"Y'know they caught the guy that kidnapped Harissa, like."
Minerva thrust her spoon into her bowl with a clink, and a spray of pasty-white porridge stung my left cheek and Terrain's right. And I mean stung. I set my own spoon into of my untouched serving and pushed the bowl away. I hoped Prika was just short on resources, because whatever bubbled in our bowls left a lot to be desired.
The spirit across the table gleamed at Minerva’s reaction, eating it up as happily as he ate up his mushy breakfast. "Mm-hmm," he continued. He pulled his spoon out of his mouth and wagged it at my captain's face. "Commander went 'n' nabbed 'im last night. Guess you lot'll be packin' it in early, eh? Cryin' shame, that."
Terrain wiped his face with a napkin. "Harissa's safe, then?"
"Nah, commander's still on that job. Won't take 'im long, though—never does. He's a maverick, that one. He'll get the bugger talkin'."
"Who was it?" I asked. I don't know why I asked that. We only knew two stallions from the castle, and unless it was the king, I wasn't going to know the culprit's name. Just a really silly question all around.
The spirit—who I took to calling Portly, as I never did catch his actual name—made an unsure sound. He nudged his partner—a much skinnier, less alert stallion whose head was seconds away from falling into his meal.
"Eh? Who?" the second spirit muttered. Drowsy was his name. Perhaps. "Wot you want?"
"You know that guy wot gone and kidnapped Harissa, like? Wot's 'is name?"
"Wot you on about?"
"Ahhh, you know, that guy! Pilfered Ol' 'Arry? You told me 'bout 'im, you did."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"You’re imaginatin' things, bruv."
"Am not."
"Are too."
Terrain brought his hooves down on the table, jostling everypony's cutlery. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't sleep well… Sir?" he addressed Drowsy, "Could you please tell us who the stallion was that kidnapped Harissa?"
The sleepy spirit stared at the lieutenant, then the captain, then me, growing more and more unimpressed as he went along. He probably wondered why we were even sitting with them in the first place, when there were other empty tables in the dining hall.
It sure wasn't my idea.
"You lot sh' be ashamed," he declared.
"Yeah," Portly agreed. "Wait… Wot've they done, then?"
"You sh' be ashamed too," Drowsy continued, digging his spoon into his meal. "This day 'n' age, honestly."
"Go on, then, wot've we done?"
"You've assumed it wos a stallion that went and took 'er. That’s wot you've done. D'you even know wot year it is?"
"You're 'avin' me on. How could a little filly carry a big girl like 'Arry around?"
"It wasn't a filly, bruv, it was a mare, like. And I'm not one fer the phy-sicks and the sir-cum-stances of how they gone and done it, all I know is who gone and done it."
"Go on, then."
Minerva and I leaned closer to the spirits, while Terrain brought a spoonful of porridge to his mouth.
"S'obvious when you think on it," Drowsy explained. "It wos that little filly who done took 'Arry's place, like."
My heart sank as far as Terrain's spoon, which crashed into his bowl and got Minerva back for the earlier spray.
"…Prika?" I muttered.
Drowsy nodded. "Commander locked 'er up 'n' even had time leftover to whip up our breakfast in 'er stead, like. Dynamite, he is."
"Run that by me again?" Terrain inquired, doing his best to ignore Minerva's subjugating smirk next to him.
"Ahhhh, that's right," Portly recalled. "Thought she deserved top chef's chair or wherever it is those guys sit."
Drowsy yawned. "Or girls, like."
"Aye, aye, or the girls, like."
Terrain pondered this new development. Or at least, he tried his very best, despite Minerva prodding the side of his face.
"Why are you so happy?" Terrain asked, making no effort to break free. "I thought you wanted to catch the kidnapper."
"Yeah," Minerva admitted, "but watching you be wrong is so much fun sometimes."
Rudely, Minerva and Terrain's banter was interrupted by the clamor of a dirty steel chain being thrown between us and the spirits. All five bowls jumped, and mine spilled all over the table. I didn't mind. I was fairly certain whatever was in that bowl had been dissolving my spoon. Besides, now with it all over the place, it was easier for a large and imposing grey dog to lay its head across the table and lick up what was left.
Maybe it would make him sick.
"Good morning, you three!" Commander Fellsaw shouted—his scars less pronounced in the dimly-lit dining hall than they had been in the candlelight. "Did you sleep well? I made your beds myself."
We all groaned, and his smile opened wide.
"Heard the news, I presume? It's too bad things didn’t work out like you wanted."
"Cryin' shame," Portly said. "S'what we were sayin', like. Ain't that right?"
Drowsy concurred, "Proper cryin', that shame."
"Shut up, you two," the commander ordered. "And stop with those ridiculous accents—you're natives."
"…Sorry, sir," Portly and Drowsy responded in sync. They picked up their breakfasts and hurried off to another table.
"So!" the commander continued. "Hope you three haven't unpacked yet. I imagine you'll be on your way soon."
"The king decides when we leave," Terrain recited from the dossier, even though he had left it with his bags in our room.
Charles stopped his licking and restarted his growl-at-the-lieutenant routine. Like no time had passed since the night before.
"Well, that's why I'm here!" Fellsaw elated. "Their Royal Majesties have requested your presence."
****
Would it be bad to say I was a little happy about the news? Granted, the girl that had been so friendly and hospitable to us was locked up in a cell in Pinery's darkest dungeon, but it's not like she was hurt or anything. And if she really did have Harissa stuffed away somewhere then who was I to say she shouldn't be in jail?
Besides, it sounded like we'd be on our way home soon! And although we hadn't done anything per se, nopony would be able to tell from our mission records. Not with the fresh red "SUCCESS" that would soon be stamped in them, that's for sure. All that was left to do was have one last chat with the King and Queen—two of the nicer ponies we had met the previous night—and there were no stressful introductions to worry about this time!
All things considered, I'd say it wasn't horrible that I was a tad happy about the situation. I even found a spring in my step that I forgot I had.
It's just too bad it wouldn't last. And the first thing to hamper it was a stark realization about something the King of Pinery had said to us the night before.
'It looks better on the inside.'
An easy claim to make in the dark, but now that Celestia's sun was illuminating Castle Pinery from top to bottom (despite the overcast's best efforts), I could test that theory, and confirm that it was utterly misguided.
Planks were splitting. Walls were leaking. There were holes in the ceiling leading to nowhere but ashen sky. The railings along the staircase that led up to the throne room were partially torn on one side, and missing altogether on the other. The thought of the pleasant and finely groomed king and queen even living inside this castle let alone ruling it was bizarre. The scraggly, battle-worn commander and his loyal, deranged hound? They looked like they owned the place.
They acted like it too. Back in Equestria, if you ever wanted to speak with the Princess, no matter what your title was or how important you thought it made you, you knocked on the throne room doors. When we arrived at the towering, decades-old portal leading to Pinery's throne room, Fellsaw just opened it, ushered us inside, and shut the doors behind us. He did not follow us in.
The inside of Pinery's most private room was a lot like the rest of the castle, except it was somehow even worse off. The ceiling was no longer missing—the pieces of it could clearly be seen strewn about the floor, or hanging from the openings they were supposed to seal. Fallen pieces of wood had torn the (formerly) red carpet, while other tears in the fabric had no discernable origin, just like the stains of different colors all along its length.
The highlight of the room had to be the royal couple—still wearing the same furred cape and engulfing gown from the night before. When the doors latched shut, the royals snapped to attention and got off their thrones—each missing the inside legrest.
"Please, forgive the mess," the King said as they approached. "We haven't had much time to clean lately."
"We heard the news," Terrain replied after our bow. "Does this mea—?"
The king's front hoof shot upright in the air. He peered past us to the tall, wooden doors, where a pair of thin shadows rested underneath. A few seconds passed, an angered sigh could be heard, and the shadows disappeared to the sound of heavy hoofsteps and soft pawsteps.
"Okay…" Terrain intoned. "What's going on?"
That question had to be asked. If not by Terrain, then by Minerva, or even me. It was too curious. Too pressing.
But if I had the ability to go back in time and change just one tiny thing about our mission, it would be to make sure none of us ever asked that. The question itself wasn't a big deal, but the answer. The answer changed everything.
"Harissa Honeycomb," the king started. His jaw quivered. He mouthed the next two words instead of saying them. The Queen laid the side of her face across her husband's back and withdrew a tissue from a pocket in her gown. The king inhaled, exhaled, and finished. "…Harissa Honeycomb is dead."
The throne room wasn't big enough for those words. I could swear I heard them echo.
The king's eyes watered, but he bit his lip and forced them to dry out. His wife gently removed a tear from her face with a wisp of magic.
I'd never been told something like that before, so I hadn't a clue what to say. Maybe I wasn't supposed to say anything, but I also didn't know what to do with my face.
So I did what I always did. I looked to my friends for guidance.
Terrain was sullen, the point of his hoof pressing hard on the bridge of his nose. Minerva, meanwhile, let her mouth hang open, while her nose wrinkled further and further until she looked ready to draw her sword on whoever spoke next.
I couldn't use those expressions. They were so determined. So I just looked down at my hooves and waited for something, anything, to shatter the silence.
Terrain obliged. "That's not the commander's take on it," he pointed out. "What makes you so sure?"
Queen Nevergreen inhaled and shouted, "Because we buried her!" Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. She floated her tissue up to her face and quietly apologized, while the king brought her closer with his wing.
"She found the body herself," he explained.
A particularly thick cloud passed in front of the sun, dimming what little light reached the throne room.
Terrain cleared his throat. "Why do I get the feeling we're the only ones you've told?"
"Because you have good instincts, Lieutenant," the king answered. "We only hope you will continue to keep this a secret."
Minerva's teeth shot closed, but her mouth stayed open. "Why?" she snarled, surely only seconds from breathing fire. I sidestepped twice away from her.
"Because we don't know enough," the king replied. "We don’t know who. We don’t know how. And we have no earthly idea why."
"And you want us to find out," Terrain surmised.
"We need neutrals," the king elaborated. "I trust you understand that there is a… discussion occurring behind the scenes here in Pinery. The discussion of our… possible… assimilation into Equestria. We have not told anyone of Harissa because we don't want her death to become political. It could have been an accident; it could have even been just a… sudden death with nobody to blame for it. But on the off chance it's not... Look, I know this is not what you signed up for, but would you three be able to help us?"
Terrain began to ponder. Minerva continued to glower. I, meanwhile, held whatever petrified expression I was holding, seconds away from turning on a bit and running away as fast as I could.
I didn't belong there. I was in over my head. A few seconds ago the only things weighing on my mind were a few botched sentences, some embarrassing nods, and a pair of lost saddlebags. And those thoughts were heavy. How was I supposed to deal with this?
The answer was simple: I couldn't. I was irrelevant, and I don't mean that in a self-hating way. I got cats out of trees and taught new recruits how to tie knots! I was not a life-or-death-scenario pony!
Whatever I was doing with my face now, Terrain noticed. His knife-like eyes stuck on me, and all I could do was squirm. He nodded at me. I nodded back, although I wasn't sure what for.
He turned to Minerva next, who also paid him a nod. And I realized what I had just signed up for.
"Well, alright," Terrain said to the king, battering my nerves. "We'll look into it. What can you tell us?"
"What?" I whispered. Nopony heard me. Or maybe I was being ignored.
"It happened… last week," the king recounted. "We had organized a dinner between ourselves and… and the commander. To settle some of the tension between us."
"Tension," Terrain noted. "What tension?"
"Just… tension, is all. Anyways, you see—"
Terrain waved a hoof. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, you're going to need you to do better than that."
I gasped. I shuddered in excitement. I'd never heard Terrain say anything more relieving in my entire life. That sharp, determined response was a beautiful reminder of something I still had going for me.
Our Priorities. Page 3 of that life-saving dossier.
Priority One didn't tell us to listen to the king's orders. Priority One didn't instruct us to find Harissa at any cost (or in this case, her killer). Priority One was simpler.
Keep each other safe. Every dossier had it, written right at the top of Page 3.
Minerva's angry glower, Terrain's courage to interrogate royalty—it was all in service to Priority One. I had nothing to fear with these two ahead of me. As much as a killer on the loose was a killer on the freaking loose, I knew three things: Terrain would find them, Minerva would catch them, and I would be safe so long as I stayed close.
I took a deep breath, stepped back towards my friends, and remembered why I was there.
To learn from them.
The king stuttered, even treating Terrain with a rocky stare. "The tension isn't relevant to Harissa."
"What do you think?" Terrain asked the Queen.
She chewed the inside of her lip and looked away. "We disagree with him… on the assimilation," she uttered, avoiding her husband's eyes.
"Alright, then," Terrain accepted. "Please continue, Your Majesty."
The king sighed and gathered himself. "The dinner was Harissa's idea, and she catered, as always. Her best-cooked meal and most selectively chosen wines. Before dinner was served… we found her in the kitchen."
"May we see this kitchen?" Terrain interjected.
"You may… Right this way."
The king cantered to a pair of double doors at the end of the throne room, followed closely by Terrain, and the still-scowling Minerva. Nevergreen and I were last, both caught in our own separate trances. Hers was focused on the torn carpet, while mine was on her.
She broke free and got to her hooves, pulling her gown together so she could walk easier. In the process, a translucent piece of her dress passed her right hindleg, and I caught a glimpse of her weapon. A sheathed dagger with a handle shaped subtly like a pine tree.
She adjusted her dress and watched me knowingly. I pretended I hadn't been looking, definitely didn't fool her, and listened to her leave the throne room.
And then I remembered my safety was getting away.