//------------------------------// // Day 58: The Water Palace // Story: Around the World in 81 Days (And Other Problems Caused by Leap Years) // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// One thousand and eighteen years ago, Queen Resonance, ruler of the Crystal Empire, commissioned a palace by the sea. She desired a chance to travel, and to see the world, and to meet strange merchants from foreign lands, who were generally disinclined to make the long inland journey to the capital. This she commanded of her loyal architects and engineers, who faithfully obeyed. The construction took over a decade, for the Crystal Empire was an arctic domain, and all its coasts were harsh things of ice and jagged rock that were deemed unsuitable for the construction of a welcoming home. Instead, her architects claimed a small uninhabited island in the western sea: a temperate place of golden beaches and warm air. It was a momentous decision. Never before had the Crystal Empire journeyed so far from its northern borders, and not all in the Imperial Engineering Corps realized the scale of the undertaking. Before construction could even begin, thousands of serfs had to be relocated to the island to serve as laborers, and tens of thousands of tons of construction materials had to be transported one crate at a time. Whole fleets of caravels were purchased, seized, or built for the endeavor. Port towns came into existence and then vanished. Lives were made and destroyed. But on the island’s shores, a crystal palace rose. No detail was spared in the working. The architects cleared the rest of the island to make its forests pleasant and welcoming, and constructed docks for the traders their queen desired. They created a picturesque town entirely from scratch, and then imported artists, artisans, and ponies of learning to live in it, so that the queen would have someone to talk to when guests were not in residence. The gardens were filled with exotic trees imported all the way from Zebraria, the caravel crews risking death to carry the plants through seas of black and white sails. Fifteen years after the project began, Queen Resonance arrived at last, carrying her infant daughter, Princess Cadence. The queen admired the settlement, praised the palace’s view, and tried the strange foreign custom of “sunbathing.” Cadence took some of her first stumbling steps along the golden beaches, cried when the water got in her eyes, and ate a sea shell. Their visit lasted a week. Then, Queen Resonance returned home to the capital. She never saw her palace again. “Princess Cadence! Princess Cadence!” one of the reporters called. Spike flinched as another camera flash went off, the light blazing down directly into his eyes. Twilight was having just as much trouble as him, staring straight ahead through the spots in her vision. The others seemed okay, though. There were six of them up on that stage: Princess Cadence, Princess Twilight, Spike, Shining Armor, Deputy Minister Red Tape, and the minister’s wife. Spike didn’t remember her name. “Yes yes, everypony, it’s good to see you too,” Princess Cadence said, waving to the mob of reporters and photographers like she was greeting an old friend. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but it’s been a long trip and we’ll be releasing an official press statement soon, so let’s keep this short. One question each, no followups.” Her hoof stabbed out, indicating a crystal pony in a white hat. “Mr. Silverhoof. Question from the Seasteader’s Almanac?” Twilight turned to follow where Cadence pointed, but the reaction was sluggish, her eyes wide as she took in the room. Nopony seemed to notice. The reporter paused to bow his head low to the ground, touching his forehead to the earth. “Good morning, Your Highness. What’s the purpose of your visit to the Water Palace?” “Conferring with the Deputy Minister on the political instability in the Kirian region.” Her words came out quick, clipped and to the point, far from her usual soft speaking style. Her hoof jabbed out to indicate a young dragon; a juvenile standing perhaps twice as tall as a pony. He had a little hat. “Next. Mr. Ignus?” “What’s your position on the Interspecies Marriage Act?” “Why, Mr. Ignus, are you propositioning me?” She laughed. The room laughed. Shining Armor swatted her with his tail. Twilight frowned. “For it, obviously. Adopted children have been a part of the Empire since the days of the Majordomo Carpet Pull. The act just gives additional legal support to that longstanding tradition.” She indicated another crystal pony—a young mare. “Good to see you again, Clarity.” Her forehead touched the ground. “You as well, Your Highness. In your most recent address to the legislature, you urged them to hasten the full enfranchisement of the diamond dog population. Given that more than a third of diamond dogs cannot read, how can you possibly expect them to be informed and responsible citizens of the Empire?” “In the battle of Emerald Gulf, First Sergeant Rex Quartz lost an eye, an arm, and both ears dragging wounded crystal ponies to safety from the fire,” Cadence said, her tone turning firm. “Including one of your great uncles, I believe. He was the first diamond dog to receive the Golden Circle for valor and the first diamond dog to be made a full citizen. He couldn’t read either. The diamond dogs have been a part of the Empire for three generations, and they’ve proven their loyalty. It’s time we acknowledged that fact.” Twilight’s frown intensified. Cadence didn’t notice. Her hoof shot out again, indicating a griffon. “Mr. Peck.” He lowered his head to touch the ground. “So then you support citizenship for diamond dogs who serve in the army or navy?” “Any creature good enough to fight and die for the Empire is good enough to be a full citizen of it.” Another point, this time to a pegasus stallion. “Mr. Stormchaser.” His head touched the ground. “What’s your position on the potential war across the Orlov and Kirian regions?” “I have never and will never condone aggressive warfare. Love is the mortar that holds the Empire together, and selfish conquest is anathema to that bond. In the end, aggression harms the attacker as much as it harms the victim.” She lifted her hoof, but before she could point, the pegasus reporter spoke again: “So are you stating that you will not support the Empire in the event of a Kirian war?” That got the room’s attention. Heads perked up. Cameras flashed again. Cadence’s rapid diction paused for half a beat. “If the Empire goes to war,” she finally said, “it will be a dark day for us all, and for the world. But you are my people, and I am your Princess, and the sun will never rise on a day I don’t support each and every one of you. Even you, Mr. Stormchaser.” Twilight turned to look at Cadence. Her mouth fell open half an inch. Cadence’s hoof pointed to somepony in the third row. “Next question. Go.” “Question for Princess Twilight!” the reporter called. His head stayed up. “During your trip around the world, you’ve been an outspoken advocate for peace. But you’ve notably refused to endorse the Treaty of Mutual Understanding between the Empire and Zaniskar. Why are you against the world’s best hope to avoid war?” Twilight fell silent for a long time, the seconds drawing out. She looked at Cadence. She looked at the room. Cameras flashed. “He betrayed his oldest friends because they stopped being useful to him,” Twilight finally said. “What’ll happen to him when he stops being useful to you?” The spell was broken. Anarchy reigned. Reporters shouted questions and yelled over each other to be heard. Photographers moved to catch it all with a lens. Newsboys dashed out the back with scribbled notes in their teeth, sprinting to be the first to bring the missives back home. “Silence!” The Deputy Minister roared, his hoof slamming hard against the floor. “You are in the presence of your princess, and if you think I won’t draft each and every one of you for this shameful behavior, you’ve got another thing coming!” The Deputy Minister’s incendiary glower swept the crowd. The room quieted. “Thank you, Red. But I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Cadence said, her voice as calm as ever. “I remind you all that Twilight is a Princess of Equestria, not a princess of the Empire. Her statements reflect her personal beliefs, not the government’s official position. And I do hope there’s enough dignity in this room not to speculate about a mare’s personal life like a filthy gossip rag.” She let that statement hang for a moment. A few ponies nodded. “Very good. No further questions for the moment, I’ll put out a press statement later today. See you all soon.” Cadence turned away, and the reporters started to file out. She took Twilight by the shoulders. “Let’s go speak in private, Twilight,” she said. “Now.” She left. Twilight left. Shining left. The Deputy Minister and his wife left. The reporters and photographers left. Then, Spike was alone on the stage. He stood there for awhile, watching the empty pit below the stage. Nopony else walked in. Eventually, he reached into his little travel bag and took out the list of errands that needed seeing to. It was a long list. He left the palace then and walked out along the golden beaches where Cadence had walked as an infant. They were the only undeveloped land on the island. So precious was space on the Resonance Isles that there was none of it to be wasted on frivolities like houses or roads. The original palace was the only building under six stories tall, and between the buildings, elevated walkways twisted through the air like winding ribbons. Banners hung from their sides, showing Cadance’s cutie mark. Nor did the construction stop at the island's edge, for where nature had placed the sea, the Empire had sunk crystal pylons as thick as the oldest redwoods and constructed a city upon them. As Spike walked over one of the long bridges, he could see the Amelioration carefully maneuvering its way between the pylons towards its dock. The crew waved. First, Spike went to the bank, cashing a rather large check. He spent fifteen of the bits getting one of Twilight’s dresses cleaned, and another ten replacing his travel iron, which had broken the previous night. Five more bits went to a bottle of Twilight’s preferred shampoo, and three towards some horseshoe polish. Twilight’s telegrams were free, but he tipped the operator a bit. The remaining sixteen thousand, nine-hundred-and-sixty-six bits were spent in an exclusive shop uptown. There they precisely covered the purchase of three items: rare tea, an exotic bottle of brandy, and a golden statuette from nearly a thousand years ago. These items Spike brought with him during his next errand to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, where those gifts were given to, respectively: a secretary, an undersecretary for diplomatic affairs, and a senior secretary for customs and excise regulations. Twilight’s paperwork was processed very quickly. By the time Spike finished in the Ministry, the sun was past its apex, and he wandered until he found a cafe. Finding a table, he glanced at the menu, then glanced down into his bag. Not many of Lidar’s bits were left. “Just tea,” he said to the waitress, pushing the menu away. She brought him some bread anyway. He watched the ships pass below, a cool sea breeze washing over him. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been sitting there when the griffon approached him. “You have the look of a creature,” the griffin said, taking the seat opposite Spike, “who has seen more than he wishes to see.” Spike turned his head to consider the newcomer: a griffon, male, middle-aged, a fedora on his head and a pack slung over his back. His tail hairs were graying, but he still seemed fit, his eyes alert. He carried a pad and pencil in one talon, the other resting on the table edge. On one of his ankles, he wore two bracelets made of blue crystal, the other ankle bare. “Do I?” Spike asked. “In the marines, we called it the thousand-yard stare,” the griffon said, “and yeah, you got it.” “It’s been a long couple of days. I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep.” Spike sat up a little straighter in his chair, refocusing his eyes on the creature across from him. “You’re a reporter.” “H.L. Griffin, Harpy Weekly.” He offered his talon, and he and Spike shook, claw to claw. “You’ve heard of us?” Spike nodded. “I’ve heard of the paper. I’ve heard of you, too. Twilight loves your articles. She says you have a very high standard of fact-checking.” “I like to think so.” He signaled the waitress, ordering tea for himself, plus a bowl of gemstones and the plate of herring for the table. “The Deputy Minister asked me to write a story on Twilight. Something positive. Show a bit of friendship to the Princess of Friendship. He feels it’s important the public understand how much she loves the Empire.” “She doesn’t.” “I didn’t say she did.” H.L. shook his head. “I said the Deputy Minister feels it’s important the public understands that she does. For Cadence’s sake. Twilight put our beloved princess in a very awkward position this morning.” “I’m sure whatever lie you can think up will be more persuasive than whatever I’d tell you.” Spike waved him away. “Write what you want.” “Harpy Weekly is a paper of repute, Mr. Spike. We never lie,” H.L. said firmly. “I assure you, whatever I print about Princess Twilight will be strictly accurate and well researched. I’m just offering to emphasize the positive.” “Then you’re wasting your time.” Spike turned his head back to the sea. “There’s no way to spin this story. Twilight is against the war. She is against war. And she will always be against war, no matter whose side she’s supposed to be on. Because the thing that makes her an alicorn, the thing that makes her special, is that she really does see the potential for friendship in every creature. Every life is precious.” He rubbed his jaw, eyes still turned out to the horizon. “You want to say she loves the people of the Empire? Do. Print it. Because she does. And no matter how much they hurt her, she’ll always love them. But she won’t love them any more than she loves the Kirians or the Saddle Arabians or the orlov. Because nations, armies, borders, are just ways of organizing the things that actually count.” It took him a moment to find the words, his voice tight: “Empires don’t matter. Countries don’t matter. People matter. That’s her position on conflict, and if you print anything else, she’ll publically call you a liar.” H.L. nodded and lapsed into silence. His pencil scribbled in his notebook. The waitress brought food and more tea. “How much do you know about the history of the Empire?” H.L. asked. Spike shrugged. H.L. took that as his signal to go on. “A little under a thousand years ago,” he began, “in the first decades after the old capital vanished, the waters surrounding the Resonance Isles were dominated by griffon pirates. Though the crystal ponies of the Water Palace had large fleets and skilled sailors, the griffons made their home in the clouds, and the ponies had no means of attacking air targets. Thus, the griffons could strike at will, and the Water Palace was a frequent target of raids or cruel extortion.” He waited until he was sure he had Spike’s attention, then went on. “Eventually, though, the ponies became aware of one tribe of griffons who made their home on a small island called Isla Rego instead of building cloud structures, and a plan was hatched. A lone ship from the Water Palace managed to slip up to the shore undetected in the night, and its marine compliment snuck ashore.” H.L. walked his talons across the table like moving hooves, mimicking the motion of sneaking through the underbrush. “Silent as death, knives made of glass in their teeth, they came upon each griffon home one at a time. They killed every griffon old enough to spread their wings and stole every child and every egg. Then they burned the whole of the island to the ground so that none of the other griffon tribes would realize what happened. And with their precious cargo, they returned home.” He swept up his talon into a fist, sweeping up the salt shaker with it. He toyed with it with his claw tips, turning it over in the air. “Now,” he said brightly, “this is where, in another world and another story, the ponies would have enslaved the children. But as Cadence said, love is the mortar that holds the Empire together. It always has been. And Majordomo Carpet Pull understood the danger of creating soldiers who resent the nation they fight for. “So he took a chick, too young to know what had happened, and adopted her as his daughter. Her name was Glint. And if you believe her autobiography, her father treated her like she was his own every day of her life. And in time she became Major Glint, first senior officer in the Empire’s first air force, because Carpet Pull wasn’t alone. All the stolen chicks were given to families who would care for them, and love them, and whisper into their ear every night, ‘you are a citizen of the Crystal Empire, and that makes you special.’” H.L. paused, letting the moment sink in, and watching the frown on Spike’s face grow. “Of course, once they came of age, it was all over. Crystal armor and weapons were far superior to anything the pirates had, and Major Glint and her air force systematically destroyed the pirate clans. Some elected to join the Empire, on the promise that in three generations they’d be made full citizens. Others refused, and were slaughtered to the last. And here we are.” He returned the salt shaker to the table with an elaborate little twist. “And what does that make me?” Spike didn’t answer, and H.L. went on. “Should I be outraged that my ancestors were murdered in the night and kidnapped? Should I be proud of the Water Palace for accepting the griffon children as their own? Was Major Glint an abused victim who rationalized what was done to her, or a proud war hero who saved her people from destruction?” “I don’t know.” “‘I don’t know’ doesn’t cut it here, Spike,” H.L. snapped. “I served in the marines during the Diamond Dog Rebellion. The same marine corps, I remind you, who went ashore on Isla Rego. If someone asks me if I was an honorable soldier trying to end a bloody civil war or a murderous thug perpetuating the same evil that was perpetuated on my ancestors, you think I can answer, ‘I don’t know’?” Spike considered that a moment. He reached out to the table and took a gem from the pile. He didn’t eat it. “What did you answer?” “I answered that I was a marine and proud of it.” HL shook out his feathers, his wings flexing from his sides. “Because no matter if the war is right or wrong, the marines have always been there to defend the Empire.” Spike’s jaw open and shut. He struggled for words. “Why are you telling me all this?” “Because anypony who says, ‘Empire doesn’t matter, people matter’ and thinks they’re showing their love had better be prepared to look me in the eye and tell me, ‘Being a marine doesn’t matter, all the people you killed matter.’ People need to know who they are. They need to know what they are. That’s what empire is.” He pushed his empty tea cup away, a silence settling over the table. “And that’s why people will die for their country. And that’s why they’ll kill for their country. Not because they care about borders or politics or any of that. But because if they don’t, what are they? I know what I am. I’m an imperial citizen. I’m a griffon. I’m a reporter. I’m a veteran. What are you?” Spike looked down at the table. His eyes stared through the wood. “I don’t know.” H.L. shrugged. “Well you tell your princess she’d better have a good answer to that before she makes an ass of herself in public again.” “Twilight knows what she’s doing.” For a long time, H.L. stared across the table at Spike. Then he asked, “Do you really believe that?” Spike swallowed. He listened to the sea air. His eyes shut. “No.”