//------------------------------// // The Spectre At The Celebration // Story: The Princess's Bit // by Mitch H //------------------------------// Lyra leaned against the rails on the left side of the ship - no, not the left side, the… port side? No, larboard! - the larboard rails. Her forearms stretched out on either side along the second-to-highest rail, and she let her mane splay out against the top-rail. She looked at the crouched body of her subject humped up over the forecastle, the turul's head and some of her shoulders out of sight, shoved in an odd porthole the refitters had cut into the foredeck. A pair of ratings trotted past Lyra with rope coiled between the two of them, the coils bouncing as they went. The ratings gave her a strange look, as if they'd never seen a mare on two hooves before. Were they already getting used to having a tame 'roc' on the ship? Further down the main deck, two lances were standing at attention, with what looked like most of the ensigns and that humorless lieutenant, who was yelling something at her charges. Lyra had no idea what was going on there, other than they weren't down below getting the cargo stowed away or the quarters ship-shape.  The sound of the colliers emptying their loads into the Princess's Bit's bunkers had finally come to an end a few minutes before the meeting which Lady George was occupied with had begun. For all Lyra knew, that had been the signal for the grand planning session to begin.  Nopony was telling her anything today. Twilight and her griffon had appeared out of nowhere around about dawn, or so Lyra heard afterwards. She'd slept in, and had missed breakfast down in the galleys, if they'd even served a meal at all. It had been difficult to tell, with most of the cooks and kitchen-ponies running around the pantries and storage-lockers and generally banging about. Much of the morning had been taken up with deliveries to all of the open hatches, and for a while Lyra had amused herself by watching the military-naval equivalent of a troupe of greasepainted clowns crowding into the same carriage. Canvas, tar, paint, black powder, bundles of javelins and spears, hammocks, spyglasses, shot, bales of cloth, uniform fabric, towels, pallets and pallets of cleaning supplies, timbers cut to varying lengths, loads of iron bar and aluminum plate and spars. More pallet-loads of foodstuffs than Lyra cared to think about. And of course, the colliers, snuggled up to the stern of the ship with their terrific thundering roar as they poured ton after ton of anthracite into the Bit's huge fuel bunkers. That had been… impressive. Lyra had never really thought about just how much coal an airship's powerplant devoured, let alone mechanical monsters like the three in-line thaumram boilers that powered this 'light carrier'.  Imperium might ride the fickle winds of the upper air, but she was fueled by endless mountains of black coal. Speaking of which… The turul princess suddenly reared up, extracting her beak from the porthole she had been using to sit in on Gleaming Shield's planning conference. As Lady George blinked in the bright sunshine, the door leading into the chart-room burst open, and Master Sergeant Gilda appeared in a flash of brown and grey and beak and glitter. Lyra turned her head and followed the streak of griffon as the hen took to the air, clearing Lyra's horn by barely a yard.  "Where's she going, and who lit her tailfeathers on fire?" Lyra asked. "There's a courier ship leaving in a few minutes for the New Territories, they wanted our notice to precede us at Well Burn if at all possible," Lady George answered, leaning over Lyra and following her line of sight. The sergeant disappeared rapidly across the air-field in the direction of the control tower and some other, smaller ships bobbing under their respective envelopes. "They have these little racers to carry dispatches and letters and so forth, don't you know?" "What's at Well Burn?" Hay, for that matter, where's Well Burn? "Easternmost coaling station in Equestrian hooves, or so I'm told. I've never been there, they don't have a reputation for being fond of birds on Celestine. You Equestrians might be friendly ponies at home, but the Newfies are… well, let's say it's not a friendly neighborhood, and in the Gullet, you ponies give as much as you get. I mostly shipped through Marapore and Roanakesh." "We're not going overland?" "Ha! No. If I were by myself, I think I would? But our little skiff here is a hungry chick, and the quartermaster and the ship's master both say we'd be very short of fuel by the time we arrived in the vicinity of the Great Nest. Or, they did, once I told them exactly where it was. "Not as if my mother or her mother ever really encouraged pony visitors. Or anyone else who needed coal for their airships." "Celestine… I guess that's New Territories?" "From the pony perspective, I suppose. From our point of view, it's an old Abyssinian outpost. Parrots burned out their factories a while back - two centuries ago, I think? And your white princess moved into the vacuum. I don't know if you've noticed, but she's not fond of piracy. And I suppose there was something about the Iles de Prance, but the details escape my memory at the moment." Most of the time, Lyra could forget that Lady George was a princess of the blood, and theoretically educated towards that end. And then she started talking like this… Lyra looked up at her cursed charge, and pondered the princess's coronet.  "So even if your contacts remembered you-" "Not a given, given this damnable coronet." "We're not going where they'd be?" Lyra asked. "Well, allowances have to be made. It's an Equestrian expedition, we'll be needing Equestrian resources." "I guess the Parrots or griffons wouldn't care to sell coal to an Equestrian warship?" "The griffons of Griffonstone would sell rope to their own executioners on the day of their hanging, but no, there are no coaling stations in griffish territories. And the hidalgos are a bit less advanced than their cousins to the west." "Well, I've always wanted to see Prance," Lyra said, trying to see the bright side. "Plans are to move fast. We don't have much time until high summer, I'm afraid," the turul said, looking pensively off to the east. "The earliest clutches might hatch - well, it depends on when the mothers start laying. It was a long winter, we might get lucky…" Lyra didn't know what to say. She hadn't been there when they'd decided to delay the expedition until late spring, and only had the vaguest grasp of the reasons for why this group - so very green, so very disorganized - had pulled the short straw, had been chosen to accompany the cursed princess eastwards to reclaim her throne. Or do their level best to make the attempt. "All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well, Gyongyike." "Is that so, magus?" the turul said, her eyebrow arching in skepticism.  "An old poem I read in school. Quoting an even older prophetess. Talking mostly about the education that suffering gives you as a compensation for all the pain. And the impossibility of travelling back in time to address old evils and past failures. Let's see…" Lyra closed her eyes, and conjured the old words from her memory. "If I think of a queen at nightfall, Of three mares, and more, on the scaffold And a few who died forgotten In other places, here and abroad, And of one who died blind and quiet, Why should we celebrate These dead mares more than the dying? It is not to ring the bell backward Nor is it an incantation To summon the spectre of a Rose." Lyra blinked, surprised at what came out. "Funny, it was less dry and academic in my memory." "Really? I'd call it gloomy and dark," said the turul, looking unenlightened.  "Well, True Frock was a stuffy poet, I suppose. Every poem an epitaph." "You are a gloomy fool this morning, Lyra Heartstrings." "I didn't intend to be, princess! I swear my material usually is less doleful. Maybe I woke up on the wrong side of my fool's cap?" "Is that what you call that hideous thing you were wearing yesterday." "Yeah, I - no! That was my Wizzard's Hat! It's traditional magus gear!" "It looked like you were wearing a burlap sack on your head." Lyra puffed up her cheeks, exaggerating to play up her pique at having her headgear mocked. "I maybe should have gotten it updated a bit… you think I missed my chance, with that clothier you and Twiggles have on retainer?" In the distance, a small, sleek airship with a modest envelope and an enormous pair of propellers to its rear rose from the gaggle of similar small craft collected around the control tower. It turned ponderously around, gaining speed as it circled the airfield. Lyra and her charge followed the courier packet as it curved past where the Princess's Bit was moored. As soon as it lined up on a course east-southeast, the unseen skipper of that little ship opened up her engines, and it took off like an arrow. "Well, here's hoping that Twiggle's sergeant caught the mail before they left." "I'd never bet against Gilda de Griffonstone, if I were you, magus." "...never done a single hour of night drill. I have no idea what command is thinking."  Ensign Basket had been going on like this for nearly an hour now. Thankfully, she was doing it in a furious whisper, into her pillow, but Fish Eye, laying in her hammock strung under her ensign's bunk, was close enough to catch the whole of her diatribe. The thin hatch which separated the ensign's tiny cabin from the crowded barracks-platoon ought to be enough to keep the troopers from hearing Fish's ensign's ravings, but after this much, even Fish Eye was feeling a bit demoralized.  She's winding down. Time to bring the subject up. If it were up to Fish Eye, she'd never say a word about it to her ensign. Figure out how to satisfy Auntie A on her own terms, without any official recognition. But Fish was fairly sure that although she might contrive some sort of slapdash 'shrine' in the forecastle, there was a good chance that someone in the crew would just 'clean the mess up'. Let alone what hoops she'd have to jump through to get an abyssal figurehead attached to the front of the ship. Ponies tended to notice that sort of thing! Not at all subtle, not something you could sneak onto the ship in the dead of night and hope nopony noticed. Here goes nothing… "Ensign, ma’am, what's a 'spear-stallion'?" "-so short nopony in the ranks- wait, what? What did you say, Eye?" "Spear-stallions. A relative said that I needed to talk to the squadron's 'spear-stallion'. But every one of our troopers who isn't a mare has a spear, don't they? Comes with being a male. Or do you think she meant their weapons? I mean, their other weapons? And everypony has one of those in the ranks, mare or stallion. Why talk about it like there's only one of them?" "Relative. Have you been talking to the squadron surgeon, Eye? Your sister?" "Oh, no, ma’am. We're still not talking to each other. She's being stubborn, and I… guess I'm being stubborn, too. I don't even remember why I'm angry at Hawk! But I was! And it feels like I should stick to my gonnes?" "Eye, focus, who was asking about the Spear Stallion? Er, spear stallions. You said a 'relative', so it wasn't any ponies you didn't know asking questions?" "Oh, no. It wasn't a pony at all. And I guess I knew her? Sort of? I mean, not to ever speak to, but of? Well, not that, either." Fish's mother and sister had never been particularly religious, and it had been years since the last time either of them had talked about Auntie A. She sometimes thought that they both blamed the sea goddess for whatever happened to all the other hippogriffs. "But Auntie A said I should talk to you about finding a 'spear stallion' for a thing I have to do. Actually, she said something else. Something about a plump nickel?" "Plump- do you mean Pumpernickel? An AUNTIE? Was this a batpony you were talking to?" "No, of course not. She wasn't a pony at all." "There are hippogriffs here in the Isles other than you and your sister?" "No, of course not. She wasn't a hippogriff, either. Auntie A is… well, it's hard to talk about. You know?" Maybe she ought to talk to her sister about the other things Auntie A had said? It kind of sounded like the other hippogriffs were alive, somewhere under the waves? "No, I have no idea what we're talking about. 'Aunties' is a bad, bad word where I come from, Eye. Well, not bad - don't tell anypony I said bad - but it's a big word. Do you know what I mean by big?" "Oh, yes, of course I do! And Auntie A is a big word sort of relative. I mean, she is big. I suppose she could be as big as she wanted to be. Bigger than you, bigger than me, bigger than either of the princesses. You think I could get a look at Princess Cadance before we leave tomorrow? I came all this way, and didn't get a chance to see the second princess." "No! There will be no pestering the new duchess! And what in darkest night are you-" "She said to tell my batpony mistress that she wanted to borrow your spear-stallion and pumpernickel for this errand I have to run for her. Why do we need a loaf of bread?" "The Pumpernickel isn't bread, Eye. What errand? Why do you need a spear stallion? And that spear stallion?" "Oh, I need to build and bless a shrine to Auntie A. In the forecastle, somewhere. I suppose we could put it in a cabin underdeck somewhere, just so long as it's near the keel? I don't know how I'm going to talk the crew into letting me put a figure-head on the ship, or where I'm going to get a piece of wood big enough. Oh! Or a carver. But they're sailor-ponies, don't sailors like to whittle?" "EYE!" shrieked Fruits Basket, loud enough that Fish Eye was pretty sure they'd awoken most of the bats in the bunks nearest their cabin. "WHO IS YOUR AUNTIE A?" "Oh, didn't I mention it?" "NO!" "Amphitrite. She's every hippogriff's favorite aunt. Mostly because if she isn’t our favorite aunt, things go really badly. I never thought I'd meet her. I guess I know now why hippogriffs don’t rush to family reunions?" Hey! Maybe there will be family reunions again! Fish had a very fuzzy recollection of the one reunion her mother had taken her and Hawk to, when she was very, very little. And was a seapony. Fish remembered that part vividly. "Amphi- the sea goddess?" "Well, yeah. Did you think we'd get away with taunting her without Auntie coming around to make her expectations known?" "I thought she was a MYTH!" "Pfft, before you met me, you probably thought the same about hippogriffs. Now you know better. And I need help from a 'priest' to get this blessing done. Who's our spear-stallion? Is it an officially appointed position?" "I need to talk to some ponies… and don't you talk to anypony else about this. Don't… don't go anywhere. She was here? On the ship?" "Yup! Crawled right up on the aftcastle. I had this whole conversation with her. She's pissed, but persuadable. And I got us a pass! I just need to start satisfyin' her conditions. The figurehead I think she's willing to wait, but this shrine business, we need to get on top of, y'know? It'll be a pain to do the ritual while we're moving…" And Fish Eye's ensign went rocketing out of the little closet they called her cabin, presumably to find this 'Pumpernickel'.  "Major, what is going on up on the forecastle?" "I am not exactly sure. I was hoping you could tell me, Gilda. I came up on deck to find this going on. I asked Tailwind, but she just looked pale and waved me off." "Is that Fish Eye up there? Wrapped in seaweed? Where'd she get it?" "I have no idea. When I was up there a minute ago, Ping was with her. At least, I think a small batpony matching his general description was somewhere under that mass of seaweed and rubbish they've got him kitted out with." "Sounds like singing?" "Sort of, yeah. When I asked, Tailwind almost spat at me. And said something about needing to stop in Maretonia on the way out. I guess we forgot to order a figurehead?" "A what?" "Figurehead. Big wooden effigy of a mare? Nailed to the front of ships?" "I thought that was a sailing ship thing." "Well, Tailwind has thrown a fit, and now we need a figurehead." "We're going that way, anyways, right?" "I suppose." "This little song and dance isn't going to delay our launch, is it?" "I don't think so. Let me know if they set the ship on fire." "So I'm delegated to keep an eye on the crew's outbreak of superstition?" "You most certainly are. I'm going to go get breakfast, Gilda. I'll tell them to warm up a rat or something for you." "Oh, would you, major ma'am? You're the best. I'm going to go up there and get a better look. Has anypony told the magus this is going on?" "I will if I see her…"