thought. Sometimes she wanted to rip that griffon’s beak off and stab him to death with it. Let him squawk with no face, let him bleed--

The thought capsized her, a small boat in a vast ocean storm. She took a deep breath in, then out. She knew how to right herself when these thoughts invaded. She could conquer herself just like she could conquer Numubya. 

“We’re going to decrease patrols around the marketplace,” she said in an even voice. 

“Decrease?”

“The market’s a deathtrap, and you know it. The less time my ponies spend around there, the better.” A long pause filled the room. “And I’m gonna put that lieutenant mare, Hardtack, in the stocks tomorrow.”

Peque stood up. “No. I won’t allow it. Hardtack is the most beloved quartermaster in the entire company. Politically, that’s a very bad idea.”

“I know. I’m bleeding some capital with the troops to reinforce my position on the hash question. It has to stop.” 

Peque gave her a long, harsh look. He seemed to be probing for some weakness, some chink in her armor he could slide a word into and cripple her. But he found none, so he set about gathering up his jealous lovers back into the drawstring bag.

“And if I see those again,” she said, pointing to the bag,” I’m confiscating them.”

He let out a wan laugh. “If you want to try, Springa, you need only ask.”

Peque left to hunt for some more dinner. With the rations as strict as they were, no doubt he wouldn’t be alone. How much longer could they poach rats before there were no more rats to poach?

She looked outside. Sure enough, she saw the distant lumbering shape of Peque notice something scurry behind a supply crate. He lunged out of sight. The boxes trembled, then went still. There was always another rat.