All the Queen's Horses

by Bluespectre

Chapter Three - Queen of Waters

“There she is!” Trestle shouted over the din of ponies in the street. Leaning over the side of the carriage, Runcy clucked his tongue irritably; the only visible evidence there was a ship there at all was a slowly rising plume of dark smoke. Other than that he couldn’t see a thing beyond the solid mass of equines that surrounded them, every one of them pushing and shoving each other with seemingly complete abandon. So much for arriving early then. Damn it all, with this lot blocking the road they were going to have their work cut out for them making any headway at all. He leaned down and tapped the driver’s harness,

“Drop us off here, cabbie, we’ll go the rest of the way on hoof. Kindly ensure our luggage is loaded for us, yes?” He passed the grateful stallion a generous tip and pushed on into the throng, his friend in tow.

“I say!” Trestle shouted over the racket, “There’s no need to be hasty, Runcy old chap, the steamer’s not leaving for another hour or so yet. Hey! Our luggage is still on the…on the bloody…Runcy! Bloody hell…” A rough looking stallion bumped into him and snorted in his ear without so much as an apology. What a disgraceful place! The dock was dirty, seedy, and everypony and his dog seemed to have filled the street for no other reason than to get in the way and be an infuriating bloody nuisance!

Runcy, a large stallion in anyponies estimations, forged ahead, all but ploughing the other ponies out of the way. Keeping close, Trestle followed, treating the older stallion as a makeshift snowplough, or ‘pony’ plough, he chuckled to himself. The stallion watched Runcy and noticed something peculiar: he wasn’t slowing, but then neither were the other pedestrians actually making contact with him either. In fact, it was almost like they simply flowed around him as the waves do around the bow of a ship – rather appropriate in the circumstances he supposed, but the ponies in question didn’t even appear to notice him, instead they simply avoided the space he was occupying…very strange indeed. He was so pre-occupied in thought he nearly walked right into Lord Runcy’s posterior when he abruptly came to a halt.

“Ticket, Sir?”

A hoof appeared in front of Trestle’s muzzle. He followed it up to where the ticket collector in a blue and gold naval uniform was giving him an appraising look.

“Sir?”

“Oh!” Trestle fumbled in his pocket and plucked out his ticket, “Here you go. I take it our luggage will be loaded in due course?”

The ticket collector raised an eyebrow as if the well dressed fellow had just asked if the water would be wet today,

“Yes, Sir.”

Trestle’s mane bristled at the cheeky creature; who did this fellow think he was?! Blasted commoners were all the same, and these nautical types were even worse! What was worse still however was…wait, where was Runcy? He looked up the gangplank to spot a familiar top hat vanishing along the promenade deck. “Damn it!” Trestle muttered, and hurried up after him. He didn’t have time to waste dealing with riff-raff anyway, and now he’d let this one waste some of it with his inane babbling. Didn’t these ponies realise there was more to life than dealing with petty concerns like blasted tickets of all things? How did they think the world worked anyway? Magic? Pah! Trestle reached the top of the gangplank and hurried for where he knew Runcy would be.

A steward opened the door to the saloon bar. He probably muttered something, but Trestle’s attention was elsewhere, scanning the packed room for…there! He pushed forward, eliciting more than a few irritated stares and grumbles from jostled ponies before he reached his goal.

“Scotch, wasn’t it? I took the liberty of ordering a couple of Grawlsbergers too.” Runcy passed the flustered Trestle a cigar as he cut the end off his own, “You ought to relax, Trestle my boy, you’re making me anxious just looking at you.”

The black stallion huffed, “Goddesses above, Runcy, can you blame me? I don’t know how you can be so infuriatingly calm at a time like this.”

“Perhaps ignorance is bliss” Runcy said quietly, holding out a light for his friend. Trestle puffed on the cigar as the grey stallion continued, “I know about as much about this meeting as you do, and the way I see it, is there’s no sense in getting yourself het up when you don’t know what it’s about yet.”

Trestle took a breath and knocked back his drink, motioning to the steward for another, “You know as well as I do what it’s about, and-

“-and I suggest that this is neither the time nor the place” Runcy said pointedly, “Let’s just have a few minutes of peace and quiet to relax and gather our thoughts. The rest won’t be here yet anyway.” He glanced at his pocket watch, “I’d say we’ve time for another round and to finish our most excellent cigars, wouldn’t you?”

The black stallion visibly relaxed and shook his head slowly, “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Experience, old boy.” Runcy smiled quietly, “When it comes to politics, losing your head is a good way to lose it more...permanently, if you follow me.”

Trestle swallowed and unconsciously lifted his hooves to his neck. No, Runcy was right, this wasn’t the time or the place - that would come soon enough. Damn it all, he hated this! All this bloody cloak and dagger nonsense, it wasn’t something any self respecting noble should be getting themselves embroiled in and yet they all danced to its tune in one way shape or form. In any case, they’d all heard the stories of those who’d ‘disappeared’, and the houses that had been ‘disbanded’ by the princess. How in the name of all that’s holy could that be right? It wasn’t as if the ruler of Equestria was short of a bit or two, so this had to be little more than her way of conveniently disposing of troublesome dissenters. And by the Goddesses, they all knew the story of Copper River, the Lord who had dared to question her on matters state. He hung his head; oh yes, they all knew that story!

“How is your young lady?”

“Huh?” Trestle blinked in surprise. His mind had been wandering again and he quickly gathered himself, “Oh, you know, she’s fine.”

“Any plans for expanding the herd?” Runcy asked, “You don’t want to leave it too late, Trestle. Make hay while the sun shines and all that.”

“I know, I know, but Illustria is a little old fashioned like that and wants us to be a little more ‘settled’ first apparently.” Trestle sighed, “She keeps telling me we’re too young to have foals and that her parents waited until they were in their thirties before having her.”

Runcy took a pull on his cigar, watching the blue grey smoke drifting lazily up towards the ceiling fan. “I can remember thinking like that once” he said absently, “You think you have all the time in the world, but every second, every minute that clock ticks away makes your dreams that little bit harder to reach.” He smiled sadly, “Sometimes I think that’s all they ever were.”

Trestle jumped as his friend banged his glass down on the bar top, “Steward? Same again, if you please.” The silver-grey stallion turned a purple eyed gaze on him and leaned forward, pointing at him with his cigar, “Don’t make the same mistake I did, Trestle. Don’t leave it too late, you understand? Be a stallion and stand your ground with her.”
“I know.” Trestle stretched his forelegs and stared at the scotch that had just arrived in front of him, “Damn it all, Runcy, I know.”

His friend lay a hoof on his shoulder, “Tres, look, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can always speak with the others for you if you like.”

Trestle snorted, “And lose face? Good Goddesses, I’d never be able to face my wife again, let alone dare to show up at the royal court. I may be young, but I’m no coward.”

“I never thought you were” Runcy replied with a sly smile. He nodded towards the door where a maroon stallion with a long yellow mane was peering into the saloon, “Looks like we’re required, old boy.”

The black stallion closed his eyes, smiled, and took a deep breath, “Then let’s not disappoint, eh?” Putting down his glass, he climbed off his stool, picked up his hat and waved to the stallion by the door.

Outside on the promenade deck ponies milled around exchanging gifts, kissing loved ones and shouting back and forth to others still on the dockside. It was a typically Equestrian scene, and yet as much as it warmed a part of Runcy’s heart, it made another part of him feel like shouting out in frustration. Equestrians had become soft, not that they’d ever been exactly hardened to begin with of course, but there was an intrinsic sappiness to them which made his blood boil. He closed his eyes a moment and took a calming breath; it didn’t do his blood pressure any good when he got like this, but unfortunately there was more to come – lots more. He followed Trestle inside the open door and trotted down the winding cast iron steps into the bowels of the ship where he was met by a steward who took their hats and overcoats. It was just as well too, it was stuffy down here, with the lack of ventilation telling on the faces of the staff.

Inside the meeting room however was different story altogether. Here it was well lit, with magical lanterns and a cooling breeze emanating from the fans on the ceiling. The floor was luxuriously carpeted in a deep crimson pile which made the ponies’ hooves near silent which only added to the uncomfortable sense of anticipation in the air. Runcy had been here before, many times, whereas Trestle stood out like a sore fetlock as the ‘new boy’. He sighed; the foolish colt was drawing ever more attention to himself by staring open mouthed at their opulent surroundings in wide eyed amazement. He couldn’t blame him he supposed; for a ship the ‘Queen of Waters’ was the jewel in the crown of Barbary Nights’ fleet and the evidence of her fine taste in decoration was everywhere. The walls and even the ceiling were a beautifully carved blend of woods: ebony, oak, Llamalian heartwood and others that had allegedly come from the ruins of the Castle of the Two Sisters. The paintings that adorned the walls were just as stunning as the rest of the expensive, yet tasteful, fixtures and fittings of the steamship owner’s private meeting room. It was here where deals were made, fortunes lost and gained, sometimes on the turn of a card or the roll of a dice, while other times, like now, there would be more ‘political’ matters to attend to.

“Do you like it?” The terracotta coated mare asked, raising a manicured eyebrow.

“Y...Yes, my lady, it is…magnificent” Trestle gabbled. He turned to find himself inadvertently staring right into her deep yellow eyes, his heart suddenly deciding to jump into his throat and half choke him.

The mare chuckled demurely, adjusting her already perfectly style yellow and white striped mane. “Runcy dear!” she said with a delicate smile, “so nice to see you again.”

“Lady Vale” The silver grey stallion replied politely.

“Won’t you introduce me to your young friend?”

Runcy nodded, “Lady Vale, may I present my associate, Lord Coalford.”

The black stallion bowed, “Please my lady, my friends call me Trestle.”

The mare tittered and held out her hoof for the stallion to kiss, “Well then, we’re all friends together aren’t we, Trestle? And Runcy?”

Runcy bobbed his head respectfully, “Of course, Lady Vale.”

“Hmph! Still so formal, my dear.” The mare gave a sly smile, “You weren’t always so…stiff.” She moved to adjust her pearl white gown, using it as a surreptitious excuse to shift closer to her target, “The offer is still open, Run…it’s not too late.”

Runcy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the brief flush of anger that ran through his veins. Apparently noticing the shift in the male’s temperament, the mare changed tack with practiced ease,

“Welcome aboard the Queen of Waters, Trestle dear. She is the pride of my company and the culmination of generations of my family’s work and diligence serving Equestria.” Her brow drew down quizzically, “And what is it your family do again, dear?”

Trestle seemed a little unsure, but to his credit stood his ground. Runcy tried not to cringe as the young stallion nearly choked on his own words, “Coal mining, Lady Vale” he said with a painfully enthusiastic smile.

“Oh.” The mare blinked and looked a little taken aback, “How very…rustic.” She turned to Runcy, the newcomer apparently dismissed without so much as a word, “And Runcy dear, how goes the quarry and lumber business? I understand work has dropped off somewhat lately, that must be quite troublesome for you?”

“Adversity should always be faced with both strength and determination” Runcy replied with a nod to a passing stallion, “Pessimism has been the downfall of many a family over the centuries. Fate deals her cards and we have to play with the hand we are given.”

“Quite so, quite so…” Lady Vale dabbed her muzzle with her lace hankie, “If you gentlecolts would kindly excuse me? One must mingle with one’s guests or they shall think you have stolen me away all for yourself.”

Runcy watched her walk away. He didn’t miss the half lidded glance she gave him over her shoulder, nor the additional sway to her shapely hips as she blended into the gathering crowd of ponies. Trestle moved up beside him, licking his dried lips like some damned colt who’d just seen one of the princesses for the first time and realised the thing between their legs wasn’t just for pissing into a pot.

“Who was that?” the young fellow said half to himself, “She’s-”

“-Dangerous” Runcy said pointedly, and turned to take a drink from a passing steward, “If you have any sense about you, my boy, you’ll keep that in mind when speaking to her.” He took a sip of the aniseed liqueur, “Better yet, avoid doing so altogether.”

“Dangerous?” Trestle blinked and knocked back his drink in one gulp, “Damn it, Runcy, she’s one mare I wouldn’t mind…” He trailed off.

Runcy shook his head, “I know what you mean, and most of the stallions here would too given half a chance, and she knows it too. Mares like her have made a fortune off the bones of former lovers, or so the stories go. My advice to you, Trestle, is to keep that locked in your pants.”

“Keep what in my pants? What…” Trestle coughed as the aniseed came back up, burning his throat, “Celestia’s arse!”

Runcy sighed and called for a glass of water for his stricken friend. Trestle would have to pull himself together if he was to carry any weight with these ponies today, and he himself could potentially be hamstrung if he were to be associated with the lad if he kept tripping over his own hooves the way he was. So much for ‘showing him the ropes’! Blast Lark for asking him to take him along, and blast him for agreeing to it! One of these days he’d be the master of his own household, and-

“I say, is that Lord Spoon? Runcy? Runcy it is you, you old stallion! As Luna is my witness I haven’t seen you in years!” Sunlight Aura, the bright green stallion with a mane that shimmered with an almost magical golden glow that mirrored his name, stared at him with his bright blue eyes, “How are you doing my dear fellow?”

Runcy smiled warmly, “All the better for seeing you old friend.”

Lord Aura clopped him on the shoulder, “Hah! Always so smooth, Runcy, I can see how you managed to bag a frisky filly like…what was her name again? Link? No…Lark…Lark Wing, right?”

Runcy nodded.

“Ah, too many years under the old noggin I’m afraid,” Sunlight said with a shrug, “Still, damned good to see you again anyway. Now, you simply must tell me how things are back there in the sticks and how your delightful foal’s coming along.”

“Silver? She’s not a foal now, she’s a filly and very nearly coming into marehood,” Runcy said a little embarrassed at the inquisitive stallions question, “Little beggar drives me up the wall sometimes, but she’ll no doubt be taking the reins from me before you know it.”

“Bah! A few years left in you yet I’ll wager!” Sunlight laughed, “Now, come along and join me at my table, and bring your young colt friend too, he looks like a lost soul.”

“I bloody well feel like one, too” Trestle mumbled just loud enough for Runcy to hear.

Runcy shot the young stallion a look and he mercifully took the hint. The last thing he wanted was to offend Sunlight, especially after he’d helped his family so much in the past,

“I say,” Lord Aura began, “how did you like my latest discovery?”

Runcy smiled and nodded happily, “Wonderful! Golden Spoon’s victory on the ridge was the first of many and no doubt the high tide for the Legion. Truly she was a mare amongst mares.” His eyes took on a distant cast, as though staring into another world that only he could see, “I don’t know how you find these gems, Lord Aura, but-”
The colourful stallion lifted a hoof forestalling him, “How long have we known each other now?”

“-I…” Runcy began.

“And you still call me Lord Aura?” Sunlight clucked his tongue, “Please, Runcy, not today. Let’s just be friends around this table, if only until this blasted meeting is over, eh?”

Runcy laughed and shook his head, “Of course, Sunny.” The green stallion nodded in agreement as his younger friend continued, “What do you think this is about then?” Runcy asked, “The circle hasn’t called a general assembly like this since I can remember, and I don’t think Hearthswarming Eve celebrations count.”

Sunlight shrugged, “Who knows. I’ve heard a few rumours amongst our brothers, but most of it was hearsay and gossip.” He held up a hoof, “And yes, I know we’re not supposed to, my dear boy, but ponies talk…you know that.”

“Yes…I know that alright.” Runcy gritted his teeth; It was one of the things he hated about Equestrians – they never knew when to shut their incessantly flapping mouths. Only the goddesses knew what Lark was blabbering about at her infernal sewing group meetings too. They were probably gabbling away like infuriated hens pecking at corn! A hoof on his own made him look up in surprise.

“Runcy? How is the little one’s...condition?” Sunlight’s expression was one of genuine sincerity.

Runcy took a breath and smiled grimly, “Silver... She’s…about the same as last time you saw her.”

“About the same” Sunlight echoed, and shook his head sadly, “I see. Have you spoken to my physician? I know that-”

“-yes, I’ve spoken to…” Runcy dug his hoof into the table top, “Sunny, please, I don’t want to talk about this. Not here.”

The older stallion nodded his head gravely, “You’re right, that was insensitive of me, Runcy. Forgive an old stallion his foolishness, eh? Sometimes I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut. Like most ponies I’d wager!”

Despite himself, Runcy chuckled at his old friend’s grin. Lord Aura had been a friend of the family since his father’s time, maybe even his grandfather. Yet despite it all, Lord Aura looked as young as he was, maybe even more so. His coat was so sleek and healthy with barely a grey hair in his mane, whereas his…well, there was a reason he’d begun to cut it short recently, and it wasn’t just for the sake of smartness.

“What do you think of Wellington’s new spats then?”

“I’m sorry?” Runcy blinked in surprise at the sudden change of conversational direction.

“Spats, boy, spats!” Sunlight clucked his tongue and jabbed a hoof surreptitiously to indicate a short red stallion with a pale pink mane standing on the other side of the room talking with two more of the guests. Sure enough a pair of white spats, fastened with neat black buttons, adorned the stallion’s hind hooves.

Runcy wasn’t impressed. “Not for me, I’m afraid –a little too ostentatious” he observed sipping another of the proffered refreshments, “Nothing wrong with a set of well polished hooves, I always say.” He nodded towards the very quiet Trestle, “Take young Trestle here; damned good hooves on the lad, and well polished to boot.”

Sunlight threw his head back and let out a loud guffaw, “I’ll say! I was nearly blinded when he walked in, Runcy!” He fixed the younger stallion with a look that made Trestle swallow in alarm, “Let me tell you something, my dear boy: age comes to all of us, some sooner than others, and always when you least expect it.” He took a deep breath and gave him a toothy smile, “Enjoy your youth. It will be gone, shiny hooves and all, before you know it.” All of a sudden, the tense mood broke and Sunlight sat back in his chair, the mirth sparkling in his blue eyes, “The next thing you know you’ve got knackered fetlocks, a greying mane, cracked hooves, and you’ll be falling over yourself to hide what grandfather time is inflicting upon your body.”

“Spats?” Runcy asked, coming to Trestle’s rescue.

Sunlight sipped his drink and gave him a wink, “Spats.”

Trestle sighed, leaning back into his surprisingly comfortable chair. The red velvet lined affair was large, well cushioned, and elegantly carved, complementing the rest of the décor in the room perfectly. Runcy and Sunlight continued to talk between themselves as if he wasn’t there, and truth be told, he’d begun to wish to the goddesses he wasn’t. To his mind the royal court was akin to a public execution – not of your physical self, but of your character and name, and rumours of what had happened to ponies who’d made an ass of themselves before the princess had been doing the rounds long before he was born. As he grew up elocution lessons became the norm, with practical tests on public and private speaking being hammered into him the way a miner drove the coal face. And that was where he truly belonged – not here, not with these fine society types with their fancy decorations and even fancier drinks. Oh, he tried to put on the face they expected of him, he’d even tried to change his way of thinking too, but deep down inside he was just the same as he had always been. No, give him a pick, a shovel, and a barrow - now that was where a Coalford belonged; you didn’t get muscles like his drinking bloody…what the hell was he drinking anyway? They were small glasses of something that had an extraordinarily strong aniseed like taste that somepony kept insisting on putting coffee beans in for some bizarre reason. Coffee beans! Bloody hell, at one point the buffoon serving them had actually set fire to them! Probably thought the damned stuff wasn’t hot enough already when in reality it could likely strip paint. Still, they were rather moreish and he took another from a nearby tray.

Trestle’s family had been miners for a long, long time, but with the coming of the railways and the explosion in overseas commerce, business truly was booming. They employed hundreds, thousands really, of every conceivable race – all to supply the voracious appetite of the nation for steam power. This had lead to the increase in the spread of the railways and development of steam powered vessels such as the one they were on now. Of course, some felt the introduction of such a mode of transportation was ‘un-equestrian’ and, as one pony had famously said, ‘like a three legged mule trying to outrun a pegasus’. Well, they all knew how accurate that prediction had been! Magic certainly had its place of course, but not all ponies could use magic, and despite the relative harmony of their peaceful world the distrust of unicorns by earth ponies had never quite gone away. Trestle sighed; they probably thought the same way of ‘mud ponies’, and as for pegasi… He gave himself a shake and returned to listening to the conversation between the two stallions beside him; it seemed the tone had taken a decidedly serious turn.

“So is it true then?” Runcy asked, “We’ve all heard the rumours.”

Sunlight nodded gravely, “It is, or at least, some of it. The changelings are back alright. We tried to keep a lid on things, but after they showed their hoof at the royal wedding it was impossible to keep things out of the public eye any more.” He gave his ear a scratch, “Celestia for all her faults, appears to have dealt with the crisis surprisingly well.”

Runcy glanced about him, keeping his voice low, “That’s not what I heard. Some of the ponies I know who were there saw the princess thrown aside like a rag doll and it was up to those ‘elements of harmony’ fillies to save the day. Good goddesses, Sunny, a bunch of bloody girls wielding magic out of legend? It seems too far fetched to be true and yet so many of the nobles saw it happen, it has to be.”

The green stallion gave his younger friend a kindly smile, “I know, but I’m sure there’s more to the story than you or I were told.” He scrunched up his face in thought, “I’m guessing you didn’t get an invite either, eh?”

Runcy grimaced, “Well, actually…yes, we did.”

“And you didn’t go?” Sunlight asked in surprise.

The grey stallion shook his head, “It wasn’t for me. There’s only one alicorn as far as I’m concerned, or two if you count the ‘other one’, but that Cadence?” He shuddered, “No, not that one.”

“I know what you mean.” Sunlight cast Trestle a warning glance, “But I would counsel you to keep such thoughts to yourself, my boy. Some may think your sentiments a little…”

“I understand” Runcy replied quickly, “Believe me, I do.”

Trestle acted as if he hadn’t heard anything. He, like a lot of the aristocracy, had little time for the ‘false alicorn’, this ‘Princess Cadence’, and saw her as little more than window dressing to the royal court. Thankfully she’d been married off to the Captain of the royal guard, so that was her taken out of things…hopefully. There was only one Goddess in Equestria, they all knew that, and you certainly couldn’t count Luna unless you were – he shuddered – a Lunarian! Goddesses, it was unthinkable that such a primitive cult like following had formed around a creature that had given her soul over to the evil that was Nightmare Moon and… He looked up, noticing the silence that had suddenly descended amongst the gathered ponies.

He was here.

Lord Nadir, Weather Well, the rather average looking blue earth stallion with his short black mane and brown eyes, had entered the room. Normally such a stallion wouldn’t have drawn even a second glance, but here, they all knew him, and before him they parted as if by some irresistible invisible force. Runcy lifted his head and nodded knowingly; all the ponies here were earth ponies – no pegasi, no unicorns…as it should be.

Lord Nadir climbed the small podium and cast his gaze across the massed Equestrians and tapped his hoof on the lectern, “Please, brothers, be seated.”

There was a flurry of movement as the ponies hurried to take their seats which had been arranged in a semi circle before the podium.

“That’s our cue” Sunlight whispered, “Come on boys, our seats are at the back on the right.”

In short order all the ponies, mares, and stallions were sat, watching the surprisingly gentle brown eyes of the newcomer as he took them all in with a knowing nod. Trestle swallowed and felt his blood suddenly run cold despite the temperature. Goddesses, he hoped he hadn’t noticed him!

Lord Nadir passed his hat to a young mare beside him and smiled at her, exchanging words none could hear. Was that his wife? Daughter maybe? Trestle jumped slightly as the blue stallion tapped his hoof on the lectern before turning to a tall white robed fellow beside him. The stallion stepped forward and took a deep breath,

“Veritas.”

“Veritas” they all intoned solemnly.

“In the sure and certain knowledge that all who serve this day in the light of the goddesses of Equestria, know all that no tongue shall utter a word to another who is not a brother of our order beyond these walls.” The robed stallion bowed his head slowly, “Veritas.”

“Veritas” they all replied.

The robed fellow stepped back and bowed to Lord Nadir who bobbed his head in reply before addressing the massed ‘brothers’ before him. “Savete Amici” he intoned.

Trestle knew this part. He joined in with the rest,

“Salve, Primus Pilus.”

Primus Pilus, the ‘First Spear’, the leader of their order and speaker of ‘The Truth’, was a pony who commanded power, prestige, and pulled more strings in Equestrian society than few could probably ever comprehend. Trestle felt a chill run through him, and quickly began to wish he’d found some excuse to stay away today after all. Damn it, the way his heart was hammering in his chest, he probably had a good excuse already!

“Brothers,” Nadir began, “Thank you for joining us here today. I know some of you have travelled far and had an early start, and for that, I thank you.” He smiled solemnly, “I would also like to extend a most heartfelt welcome to our newest members today, some of whom have joined our ranks only very recently. I understand they have taken the oath?”

Lord Runcy stood up, “They have, Primus.”

Nadir nodded, “Thank you, brother.”

Trestle’s heart was in his mouth, but now the adrenalin burning through him as hot as the aniseed liqueur was making a bee line straight for his bladder; why the hell hadn’t he gone earlier?! He squeezed his hind legs together as far as he could but it only made matters worse and now he was terrified he’d draw even more attention to himself if he moved too much. Oh, sweet goddesses, let this end soon…

“Brothers…” Nadir took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as a faint smile ghosted across his face. He looked extraordinarily calm, like the surface of a millpond with little more than the breeze to disturb the perfect serenity of the moment. “Time calls to us, all of us: the young, the old, the able, the infirm…its siren call cries out from the darkness of history to the all who would heed its call. Once, long, long ago, our forefathers were born to this great land of Equestria, a land not as you see it now, but a wilderness, a dangerous and unforgiving place where death awaited the weak and the unwary with merciless eyes. It was a time written of in the annals of history, a history which later became legend, a legend which, after countless centuries, became no more than a myth. It was a time that is seldom even spoken of in our schools, our colleges, nor even in the hallowed halls of our universities.” Lord Nadir hung his head, “One could be forgiven for believing that there are those who feel the history of our people should simply be…forgotten.” Trestle felt his eyes drawn to the enigmatic pony as the master of the room continued, “My brothers; who we are, where we came from and where we are going, are some of the greatest questions that many of our most illustrious scholars have pondered for lifetimes immeasurable, and yet the answers…ah, the answers…” He smiled slightly, “how can we find them if there is nopony left to ask the questions? How can we find them if nopony knows what those questions are, nor cares?” Lord Nadir paused and then suddenly looked up, his eyes shining in the magical lamp light as his voice gathered strength, “It is you, brothers, it is you who must bear the torch of this knowledge, the ancient knowledge passed down from generation to generation, and pass it on to your foals. It is your duty to Equestria, to your children, and to yourselves, to remember…remember who you are and who we, as a people, are.” Lord Nadir smiled, “We are all children of the Gods, the true gods of Equestria, and they smile down upon us now as they did from the very first day a hoof was set upon this beautiful green land - from the moment an earth pony turned that first hoofful of earth and planted the seeds that would one day become…Equestria.” He nodded his head, “Our people have grown slack, malleable, and weak from the years of peace beneath the light of our gods, the light created by our creators and tended by their children in their name. But we must never forget, never forget, that it was an earth pony’s hoof, a pony who is connected with the soil, the water and all living things, that truly brings the life to our home. And it is earth ponies: you, me, our sons and our daughters, who must remain vigilant and ever watchful of those covet our shores and verdant grasslands with envious eyes. We must, we shall, remain vigilant in the face of the encroaching darkness that is ever present.” He paused and cast his gaze upon everypony in the room one by one, satsified that each and every one of them was hanging off his every word, “We are the bearers of history, the armour on the backs of our ancestors and the sword of truth. We are the edge that was left to become dulled, that must now be honed and brought back to life to answer the call of our homeland, our Equestria, once more.” He nodded to himself and smiled,

“You home needs you my brothers…will you answer her call? Will you rise to her defence and protect her in the dark days ahead?” He took a deep breath, his words booming out in the confines of the room,

“WILL YOU ANSWER THE CALL?”

There was a sudden sense of something indefinable giving way, an almost imperceptible barrier breaking, and then a wall of sounded erupted within the room,

“AYE!”

Trestle opened his mouth to speak but found his throat had gone painfully dry. Barely daring to move, he cast his eyes at Runcy who was all but glowing with…with what? Pride? Good goddesses, his eyes were like a foals filled with excitement and the sort of wonderment he had expected only to see on Hearthswarming Eve. Was he…was he missing something here? Was there some level to this that only he couldn’t see? He quickly look across the lines of assembled ponies who were all looking at one another with the same excited expression as Runcy. It was almost as if they were under some sort of hypnotic spell or glamour of some kind. Celestia’s buttocks, was he standing out because he wasn’t sharing this moment with them? What should he do?! Trestle’s heart was beginning to race, his temperature soaring to match his rising anxiety level. He licked his lips as an overwhelming desire to get out of there surged through his body, making his hooves itch and muscles involuntarily flex. Closing his eyes, he winced as a bead of sweat snuck in and caused him to blink furiously. Damn it all, what the hell was going on here? What was wrong with him? Was it the-

“Trestle?”

The black stallion yelped in surprise at the hoof on his shoulder.

“You look a little peaky my boy, why don’t you get yourself to the bathroom and have a freshen up, eh?” Runcy helped guide the now distinctly uncomfortable stallion out of the row of chairs, “Come on, get your hooves under you…there’s a good fellow.”

Trestle blinked in surprise and confusion at what had just happened, but the relief at escaping the ‘meeting’ or whatever the hell that had been, was something he was more than grateful for. Right now though the horrible pressing pain in his abdomen was demanding all of his attention. He looked about for-

“The door to the left of the bar” a voice whispered, “Don’t forget to lock the door.”

The young stallion all but fell over his own hooves as he stumbled to the promised sanctuary beyond bathroom door, with a little help from at least one pony on the way. Damn it, he could barely think straight let alone bloody well walk - was he drunk? Surely not, he’d barely touched the damned stuff they provided here. He took a breath of the warm air, heated by little more than the body heat of all the assembled ponies, and entered the frigid air of the bathroom.

It was as if he’d crossed over to the herd.

Cool air, tiled floors and walls, and the chill seat of the porcelain bowl… Dear goddesses… Oh, Celestia! A flush of warmth and relief flooded Trestle’s body as he relieved himself in the expensive looking bathroom. Dainty pictures of puppies, kittens, and flowers adorned the walls along with bowls of delicately scented pot-pourri including, of all things, knitted toilet roll cosies. Trestle was so relieved he barely noticed, and besides, just to breath the cool air of the bathroom was luxury in itself without…toilet roll cosies. Bloody hell, whose idea was that? Did it keep the paper warm or something? He began to chuckle to himself and leaned his back against the cold tiles, revelling in the feeling against his hide. And then, reality hit him: he had to go back in there didn’t he? And to make matters worse, he was certain he’d made a complete cock of himself.

“Oh, why me…” Trestle muttered. Reluctantly, he washed his hooves and, adjusting himself in the mirror, gave himself a little nod of self encouragement, “Right then” he said to his reflection, “let’s get this over with, Trestle my boy. If you can get through this then Canterlot will be foals play.”

Taking a deep breath he left his porcelain sanctuary and plunged back into the milling throng of ponies. Nearby, Runcy was chatting with several other ‘brothers of the circle’. At first it had struck Trestle as strange as to why they insisted on calling everypony a ‘brother’ when there were quite clearly mares there too. Runcy had said it was a tradition, as if that was the answer to everything that was inexplicable in this strange world, but to Runcy, everything was a tradition, or if it wasn’t it damned well should have been. His friend hated anything modern, and in fact Trestle was surprised the grey coated creature had agreed to come to the meeting on a steamship at all – and a modern steamship at that! How the enigmatic Lord Spoon hadn’t gone into conniptions because it wasn’t as old as the bloody hills he’d never know. Trestle adjusted his stiff white collar and noticed the steward with a tray of what appeared to be canapés on a silver tray floating in the glow of magic. Personally he didn’t have anything against unicorns, in fact many of his workers were unicorns. When it came to paperwork or the more ‘technical’ aspects of mining operations, magical object manipulation and levitation saved time and trouble to no end, whereas earth ponies on the other hoof used their understanding of the rock, their feel for the various strata and veins of ore and coal, to bring to the light the very life essence of Equestria. They were the ones who performed the real work so far as he was concerned; they were the strength, the power within their homeland, and-

“I’d try the prawn vol au vents, personally, they’re simply delicious.” A familiar female voice from behind him made Trestle spin round in surprise.

The elegant mare looked back at him with a peculiar smile on her face, as if she knew something that he didn’t. It made his skin twitch.

“Prawn?” Trestle asked, “That’s a-“

“Meat?” Lady Vale finished for him, “That depends upon your perspective, my dear Trestle.”

The stallion blinked in surprise, “Meat is meat, be it from sea creatures, air or land, my lady.”

“Really?” The mare took one from the steward and held it up between herself and Trestle, “Who says so, Lord Coalford? Who is it that tells you this is the way the world must be?”

Trestle wasn’t sure where she was coming from, but he didn’t want to appear rude, and certainly not ignorant. He lifted his muzzle, “I believe it is common knowledge madam.” Damn it! Why did he call her madam?! Now he’d look like he was being belligerent – he could have cringed at his own stupid choice of words. Yellow eyes, like molten gold in the lamplight, gazed at him,

“Common knowledge” she intoned. A moment later, her liltingly feminine tone of voice returned, “Common to some perhaps, but not to all; not to those who can see beyond the obvious to the truth that lies beneath. Sometimes, Trestle, you need to dig deep to find what you seek.”

Trestle found himself hanging off her every word. There was something extraordinarily alluring about this mare that had his undivided attention.

Barbary Nights, the lady of the House of Vale, moved closer, her voice dropping to a pleasant purr that had the young stallion’s tail all but quivering, “Tell me, Trestle,” she began, “do you have them? Do you have the mark of the warrior within you?”

Trestle swallowed, “The…the warrior?”

Lady Vale smiled, “Of course.” She tapped him on the chin, gently, almost imperceptibly, but the touch was like an electrifying jolt that burned through Trestle’s body. “You know them as ‘wolf teeth’, dearest Trestle. Perhaps like some you view them as an aberration, a left-over from a previous age.” She chuckled, “But we know differently, don’t we.”

“Do we?” Trestle swallowed, “Lady Vale, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Equestrians are herbivores.”

“Are we?” The vol au vent disappeared into her mouth.

Trestle watched her incredulously as she ate the small pastry treat. Her eyes closed and a slight moan escaped her lips, the tiny morsel slipping down her throat. The young stallion’s eyes took in every movement, his ears every sound…

“Delectable” Lady Vale’s eyes opened and all but nailed Trestle to the wall, not with their strength, but with their intense femininity. He was helpless, and she knew it. The mare’s gown swished across the floor as she approached him, another prawn vol au vent in her fore hoof,

“Taste…”

Unresisting, Trestle opened his mouth and felt the pastry upon his tongue. The richness, the texture…it truly was…delectable…

“You see,” Lady Vale said quietly, “Sometimes it takes another who knows the truth to bring those who live in darkness into the light of understanding, Trestle.” She leaned closer to him, her perfume dancing in his nostrils. “Sometimes, that which is forbidden…can be the sweetest fruit.”

Trestle’s eyes met hers, his heart thumping so hard he felt he was going to pass out. The mare’s scent lingered in the air around him, the gossamer sound of her dress sounding unnaturally loud in the hubbub of the room. Like a bubble bursting, reality crashed back in on the black stallion; had she cast a glamour on him? Goddesses, what was that?! He had a mare, a beautiful, wonderful mare, one who…who was nothing like…Lady Vale…Barbary Nights... He closed his eyes and felt his head turning unbidden to look for her once more, to take in just the faintest glimpse of that amazing creature…just one more-

“Trestle?”

“GAH!” The black stallion balked, “Celestia’s bucking arse, Runcy, you scared the bloody life out of me!”

Runcy sniffed, “Apparently so.” He looked past his friends shoulder and shook his head sadly, “She’s never changed. Never.”

Trestle rubbed his face, “I’m…what’s never changed?”

“It doesn’t matter” Runcy said, taking a sandwich from a passing tray, “I’ve already had my say, and I don’t see why I should need to repeat myself.”

“About what?” Trestle asked. He gave his mane a scratch and narrowed his eyes, “Damn it, Runcy, I’m not a bloody colt any more, just say what you mean.”

Runcy huffed, fixing him with a hard stare, “And I said I’ve already warned you, didn’t I?” He closed his eyes and sighed, “Do I need to say it again, Trestle? Keep away from that mare, she’ll eat you alive.” He tapped the young stallion on the shoulder, “Trust me…I know.”

“But…” Trestle began, but Runcy just shook his head, ending the conversation without another word. He decided on another conversational direction,

“Did I miss anything whilst I was in the stallion’s room?”

“The best canapés,” Runcy replied, “the haybacon cream and mushroom are always the first to go. Honestly I don’t know why Barbary doesn’t simple make trays of the things as that’s all anypony wants. If I didn’t know better, I’d go so far as to say some of the ponies here only come for the free drinks and snacks.”

Trestle chuckled, his earlier anxiety disappearing like morning mist.

“Come on, let’s go for a smoke.” Runcy clopped his friend on the shoulder, “I need some air. It’s always so damnably stuffy in these things.”

“Not a fan of steamships, old boy?” Trestle quipped.

Runcy snorted, “I’m not a fan of iron coffins that can plummet to the ocean’s depths, no. Give me the wind in my mane and the salt air in your lungs. That...that is where I belong.”

“A sailor?” Trestle asked in surprise, “You want to be a sailor?”

“Hah!” Lord Runcy let out a guffaw as they climbed the stairs to the promenade deck, “Maybe when I was a foal, my boy, but Lark would have me gelded to even suggest such a thing to her!” He shrugged, smiling as a gust of wind hit him, tousling his mane, “No. I have a dream, a dream of galleons, ships of oak and canvas, tar and iron, flying through the cloud sea beneath the bright sun of our homeland.”

“Flying?” Trestle passed Runcy a cigar, “I can’t say I'm keen on airships to be honest, I’ve a better chance of swimming than flying if anything went wrong!”

Runcy shook his head, “I’m not talking about airships, Trestle.” The grey stallion’s eyes sparkled, “I’m talking about the fleet, the amethyst fleet, the last ships of the Crystal Empire.”

“Oh come on!” Trestle laughed, “You don’t seriously believe in that fairy story do you? It’s a load of old bunkum!”

“Is it?” Runcy shook his head knowingly, “You have heard of Golden Spoon haven’t you?”

“Of course I have, who hasn’t?” Trestle replied, “She was one of your ancestors wasn’t she? She’s a legend amongst the nobility.”

Runcy nodded, pleased with his young friends understanding, “What if I told you the amethyst fleet wasn’t a legend? What if I told you I have Golden Spoons diaries where she speaks of them and about how they aided in the movement of troops and supplies during the war with Nightmare Moon? Would you believe in fairy stories then, Tres?”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Trestle turned to stare out across the water, “If the fleet existed, then that would mean-”

“That Sombra existed? That the Crystal Empire existed?” Runcy smiled, “Not everything you read is a true reflection of history, Trestle. History has been… ‘sanitised’ - cleansed, and repackaged to protect modern sensibilities and feelings. What you have been taught is not a lie, no…a lie can be found out you see, and countered by the discovery of the truth.” He shook his head, “No, why lie when you can simply alter the truth to suit a narrative that speaks directly to the heart of the listener, telling them what they want to hear, and believe.” Runcy took a puff on his cigar, letting the smoke curl up around him, “Not many want to believe the truth, Trestle, and even less want to hear it. After all, history is dead and buried, isn’t it? Who wants to find out about unpleasant things that may spoil a wonderful night’s sleep eh?”

“But the Crystal Empire…” Trestle paused, thinking back to his history lessons as a foal. Dear goddesses, the Empire was little more than folklore, but…but if it were true then… “It could come back.”

Runcy’s knowing chuckle sent shivers down the young stallion’s back. “Oh, yes” Runcy said, rolling the smoke around his mouth and blowing a smoke ring, “History has a habit of repeating itself, my young friend, and woe betide those who have forgotten it’s lessons, for we may all be doomed to see them repeat once again.”

“But Sombra was a monster, Runcy.” Trestle breathed, “If even half the stories of that creature are true, then one day…oh, goddesses, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Runcy nodded, “No…no, it doesn’t.” He shrugged, “But of course, what we ‘know’ about the King of the Empire may be like our own history – distorted. Who can know the truth about what has become myth?”

“Veritas…Truth…” Trestle muttered.

His friend just nodded and leaned on the ships railing, staring out across the sea. High above a seagull’s cry echoed out, its lonely call chilling Trestle’s heart to its very core. Goddesses, who wanted to know the truth.

Far below the water frothed and heaved as the Queen of Waters made her way towards the capital city of Canterlot, sending white smoke up into the cold sky from her tall chimney like some great iron dragon. Like many nobles, Trestle had offices near the palace, but he hadn’t wanted to uproot his family and make a home there. Most had estates out in the country and would spend time commuting when they were required to attend, staying in the palace’s accommodation wing or, if they were particularly wealthy, their second home in Canterlot. A call had been made by the palace for the nobles of all houses to attend, and the steamer was brimming with the biggest names in Equestrian high society. No doubt the palace would be heaving, and in some respects that was a comforting thought. With a little luck he’d simply be lost in the rush – just another new face in the crowd. Of course it was a shame his wife wasn’t with him on this trip to keep him company, but then she’d probably end up bored senseless from it all anyway. And when Illustria grew bored, she let him know it too. He didn’t mind, he loved her even with her more disagreeable…mannerisms.

Illustria’s parents were owners of several farms around the quiet town of Flint Hills, which despite its name sat nestled amongst some of the best land for growing crops in Equestria. For generations the area had been noted for its high quality crops of oats, barley and, in particular, hops. Earl Iron Share hadn’t been slow in realising that the quality of the soil imparted a particularly unique flavour which he exploited in his hop growing and before long the ‘Flint Hill Brewing Company’ was born, along with their flagship ale the much beloved ‘Flint Hill Special’. The rich foaming brew with its malty taste and earthy notes had a taste that, once acquired, quickly became the beer of choice for ponies of all backgrounds. Iron Share had soon made a small fortune, and unlike many other minor nobles, had embraced new Equestrian technological innovations by utilising coal rather relying on magic to power the brewery. Trestle suspected this was more down to the fellow’s obsession with ‘the latest thing’ as he called it, rather than any deep-seated dislike of unicorns. After all, since Earl Share’s wife, the Lady Hinterland, was a unicorn it was very unlikely!

Trestle had been negotiating a contract at Earl Share’s manor when he’d first seen Illustria, and he’d been so distracted by the amazing creature that her father had ended up talking to himself for several minutes before the younger stallion had regained his senses. What an experience that was! Thank Celestia that Iron Share was a ‘pony of the world’ or else Trestle’s obvious interest in his daughter could have ended very badly indeed. Incredibly, rather than chasing Trestle away, Earl Share had instead invited the black coated stallion to tea and formally introduced him to his daughter… the lovely Illustria...

Goddesses, the way her orange eyes gazed into his made his heart melt like butter in a skillet, and she knew it. Illustria wasn’t like the other nobles’ daughters though - far from it; she was at heart a farmer, as indeed was Earl Share himself. Illustria by comparison to most, was quite plain: a young mare who was average height, average build, a fairly ordinary straw colour with a mid length cream and mint green mane and tail. Her mane was plaited down both side of her neck with a simple red ribbon in each. She wore a striped pink and white dress that was quite clearly more intended for work than show, and to Trestle’s surprise she’d worn it for tea! Well, she’d washed up of course, but it was definitely the same dress, and even had a few marks from when she’d been working earlier. But for Trestle it didn’t matter, his heart had been lost to her from the moment she’d fixed him with her incredible eyes - those large orange orbs that made his knees quiver and his tail twitch. Sure, she was forceful sometimes, headstrong certainly, but he didn’t mind her taking charge at times, in fact it was quite…‘exciting’ in a way. Some of his friends thought he was henpecked, but what did they know? Coming home to a perfect wife in your perfect house with your perfect foals may be their idea of happiness, but to him, coming home to a wife covered in flour and wearing a pinny soaked in sugar and cinnamon from a days baking with the smell of true home baking wafting from the open front door of his home was a little slice of heaven. And when he kissed her, the taste of cinnamon…

Giving himself a shake, Trestle asked, “How did you and Lark meet, Runcy? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

The grey stallion raised an eyebrow, “Lark?” He shrugged, “There’s not much to tell really. She’s the daughter of Lord and Lady Glass. Our parents arranged everything for us when we still foals.”

“Arranged?” Trestle felt a shiver run through him, “It was an arranged marriage?”

Runcy nodded, “There’s no law against it, and besides, either of us could have refused at any time.”

Trestle’s eyes went wide, “Yes, but…Lord Glass? The Lord Glass, as in Eminent Glass?” Runcy nodded. Trestle couldn’t believe it, “But, the Glass’s are a legend! Their development of thaumaturgical theories helped advance Equestrian technology unlike any other.” He paused, “But…but they’re…”

“Unicorns? Yes, they are, or rather...were. Lord Glass passed away last year several months after his wife.” Runcy rubbed his forehead, “Lark was something of an aberration in their family, at least that’s how they looked at it. She was married off as soon as she was old enough, and her parents never spoke to her since.”

“They never…” Trestle’s voice died away, “Oh, Runcy, I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about” Runcy replied with an ironic snort, “She didn’t find out her mother had died until the official notification arrived from the registrar’s office.” He sighed, “She wasn’t even invited to the funeral.”

“How did…” Trestle swallowed, “That must have been hard for her.”

Runcy smiled bitterly, “I don’t think it was as hard for her as you might think. Lark had little love for her parents after they’d sold her off. I count myself lucky that we have the relationship we do, otherwise…” He tapped the ash off his cigar, “Only the goddesses know what life would have been like for her.” Runcy glanced at his friend, “Anyway, what about your in-laws? A little better than mine were I’d wager.”

Trestle nodded, “Very much so. I suppose I feel a little overwhelmed by them sometimes because they show so much interest in us. In fact I suspect they’re a lot keener for us to start a family than my own wife!”

Runcy laughed, “Well, as we said before, that my dear fellow is well and truly in your hooves!”

Chuckling, Trestle threw the stub of his cigar overboard, “Runcy?” his voice dropped slightly, “You don’t think I made an arse of myself down there do you?”

The silver-grey stallion shook his head and stretched his hind legs out, “No. The Primus can be a little overwhelming at times but you didn’t miss much. He always opens the meetings before letting the others speak and the treasurer and secretary give their reports. Now, if you want a sure cure for insomnia, then that is the part you want to pay attention to.”

Trestle breathed a sigh of relief. Runcy could just be saying that to settle his nerves of course, but he’d take it at face value. His poor nerves were already stretched to the limit as it was without his imagination making things appear far worse than they actually were. In any case, something the Primus had said was niggling at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch, “I didn’t understand all that stuff about the ‘True Gods’” he said shaking his head, “Am I missing something?”

Runcy leaned back on the railing and groaned, “Believe me, Trestle, you don’t have to buy into all that ‘ancient mysticism’ stuff if you don’t want to. The circle is an organisation as old as the hills and it has some rather entrenched ideas that some find a little unusual or even downright strange. As I said to you, Veritas is more of an ‘old boys’ club and little more. If you treat it as a useful way to network with other nobles and develop business contacts then it can be a very useful tool. Oh…and Barbary’s buffets are more than worth making the effort for the trip too, I think you’ll agree.”

Trestle barked out a laugh, “True! Although I think I’ll pass on the prawns in future. The goddesses know what eating that thing will do to my insides.”

“Everything in moderation, my dear Trestle” Runcy smiled, “Always.” He looked towards the door at the stallion in the white and gold tunic,

“Sirs? The meeting is about to recommence. If you would be so kind as to rejoin us downstairs, refreshments are still available.”

“Now that’s something I like to hear,” Runcy said clopping his compatriot on the shoulder, “but I’d steer clear of that aniseed liqueur if were you.”

The rest of the meeting was, as he had predicted, interminably boring. So much so that the grating sound of Lord Aura’s snoring was making more than one pony look across in bemusement while in the background the treasurer droned on as if everypony was finding his facts and figures intensely interesting.

They weren’t.

Slowly, Trestle’s head began to sag and his eyelids closed, as indeed were several others who were now pleasantly full of the free drink and food. Runcy tried to stifle a yawn, but it probably wouldn’t have mattered if he’d got up and danced a jig – nopony was paying attention any more and murmured conversations were breaking out all around the room regardless of the treasurer’s explanation of the ‘previous fiscal period’. Lord Runcy stood up, stretched, and bobbed his head respectfully to treasurer before making his way to the bathroom; not that the old beggar had even acknowledged him, but protocol was protocol nonetheless. It was a trait lost on many of the young, but with any luck Trestle would stick to the tenets of the circle and at least try to keep their traditions from fading away into the obscurity of history. How much important knowledge had been lost over the decades? It didn’t bear thinking about. So many years of peace following countless years of war had pulled the teeth from Equestria, leaving them with…what? The ‘Royal Guard’? Hah! A mere shadow of its former self, and perhaps not even that. Golden wouldn’t recognise them now: a loose assemblage of weak, soft and lazy ponies who wore the relics of those who had given their lives for their country, people and princess – It was a bloody affront to their memory. How Celestia put up with it, he would never know. His hooves clopped on the tiled floor and he entered the stall, sinking onto the seat with a sigh; he couldn’t hold onto his drink as well as he once could, and Lark had been concerned about him developing gout too. He examined his forelegs and sighed; Goddesses above, it wasn’t as if he drank gallons of the bloody stuff was it? A gin and tonic, a brandy or a little…hello, what was this?

Movement caught his eye as another pony walked in and stopped outside the door to his stall. There was a sound of rustling, and a snort before a piece of paper was pushed under the door. Runcy stared at it and narrowed his eyes, staring at the bold letters written in pencil on the white piece of paper,

Meet me at the bow at midnight. Come alone.

Almost immediately the words began to glow, and in a faint flash of magic they disappeared as it they had simply never existed, leaving a perfectly clean piece of paper. Runcy sighed, putting the now blank missive to good use and flushed the chain before walking to the sinks to wash his hooves. Whoever had left the note had, rather predictably, already left. He knew who the note was from already though, didn’t he? Damn it all! She already knew what his answer was, but he would no doubt cause her offence if he did what he knew he should and simply not turn up. That meant that he’d have to stay up all bloody night playing that foolish mares game. Well, he would, and he’d also tell her to leave him alone in no uncertain terms. Runcy sighed, looking at his reflection in the mirror: a few more white hairs in his mane, a few more lines around his muzzle; why she had set her sights on him he’d never know. Certainly, Barbary was an attractive mare and knew all too well how to get her own way, but he was a married stallion, didn’t she realise that? But of course she did, and she also knew damned well he had a foal too, but that wouldn’t stop her, would it? Bloody females! They should stick to their knitting or whatever it was they did when they weren’t sticking their muzzles into business that didn’t concern them - like his! Irritably, Runcy rubbed his hooves on one of the towels and turned to leave.

Sunlight was staring right at him.

“Follow me.”

Runcy closed his eyes, took a breath, and headed after the enigmatic stallion. Knowing Sunlight it was probably something interesting that he didn’t want anypony else to see, so maybe…maybe it was another of Golden’s diaries? By the goddesses, that had to be it! He followed his friend out into the now thinning crowd to a side room, where a rather burly stallion was stood outside radiating a barely restrained aura of menace. Whoever he was, he was enormous – an earth pony stallion in a suit that must have taken literally yards of material to tailor, incorporating muscles that looked liked they could crack walnuts with little to no effort whatsoever. The fellow shot Runcy a suspicious glare before nodding to Sunlight and opened the door without another word. Whatever this was, it was beginning to look decidedly unlikely to be a hitherto unknown volume of Golden Spoon’s after all.

The room beyond was still quite spacious, but certainly more intimate. A heavy oak table with a green top, gold writing equipment and several chairs, were already occupied. Along the wood lined walls, pictures of ships, Barbary’s fleet, screamed to the viewer of her pride in her company as well as her wealth.

“Drink?” Lord Nadir waved a hoof towards a gold trimmed crystal decanter.

Runcy held up a hoof, “No thank you Primus, I fear I have already indulged a little more than usual,” he nodded politely towards the mare walking into the room behind them, “thanks to our kindly host.”

Barbary smiled demurely and took a seat next to Lord Nadir, “You are most welcome of course, Lord Spoon.”

Lord Spoon…Runcy felt like cringing at the name. Barbary’s eyes spoke volumes: she was angry with him, at his rejection of her - at least until midnight. Sweet Celestia, why couldn’t she just leave him be? Unfortunately to mares like Barbary the word ‘No’ apparently meant to simply try harder. He nodded to her politely.

“Take a seat my boy” Sunlight offered, motioning towards a chair.

Gratefully Runcy did so, sinking into the spindle backed chair that was rather surprisingly a lot more comfortable than he’d expected. Still, it didn’t do much to allay his concerns; he didn’t like this whole scenario - was it about Trestle? Goddesses, it bloody well was, wasn’t it? Well, he was used to dealing with damage limitation exercises, so he would just have to see where this went. Lord Nadir’s expression however was giving nothing away, although his dark brown eyes watched him with the intensity of a cat watching a potential meal,

“Lord Spoon, may I call you ‘Runcy’?”

“Of course, Primus” Runcy replied.

“Good…good…” The blue earth stallion gave a thin smile, “Your family are doing well, are they not?”

“They are, Primus. Thank you for asking.”

“Not at all, not at all” Lord Nadir gave a faint chuckle under his breath, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Runcy could feel a twitch in his mane but didn’t let his eyes move from the Primus. Whatever this was, the fellow would eventually get to the point.

“You have heard about the recent invasion by changelings, no doubt?” Lord Nadir asked. Runcy nodded. “Then you may have also heard about what happened during the battle in Canterlot, hmm?”

Runcy nodded, “A little, Lord Nadir, although I believe the press may very well have played down the matter to prevent concern amongst the citizenry.”

“Indeed.” The Primus took a sip of his drink and slowly placed the glass back down on the table, “The reports in the newspapers have been…’frugal’ in their explanation of the events that transpired within Canterlot, and the palace alike.”

“The palace?” Runcy asked.

This seemed to be precisely what the Primus wanted to hear, “Exactly” he said with a deep nod of his head, “The palace, or more specifically the throne room, where the Queen of the changelings herself had taken the place of the bride to be.” Lord Nadir paused, the corners of his mouth twitching, “Princess…Cadence, as she is styled.”

Runcy nodded. He was no fan of the ‘Manufactured Princess’ as many rather facetiously referred to her, and to hear of her being replaced by a changeling didn’t seem that far fetched. After all, she was no ‘true’ alicorn like Celestia. Runcy had seen the pictures in the newspapers – they had spoken volumes of the damage caused to the capital during the invasion, although they had almost universally referred to it as an ‘unfortunate incident’. It was a masterpiece of understatement if ever there was.

“I presume you have heard tell of what happened to Celestia then, Runcy?” Lord Nadir asked.

The grey stallion nodded, “I have heard rumours, my Lord, but what the truth of the matter is, I’m not certain.”

Lord Nadir snorted, “And not surprising either.” He took a breath, “A palace wide memory alteration spell was invoked regarding a particular ‘incident’ that the palace officials did not want spreading to the general population.” Lord Nadir leaned forward, steepling his hooves, “You suspect already what I am about to say, do you not?”

Runcy closed his eyes and felt his chest tighten slightly. Of course he suspected; how else could the invasion have occurred without Princess Celestia being removed from the equation somehow. But how had this situation been allowed to progress to the point where the changelings had been able to threaten the very capital itself anyway? At best it suggested some level of incompetence on behalf of the armed forces and intelligence services. At worst it meant…betrayal.

“Yes…I can see I was right about you, Runcy.” Lord Nadir smiled to himself, “A stallion who appreciates the truth about history and the struggles of our people to remain free and prosperous would be right to be sceptical of officially recorded reports.” Lord Nadir leaned his muzzle on his hooves, “Permit to me pass you over to Lord Aura.”

Sunlight nodded to the Primus and then addressed his younger friend, “Runcy, what you heard about Celestia is true. The changeling ‘Queen’, ‘Chrysalis’, impersonated Cadence and attacked the princess.” He closed his eyes, “I didn’t believe it myself at first, but the rumours are indeed true; Celestia was…struck down.”

“Struck down!” Runcy barked, rising from his chair, “Is she…?”

Sunlight raised a hoof, “She’s alive, don’t worry, and made a full recovery from what we understand.”

“But…how do you know this is true?” Runcy asked, “I confess I’ve heard rumours, but if what you say is correct and a palace wide memory alteration spell had been used, then how do you know all this hasn’t been distorted somehow?”

“I believe I may be able to answer that.” Barbary raised a manicured hoof, “If I may, Primus?” Lord Nadir nodded. “I understand that wide area effect spells can weaken with distance, and you may already be aware that earth ponies have a degree of natural resistance to magic already.” The mare smiled, “To make it easier to understand, Runcy dear, several ponies in the throne room ran as fast as their hooves could carry them and managed to avoid the more ‘potent’ effects of the memory spell. Personally I’m surprised that a more thorough job of this wasn’t performed, however I suspect that they believed that a couple of ponies ‘fantasy stories’ would be treated as just that.”

Sunlight nodded, “The facts speak for themselves, Runcy: An invasion force was able to penetrate to the very heart of Equestria, our princess was attacked, and then the matter was rather incompetently covered up.”

“And the ‘elements of harmony’?” Runcy asked.

Lord Aura nodded once more, “All true. The fillies used the same ancient magic used to help defeat Nightmare Moon to repel the changeling invasion. The newspapers claim that Cadence apparently had some part to play along with her fiancée, although I find that part to be mostly fantasy – probably propaganda for the newly-weds.”

Fillies! Runcy could feel his hooves digging into the arm of his chair. Dear Goddesses, what the hell was going on here? A thousand years of Equestrian peace had lead to this? Wars, death, destruction, the struggle of his ancestors, their ancestors, to throw off an enemy of extraordinary strength and lead by a demonic creature with the power of a god, and now look at them; one little push and the whole rotten façade folded like a house made of cards. He felt sick…

The room fell silent. Only the clock on the wall steadily ticking the time away seemed to make any sense now. Runcy looked at the glass of brandy that had been pushed towards him.

“I know how you feel” the Primus said solemnly, “I didn’t believe it myself at first, but there it is.”

“She…she defeated Nightmare Moon” Runcy whispered. He lifted the glass in his shaking hooves and swallowed the brandy in one slug, “Golden…the Celestian army…it was all for this?”

Lord Nadir smiled gently, “Runcy, listen, it has been a thousand years or more since the war with Nightmare Moon and the Legion. Only the goddesses know what truly happened during that most darkest of times, but we cannot, cannot, allow our beloved home to fall back into that darkness once again.” He shook his head, “Our people are weak, our army reduced to no more than a ceremonial assemblage of career officers and overdressed security guards whose efficacy was all too apparent during the attack on Canterlot.” He snorted ironically, “Dear Gods, Runcy, we had to rely on magic wielded by children to save us…children…”

Runcy’s emotions were running wild. An urge to shout, scream, cry, buck something into next week and simultaneously throttle the bloody life out of something all blended into a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to overwhelm his reason. They had to do something! They couldn’t let things like this stand! What if it happened again? In fact, with word no doubt spreading about the near fall of Equestria to an army of emotional vampires, other ancient enemies may decide that the time was ripe to finally expand their territory, and in reality, who did they have who could stop them? Children? Bloody hell, what were they going to do? He hung his head and gritted his teeth, trying miserably to hide his emotions from the others.

A hoof appeared on his shoulder; it was Sunlight, “Runcy my boy, I think that you of all ponies, with your understanding of our people’s history, can clearly see what this could mean for Equestria.”

Runcy let out a breath, “Why are you telling me this?”

Sunlight sat back down, motioning towards the Primus who nodded slowly, “There is more to the story.” Runcy’s ears swivelled round, focussing on the Primus’s words. “What we tell you here cannot be repeated beyond these walls, brother. If you do, you will be ostracised by our order, your family name removed from the rolls and treated as one of the lost. You understand this, do you not?”

Runcy nodded. He knew the line, as did all members of the circle. It had been ingrained in their hearts and memories from the very first day: silence. Nopony spoke of the circle outside the circle, else the light of truth be drowned in the lies that flooded the world like the very darkness Nightmare Moon had once threatened to drown them all in. The light of truth must always burn pure and bright, carried always by its bearers and protectors : Veritas. “I do, Primus” Runcy stated, his hoof over his heart, “I swear upon the memory of our ancestors that I shall never speak of these matters to another.”

The blue stallion nodded and passed him over to Sunlight, “There are several points to consider, Runcy” he began, “Firstly, the invasion itself: how did a force of such a size manage to travel across Equestria undetected and attack our capital. Secondly, how was the changeling queen not detected by Celestia until she was able to attack her and overcome her? And thirdly, what will happen to our country’s standing abroad?”

“Any word from the other kingdoms or the empire?” Runcy asked.

Barbary shook her head, “Nothing yet, but it is only a matter of time. The Llamalian Emperor is not the type to discount rumours as mere fantasy; he will look to investigate for himself, and I suspect he will find enough tongues all too happy to wag.”

It was true; ponies were well noted for being incessant gossips and who knew what state secrets had already been thoughtlessly given to rival nations. Celestia’s hairy ears, it didn’t bear thinking about.

Lord Nadir closed his eyes in thought, his next words sounding as cold as the chill they sent down Runcy’s spine, “The Princess has decided to…negotiate with the changelings.”

“She…” Runcy’s mouth went dry, “But why, why would she even contemplate such a thing? You cannot negotiate with creatures like that! You know as well as I what those things are capable of, Primus. We all know the legends.”

“Indeed” the blue stallion replied, “And now legends are coming to life before our very eyes, with the intent of stealing our home and enslaving us all.”

“Dear goddesses…has she lost her mind?” Runcy shook his head, ashamed at what was happening in his land, but also at what he was feeling. He, like so many of their people worshipped their princess, the very embodiment of the three tribes – Celestia, daughter of the gods themselves. To think that she would even contemplate negotiating with creatures of such malice, such utter evil, was unthinkable. This was the result of a millennia of peace, of…weakness. She had been beaten, defeated by one of the dark ones, and now the only path left was…appeasement? This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening! Appeasement meant surrender, showing your enemy that you were incapable, or unwilling, to fight back. It could only ever lead to one conclusion: the end of Equestria as they knew it.

Sunlight leaned towards him, “Runcy, we don’t know what Celestia has in mind. It’s entirely possible that this is a ruse, a plan to stall the enemy long enough to allow us to build up our strength.”

“Strength?” Runcy let out an ironic laugh, “What strength?” He looked up at his friend, his eyes burning with anger as Sunlight sat back quickly. “We have no strength! We have spent the last thousand years sitting on our arses growing fat and apathetic. Our only strength now comes from selling goods to other nations that could simply walk in here any time they pleased and take everything our ancestors ever fought for without so much as lifting a hoof to stop them. Goddesses protect us all; if we’re negotiating with creatures like these, we may as well wave a white flag!”

Lord Nadir got up from the table and took out a cigar, passing one to Runcy, “I think you can see now why I asked to see you, Lord Spoon.” He pushed a box of matches towards him, “Your family, your line, were the ones who were able to rally Equestria to the call to arms. I fear that in the days to come, we will need ponies like you.”

Runcy’s ear twitched, “Equestria has an army already. They’re weak, granted, but it still has one. What about Lord Cinch the defence minister? Has anypony approached him? I’m told he has the princess’s ear.”

Nadir snorted, “Cinch? He is leading the call for peace with the changelings.”

“He…he what?!” Runcy shot out of his chair, “That damned traitor!”

“Runcy, please…” Barbary motioned towards the chair, “I know you’re upset.”

“Upset?” Runcy could feel his muscles twitching, aching for action, to do something, anything other than remain trapped within this damned iron coffin while his daughter, his precious daughter, was living in a world of vampiric monsters that could be anywhere, or even any pony! He growled under his breath, “I think I have a right to be upset, my lady.” Runcy turned to the Primus, “Where was Princess Luna when all of this was happening? Where was she during the wedding ceremony?”

“Nopony knows” Sunlight said quietly, “Some suggest she was off fighting the changelings with the army, whilst others say she was…” he closed his eyes, “involved with them.”

Lord Nadir took a pull on his cigar, sending out the smoke to wreath his muzzle as he gazed into the fire, “Runcy…there are rumours, suggestions, that something is happening in Canterlot that could bring about the end of all we know and hold dear. If they are true, then…” he trailed off.

Runcy sat up, “Primus, tell me.”

The blue stallion nodded, “Tell him, Barbary.”

Barbary closed her eyes as she spoke, “Runcy…I’vee been told by friends of the circle who work in the palace, that Celestia, the princess, has…lost her mind.”

Runcy froze, “What? How can you say such a thing?”

“How can we not?” Sunlight cut in, “The evidence is here before your very nose, Runcy. You said it yourself: she is willing to negotiate with demons mere moments after their defeat by a group of young fillies. My friend, I have asked myself the same question time and time again; why would the princess even contemplate entrusting so much power to these young girls? Is it perhaps because she is incapable of using this magic herself? Then I asked myself how it was that this alicorn, this daughter of the gods, the one who legends say destroyed King Sombra and banished Nightmare Moon, was defeated by a mere changeling when she was surrounded by her royal guard in her own palace?” He shook his head, “Tell me, Runcy, tell me the answer…because I wish I knew.”

“Run…” Barbary hung her head, “I know it hurts to think like this, and worse, to say these terrible things, but you must see it yourself; the princess is no longer the all powerful goddess many of us once thought.”

Runcy squeezed his eyes shut as the dreadful reality of their situation hit home. He took a breath, breathing it out slowly, “What is it you want of me” he asked.

“Nothing” the Primus replied. He turned to face the grey stallion, his brown eyes watching his every move, “At least, not yet. We are gathering our most trusted brothers and bringing this gravest of matters to their attention. I’m sure you already understand, Runcy, that we cannot allow any word of this to leak out or it could mean not only the end of our order, but also the end of everything we hold dear.”

“Runcy, we love our home, as you do.” Sunlight smiled and leaned over to pat his friend’s foreleg, “I know you’ll be there to stand by our side, as Golden Spoon once did, ready to defend Equestria from those who would do her harm.”

Runcy didn’t know what to say. He barely noticed Sunlight and Barbary leave, leaving him sitting in his chair staring at the edge of the desk in a daze. Normally he was so self assured, positive and driven in all he did. Now…now none of it seemed to be of any importance whatsoever. After all, if what they said was true and Celestia really had lost her power, if their country genuinely was willing to negotiate with those things, then all of it, everything he had ever worked for, would be for nothing. He stared at his hooves and felt a shudder run through him; he wasn’t the spry stallion he had once been, and what he knew of war and tactics came only from the myriad of books in his library. If this meant war, if Equestria truly was destined for the melting pot of conflict once more, what could he do?

“Oh, Goddess” he murmured, “Silver…”

Lord Nadir watched him silently for a moment and shook his head. Runcy was a loyal Equestrian, a pony of standing and a traditionalist. They would need more like him in the months to come; many, many more. He got up, walked towards the door and paused, “Runcy?” He placed his hoof on the grey stallion’s shoulder, “We all have something, or somepony to protect. Whether we stand or fall, is something that only we can decide.” With a clink of glass, a small bottle appeared in front of Runcy, “Accept this as a token of thanks for your loyalty, and please, enjoy the rest of the trip. Your brothers are with you.”

The door closed with a click, causing the lord of Spoon Manor to look up and focus his weary eyes on the bottle before him. It was so small, so insignificant in size, and yet what was inside was, for his daughter, the essence of life itself. He reached out and lifted the small container, pressing it gently to his muzzle,

“Oh, Silver…what have I done…”

The deck outside was devoid of ponies, save for those who had ventured out after a few late night tots in the saloon or had found a partner for the evening. In a virtual daze, the silver-grey stallion made his way to the stern of the iron vessel and stared down at the churning waters below. Even in the waning light the white froth stood out in stark relief against the inky darkness of the sea as the Queen of Waters made her inexorable way towards Canterlot and the palace. High above him the stars were appearing like tiny pinpricks of light in an infinity of emptiness, devoid of warmth, joy and… He took a breath and sighed loudly; what was the point in allowing himself to feel this way? In reality, Celestia had probably agreed to negotiate with the changeling queen to avoid any future conflict, and maybe, just maybe, all these predictions of impending doom were little more than the worried murmurs of those who had a great deal to lose. He huffed; who didn’t? Changelings hadn’t been seen in Equestria for such a long time that they were bordering on become little more than a Nightmare Night story to frighten foals. In some respects it was just as well too; if word got out it would only serve to fuel fear, with the dangerous and very real possibility of ponies turning on their own as paranoia fuelled panic spread across the nation. In other ways, the habit of Equestrians to ignore what was happening around them as being ‘somepony else’s problem’ or to dismiss more unpleasant thoughts as fantasy, could equally take them beyond the precipice and into the unthinkable depths of self destruction. Ignorance may be bliss but it could also be a one way ticket to the afterlife.

Runcy took out his pipe and packed it, lifting out a match and charring the tobacco before tamping it down. He normally enjoyed his pipe, not that Lark really approved of course, but she rarely commented on it, save that he only ‘do it in the study’. He smiled sadly to himself and closed his eyes, feeling the cold of the iron railing seep through his clothes, fur and skin. He didn’t like modern vessels, they felt so…cold. The galleons of old with their canvas sails and the creak of a wooden hull…now that was how a pony should live. When he was a foal he used to imagine himself as a pirate, roaming the high seas or the skies above the clouds, boarding enemy vessels and plundering them of all their gold and jewels. A wench in one foreleg and foaming mug of ale in his hoof as he sang the old songs…Goddesses, if he could weave magic and disappear back to those heady days, he would happily go. Or would he? He had a wife and foal to protect now, and as the stallion of the family that was his priority now, not fantasising about impossible dreams. Runcy turned to face Trestle who was staggering towards him with a foolish smirk on his face,

“You’re drunk”

“Ah…pony feathers!” Trestle blurted, weaving sideways slightly, “I don’t bloody well care. I’m tired, bored, and I can’t get that bloody mare out of my head.” He burped loudly, “I tell you, Runcy old boy, if you had the chance, wouldn’t you? I mean…come on! Have you seen that flank?”

Runcy rolled his eyes, “Oh yes, I think we’ve all seen that flank.”

“What does that mean?” Trestle huffed, “She’s…she’s a lady! A real…real lady…”

“Trestle?” Runcy asked.

“Hmmm?”

The grey stallion took a breath, “GO TO BED!”

“Humph! Bloody killjoy…” Trestle furrowed his brow, lifting his foreleg as if to say something, thought about it, shrugged, and tottered off back to his cabin. Runcy shrugged and chuckled to himself; the young lad had a certain charm about him, even it was a little childish at times, but there didn’t seem to be a bad bone in his body. As for himself… He reached into his pocket and fished out the note before checking his pocket watch: it was time.

Giving himself a shake, Runcy walked casually up to the bow along the promenade deck. Much of the ship was in darkness now except for the crew’s quarters and the lights from the bridge while below the light streaming from the portholes added a curiously soothing golden glow to the water. It was quite beautiful, in a strange way. He glanced up at the smokestack, watching the plumes puff out and then drift off into the night sky…yes, quite beautiful, if you like that sort of thing. He smiled grimly to himself and waited.

He didn’t look round at the approaching hoof steps and simply waited.

The voice had a distinctly feminine note to it, but was muffled, possibly by a scarf or hood, “Don’t turn around, Lord Spoon. If you do, It’ll be the last thing you do.”

Runcy shrugged, “Have you come to talk to me, or mug me, friend?”

The unseen figure snorted, “Neither. I have come to guide you to the truth; a truth you may find ‘unpalatable’.”

“Now there’s a novelty” Runcy huffed. “Well?”

There was an intake of breath, “Don’t believe everything you hear, Lord Spoon. The truth is far more complex than you are being lead to believe by those in whom you have placed your trust.”

Runcy waited, “And that’s it, is it? Is that what this whole mysterious ‘meet me at midnight’ bunkum was about? To tell me not to believe everything I hear? I’m not some naïve foal, and I certainly didn’t-”

“Your friend is lying to you.”

“My…” Runcy blinked, fighting the urge to turn round, “Who? Which friend?”

“There is a place, far to the north that holds the answers, Lord Runcy” the figure said levelly, “Soon, you will be asked to travel there with certain ponies within your circle. It is then that you will discover the truth for yourself.” the female chuckled, “After all, a lie is far easier to believe when it is wrapped in the truth, is it not?”

“What? Who the bloody hell are you?” Runcy instinctively moved to turn but froze as a metal tube was pressed to the back of his skull with a distinct ‘click’.

“One wrong move, Lord Runcy, and your filly will never see her father again. You wouldn’t want that, now, would you?”

Runcy’s mane shivered as his anger flared, “What the hell do you want from me? If you’re going to shoot me, then shoot me and the devils of Tartarus take you!”

“We shall speak again” the voice said quietly, “For now, you may turn around.”

Runcy span to face his tormentor, yet instead of facing a pony, he found himself staring at a short silvery metal tube, immediately followed by a bright flash of red light that made his head spin and his ears scream like banshees. Runcy hissed in pain and threw his hooves up to his eyes as the light and sound gradually diminished.

He was alone.

So, that was it was it? More blasted cloak and dagger shenanigans, and this time from a pony who’d threatened to actually shoot him! He sank to his haunches and began to laugh; it was, when you thought about it, absolutely bloody ridiculous. For more years than he cared to recall, he’d complained about ponies lacking any backbone and here, on a ship on the way to the palace, one had shoved a gun into the back of head and threatened to kill him if he didn’t listen to them. Ah, the irony was delicious! He gave himself a shake and rubbed his eyes. What the hell had she done to him anyway? Magic, it had to be…bloody unicorns…Still, what she said was decidedly troubling; whether he could believe her or not however remained to be seen, but...one of his friends? Who, Trestle? No, it couldn’t be. But if it wasn’t him then who? It couldn’t be Sunny, he’d known him since he was born and he’d been a friend of his father’s too, so…Barbary Nights? Good goddesses, it could be anypony. Runcy winced; that damned mare had nearly blinded him and his ears were still ringing even now. With a groan he pulled himself to his hooves and headed back to his cabin. With any luck they’d be entering port some time around eight in the morning and then it was off to the palace for all the joys of the royal court. Sometimes he envied Lark and her carefree life of sewing and croquet.

Back inside, the lights were almost blinding in contrast to the deck and he had to squint to allow his eyes to readjust. Aside from the ever present throb of the engines, with the peaceful waters and lack of a sense of motion the interior of the vessel could have easily been mistaken for any one of the numerous high class hotels in Canterlot. He’d stayed in more than a few over the years and their prices always matched the opulence of the rooms. To try and save money, he’d flown to Canterlot once in an airship at Lark’s insistence. Luna’s backside, he’d never forget that! What an experience; nopony had warned him what ‘air turbulence’ was and the bloody thing had been blown around the sky like one of Silver’s kites! Never, never again!

A steward walked towards him up the corridor and bobbed his head, “Good evening, Sir.”

“Good evening” Runcy replied, stifling a yawn. He rubbed his eyes and rummaged in his pocket for the…key? A glint of something shiny on the thick carpet caught his eye and he looked down to see a brass door key sitting where it had been carelessly dropped. Curious, he picked it up and looked at the attached number plate: 51. Runcy looked up at the number on his door and froze – it was his cabin. Carefully he tried the door, and sure enough, it was unlocked. For a moment he wondered about calling the steward but the fellow had already rounded the corner and vanished from sight. This, he thought to himself ironically, was why ponies used to carry sidearms. He took a breath and slowly began to push the door open. It moved silently on its well oiled hinges and he silently thanks Barbary for her staffs dedication to detail. Everything on the ship was perfect, like her; not a hair out of place, nor even a scuff on her immaculately polished hooves. No, like Barbary, everything here ran as smooth as silk, and like silk, she was sat at the centre of it all like a spider waiting for her prey. Oh…oh, no…Barbary… Runcy groaned; she was on the bed. In the darkness of the room he found the cord for the lamp and pulled, sending the magically infused light out to illuminate the sleeping figure.

“R…Runcy?”

The grey stallion dropped to his haunches and facehoofed, “Trestle?! You… you bloody idiot!”

“Oh goddesses…I don’t feel well…” The stricken black stallion looked up at him helplessly, “I think we got our…” He suddenly turned a distinctly grim shade of green.

“Hang on!” Runcy dashed to the bathroom and returned with the waste bin, and just in time too. Trestle had his muzzle unceremoniously grabbed and shoved inside it as his stomach heaved its contents out in a steaming cascade of half digested snacks and alcohol. The smell was intriguing to say the least. Runcy shook his head at his stricken friend and held his mane out of his face as the young stallion emptied his stomach into the waste bin. Damn it all, there went his nights sleep; there was no way he’d be able to-

“Run?”

Runcy closed his eyes; it didn’t look like he’d been far off the mark after all. “Barbary…”

“Are you alright? One of the crew said there’d been strange lights on the deck and the steward said he saw somepony down the corridor.” The mare fussed with her mane and looked down at the young fellow with his head in the bin, “Is that your friend?”

The grey stallion sighed, “Apparently.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out another key: 52 – Trestle’s cabin. Somehow they’d managed to get their keys muddled and the drunken fool had collapsed on his bed. Still, at least he hadn’t been sick on the thing.

“I’ll fetch a bucket” Barbary suggested and slipped from the room to return moments later, ready for the next bout or retching. “We can’t leave him like this,” she said concernedly, “why in Equestria did you let him get in this state?”

Runcy snorted, “I think he was quite capable of getting himself into this condition without any help from me” he grumbled, “He may look like a child, but he’s old enough to know when to stop pouring bloody alcohol down his throat.”

Barbary frowned at his swearing, “Well regardless, somepony is going to have to stay up with him. I can’t have a passenger drowning in their own vomit on my ship.”

“Perish the thought” Runcy muttered.

Barbary shot him a look, “Run, call the steward and have him bring a pot of coffee, water, and a box of oat rounds.”

“Oat rounds?” Runcy asked.

“Just do it!” the mare snapped.

Without another word, Runcy charged out the door and nearly head first into the very steward who’d walked past him earlier. The fellow’s eyes went wide in surprise, but quickly nodded to the unusual request and trotted off to fetch the coffee and biscuits. Back in the room, a sound like somepony dumping a bucket of porridge onto the floor met him, together with a sweating and gasping black stallion. Runcy shook his head; ‘one of your friends is lying to you’, eh? If he had to discount anypony, it would be the young lad. It was probably a tad difficult to engage in espionage when you were spewing your guts out. Now, as for the enigmatic mare sitting beside him and holding a damp flannel to his muzzle, that was a very different matter.

“It’s on its way” Runcy assured her, and took a seat beside her while surreptitiously sliding his more personal belongings out of the way. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Barbary, but if anything happened to the gold pocket watch his grandfather had bought him he’d never forgive himself, and the way Trestle was flailing around, nothing was safe. He couldn’t watch any more, and besides, the young stallion’s groans and prayers to Celestia were beginning to grate on his nerves. Runcy got up and took the waste bin to the bathroom, dumping the stinking contents down the toilet before rinsing it out in the bath, all the while trying his best not to breath. It wasn’t working, and the acrid smell was soon making his own stomach react in resonance with the ‘bucket filler’ next door. Huffing, he began roughly collecting his belongings – room 52 wasn’t it?

Barbary looked over at him in concern, “What are you doing?”

Runcy threw his panniers over his back and moved to one side to let the steward in with his trolley, “I’m going to bed, and if you have any sense, madam, you’ll do the same.”

“You can’t leave him like this!” she said in alarm, “He could choke in his sleep!”

The grey stallion snorted, “I can assure you, there is nothing left inside him to choke on.”

“He’s your friend, Run, you can’t-”

“-I can, and I will.” Runcy narrowed his eyes, “He’s not a child, Barbary and I am not his father. If the damned fool wants to half kill himself with alcohol and whatever it was you made him eat – prawns wasn’t it? Then so far as I’m concerned, then he is the architect of his own problems. Besides, you should be grateful; I’m sure he put more than a hoofful of bits in your coffers tonight, so why don’t you return the gesture and give him a little of your famous tender loving care?”

“Runcy, you…you rat!” Barbary snapped, “How could you?”

“Quite easily” Runcy replied. Pinching one of the oat rounds from the steward’s trolley, he waved the stolen treat in the air as he disappeared into the corridor, “Good night, Barbary. Don’t stay up too late now.”

“RUNCY!”

The door closed with a defiantly loud click.

The ships bell rang, its mournful sound echoing down the corridors and even into the cabin. He was tired, physically and now emotionally as well. By the goddesses, did he really have to face all of this? By rights he should be at home with his family, with Lark and his beloved daughter, Silver. Lord Runcy rummaged in his pocket for his old pipe and held it up to the lamp. It had been his father’s, and his father’s before him. Just how old it actually was, nopony knew, but as much as Lark hated the thing, when he smoked it he felt that little bit closer to his family…just for a while. He rotated it in his hooves, noting the familiar scars on the dark cherry wood bowl, the unusual patterning on the amber stem and the teeth marks from generations of Spoons. He took a sniff of the tobacco and smiled – it was ‘Black Water’s Mellow Field’, a blend that held hints of whiskey, molasses and black cherries. A little packed into the bowl, the flare of a match, and the grey-blue smoke began to curl up towards the ceiling. Runcy walked to the porthole and unbolted it before swinging it up and locking it in place.

Fresh air off the sea drifted into the cabin, taking out the pungent tobacco smoke and playing with Runcy’s mane. Divested of his overcoat he could feel the cooling air that little bit more, and it felt wonderful. With a deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair and stared out at the stars and the sparkling waters stretching off into infinity; they would be there soon, and before long he would be able to set off back home to see his loved ones. Runcy sighed and took a puff on his pipe, allowing the smoke to roll around his mouth, then something digging in his side caught his attention and he reached into his pocket to take it out. It was the bottle the Primus Pilus has left him: a bottle of tiny crystals, each not much bigger than a pea, and shaped like their name – ‘wendigo tears’. What they actually were was unknown, and to the best of his knowledge the bottle he had back at the manor was the only one in existence – a memento from Golden’s army days. He’d had everypony look at them, from scholars to historians, wizards to traders. None had known what they were, save for speculation based on the name on the label, but…this bottle looked new, and it was full. He held it up to the light, turning it round, watching each tiny facet of the tiny crystals inside reflect a million colours that had always been so fascinating to him ever since he was a foal.

And then he’d found the diary.

Runcy had read how Golden had discovered the healing powers of the wendigo tears during the last days of the war and how they had saved ponies who would have normally been beyond saving. Whether they were a medicine created by the wizards of the time, or the even the Legion, Runcy had no idea, but still… He put the bottle back in his pocket and stood up, leaning on the porthole as he took another pull on his pipe,

“I’ll be back soon, Silver.” He took a breath, tossing his mane, “Soon.”