Time slowed, but also sped up, and everything became a confusing jumble. Some of the bumbles retreated, while others offered defense. Gunfire and spells caused a discordant cacophony that made Twinkleshine’s ears ring. One of the masked marauders tossed a glass flask filled with some glowing bright-orange liquid, and after it smashed against a brick wall, yellow smoke poured from the point of impact. Those bumbles swallowed up by the yellow smoke suffered a horrendous fate, as their chitinous armor began to slowly dissolve and slough off of them in goopy, stringy blobs.
A bumble was seized by magic and yanked towards a masked unicorn who stood with his sword ready. Eyes wide, Twinkleshine watched as the bumble was impaled, and then callously flung away. She could feel that the unicorns around her weren’t particularly powerful, but watching them, she could see that they were skilled. Another bumble was drawn in, and this one too, was skewered, only to then be tossed away.
Twinkleshine, a quick learner, understood a new way to fight when she saw one. She had long used whatever was around her as distractions or weapons, so this was the next logical step. Following the example made, she snatched a weakened, somewhat dissolved bumble from across the street. As her magic mingled with the bumble, she felt a contest of wills take place. The creature was resistant, but also in pain, suffering, and its willpower had been weakened. After what felt like seconds, or maybe even minutes, but might have been an eye blink, the creature rocketed towards her, accelerated to absurd speeds, and Twinkleshine raised her axe into the incoming bumble’s flight path.
When the creature was cloven clean in two just over her head, Twinkleshine was bathed in curiously red blood. She blinked, her eyes stinging, and as she opened her eyes, she saw one bumble get shoved into another. Her ears were ringing now, and the gunfire, once a deafening sound, was now little more than a dull roar. When a formation of bumbles moved against them, Twinkleshine was the first to react as the weird insectoid creatures with mammalian faces came around the corner. She fired off a stunning spell that exploded in their midst, leaving them dazzled, stunned, and dazed.
This left them easy pickings for the masked marauders, one of whom flung another alchemical bomb at the clustered bumbles as the others opened fire. After flying in a beautiful, high arc, the glass flask struck the ground. It exploded on impact, and a massive bloom of blue-orange flames consumed the bumbles, who were set ablaze. Fragile wings turned to ash and they fell into the roaring flames beneath them.
It was a quick, brutal exchange, but it taught Twinkleshine a great deal about the nature of fighting, just as the long night in Ponyville had done. But this felt different somehow, in a way that she could not say, in a manner she could not express. There were tactics at work here. Teamwork. Ponyville’s defense was a disorganised mess of skirmish fighters, while this group, whomever they might be, all moved and acted as one, as if they were but a single body.
Just as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The last shot was fired from a blue steel revolver and it appeared to be some kind of alchemical load, because the flesh around the wound it caused melted like boiling wax. As the hulking soldier bumble writhed on the street, all six legs kicking and twitching, while its innards bubbled like a horrific bumble stew, Twinkleshine found that she felt no pity. In fact, she’d gone quite numb, enough so that it alarmed her.
“Reload,” one of the masked figures commanded. “Restock. Recover.”
One of the soldiers opened his mask—it split open like a maw—and much to Twinkleshine’s surprise, there was an actual beak beneath. Keen eyes peered at her, trying to size her up, and soaked in blood, itchy, and twitchy, she stared back at her rescuer. Gloved talons pulled back a protective cowl and then the mask was removed completely, revealing the feathered head of a rather smallish albino griffon. His beak was strangely translucent—his tongue could be seen within—and his feathers seemed to lack colour.
But his eyes were striking; two pale, almost colourless hunks of pale pink ice.
“I am Geist, of the Guild of Rat Catchers. Nice axe.”
It took Twinkleshine a moment to find her voice. “I am Twinkleshine, Mare-at-Arms for House Lulamoon.” Then, still a little shell-shocked, she added, “I came here to find my son, the sorcerer, Sumac. The fate of Equestria hangs upon the completion of my mission.”
“Interesting, ja.” The albino griffon tapped one talon-finger against the mask he held in his talons while he studied Twinkleshine in earnest. “We hunt the bumbles, who have hives in the sewers. Elusive prey. For reasons unknown, they came to the surface in force and now build a hive aboveground. Perhaps because they have this sorcerer, ja?”
Twinkleshine dared to hope, but was also terrified by the prospect.
“Strange night we’re having. Monsters who wear the skin of alicorns walk the streets. The bumbles are out in force. Even Queen Bumblina has come out of her secure hiding place. Monsters of every stripe have crawled out of their slimy dens and hidey holes to take advantage of the chaos. We’ve even had to put down an outbreak of the undead. What a night we’ve borne witness to.”
For whatever reason, Twinkleshine found Geist’s old-world gutteral accent comforting.
Upon further examination of the leather and rubber-clad griffon, Twinkleshine couldn’t find any trace of wings. His outfit was almost skin-tight, and she couldn’t find any protrusions, any lumps or bumps, not even a suggestion of wings beneath his slinky garb. It would be rude to bring it up, or to call attention to it, so she remained silent.
“We’ve heard reports that the bumbles have taken over a marmalade factory,” Geist said to Twinkleshine.
“Marmalade?”
“You will find many such factories here in Manehattan,” the ghostly griffon replied. “The earth ponies, lacking the means to peel oranges, developed a taste for the whole fruit. Peel and all. There is a very large factory, the first of its kind, and the bumbles have seized it as a base of operations. Lots of sugar and food for the bee queen. If the bumbles have your son, he would be there.”
Twinkleshine had only one response: “Then we have to go there.”
“We?” one of the rat catchers asked.
“Doctor Stroker, do shut up,” Geist commanded. “We are graced by nobility. This is clearly a Lady, you twit. If she asks us to die for her, it is the least we can do. Equestria’s fate hangs in the balance.”
“I don’t need you to die for me,” Twinkleshine was quick to say. “But I do need help recovering my son.” She heard a rapid succession of a great many deep breaths and gasps.
Doctor Stroker, a unicorn, stepped forward. “That’s a fortified hive. Well, the start of one. They’ll have superiour numbers.”
“Ja”—Geist nodded—“they will. We’ve been skulking around, trying to pick off the isolated scouting parties while avoiding the bands of airborne cavalry. Perhaps we should take the fight to them.”
A female voice said, “They are too many, and we are too few.”
“Opinion noted, Doctor Persimmon,” Geist replied without turning to look at the mare who had spoken.
“We are ill-equipped to do—”
“We will do what is necessary,” Geist snapped, cutting off Doctor Stroker before he could finish.
“We’ve got bombs and bullets,” one of the foals said, and it was clear by her squeakyish voice that a filly had spoken.
Doctor Stroker, looking down at the pack-laden filly beside him, said to her, “Miss Pecan Pie, do be silent.”
“Of course, Master. I will be silent... and brave.”
Geist chuckled and a powerful snort could be heard within Doctor Stroker’s mask. Twinkleshine—blood soaked and stricken with adrenaline jitters—was just aware enough to catch the meaning in the filly’s words. She had all but called her master a coward. For some reason, this exchange made Twinkleshine think of Sumac and Vinyl, though they had a very different relationship.
“Little earth ponies.” Talons tapping against his mask, Geist appeared thoughtful, at least by griffon standards. “So fearless. Pecan Pie… she’s from the Broncs. She is insolent, willful, and absolutely fearless. What can be done with her?”
“A whole lot of floor scrubbing,” Doctor Stroker remarked. “Hospital-grade cleanliness.”
“Aw… shit.” The filly’s profane expletive was muffled by her mask. “Scrubbing floors is the worst.”
“Pecan Pie is right though,” another foal said. “What’s the point of packing all these bombs and bullets in such numbers?”
“Mister Haflinger Bluemark, that is quite enough out of you—”
“Doctor Stroker, do not rebuke my apprentice.” Geist ceased to chuckle and was now annoyed. “Though I suspect that this has nothing to do with the bravery of my apprentice, and everything to do with the fact that he longs to kiss young Miss Pecan Pie.”
“Well, duh,” the colt quipped. “But I’d like for it to be known that I’m a Bluemark, from House Bluemark, and my house don’t run from nothing, be it rats or bugs.”
“This goes beyond all of us,” Geist said to his companions. “I know of the sorcerer and his importance. Have none of you read the dispatches from the Crown?” The griffon, maskless, turned his head around to have a better look at his fellows, and his cold, predatory eyes lacked any sort of discernable emotion. “We are, in times of desperation, a militia. Our numbers are few, but we are well trained. Are we not fierce? Are we not—”
“We have grown cautious, because we keep dying. The sewers have grown far too dangerous. New recruits are in short supply. Each and every one of us represents a significant effort spent in time, training, and resources. We should not carelessly throw that away.” Doctor Stroker undid his mask, and pulled it away to reveal his scarred face. “I will not stand here and be called a coward for my caution.”
“No one is calling you a coward,” Doctor Persimmon said to Doctor Stroker. “And your caution is respected. But Geist is right. If the bumbles have this sorcerer, we have a chance to stop them before they become entrenched and dangerous. You know how rapidly bumbles can increase their number. If we wait for the army to arrive, what could be a skirmish will surely be a bloodbath.”
“The army was sent.” Twinkleshine felt every eye now upon her. “I was part of it. We got scattered to the four winds, I think. Something messed with Princess Celestia’s teleportation. I don’t know what happened, but I am cut off and alone. And if I have to go after my son alone, I will.”
“That… that is quite alarming.” Doctor Persimmon stood rigid, unmoving, and the sound of her mechanical respirator was like that of an idling locomotive. “My apprentice and I stand ready.”
“Mister Bluemark—”
“Must you even ask, Master?”
The other rat catchers stood waiting, uncertain. One stepped forward, and was followed by a younger, smaller apprentice. Another also moved forward, and this one too was joined by a smaller companion. Doctor Stroker, scowling, gritted his teeth and glared daggers at Geist, who did not seemed bothered by the murderous stare in the slightest.
“Doctor Stroker… somepony must make sure that the guild survives. Somepony has to see to it that the pieces are picked up. New recruits must be whipped into shape.” Doctor Persimmon’s voice was a mechanical deadpan. “Go do that. Secure our future.”
“All of you are throwing your lives away,” Doctor Stroker said. “Come, Miss Pecan Pie. We must be going.”
“No, Master.” The filly stepped away from her master, and looked up at him. With her face hidden behind her mask, her expression and her feelings were unknowable. “I cannot obey that order.”
“This will mean walking papers.” Doctor Stroker’s voice wasn’t angry, but pleading.
“So be it.” Pecan Pie bowed her head and retreated to be closer to Geist.
Defeated, broken, Doctor Stroker’s face contorted in pain. He looked down at his apprentice, while she looked up at him, and Twinkleshine saw that the doctor trembled. He was sweating now, the doctor, and his eyes had turned bloodshot. His emotional turmoil was such that it was clearly tearing him apart from the inside out.
“May all of you live to stand in Celestia’s sun once more,” Doctor Stroker said at last. “All of you are fools… damned fools. May the Sisters bless and keep you. I’ll return to headquarters and make sure the infirmary is prepared.”
Just as the doctor turned to make his hasty departure, he paused, his facial muscles bunching with pain. “Young Miss Pie… you were the finest apprentice that anypony could hope for. Stay with Mister Bluemark, he will keep you safe. Do not leave his side, that is an order!”
Then, before anything else could be said, Doctor Stroker departed, galloping away with astonishing speed. Twinkleshine watched him go, conflicted, unsure of what or how to feel. She didn’t think of him as a coward; on the contrary, it took extraordinary bravery to stand up to one’s own fellows. He was doing what needed to be done.
Raising his mask to his face, Geist said, “We must be going. Let us go and see if we can find this sorcerer, ja?”