Tempest Shadow watched the wharf from the iron steamer’s deck. Creatures of every kind bartered at stalls and on corners under the midafternoon sun. Crates lined the water front, and vessels docked and departed like rotating dance partners. Beyond the wharf, Stormport’s streets overflowed traffic. Creatures walked, shoulders conjoined, but avoided eye contact. A great, coordinated, disinterested mass. Tempest smirked beneath her cloak hood.
“Leavin’ us, are ye?” Toothy, a lanky shark with a pierced fin, the steamer’s first mate, said.
“Yes,” Tempest said. She paused, then looked at him. “I’m going home.”
Toothy studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, was figurin’ as much.” He looked toward the town. “Busier ‘an I remember.”
“The Storm King’s defeat is every trader’s boon,” Tempest said, following his gaze.
“Been better to some ports ‘an others.” Toothy shrugged. He scratched his jaw. “Keep yer head out there.”
“I will.” Tempest lifted her hoof, then hesitated. She looked to Toothy. “And… thank you.”
Toothy nodded, then turned toward the deck. “Alright ye lazy minnows, cheap drinks an’ cheap women ashore…”
Tempest disembarked and his voice blended with the crowd’s. She walked along the wharf and weaved between creatures and stalls. She turned down a street. Stalls lined this road, too, and carts and wagons. Open doorways revealed taverns, inns, bars, and brothels hosting sailors, traders, and travelers. Tempest eyed the clothes, trinkets, and food hanging from racks and splayed across tables; goods she’d seen abroad, and those unique to Equestria. She paused when somecreature tugged her cloak.
“Hey, lady!” a turquoise, reptilian child said. He wore ragged suspenders and a red bandana around his neck and had spines down his back like an iguana. “Gimme a bit so I can get somethin’ to eat.”
“Hmph.” Tempest met his eyes. “And how do I know you won’t waste what I give you on treats?”
“So what if I do?” the child said and crossed his arms. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business what eats I’m buyin’.”
Tempest lifted her head and stared the kid down. He remained stolid. Their eyes were chained, a wordless duel between veteran vagabonds.
Tempest smirked. “Willful urchin,” she said. She pulled a pudgy coin purse from her cloak. She noted the child’s expanding pupils. She dropped two bits into his claws. “With your spirit, hunger will be the least of your problems.”
“Thanks lady,” the child said, then he flitted between stalls and was gone.
Tempest stowed her purse. She approached a covered wagon. A white stallion with a rust colored mane sat, back against it, and guzzled a wooden tankard. He shot Tempest a wary look. “Yeah?”
Tempest glanced at the wagon, then fixed her eyes on the stallion. “I’m traveling north, to Klugetown. Can you take me?”
The stallion showed her skeptical regard, then turned his nose. “Not heading that way. Sorry.” He returned to his tankard.
“Right…” Tempest left him to his drink.
She asked other wagons, baggage trains, a mule with a cart, but received the same answer. By evening, she’d about exhausted the town’s supply of wheeled creatures. She shook her head at a one-horned minotaur, a choice indicative of her narrowing options.
“No, I’m not going to Equestria,” Tempest said.
“Ain’t nothing that way but Equestria worth the stop,” the minotaur growled. He raised his brow. “Unless you’re staying in the desert. You a hermit? Kinda dressed like one.” He laughed.
Tempest sighed. “No, I’m not a hermit. I need passage to Klugetown. Can you take me?”
The minotaur stopped mid-laugh. His face flushed and he glowered at her. “That’s not funny. You think you can trick me, runt?” He stomped his hoof and the street quivered.
Tempest’s stance remained solid. “That would be a no, then?”
The minotaur forced his nose into her face. “I ought to snap you in half.”
“I take it you won’t miss the other horn,” Tempest said.
“There you are! How many times do I have to tell you to leave folks well enough?” a shriveled voice called. Tempest and the minotaur turned. A wizened turtle approached. He wore a ragged top hat and his right eye was scarred shut. “Forgive me, Bodacious,” he said as he squeezed between Tempest and the minotaur. “New help, you know. She doesn’t know the lay of the land yet.”
The minotaur stood upright and huffed. “She’s one of yours, Sheldon? Makes sense.” He looked at Tempest and blew a dismissive steam plume. “Teach her manners, too, or she won’t last long around here.”
The turtle tipped his hat. “Of course! But these things take time, you know. Come along, dear.”
Tempest glanced at Bodacious, then followed Sheldon.
“That was foolish, young mare,” Sheldon said. “I assume you’re either suicidal or very poor at your job.”
“Neither,” Tempest said. “And you are?”
“Sheldon Kappa, procurer of curios, oddities, and intrigues.”
“Intrigues?” Tempest said
“Why of course. These are dangerous times, you know,” Sheldon flourished. He led Tempest to a wagon between a stall and a beige tarp covering a large, splintery object. It was nondescript, wood paneled. It had a blue roof, but no windows. Sheldon turned toward her. “Welcome to my humble shop, Miss…?”
Tempest scanned the cart. “I see no shop.”
“Ho, ho. Too much faith in your eyes will blind you.”
Tempest backstepped. “Where… did you hear that?”
“Hold on, young mare! Let me do the big reveal before you’re awestruck.” Sheldon hit his wagon’s side. It clicked, whirred, then the panel popped open in four sections like a cardboard box. The bottom was a table like a flea market, disorganized junk of every kind. The right panel was a cork board cluttered by maps and illegible documents, and the left was a stack of nested doll lined shelves, like from Stalliongrad. “Impressive, eh?” he beamed.
Tempest approached the table. She touched a Celestia bobblehead. The head jiggled, listless, then detached.
“Hey, you break, you buy!” Sheldon said. Tempest gave him a blank look, then started leaving. “Wait, wait!” He cut her off, both arms extended. “Maybe you’re not interested in my oddities, but how about my intrigues?” Sheldon produced a stack of papers, bound in twine. “I’ve an excellent twenty-six step plan to rob the bank of Canterlot.”
Tempest stepped around him. “Not interested.”
“Alright! Alright…” Sheldon followed to her. “If I can’t interest you in my goods, then how about my services?”
Tempest paused.
“I see that has your attention!” He clasped his claws. “The great Sheldon Kappa is not your average merchant, you know.” His eye narrowed. “I am the only merchant still willing to travel to Klugetown.”
“The only merchant?” Tempest tilted her head. “And why might that be?”
“You mean you really don’t know?” Sheldon tisked. He returned to his junk table and reaffixed Celestia’s head. “Without the Storm King’s goons protecting commerce, Kluegtown’s become a pirate’s nest.” He folded in the side panels and tilted up the table. The items atop it were undisturbed. “Well, more of a pirate’s nest.”
“Then why are you comfortable travelling there?” Tempest asked.
“Let’s just say I’ve got the right friends.” Sheldon winked.
Tempest rounded. Somecreature bumped her. “Sorry,” she muttered. She considered Sheldon for a moment, then the sky. It would be night soon. “When can we leave?”
“Immediately! That is, if you have the bits. Better bring snacks though. No meals provided.” Sheldon said, snapping the final panel in place.
Tempest reached beneath her cloak. She paused. She reached to the other side, then looked up. Her pouch was gone. She glanced around. Down the street she saw a scaly blue tail disappear around an alleyway corner.
“That little…” Tempest whispered.
“Huh? What is it?” Sheldon asked.
Tempest pulled her cloak from her armor and tossed it to Sheldon. “A bigger problem than hunger.”
“That armor,” Sheldon said. “You’re from…”
Tempest bolted forward, through the crowd, onto a barrel, over a stall, onto an awning, and catapulted atop a roof. She sprinted up its clay tiles and paused on the ridge. She scanned the adjacent street. The crowds were thinning. Some of the vendors were packing their wares, and groups of sailors stumbled toward the wharf. She squinted. Beneath a stall, nose in Tempest’s coin purse, was a familiar lizard child. Tempest clenched her teeth. She hopped on the slope and slid off roof’s edge. She landed like a lion upon prey. The child’s color drained. He met her eyes and closed her bag.
Tempest pointed at the pouch. He looked aside, then to her hoof. He clutched the bag, extended it, and tossed it over her head. As Tempest watched it fly, he ran. Another child caught it; a pudgy, green frill-neck. He grinned, then darted.
Tempest groaned. She noted the pudgy child’s direction, but continued after the blue one. She ducked around slow-moving wagons and through a group of sailors—they cursed her—and was soon on his tail.
“Hey! Aren’t you goin’ after your bits?” He said, face flummoxed and panicked.
Tempest was silent, pace measured. She heard her breathing, watched the crowd, felt the unpaved roads, the dust. Familiar, almost nostalgic. She could almost hear the shouting.
“Get back here, you little thief!”
Fizzle slid beneath a stall, and hung a hard corner, but kept moving. She heard a crash and cursing, but his hoofsteps were undaunted. He was angry today.
She slipped around another corner. The streets were muddy, so her turns were more coordinated drifts than sharp banks. She was on the main road now. Ponies moved slow here. They hauled their wagons, carried their purchases, and traveled in flocks. Fizzle shot between a group of mares—they chided her—and past a hefty, brown, box-loaded cart. She ducked behind a row of barrels beside a storefront, breathing labored, then untied the bulging grey sack around her neck. She cradled it, then opened it. She smiled. Fresh loaves, pillowed upon each other, sat secure. She inhaled. It was like a bakery at dawn. Her stomach rumbled.
Fizzle peeked around the barrels. She tied her parcel and patted it.
“They’re good loaves, aren’t they, urchin?”
Fizzle froze. She lifted her eyes. The baker, a broad, brown earth pony, peered from above the barrels, gaze concentrated contempt. Fizzle dodged left, but he intercepted her.
“No, no. Hand it over and then we’ll go talk to the constable,” the baker said.
Fizzle tensed. She looked aside. Across the road a blue colt waved. Fizzle smirked.
The baker extended his hoof. “C’mon, then.”
Fizzle wrapped the sack with her magic, lifted it toward him, then tossed it over his head. He cursed, and as he watched it, Fizzle darted. She ducked around a corner and peeked. He’d taken the bait. The blue colt, Spring Rain, sack in aura, galloped away, and the baker pursued.
Fizzle cut streets; she ran several blocks from the main road, turned down an alleyway, and climbed concealed stairs. She was in an old, wooden house overlooking a blind alley. She ducked by the window and watched. Moments later, Spring Rain entered the alley, followed by the panting baker. He paused at the high wall punctuating the inlet and turned. The baker smiled as he caught his breath.
“Alright now. Just hand over the bread and come with me,” he said.
Fizzle poked her head from the window, catching Spring Rain’s attention, then nodded. Spring Rain tossed the sack upward. Fizzle grabbed it in her aura.
“What! You!” said the baker, then Glitter Drops slammed into him from behind. He stumbled forward, then fell, face first, over Spring Rain, who’d crouched before his forelegs. “Oof!” Both giggled and fled. Fizzle smiled, too, then sprinted from the old house. She saw her friends running down the main road. They were fast, faster than her. They turned into an alley.
Tempest entered after him. She slowed. His back was to a stone wall; he was watching her approach.
“So, what now?” Tempest said. “Does your friend appear and save you?” She looked to either side. There were wooden balconies, some with clothes, others with small junk piles. “Need I guess your next move?”
The child was quivering. He pressed to the stone. Tempest stopped; eyes narrow. “What are you planning?”
“Stop! Wait!” a small voice said behind her. Tempest turned. It was the pudgy child. He panted hard, carrying her coin purse. “You can have your bits back.”
Tempest tilted her head. He waddled to her and offered the pouch. She took it. Then he stood between her and his friend. He looked at her, eyes defiant. “Leave us alone, okay? We’re sorry.”
Tempest lifted the pouch. It felt full. She looked to the boys. They were a spook away from peeing themselves. She looked at the pouch and flicked her tail.
“Fine,” she said. She tucked the pouch beneath her cloak and then stepped aside. “Go.”
The children shared a look, then skittered from the alley.
When Tempest returned to Sheldon’s cart, he was showing her cloak to a gryphon.
“Oh yes, it belonged to a very important guardsmare, you know. One of a kind. But for you, I can let it go for, say, thirty bits. I’ll even throw in this fine bobblehead!” He produced the miniature Celestia. Its head sagged. “Free of charge, of course.”
Tempest tapped his shoulder. He jumped, then looked at her. He was sweaty for a turtle.
“Oh, you’re back!” Sheldon said. He looked to the gryphon. “Sorry, this item’s already been sold. You know what they say about sleeping on a deal: Don’t.” He passed the cloak to Tempest. She wrapped herself in it and pulled the hood over her head.
The gryphon rolled her eyes. She walked away, to the next stall. Sheldon turned to Tempest. “Uh, don’t mind that. Just a little haggling. I wasn’t really going to sell your cloak.”
Tempest was silent for a moment; she let him squirm. Then she looked up—the sun was setting. “Your offer stands?” she asked.
“Oh, of course,” Sheldon said. “Best deal in town, you know. But, uh, any reason in particular you want to go to Klugetown?”
“I need an airship,” Tempest said. She reached into her cloak and withdrew her coin purse. She opened it and then clenched her jaw. It was full of rocks. She flipped it, letting them spill.
“Oh, that won’t do. I don’t take rocks. Now my uncle Tortimer, he takes everything. Rocks, shells, driftwood…”
Tempest crushed a rock.
“Now calm down. I’m sure we can work something out,” Sheldon said. He stroked his mandible, good eye examining her. “How about this: I let you tag along on the road to Kluegtown and in exchange you act as my bodyguard.”
“Maybe I’ll walk.”
“No, no, no. You don’t want to do that.” Sheldon held up his claws. “The Sothern Dunes are uncrossable on hoof and claw.”
“I’ve crossed them before,” Tempest said.
“You have?” Sheldon said, single eye wide. He shook it off. “Regardless, you can’t now. It’s mating season for sand worms, you know.”
“And?”
“And unless you’d like a trip through a worm’s stomach, you’re going to want one of these.” Sheldon gripped the beige tarp. “Behold: Scuzz!” He pulled it away, revealing a sleeping, gem hide basilisk—a giant crocodile with a stone shell. “Ahem. Scuzz!” Sheldon swept his arm, a dramatic gesture. The creature was undisturbed. “Uh, one second.” He lifted his hat, removed a bit, and waved it above the creature’s nose. It sniffed, growled, then parted its silvery fangs. Sheldon dropped the bit. Scuzz chewed it, then snarled. It shifted, scales crackling, tail sweeping, and opened a single slitted eye.
“Your pet?” Tempest asked.
“Traveling Companion.” Sheldon patted Scuzz’s hide. “Best trained basilisk in the Southern Dunes.”
“And you’re sure it can get us to Kluegtown?”
“Don’t doubt me, young mare.” Sheldon said.
Tempest watched Scuzz for a moment. He seemed sluggish, like an overfed cat. His legs looked too short. His spines were stone spires, sharp and, Tempest imagined, heavy, and his every blink was a protracted affair, as though it were a bigger nuisance than conjunctivitis. She sighed. “Fine.”
Sheldon hitched Scuzz to the wagon. “I knew you couldn’t refuse. Too good an offer. Now, hop in back if you’re ready. Today’s been slow anyway.”
Tempest found the wagon’s rear door. It had a small window above an engraved turtle shell. She opened it. Inside were cabinets and shelves stuffed to bursting, and a number of boxes and chests and wagon parts. And in the center was a skinny mat, almost enough space for sleeping. Almost. Tempest closed the door. She went front. Sheldon was on the perch, reins in claw. Tempest sat beside him.
“Now, now, young mare. Don’t worry about old Sheldon. I don’t need the company.”
Tempest glanced at him. “I prefer the open air.”
“Well then, we’re off.” Sheldon whipped the reins. “Yah!”
Scuzz shifted and hissed.
“C’mon, Scuzz! Let’s get moving,” Sheldon said. “He’s always a bit sluggish after his naps.” He whipped the reins again. Scuzz snapped at air.
“Maybe you should incentivize him,” Tempest said.
“An excellent idea,” Sheldon said. He reached behind the perch and withdrew a long pole, on the end of which hung a silver ingot. “His favorite,” Sheldon said. He lowered it to Scuzz’s snout.
Scuzz sniffed, growling. He stood and waddled forward slowly. It was motion in a minimalist sense. Scuzz pulled them up the road. Creatures moved aside, some greeting Sheldon. Tempest watched an old mare stumble along beside them. Then the old mare was outpacing them. Tempest looked forward.
“Yep, no better way to travel,” Sheldon said. “And smooth too. Like sailing a calm sea.” The wagon bumped, giving them a toss. Sheldon muttered something about Stormport’s road quality.
Tempest watched the sky. The sun was dipping below the horizon. She pulled her cloak tight, then closed her eyes. She fell asleep.
In her dreams, she saw her friends. They had little, but they fed themselves, housed themselves, loved themselves. They were their own parents—each other’s parents.
Glitter Drops had a ball; her last toy. Then it was a sack of bread. Then it was a bag of bits. It was so large. Was it larger than the sun? Maybe it was the sun. She threw the sun to Fizzle, but she threw too hard. The sun rolled into a cave. And then the world went dark.