Humming tunelessly, Rye stuck his head back under the miniature cascade of warm springwater. The morning sunlight was bright and hot, but the ocean was near enough to carry the jungle humidity away on the breeze. The briny scent of the seawater wafted past him, melding with the lingering scent of Tyria’s mane.
Rye stepped out from under the waterfall, pulling his sodden mane out of his eyes. Tyria, lounging at the edge of the pool, was still breathing heavily from the way they’d started off the day.
“I think I forgot to say good morning,” said Rye, yawning. He rubbed his aching jaw, hiding a sly grin. Apparently, painting wasn’t the only thing that could put that blissful look on Tyria’s face.
Her head lolling, Tyria blew out a breath. “Not what I expected when you mentioned breakfast last night…” She stretched her hooves over her head. “You think Meri’s awake, yet?”
“Probably.” I don’t think anypony could have slept through all that racket, thought Rye privately, clearing his throat. “I suppose we ought to be moving on.”
“Mm,” Tyria sighed in assent, closing her eyes. “I wish we could stay longer.”
The water sloshed as Rye stepped out of the pool. He strode over to the tree where his robes hung, cleaned and dried overnight. Sitting beside the tree, he felt the water evaporating off of his skin in the comfortably hot tropical air. “So do I.”
“Just give me a minute, before we go,” said Tyria, lazily holding up a hoof. “I want to remember this moment.”
Rye nodded, smiling faintly. He looked up at the jungle canopy, surrounding the little clearing with the hot spring. Birds of paradise trilled in the distance, their songs weaving through the ceaseless background noise of chirping insects and gently breaking waves in the distance. Rye inhaled, filling his lungs with the musky jungle air and faint hints of seawater and sweat. If only they could remain here, on this peaceful little island, together without anything to distract them…
His robes fluttered in a sudden breeze, brushing his cheek. Rye sighed, closing his eyes and letting the fantasy fade. Duty calls, Ambassador.
With a regretful slowness, he pulled the robes down from their perch and began sliding them on. A faint noise in the distance drew his attention, and he perked up his ears. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Rye’s eyes widened. “Voices.”
Tyria jerked upright, jostling the water. “Pirates?”
“I can’t tell.” Rye craned his neck, listening intently. The speakers were male; beyond that, they were too muffled to tell. “Hide, quick.”
They gathered their belongings, sparing bare moments to dress, before concealing themselves together behind one of the ferns surrounding the clearing. They could still see the pool through gaps in the fronds.
The two waited as quietly as they could manage, pressed together with bated breath. Possible identities of the newcomers flashed through Rye’s mind. Breyr’s gang? Smugglers? Zyran Navy sailors? Local fisherzebras?
The foliage on the far side of the clearing parted at last, revealing the bodies attached to the voices, and Rye blinked in surprise. Antelopes?
“Call me crazy if you want, Guillam, but I’m telling you I heard something up here.” The shorter of the two stepped into the clearing, looking nervously around.
The other antelope rolled his eyes, following. “All right, you’re crazy. This island’s tiny; we’d have run into any nasty critters days ago.” Both antelopes had wooden bars balanced over their backs, with a pair of buckets hanging off of the ends. They approached the waterfall over the spring, and the taller antelope—Guillam, apparently—steadied one of the buckets under it with a cloven hoof.
The first antelope shook his head. “It sounded like some poor doe was getting eaten alive by a panther. Let’s just get the water and get back to camp before whatever it was gets us, too.”
Rye choked back a snort. Close, but it wasn’t a panther… Tyria elbowed him to be quiet with a foreleg, her cheeks scarlet.
After filling both of his buckets, Guillam stepped back to let his companion forward to repeat the process. He yawned, looking idly around the clearing. His head paused as he spotted the remnants of their impromptu campsite, and he leaned forward. “Hey, Miguel, maybe you’re right. Something cracked open those coconuts.” He pointed at the empty husks beside the pool.
Miguel paled. “Do you think it’s still around?”
“Maybe it’s a chupacoco, eh?” Guillam snickered. “Try not to wet yourself, Miguel.”
The shorter antelope scowled and resumed filling his buckets. “If it attacks us, I’m leaving you behind.”
Guillam, still laughing, began walking back toward the jungle. “Come on, then. The captain’s cousin is due back today from Zendruga; if we get down there in time we might get first pick of the supplies. I hope he brings more of those pears.”
Miguel finished with the waterfall and turned around, carefully balancing his buckets. He spared one last, anxious glance around the clearing, and then followed Guillam into the trees.
Rye exhaled. “They have to be part of Tenerico’s crew.”
“Who?” asked Tyria. She lifted her head to check that the antelopes were still heading out of earshot.
“The captain of that ship Zevan raided, before we went through the storm. They must have managed to limp to this island afterward. I can only assume they knew about the springs beforehand. Fresh water on the open ocean is pretty rare, after all—a good place to stay while they repair the ship.”
Tyria shrugged, stepping out of the fern and stretching. “Well, we’re on our way out anyway. We can slip away before they even know we’re here.”
Rye rubbed his chin with a hoof. “Hmm…”
“Rye.” Tyria gave him an exceedingly dry look. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
I haven’t even said anything yet. She was getting far too good at reading him. “I just want to talk to them. His cousin is the captain of that Antellucían interceptor that chased us all over the ocean. A ship that fast could get us to Zyre in a day and a half. We wouldn’t even have to go to Zendruga.”
Tyria frowned grudgingly. “All right, but let’s be careful.”
“Naturally.” Rye hefted the bag of money. “Why don’t you hold on to this? Go back down to Meri, and have her swim around to the other side of the island. That has to be where they’re camped out, or we’d have noticed them yesterday. If things go badly, I can head into the water and we’ll be back on our way to Zendruga.”
She took the bag hesitantly, tying it around her neck and stuffing it down the front of her shirt with a smattering of clinking noises. “They might not be happy to see the pony who robbed them less than a week ago.”
“I didn’t have wings back then, remember? And the spots washed off when the Nightingale sank. They’ll never recognize me.”
“Hrm.” Tyria sighed, shaking her head in resignation. “Well, good luck. Make a flag out of your robes and wave it around if you need rescuing.”
Rye coughed. “Ahem. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
On that dubious note, they split. Tyria headed back to the western shore, while Rye set off into the eastern jungle.
Given the small size of the island, it was not long before he broke out of the trees and found himself on a wide, outward-curving beach. His eye was immediately drawn to the great bulk of the familiar Cevanah, now resting in the shallows just off the shoreline.
Two of her masts were still missing, but the rest of the ship had been greatly cleaned up since his last encounter. Many of the holes in the hull were patched with beige palm wood, sticking out like paint against the rest of the dark, mahogany color of the original hull. Antelopes hung from harnesses along the sides of the ship, hammering away at new boards. Rye wondered how long it would take them to repair the rest of the battered vessel.
Farther down the beach was a gathering of crude shelters. Little more than sticks and palm fronds woven together, the structures were organized in a loose circle around what was likely a campfire. Rye followed the sandy hoofprints of Miguel and Guillam toward the encampment.
It appeared that most of the crew was working on the ship itself, as fewer than a dozen were left hovering around the makeshift buildings. Those present were filling a barrel with the springwater, likely preparing to take it out to the ship. So preoccupied were they with their task that they did not notice his approach. Rye paused at the perimeter of the camp, and cleared his throat.
All heads jerked up, and one of the antelopes—Miguel—screamed, “Pirates!”
Rye held up a supplicating hoof. “I’m not a pirate.”
The antelopes formed into an unsteady semicircle around him, all looking uncertainly between their crewmates and the newcomer. Without any sort of clothing or identifying markings, they all looked rather alike to Rye’s Equestrian eye, but he did not recognize any of them as Captain Tenerico.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t have much time. My name is Rye Strudel, Royal Ambassador of Equestria. Can you take me to Tenerico? He and I need to discuss some things.”
“How do you know the captain?” asked a hard-faced doe, who Rye vaguely remembered from the pirate raid. The first mate, he suspected, judging from the protective way she blocked the Cevanah from him with her body.
“We’re recent acquaintances.” Just how recent, it would be wiser not to let on. “I’m sorry for the brusque request, but this is a matter of international security. I must speak with Captain Tenerico immediately.”
“Not so fast,” said Guillam, his brows furrowed. “Where’d you come from? How long have you been on this island? What’s an ambassador doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“I was shipwrecked on my way to Zyre,” said Rye, keeping his voice neutral. It was entirely true, after all. “W—I was rescued by seaponies. They brought me here just yesterday.”
“Seaponies.” The doe scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”
“You don’t have to believe anything.” Rye tapped a hoof impatiently. “Let Tenerico decide.”
“Hmm.” The doe gave him another evaluating look. “Well,” she muttered to herself, “I doubt you could do much harm…”
With a chipper smile, Rye nodded. “Shall we, then?”
Once they had tightly secured the lid of the barrel of springwater, the antelopes allowed him to board the rowboat that would take it up to the ship. Accompanied by two antelope guards and the doe, who grudgingly introduced herself as Mariana, he was rowed over to the side of the Cevanah and towed up.
The two guards brought him up to the very back of the ship behind the wheel, where the railings had yet to be repaired from the storm damage. He stood patiently while Mariana left to bring the captain up from the lower decks.
While he waited, Rye watched the ocean. About a hundred meters off-shore, he spotted a yellow-gray fin weaving through the waves, and felt a little relieved that support was nearby, should he need it.
His attention was drawn back to the ship as two antelopes trudged up the stairs to the navigation deck. The antelope captain was instantly recognizable, a stern look on his face. Mariana followed Tenerico, taking up a guard position behind him. The other two antelopes remained at Rye’s sides, rigid and wary.
“Greetings, Ambassador,” said Tenerico, sounding more skeptical than rude. “The robes do look authentic, I admit. What on earth are you doing out here?”
“I was shipwrecked—”
“Yes, yes, so Mariana tells me. Rescued by seaponies, hmm?” The captain lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware there were any in the area.”
“They’re very good at hiding,” said Rye, repressing a faint smile. A little too good, in fact. “At any rate, the shipwreck was an unfortunate delay. I must reach Zyre as quickly as possible, or we could have a serious political catastrophe on our hooves.”
“You may already,” said Tenerico mildly, “judging from the notice that went out a few days past. Marquis Zahira has banned all Equestrian and Dromedarian ships from Zyran waters.”
Rye’s mouth hung open. “What?” Just what in the hell had been going on in the city during his absence? “When did you hear this?”
“My cousin Aerinel has been running food supplies to us from Zendruga while we make repairs—we were attacked by pirates about a week ago, you see.” Tenerico huffed in anger. “He brings news with the food. On his last trip, he told us that Zyre’s been completely locked down. Zahira has issued a territory-wide recall of all naval vessels to the city.”
Peering at Rye, the captain frowned. “Mariana tells me you and I have met. I’m afraid I don’t recall when…”
Lying wouldn’t serve him here, the captain was no fool. Time to try redirecting. “Your cousin has a working ship, then? Could he get me to Zyre? There’s still time to stop this from escalating into all-out war.”
“I’m not sure there is,” said Tenerico, still studying Rye’s face. Rye could almost feel the captain mentally painting his face with brown spots. You’re just being paranoid, he reassured himself. The antelope’s eyes glanced down at his wings and his brow crinkled in puzzlement. “You do look familiar…”
“Why do you think there’s no chance?” asked Rye, nervously fidgeting with the clasp of his robes. Clearly the embassy staff had not been idle, for better or worse. Was this all because of his kidnapping?
“Well, with Ambassador Milliden arrested—”
“What?”
Tenerico cleared his throat, annoyed at the interruption. “Yes, he’s been charged with espionage, bribery, and conspiracy to overthrow the legitimate government of Zyre. Quite a list, really.” He made a pointed gesture at Rye’s robes. “And now we have another Equestrian ambassador trying to get into the city.” His face hardened. “One who has some ties to the pirates, I think.”
“Ties to—” Rye was dangerously off-balance, now. The news about Milliden had completely thrown him. “I don’t have ties to the pirates!”
“Things are so unstable right now, with all these fleets converging on the city, I’m almost glad my crew and I are safely sidelined through the crisis. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if I’d be doing the Marquis a service keeping you safe for her as well,” said Tenerico, his voice dangerously smooth.
“Converging fleets…? What fleets?” Rye glanced over his shoulder at the water below the ship. This conversation was not under control, but he needed information.
“Last reports—hearsay, really, so who can tell how accurate they are—have a Dromedarian fleet standing by the Isle of Teeth, about fifty ships strong. An exaggerated rumor, I’m sure, but… Oh, and there’s an Equestrian one to match, circling up north off the tip of the Zerubian archipelago.”
Rye stared at the wood beneath his hooves, mind whirling. Dromedarians, eh? One mystery solved. But why an Eques—
Milliden. Rye nodded to himself, picturing the situation from Princess Celestia’s perspective. One of her ambassadors had disappeared shortly after arriving, along with a member of the military; now a second ambassador had been arrested for capital crimes. No doubt the embassy was completely locked down as well. It wasn’t a declaration of war, but it was a dangerously close precursor.
Could Milliden be guilty? Judging from how little Tyria liked the stallion, it was possible, Rye supposed. Still, how on earth could things have gotten bad enough to the point where Zahira would throw good political sense to the wind and outright arrest him? I’m going to have to have a very long talk with Staff-Sergeant Specklestraw when I return.
Captain Tenerico’s face had gone very cold. “Yes, Ambassador, I think you ought to stay here for a while. Until we repair our ship and can take you back to Zahira ourselves, at the very least.”
“I can’t.” Rye shook his head distractedly. “Especially if things are as bad as you say. I need to—”
“It wasn’t a request,” said the captain, jerking his head. The antelope guards calmly but solidly placed hooves on Rye’s shoulders. Rye looked up, finally jolted out of his thoughts.
“Captain, wait. You’re making a vital mistake—”
“Enough.” Tenerico scowled. “I admit, it took me a while to recognize you without the spots, Apricot. A good disguise, for a pirate. But that voice of yours is quite distinctive.”
Rye’s stomach sank. “I’m not a pirate,” he repeated faintly.
“Strangely enough, I believe you,” said Tenerico, tilting his head. “You certainly talk like an ambassador. But considering what your Zyran equivalent has been accused of, that doesn’t mean you aren’t up to your neck in collusion with the pirates. Especially since you were on their ship.” He nodded to his crew. “Take him to the brig. Gently, if you will. After all,” he said, his voice suddenly lightening, “there’s no reason we can’t be polite.”
Ach. I guess he didn’t take kindly to that exchange, thought Rye, cursing his past self’s flippancy during the raid.
He didn’t have time to waste breaking out of an antelope cell. And besides, Tyria would never let him live it down. It was time to leave.
The guards began to pull him toward the steps. “Hold on,” said Rye, shaking free of their grip. Before they could grab him more firmly, he thrust a hoof into his robes. “Here, look at this.”
The antelopes all tensed at the sudden movement, but before they could react, Rye whipped his hoof back out, flinging the airstar hidden inside his robes out at Tenerico. The creature flew through the air and hit the captain with a smack, instantly latching on to his face. Tenerico gave a muffled scream and toppled, clawing at the little beast.
The guards were shocked stiff, giving Rye the precious moments he needed to slip through their line and dive over the damaged railing.
He splashed into the water below, immediately grateful that he’d given the bag of money to Tyria, lest it drag him under. Coming up for air, he spat salty water out of his mouth. Above, shouts and cries were going up from the antelopes. One wasted no time, diving off after him. Rye immediately began to paddle, making for the open ocean.
Though Rye had made a great deal of progress under Tyria’s tutelage, the seasoned antelope sailor was a far better swimmer. Only a few moments after he’d begun, Rye felt a hoof wrap itself in the back of his robes.
Turning around, he found Mariana, her horns glowing angrily. “What did you do to the captain?” she demanded.
“Nothing permanent,” gasped Rye, treading water as best he could. “Rub the back of the creature and it’ll pop right off, no harm done. Now, if you don’t mind, I really must be going—”
“I don’t think so,” she growled, yanking him closer to her. Rye kicked water, trying to stay afloat. “You’re coming with me, pega… pega…” Her eyes widened.
“What, haven’t you seen a pegacorn before?” asked Rye, before following her gaze over his shoulder.
A vertical fin was slicing through the water, heading straight for them. Mariana paled. She released Rye, and began swimming back for the shoreline. Noticing his failure to follow, she yelled, “Swim, you idiot! That’s a shark!”
“That’s my ride!” he corrected, turning and paddling toward it.
“Are you mad?” she called, but Rye merely grinned.
“Tell the captain I’m sorry for the trouble,” he called back. “If he stops by the Equestrian embassy in a few weeks, I’ll buy him a drink.”
Vina appeared beside him, giving his hoof a nuzzle. “Hello, girl,” he said fondly. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to see you.” He slid onto her back with now-practiced ease, and the shark immediately set off away from the beach.
Meri surfaced beside him, Tyria clinging to her back. “Are you all right?” asked the seapony.
“I’m fine,” said Rye. “But I lost my airstar. We’d better stay on the surface.”
Meri nodded. “Can do.”
Tyria, removing her own airstar, offered him the bag of money. As he took it, she raised an eyebrow. “I take it they weren’t happy to see you after all.”
“No, but we’ve got bigger problems.” As he looped the bag’s string around his neck and Meri took off with Vina close behind, he filled Tyria in on what he’d learned as they departed from the island.
“Milliden? Arrested for treason?” said Tyria, hushed. “I’ve never been fond of him, but I can’t believe it.”
“Not quite treason… He’s not Zyran, after all.” Rye chewed his lip. “Although if he’s helped the pirates hit our ships, then, well…” He shook his head. “We won’t know for sure until we reach the city.”
“And the Dromedarians are Viridian’s mystery backer.” Tyria rolled a lock of her mane around a hoof. “Well, you were right on the money with that one.”
“Equally as much as if it had been anyone else, mind you,” said Rye dryly, still thinking. “But something still smells fishy.”
“Ah, you get used to it, though.” Tyria inhaled the ocean air deeply, smiling.
Rye snickered despite himself. “Cute.”
“I try.”
“It’s Breyr,” he said, smile fading. “The Dromedarians want a puppet on the Zyran… well, not throne, exactly, but—”
Tyria nodded wryly. “Mhm?”
“Breyr would work with anyone to grab power, yet… it’s the power itself that he wants, and he won’t get that as a Dromedarian toady. Not in a real sense, anyway. He wants to be the king, not a servant.”
Shrugging, Tyria let her mane drop. “Maybe he’s changed. A little power is better than none, right?”
“A zebra doesn’t change her stripes.” Rye frowned thoughtfully. “What was it you said yesterday? About Zahira?”
“Something about her not being friendly with her neighbors. Why, you think there’s some interested party in addition to the Dromedarians?”
Rye toyed with the hem of his robe. “Not another nation… I need one more puzzle piece to crack this thing. If only we had Captain Zevan around; I’d love to ask him a few questions.”
“I wonder if the rest of the Nightingale crew survived?” Tyria looked thoughtfully at the horizon behind them, beyond which the island had already disappeared. “I hope so. I was actually starting to like some of them.”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Settling into a more comfortable position on Vina’s back, Rye let his hooves dangle in the water. The mention of the pirate crew made his branding scar itch. Treachery… a serpent might shed its scales, but it’s still a snake. It just gets bigger.
And hungrier.