//------------------------------// // Chapter 27: Master Melchior // Story: Princess Essenta // by Pone_Heap //------------------------------// "Last Chance" Stopover Arc Master Melchior turned out to be something of a dandy; a snappy, but practical dresser with a mild manner, the girls could only imagine what kind of stallion lay behind his jovial eyes. An Earth pony around the age of 40, he’d amassed the kind of wealth that the Dale would envy. They were learning of his enterprises as they all shared lunch. “So, Sen…” Melchior was able to use a knife and fork without magic; it was impressive, watching him tuck into his late-morning salad. “I’ve met ponies from all over the world- not just the continent- and I’d say at least of a few of you are Valley mares… your accents… Joeh, or the like…” Essenta came back pleasantly, “‘The like’, Master Melchior. My friends ‘Ren’ and ‘Aryz’ worked for the herbalist back home… I’m just a farmgirl; I feel a little out of my element, with so little agriculture around here…” “I wouldn’t mind showing you our hydroponics operation, Sen…” Melchior popped a cherry tomato into his mouth. “I think Ren and Aryz would be interested too, knowing a thing or two about elements and compounds. We oxygenate water full of essential minerals and grow all sorts of crops without soil. I admit we can’t do much with root vegetables, but lettuce, cabbage, tomatoes, most anything leafy or with a vine do quite well.” Essenta giggled, “I’ve heard of such a thing… We grow beets on our farm, mostly… sugarbeets and table beets. Up north, beets are about the only way to get sugar, Master Melchior. And we still grow so many other things.” “Please, Sen, you don’t need to call me ‘Master’. ‘Melchior’ is fine…” Melchior took a sip off a glass of wine. “Ah, good stuff… One thing we’ll never be able to do is grapes, that way. The vineyard in town is as old as the trees around here. This year’s grapes aren’t the best they’ve been in recent years, but still make a nice wine. The fellow that manages the vineyard found an ingenious way to irrigate; it uses less than half the water we used to put towards it.” Essenta smiled demurely, “You wouldn’t believe some of the things we make wine out of up north, Melchior… Strawberries, rhubarb, plums… anything, really, other than grapes. The winters are just too harsh… Speaking of the climate down here, do you also grow sugarcane?” “The lack of moisture here makes growing cane difficult, so we have to bring in sugar up from the tropics. I can’t say I’ve ever had sugar from beets. How is it?” “Some ponies say they can tell the difference, but in the end it’s all sugar. That’s what I think, at least. Beets actually make a pretty nice molasses.” Melchior chuckled, “Well, it’s a good thing cane does, as well, because I have a weakness for molasses cookies. They’re my favorite treat. In fact, we can have some with tea after the main dish; the baker has a batch in the oven and I’d love for you and your friends to try some.” “Oh, that sounds wonderful!” Essenta beamed. “I love molasses too, but it’s just so hard to keep it on the road; dry sugar’s so much easier to travel with.” “I can imagine,” Melchior leaned forward on his hooves, simpering. The little company watched in amazement as their leader talked up the “industrialist” with her knowhow of agriculture. Melchior was delighted with her and they could see even Clovis was impressed with her game. So far, they’d seen nothing to indicate Melchior was anything else than an entrepreneur, but they remained wary. “Ren, Aryz…” he addressed Dechaa and Zyra respectively. “What herbs grow best up where you’re from? Down here we have a plethora of flora, especially in the tropics south of us, but what can you find at your latitude? I’m wondering if there’s anything worth shipping from the north instead of across the desert…” Melchior had explained, implicitly and explicitly, that he supplied the city with many things. Food, medicine, goods… Thankfully, Dechaa and Zyra were able to answer his question. Dechaa tried not to blush, “Chickweed.” Melchior raised an eyebrow, “Chickweed?” “Yes, sir… Chickweed,” Dechaa managed to speak easily, falling back on her knowledge. “Depending on what plant part you use, it can be an antirheumatic, astringent, a carminative, demulcent, diuretic, an emollient, expectorant, a laxative, refrigerant, vulnerary…” Watching in astonishment as the pretty mare counted off the uses on her hooves, Melchior guffawed, “Whoa, whoa! Forget I asked… But chickweed… I’ll talk to the botanist about it.” Zyra put in, “You wouldn’t even have to bring it in from over the mountains… The stuff grows wild in the foothills north of town. It’s more or less ubiquitous across the continent.” “Amazing,” Melchior shook his head. “It’s simply amazing how we can find the things we need no matter where we are.” Dechaa nodded, “Indeed… our ancestors up north… got creative, sometimes, but generations of tried and true means have gotten us by.” Melchior, looking even more pleased, leaned back in his chair, “You two must talk with the botanist and the apothecary! Imagine the money saved! The lower prices!” Marshalling a smile, Zyra beamed, “We’d be happy to.” Taking a few bites of salad, Melchior turned to Loress, “What’s your story, gorgeous?” Loress was taken aback at his addressing her, “Well… I’m ‘Resso’… I’m a baker by trade… I guess you could say I’m the cook on our little crew.” “And a Terran,” Melchior took a sip of wine. “Yes, sir. Strange choice… and strange circumstances found me traveling. Meeting the girls… I just wanted to travel with them upon meeting them…” But Melchior grew bored of the demure mare; she was the most beautiful mare he’d ever seen but he’d take a fun filly over that any day of the week and twice on Sunday. “Resso” struck him as downright boring. “Willi…” he spoke to Wilka, a gleam in his eye. “I hear you’re the one that started all the mischief at the pub.” Wilka hoofed the back of her neck, “Yeah, about that…” Melchior waved a hoof, “It’s not all that big a deal. You’re not the one that vomited on my idiot son’s game of cards. You’re not the first filly- nor will you be the last- to dance on one of those tables. I at least hope the ale was to your liking. Those brothers- and me- are quite happy with the new recipe. It’s my equipment they use.” “I… enjoyed it very much, sir, it was delicious,” Wilka managed to eke out. “You, I like!” Melchior grinned broadly at her. “You’re cute as pie… Sorry, Sen! Willi’s the first one to catch my fancy! You can call me ‘Mel’, Willi.” The rest of the girls’ stomachs twinged, Fancy?! Wilka especially felt uneasy but hid it well. “Sure, Mel,” Wilka forced out, looking as natural as could be. “Thanks for your kindness.” Turning his attention, finally, to Orni, Melchior took a moment with her, “My dear, you’re a most interesting little Earth pony if you don’t mind me saying; you’re built like a brick shed!” Realizing this was an observation rather than a complement or an insult, Orni attempted something unexpected, “I’m just compact, sir… What do you get when you cross a dwarf pony with a hooker?” Melchior was bemused the plain, but pretty filly answered in such a way, “I… dunno.” Leaning away from the table, she held her hoof near the floor and said in a deadpan voice, “A little fucker about this high.” Dechaa blanched at that; the rest of the room did a take and burst out laughing… even Clovis. “Now… now… Oh, that was great!” Melchior crowed. “Clovis, you found a great bunch of mares!” Clovis tried to remain smiling as his boss beat on his back, “Yessir. Thanks.” The girls were astonished Orni had managed such a thing; Melchior at least appeared to be enjoying himself. Wiping tears from his eyes and hiccupping, Melchior looked to Orni, “I’m sorry, I never caught your name…” Orni gave a nice little smile, “‘Nior’, sir…” Melchior pounded Clovis on the back again, “A most interesting bunch! I’m almost curious what their real names are!” The girls stopped dead; their blood ran cold. Not a one of them could say anything in reply. Looking to Clovis, he was unreadable and only shrugged. Melchior dropped the façade. It didn’t take magic or special perception to read him. The girls knew what power felt like, and this wasn’t anything like the “demon knight”; rather than just feeling scared at sheer power they felt their skin crawl instead. Picking his teeth, Melchior mused, “The names you gave me sound like you pulled them out of your asses this morning. Whether you took Clovis’s advice on that or did it yourselves, I don’t blame you: you all have something to hide… It’s a good thing I don’t give a fuck who you are or where you really came from. Clovis thinks you’re good for the job and not only do I trust him on most matters, but I’m convinced myself. “You see… the city just elected a new mayor… or governor… whatever. Somepony new’s in charge and he’s going back on a few of his campaign promises. I want that piece of garbage out of office but he’s squeaky clean… on the surface. I think he’s hiding something… and you’re gonna find out what it is. Once you do, it’ll be easy to… convince him… to leave office. The deputy-mayor… governor… who gives a fuck…? He’s the kind of pony we need around, and the job will fall to him. “Now… you dig up the dirt on this bastard and you’ll be on your way before you know it. Your tall friend… stays put until I get results.” The girls felt more and more at odds the more words fell out of this guy’s mouth. Clovis, looking unsure for the first time since they met him, spoke up. “Sir… you promised the mare Pallo wanted locked up would go free, whether the mission was successful or not.” Melchior’s face showed love at the mention of his son’s name, “Oh, yes, Pallo… My only son… You did lock her up for him… I gave Pallo the reins of the pub and he hasn’t been doing all that bad. He was quite upset about his game, not to mention the oak table. He furnished the place, after all, and oak doesn’t grow on this side of the mountains… Tough to come by. The girls noted Clovis. His manner was no longer indecipherable; something had suddenly bothered him. Melchior rang a bell next to him; Delia the maid appeared immediately. “Yes, Master Melchior?” she asked pleasantly; her presentation was agreeable, but she looked unwell. “Have the boys bring in Pallo for me…” he purred. If Delia looked a little sick at first, she looked positively nauseated as she left the room, “Yes, Master Melchior.” Clovis had started to sweat; this… wasn’t a good sign, the girls thought as one. The smooth-talking stallion that had most of them creaming at breakfast was falling apart before their eyes. After a few minutes, four stallions- none of whom were of Clovis’s entourage- entered the room with Pallo among them. Delia was nowhere to be seen. “Pallo!” Melchior cried out. “How’s my son this morning?” Pallo wasn’t doing well; he had a bag of ice over his nether region. He looked surly and glared at Clovis. Pallo sounded like a spoiled brat when he spoke, not that the girls could blame him when his boys had swelled up from the apple hitting him, “That asshole Clovis chucked an apple at my nuts this morning! See?!” The girls averted their eyes as the foolish son displayed the only masculine thing about him. “Oh, that looks painful, son… What did you do to piss him off this time?” The girls and Clovis expected him to say “nothing” as a brat might; he sighed, “I… mouthed off to him… regarding his own responsibilities… It’s his job to do as he sees fit. I should’ve respected that… And I broke some rules; I was upset. He warned me last night and I didn’t listen…” It could be said the company was shocked to hear that; he’d been such a tool but hearing a little maturity out of him- and sincerity- had them thinking he wasn’t the worst stallion they’d met recently. But Clovis looked even worse than he had; it gave the girls pause. “How many times is that, Clovis? You hit my boy so much in his family jewels I’ll never get any grandfoals!” Melchior guffawed. The four stallions that had brought Pallo into the room had started looking a little peaked. And Clovis’s look only worsened. The girls now experienced a quiet alarm ringing in the backs of their minds. Pallo laughed, clapping his father on the back, “Dad, you know that’s a load of horseshit… a few hits to the twins never hurt anypony too badly.” Pallo failed to notice his father; the jolly smile had become a taut lear. The alarm the girls felt grew a little louder. Melchior spoke as if he hadn’t even heard his son, “Tell me, Clovis… how do you think it makes a stallion feel knowing he’ll never have any grandfoals?” Pallo noticed something was up, “Uh… Dad?” Melchior heaved Pallo onto the table, picked up his table knife- the very one he’d been using to cut his vegetables- and performed two deft cuts near Pallo’s rear-end. Pallo screamed; the high-pitched shriek rang through the room and took a wild trip through the bodies of those present. Another deft movement by Melchior resulted in a squelch. Two items the size of lemons spun across the table. Dechaa screamed as one rolled past her, knocking over her wine glass. Wilka fainted on the spot. The rest were too shocked to do much else. Their eyes alternated from Melchior, looking positively merry again, to the writhing Pallo, to the male glands resting on the table. Melchior roughly shoved the still-howling Pallo from the table; he hit the ground hard. Blood soaked the tablecloth and pretty much everything else nearby. As calmly as if he’d just entered the room, Melchior sat down, wiped the knife on the tablecloth, and went back to his mixed vegetables with the same utensil. Not even looking at his son, he waved to the four stallions, “Get that out of here… Patch it up and send it on the next wagon east… Maybe it can be a monk or something; it sure ain’t a stallion.” One of the four stallions wiped flecks of vomit from the corner of his mouth as they hauled Pallo away, still crying weakly as he passed out. A trail of blood followed them out the door. Essenta may have been the only mare with the presence of mind to come out of the shock right away. With a trickle of blood spattered across her front he glared at Clovis, in anger and disbelief. He looked astonished and sick… but not entirely so, as if he’d seen all of that before. Giving her a nervous, barely perceptible shake of his head, he gave an all-in look. By now Dechaa had passed out too and Orni looked close to it. To Essenta’s surprise Zyra didn’t appear to go off the deep-end but gawked in horror at the testicles, one of which came to rest in front of her. Loress had thrown up in her own lap, looking dazed. The princess’s own stomach was threatening revolt. Melchior blithely said to Clovis, chewing imperturbably, “Well, the big mare’s still in the cell… Since I don’t have a son, she must be there because I want her to be there.” “Yessir,” was all Clovis managed. Finishing his plate, Melchior wiped his mouth and stood up; Clovis looked close to shitting himself when Melchior clapped him on the shoulder, leaving a bloody hoofprint, “You know the plan, Clovis; brief the girls. Once they come back with results, I have no reason to keep them or their friend and they can be on their way. It’s all in your hooves.” He’d just about cleared the door when he stopped. “Oh, girls,” he looked back. “If you want some molasses cookies, they’ll be ready soon; I can smell them. Just ask one of the young mares that works here, and you’ll have all you like; they’ll get you anything you might need as well. I’ll be taking tea in my study.” Melchior left the girls and Clovis to their thoughts.