//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: Diplomatic Impunity // Story: Sentry at the Charge // by Tumbleweed //------------------------------// Theoretically, I could have said no. To Princess Celestia. Right after she'd awarded me for my valor and loyalty. I even hemmed and hawed a bit, playing up the 'I'm just a simple soldier' routine, emphasizing my complete lack of diplomatic credentials, but Princess Celestia just smiled and told me she had the utmost confidence in my abilities and character. Which is why, a few days later, I had little choice but to head to the airship docks. By the time I flew to the boarding platform, Carrot Top was already there, waiting. She wore a pair of sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, tied under her chin with a pink scarf. Quite stylish-- though the stuffed-full saddlebags she carried were of the more practical variety. I briefly wondered what kind of cutlery she was carting around in there, but ultimately decided I'd sleep better if I didn't know. Ready to go?” She asked, matter of factly. “Hold on.” I glanced around to make sure nopony was in listening difference. “I just realized ... Is this a Golden Harvest thing? Coming along for skullduggerous reasons? Or is Carrot Top just tagging along to spend time with her--” “Her what?” Carrot Top arched a brow. “That's what I'm trying to figure out.” “Don't bother. We've got better things to worry about.” Carrot Top's bag clanked ominously as she started up the boarding ramp. “Of course.” I cleared my throat. “I ... did enjoy dinner the other night, though.” Carrot Top's professional demeanor faltered, and she favored me with a genuine smile. “You at least deserved one last proper meal before heading to the hive.” “Oh, don't worry. I made sure to stock up on provisions.” I smiled, thinking of the couple cases of wine I'd 'requisitioned' from the Palace wine cellar. Nothing so valuable as another Chateau de Cheval, but enough of a selection to get a restaurant a favorable review in the newspaper. I'd personally overseen the loading of the straw-packed crates to make sure they were secure for the voyage ahead. “Especially since King Thorax mentioned something called a ... gorbfest.” The word itself was enough to turn my stomach. “I have no idea what that is.” Carrot Top said. “Neither do I, but I'm not exactly thrilled to find out.” “You've been through worse, Sentry.” “You keep saying that, and it never makes me feel any better.” I grumbled. Carrot Top winked, coyly. “Guess I'll have to think of something else to make you feel better, then.” Our trip to the Changeling Lands was blissfully uneventful. The little single-prop airship was a bit crowded, necessitating Carrot Top and I stay in the ship's only passenger cabin. Despite the close proximity, we managed not to murder each other (or, more specifically, Carrot Top was never tempted into murdering me). Carrot Top spent a good deal of her time with her nose stuck in an officious-looking manilla folder, but looked up long enough for the occasional glass of wine out on the bow (it was the breeziest part of the airship) or even the occasional round of cards (which she routinely beat me at, making me assume she'd learned some other tricks from Hoofdini). Really, if it weren't for our unlikely destination, the trip was pretty much a pleasure cruise. And so, we chugged along at a stately pace-- though to judge by the proportion of the airship's engine, I wagered it could go at a far faster speed if it needed to. Though to be honest, I would've preferred the airship to go even slower, given our destination. Over the years, I've had the misfortune of being sent to some terrible places for the most contrived of reasons: Yakyakistan, Griffinstone, and even a brief (and yet entirely too long) stint in Tartarus. Of all the miserable places I've set hoof on, the Changeling Kingdom definitely ranks as one of the worst, simply because it tried to be something other than an inhospitable wasteland. Quite badly, I might add. The Hive rose up in the middle of a blasted, cracked plain ... and yet the changelings had “decorated” it with a scant few streamers and banners, wriggling anemically in the wind. The contrast between the daubed and organic lines of changeling 'architecture' with the handful of embellishments was both sad and disturbing, like the off-key jingles of a broken music box. The feeling of unease got worse as the airship made its landing approach, and a too-large choir of greenish blue (or was it bluish green?) changelings launched into a song of 'welcome,' which sounded like nothing so much as the buzzing of dozens of enormous cicadas. King Thorax stood in the center of it all, beaming and smiling as our airship touched down. He mercifully silenced the choir with a gesture, and then cleared his throat to address us. “It is my pleasure to welcome Lieutenant Flash Sentry, the envoy from Equestria! May this meeting be the beginning of a long and wonderful friendship between our two kingdoms!” The changelings started cheering/singing/screeching again, and I found myself hearkening back to the good old days, when noises like that just meant a whole mess of changelings wanted to kill me. At least then I'd be perfectly justified in throwing things and/or running away. But, 'diplomat' that I was, I could only smile guilelessly as I stepped down the ramp and made small talk with the various bug-eyed monstrosities that suddenly, inexplicably wanted to be my newest friend. First and foremost among them, of course, was King Thorax. “I'm so glad you could make it, Flash Sentry!” He said. “We're going to have so much fun, I promise!” “I've been looking forward to it, Your Majesty.” Once again, it was a good thing I was such a skilled liar. “Oh, please! You don't have to use the formal titles! Just 'Thorax' is fine!” “I'll ... keep that in mind.” I said. “Hi Thorax! My name's Carrot Top!” As per the usual, she had snuck up behind me before I could even notice. Somewhat not usual was the cheery, almost airheaded voice with which she spoke, but then again, it was no doubt part of Carrot Top's cover, which was per the usual. Layers within layers, and all that. “Oh, hello!” Thorax blinked. “I remember you from the award ceremony-- you were there in the front row next to Scut, weren't you?” “That was me! I always like making new friends-- which is why when my Flashy told me he got invited to visit your kingdom, I just knew I had to come along! I hope you don't mind, do you?” Carrot Top batted her eyelashes and stuck her bottom lip out just so in an expression no doubt calculated for maximum cuteness. She should have gone into theatre. Would've made my life a lot easier, I tell you. “You know Flash Sentry?” “Of course I do!” Carrot Top pulled me in for an affectionate hug. “We're ... close.” I said. “Any friend of Flash Sentry's is a friend of mine!” King Thorax said, cheery. “You two made it here just in time for the gorbfest!” “You shouldn't have.” I said. “You really, really shouldn't have.” “But we have to! The gorbfest is the only real festival changelings have! That, well, and swarming day, but that one's a little bit, uh ... personal.” “I'll take your word for it, Your Majesty.” “I told you, call me Thorax!” It wasn't a regal command-- more of an overeager-to-please whine. “Here, you'll lighten up after you have a few bowls of gorb. It has that effect.” King Thorax whistled, and a couple of changelings buzzed up and foisted clay bowls of some yellowish fizzy liquid on us. “Er. Just what is this?” I sniffed at the fizzy stuff, and my nosehairs curled inwards. “It's gorb!” King Thorax said, entirely too proud of himself. “It's what you drink during a gorbfest!” “Smells alcoholic.” Carrot Top said, and took an experimental swig. She smacked her lips a few times, and grinned. “Not bad.” Despite my mounting doubts regarding Carrot Top's palate, I couldn't let her be the braver one (when it came to alcohol, that is). And so, I tilted back a deep pull of gorb. Much to my surprise, it wasn't terrible. Which is to say it wasn't good, either. Molasses-thick and just about as sweet-- though with a thorough alcoholic kick to even it out. “It's a little more ... robust than my usual fare, but it's not bad. Where do you get this stuff?” I went in for a second dose. King Thorax just beamed with all the enthusiasm of someone showing off their favorite local delicacy. “You know how bees make honey?” I choked down a mouthful of gorb without drowning myself. Barely. “You don't mean that changelings--” “Oh no! We actually make gorb from the saliva of a certain kind of grubworm that lives in the walls of the hive.” “I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.” “But don't ponies drink the milk from other mammals sometimes? It's pretty much the same principle, isn't it?” “I, er, never thought of it that way.” I looked down at my bowlful of gorb, and suddenly wished I'd brought a few more cases of wine. “Now, it's time to get to the real fun part!” King Thorax went on before I could consider the implications of domesticated grub-juice. “I can't wait to introduce you to our other new friends!” “Other friends?” I said. King Thorax nodded eagerly (miraculously not poking anyone's eyes out in the process). “That's right! I think they're still in the main hall.” And with that, King Thorax led Carrot Top and I deeper into the changeling hive. A prickling feeling flowed over my skin as I walked through the disturbingly orifice-shaped door. Considering how badly the last time I went into a changeling hive went, it was entirely understandable. With any luck, this one wouldn't explode, but I knew better than to make any promises. Carrot Top's smile grew faintly more cheery as we went deeper into the hive-- I wasn't the only one slightly unnerved by our new 'hosts.' But that had been the 'old' changelings, though-- these newer, greener ones were supposed to be reformed, after all. To their credit, nobody was posing as a gorgeous mare so they could get a crack at eating my brains, so maybe things really had changed. We walked into the Hive's central hall-- long, bulbous arches holding the ceiling up gave the impression that we were inside some enormous beast's ribcage. Still, the Changelings had 'decorated' as best they could, and set up a long table in the middle of the room. The table was piled high with various substances that I assumed were food, presumably more edible worm byproducts. Uncountable changelings buzzed and bustled about-- many of them waiting on King Thorax's other new friend. “Flash Sentry, Carrot Top, I'd like to introduce my newest-- and the Hive's newest friend, Gnolpoleon Bone-Apart the Fourteenth!*” King Thorax managed to sound halfway regal on that announcement. *As one may presume from the name, Gnollpoleon XIV was the descendant (or at least claimed to be as such) of the original Gnollpoleon Bone-Apart, the famed tyrant and general whose reign of conquest was finally ended at the famed Battle of Waterhoof, during the Three-Kingdoms Era. If you, dear reader, have never met a gnoll before, I envy you. Picture a creature akin to a diamond dog: bipedal, with bulging yellow eyes above mouths filled with too too many teeth. The difference, however, is in their fur: gnolls are covered in black spots, and each one has a mohawk-like ridge of fur running all the way from the middle of their spine to their thick, paleolithic-looking brows. This said, there's quite a bit of variety in their morphology, ranging from the typical hulking brutes one would expect, to smaller varieties of gnoll that barely stand taller than a filly who hasn't earned her cutie mark yet. Gnollpoleon was of the latter type-- short in stature and almost spherical in build. He wore a military tunic with enough gold braiding and epaulets to make my dress uniform look drab, and topped the whole outfit off with a plumed bicorn hat easily half again as big as he was. Two larger gnolls with less ornate uniforms stood on either side of him: bodyguards if you wanted to use the polite term, goons if you didn't. “Bonjour, mes amis!” Gnollpoleon's voice was oddly nasal, as if he had particularly nasty head infection. He swept off his hat and bowed. “It is so good to meet you! We do not see very many ponies out in the bandlands.” He thrust out a clawed hand, and I managed to shake it without acquiring any new scars. “And we don't see any gnolls in Equestria.” I managed not to add 'thankfully' to the end of the sentence. “Under Chrysalis' rule, changelings and gnolls were enemies.” King Thorax nodded, gravely. “Oui. It was a dark time.” Gnollpoleon put his hat back on and fiddled with it to make sure it was at just the right angle. “But now, things are different!” “That's right!” King Thorax nodded. “Once Gnollpoleon heard Queen Chrysalis was gone, he came to visit, and now we can all be friends!” “That's ... good.” I said, nodding. Gnollpoleon grinned, showing off a smile like a knife rack. “Oh-ho-ho! I see you are still cautious. I understand! Thorax has told me you are a brave warrior! No doubt in your military studies you have heard tales of my ancestor, the first Gnollpoleon Bone-Apart!” “Of course.” I said, and wracked my brain to dredge up details from some military history class I'd no doubt slept through. “Well, I assure you, monsieur, I am not my ancestor, and you have little to worry about from me.” “I'll keep that in mind.” Carrot Top glanced up at me and shrugged-- I could tell from her skeptical look that she wasn't particularly convinced either. “But sit, s'il vous plait, and we may drink together as friends-- non, as brothers!” If I ever had a brother who looked like Gnollpoleon, I would start asking my mum some very pointed questions-- but I kept the thought to myself and just smiled. “I think 'friends' will do for now.” I spent most of the evening nursing my bowl full of gorb and trying not to think too hard about its provenance. Gorb didn't flow so much as ooze-- I presumed the stuff was named for the sound it made when poured into a bowl. The changelings sang and danced and played-- a better pony than I would have seen this as a point of connection between ponies and changelings, but I personally found the insectoid cavorting to an unnerving mockery of all things good and pure. It didn't help that one of the changeling's favorite games was to cycle through as many illusory disguises as they could in the span of minutes. Carrot Top took to the gorbfest far better than I did-- she probably saw the constantly-shifting disguises as a challenge for her espionage skills. This didn't make it any less surreal when I saw Carrot Top chatting with no less than three impostor-dopplegangers. It was easy to tell her apart from the fake Tops, however, as none of the changelings carried themselves with the quiet certainty that they could kill everyone in the room with their bare hooves if they had to. “Monsieur Sentry!” Gnollpoleon's voice snapped me from my thoughts. “Are you not enjoying yourself?” “Hmm?” I said. “I, er ... of course I am.” “Oh-ho-ho!” Gnollpoleon laughed that snorty-nasal laugh of is. “You cannot lie to me, monsieur. I know what you are thinking.” “Do you, now?” “Certainement! We are much alike, you and I. I, too, have fought les changelings. And I, too, find the prospect of friendship to be a ... strange one” Gnollpoleon shrugged, making his various medals and awards clatter. “But we do what we must, non?” “I suppose we do. One can't help where one's posted-- duty to crown and country and all that.” “Oh-ho-ho! Pardonnez moi, monsieur. It's just ... I do not take orders. Non. I only do what I see as best, and all of my gnolls, they do follow.” He drew himself up taller (or, at least as tall as his diminutive stature could manage-- though I suppose his hat helped). “Les horde, c'est moi.” “To your health, then.” I raised my bowl of gorb in a toast and kicked back a particularly chewy mouthful. “Merci, monsieur.” Gnollpoleon clinked his gorb-bowl to mine and guzzled down some of the disturbingly-thick booze. He shook his head, wincing. “We deserve better than this swill, Monsieur Sentry.” “You don't care for it either?” I said. “Non-- I have more ... refined tastes. Many think that we gnolls are mere barbarians, scavengers-- but, in fact, all gnolls have a very ... refined palate. In fact, I know just the thing! Wait here!” With that, Gnollpoleon spun around on a booted heel and trundled off to start barking (literally) at his bodyguards. The two burly gnolls snapped off quick salutes, and bounded off to carry out their orders. “Making friends, Sentry?” Carrot Top (again, I could tell it was really her for any number of reasons). “Acquaintances, more like.” I cast my eyes around, making sure nobody was within easy eavesdropping distance, and then sidled closer to Carrot Top. “You wouldn't happen to have a dossier on this fellow, would you?” Carrot Top shook her head. “Nothing substantial. Gnolls have stayed in the badlands for generations-- the changelings acted as a sort of buffer state. I ... didn't expect they'd react so quickly. Usually the gnoll tribes are much more divided.” “And usually changelings will try to suck your soul out through your nostrils, but we know how that went.” I mused. “Just keep your eyes peeled, Sentry.” “Mes amis!” Gnollpoleon trundled back-- this time with both his bodyguards following, as well as King Thorax. The little gnoll snapped his clawed fingers, and his bodyguards soon set out a small round table, complete with linen tablecloth and four wineglasses. “I have been saving this treasure for a special occasion-- and I think there is nothing so special as the beginning of a beautiful friendship! And so ... voila!” With a flourish, he took off his hat, reached inside, and pulled out a bottle of wine. He cradled the bottle in his arms, showing it off as if it were a baby. He made sure to give us plenty of time to read the label. Chateau de Cheval. “Damnation!” said I. “Where in blazes did you get that?” I reached out to caress the bottle, but stopped myself at the last minute. I might have drooled, but I'm fairly certain that was just a side effect of too much (read: any) gorb. “Oh-ho-ho! I knew you were a connoisseur from the moment I first laid eyes on you. It is always good to enjoy the finer things in life, non? Here, have a closer look.” He foisted the bottle on me, and I reverently looked it over. “It's hard to find a bottle in Equestria, I imagine in the badlands it's--” “Impossible.” Gnollpoleon said. “Or close enough to it. A few years ago, an Equestrian airship crashed in the badlands. My gnolls tried to help, but we were too late-- all the crew did perish. But, we did salvage the cargo. I thought it fitting to bring this bottle as a gift.” “This survived an airship crash?” I said. “Must have been packed quite well.” The bottle certainly didn't look like it'd been dropped from half a mile up. The wax seal around the cork was a little faded-- verging towards the pinkish rather than the rose-red of a properly stored de Cheval. I supposed it had been stored improperly in the no doubt severe climate of the badlands. “And packed better still, to bring it all the way to the hive.” Gnollpoleon relieved me of the bottle and handed it to one of his goons, who promptly produced a corkscrew and opened it up with surprising skill. Four glasses of wine were poured. “Drink, mes amis!” Gnollpoleon said. “Wait!” I held up a hoof, stopping Thorax and Carrot Top from drinking. “A wine like this deserves better treatment. We've got to savor it.” I swirled my wine in its goblet. “Honestly, we should have decanted this for a half hour or so first, but I'm not sure if I can stand the anticipation.” I grinned, and held the wine up to the light-- --and frowned. The wine's color was off. Just slightly, but it was still darker than it should have been. Sediment in the bottle, perhaps? Or maybe the seal had been broken in the airship crash, and it was hastily replaced? Or, in an even more criminal turn of events, perhaps Gnollpoleon had brought a counterfeit bottle along in order to impress us. Determined to get to the bottom of the deception, I sniffed at my wineglass. One whiff of the slightly acrid bouquet was enough to confirm that this certainly was not a de Cheval. It was close, yes-- but having drank the genuine article so recently allowed me to tell the difference like night and day. Slowly, the fires of righteous anger began to kindle in my breast. “Monsieur Sentry, is the wine not to your liking?” “Ah.” It was all I could do not to throw the wine in Gnollpoleon's face. But, not wanting to start an international incident (much less with Special Agent Golden Harvest standing next to me), I just smiled. “I'm just enjoying the moment, that's all.” “Enjoying the moment is one thing-- enjoying the taste is another, non?” “Don't let me stop you from enjoying it.” I said, levelly. “Ah, but it is impolite to drink before one's guest does! Please, enjoy, Monsieur Sentry!” “I will. In due time. Like I said, I'm ... savoring it.” Carrot Top rolled her eyes. “You and your wine, Flash. I hope you won't be like this next time we hit a cider festival.” And, before I could choke out a word of protest, Carrot Top gulped down her glass of wine in no time at all. She set the empty wineglass on the table as if it were a trophy, and locked eyes with me. Her challenging, smug look faded just a moment later-- her normally lovely cheeks began to pale, and her eyes went into a wide-eyed, pleading expression. She staggered against the little table, hard enough to knock it over. I was there in an instant, catching Carrot Top before she could collapse. Her wineglass shattered on the floor, and Carrot Top stared up at me as she clutched at her throat. Tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes, and she choked out a single word, the one thing I should have realized as soon as I knew the de Cheval was fake. “Poison!”