Old School Friends
Space was at a premium in Atlas, but the Cadenza-Sparkles had solved that problem like so many others in Atlas had by building up. Their townhouse resembled a tower, an elegant tower of glass which managed the trick of admitting light while not admitting the views of casual voyeurs outside, instead presenting a reflective, shining blue surface that seemed in the right light to be almost crystalline.
As he stood before it, Ironwood felt a little envious. He would have liked this much space when Aska and Kogetsu were growing up.
There were some benefits, he had to concede, to coming from a good family. Atlas might not have nobility, like they did in Mistral, but they definitely had class.
Nevertheless, of all the families that might be said to make up the elite of Atlas, at least the Cadenza-Sparkles deserved their place in that number.
That was more than could be said for some.
Ironwood approached the door. It was opened before he quite got to it. The Cadenza-Sparkles were wealthy enough to afford some help around the house but not quite wealthy enough to afford human help, and so, the door opened automatically, and he was greeted by an automated approximation of a female voice.
“Good morning, General Ironwood,” the voice, which came from everywhere and nowhere, greeted him. “Please come inside.”
“Thank you,” Ironwood replied as he strode through the door, which closed automatically behind him.
“Councillor Cadenza and Captain Armor are in the bedroom, expecting you,” the VI said.
“The bedroom?” Ironwood repeated. “Are they-?”
“They are expecting you,” the VI repeated.
That didn’t exactly answer his question, which was more along the lines of ‘are they decent?’ He didn’t want to walk in on anything intimate between the two of them. But, he supposed that he had been told they were expecting him, and the entire reason he was calling on the Councillor at her home was because he knew that she was experiencing some severe morning sickness. That would hardly put her in the mood for anything improper of him to walk in on.
“Very well,” he said, “where is the bedroom?” He had been the Councillor’s guest for dinner in the past, but he had restricted himself to the ground floor.
“Sixth floor, General,” the VI said, as the elevator door at the far end of the hall slid open invitingly for him.
“Thank you,” Ironwood said as he walked into the elevator. He didn’t need to press any buttons as it carried him up to the sixth floor.
Ironwood was a great supporter of technology; he believed in its potential to make Atlas an even better place. But there were times when he wondered if Twilight’s family didn’t carry that a little to excess.
The elevator opened up again to deposit him on the sixth floor. The interior walls were a cool blue, bathed in the sunlight from the glassy exteriors. The floors were polished to such a shine he could see his reflection in them, and maintained that way by an array of mouse-like robots rolling up and down in front of him, while an android housekeeper dusted some wedding photos hanging on the wall.
“Rainbow Dash! Do you mind? You keep scraping the wall!”
“Sorry, Rarity, there isn’t much room to manoeuvre in here,” Dash replied.
“Then perhaps you should try simply using a ladder, darling, or a long roller.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“I’m having fun. Oh, the baby is going to love this. She’ll get to spend every night surrounded by trees and animals-”
“And balloons and candles and candy canes.”
Ironwood had no idea where the bedroom was, but he walked down the corridor in the direction of the voices of Dash and her friends towards a spacious room with only one exterior facing wall, and even that had been partially boarded up to about the waist height of the average man. The room was empty of all furniture and completely bare except for the plastic sheeting on the floor. The reason for said sheet, and for the absence of all other things, was quite apparent to Ironwood as he stood in the doorway and saw Dash, Belladonna, and all of their friends – aside from Twilight and Apple – painting the walls and ceiling.
Dash was wearing her Wings of Harmony, using them to hover above the floor and paint the ceiling in a midnight blue. Drops of paint had stained the metal of the wings, as well as Dash’s face, hands, and clothes and drip-dropping onto the floor besides. What was more of a problem was that she seemed to have scraped the walls more than once with her wings as she moved around.
The walls themselves, the work of Belladonna, as well as Dash and Twilight’s friends Rarity, Pinkie, and Fluttershy, were in the process of being painted in the vein of a fantastical forest, with tall trees of the sort which only grew in children’s stories, the type on which burning candles and red and white candy canes grew as easily as apples, pears, or oranges. Balloons of yellow, blue, and pink were beginning to float amongst the trees, while bunnies and squirrels gambolled around the forest floor.
It was somewhat twee, but Ironwood supposed an infant would appreciate it.
Everyone was covered in paint, on their overalls and their goggles and their faces, even in their hair – except for Rarity, who had covered hers.
There were holes drilled in the walls, lined with paper to stop paint getting in or over them. Since they were set high, Ironwood guessed they were for light fittings, although he wasn’t sure of the need for so many of them.
It was Belladonna, daubing at the trunk of a tree with a paint brush, who saw him first. She sprang to attention. “Officer on deck, ten hut!”
Instantly, Dash’s Wings of Harmony folded into the bulky backpack, and she dropped to the floor with a crash, springing around to face him with her hands straight down her sides.
“Relax, both of you; you’re not on duty,” Ironwood reminded them. He glanced around the room. “I take it this is going to be the nursery?”
“Yes, sir,” Dash replied.
“Since Cadance is having a bit of a rough time lately, we volunteered to come and help decorate it for them,” Fluttershy informed him.
“In fact, they’ve agreed to leave everything to us while they get some much needed rest,” Rarity declared.
“I see,” Ironwood said. He looked up at the ceiling. “Let me guess: a night sky.”
“Twilight and Rarity haven’t yet decided whether the position of the stars will be astronomically accurate or not,” Belladonna said mildly.
“If the baby wants to learn astronomy, then they can look in a book,” Rarity said. “Or ask for a telescope from Auntie Twilight for their birthday.”
Ironwood didn’t respond to that; rather, he said, “I’m a little surprised to see you here, Belladonna.”
Belladonna smiled. “I admit it’s not like anything I’ve ever really done before, sir,” she said, “but Councillor Cadenza – Cadance – has been a good friend to Menagerie; this is the least I can do to return the favour.”
“Plus, you’re having fun, right?” Pinkie asked.
Belladonna’s smile widened. “Of course. That too.”
“So where are Apple and Twilight?” Ironwood asked. “I would have expected them to be involved if the rest of you are.”
“Applejack’s making a mobile for the baby!” Pinkie chirruped.
“And Twilight-” Dash began.
There was a crash from another room down the hall, followed by Twilight shouting. “Grrr! Why won’t you look like I want you to?!”
“Twilight is, um, helping with the furniture,” Fluttershy murmured.
“I see,” Ironwood replied. “Well, I won’t disturb you any further. But Dash?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As a Specialist, your equipment is your own property,” Ironwood said. “But those wings are not really suitable for tight quarters.”
“Yes, sir,” Rainbow replied, a slight note of embarrassment in her voice.
“Dash, Belladonna, ladies,” Ironwood said before he turned away, leaving them to it as he walked down the corridor to his left.
He clasped his hands behind his back as he walked. Thinking back to when he had been the one rushing around trying to get everything in order for the arrival of Aska and Kogetsu. They had come to him a little older than babies, of course, but that had made some things harder, rather than easier.
He found Apple and Twilight a couple of doors down. Apple was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a carving knife in her hand as she shaped a block of wood with careful, flowing strokes of the knife, shaving the wood away to reveal whatever her imagination had glimpsed within.
Twilight was standing on the other side of the room, using her telekinetic semblance to wrestle with some flat-pack furniture – a crib, judging by the picture on the box sitting a few feet away.
Ironwood had to judge by the box because, unfortunately, the tangled mess that Twilight had made was quite unrecognisable.
“Why won’t you fit together!” she demanded.
Apple looked over her shoulder. “Twi, I told you, I will make the baby a crib! You just gotta give me time to find all the right kinda woods, that’s all.”
Twilight growled. “You don’t understand, Applejack; according to the aggregate of all online reviews, this crib is supposed to be the very best one on the market.”
“Well, I don’t know about no online reviews,” Apple replied. “But what I do know is that when Big Mac was on the way, my Daddy built him a crib with his own two hands, got his own sweat on it, trapped underneath the varnish, and me and my brother and my sister, we all slept in it just fine every night until we was too old.” She paused. “Come on, let me do this, Twilight. Let me give the little one a present.”
“You’re already giving her the mobile,” Twilight pointed out.
“This ain’t hardly anythin’,” Apple said. “Let me give her somethin’ to sleep in that’s made with love.”
Twilight pouted. “How is it that I can build a drone filled with complex robotics and computer systems, but I can’t assemble a flat pack?”
“I think they make them to be easy to get wrong and hard to fix so you have to buy new furniture,” Apple said.
“That’s quite a cynical viewpoint, Apple,” Ironwood observed.
“General Ironwood!” Twilight gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see Councillor Cadenza,” Ironwood explained. “Given her condition, it seemed the courteous thing to do.”
“Is this about the Mistralian envoy?” Twilight asked.
Ironwood chuckled. “Good guess.”
“It seemed obvious, General,” Twilight said. “Everyone’s talking about it: the first contact with Mistral since the CCT went down.”
“It seems that in this house, there are other subjects of conversation,” Ironwood said. “Where did you get that crib, by the way?”
“The same place we got all the furniture for the nursery,” Twilight said. “SnowHome.”
“A subsidiary of the Schnee Dust Company,” Ironwood said. “You might be onto something with that theory of yours, Apple.”
Apple grinned momentarily. “Howdy, sir.”
Ironwood nodded. He glanced at the wooden carvings that Apple had already produced: a dog, a bear, a penguin. Each of them was quite exquisite, really. “You’ve got quite a talent there, Apple.”
“I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ so, sir, and don’t take it the wrong way or nothin’, but I get more out of making stuff like this with my hands than I do out of killin’ grimm.”
“I’m not surprised, and I certainly don’t blame you,” Ironwood murmured. A sigh escaped him. “Unfortunately, we need good people like you out on the battlefield more than we need carpenters or wood carvers.”
“On account of she’ll always be out there, right, sir?” Apple asked.
“Exactly,” Ironwood said quietly. He cleared his throat. “Twilight, perhaps you could show me to the bedroom; this part of the house is new to me.”
“Of course, General,” Twilight said, stepping away from the mess that was supposed to be a crib. “Follow me.”
She led Ironwood out of that room and further down the hall, to a large room at the corner of the tower decorated in pink along the two interior walls, while the two exterior walls of glass were both concealed behind thick purple curtains. Councillor Cadenza was sitting up in bed, wearing a loose, flowing gown with a very high waistline. Shining Armor sat in a chair by the side of her bed, casually dressed in a shirt with no tie and an undone collar.
Twilight knocked on the door. “Um, General Ironwood’s here,” she said.
Councillor Cadenza smiled. “Thank you, Twilight. How’s everything going?”
“Well, uh,” Twilight laughed nervously. “The decorating is going well.”
Councillor Cadenza’s smile widened just a little. “You know,” she said, “I think a homemade crib would be very special.”
Twilight huffed. “I can… except I can’t, can I? Well, Applejack will be glad to hear it. I’ll, uh, I’ll let her know. And leave you in peace. General Ironwood.”
“Twilight,” Ironwood replied, as Twilight took her leave and shut the door behind him.
Shining Armor got to his feet. “Sir.”
“Captain,” Ironwood said. “Councillor. How are you feeling?”
Councillor Cadenza closed her eyes for a moment. “I am glad that you haven’t caught me coming out of the bathroom,” she murmured. “It comes, and it goes, and when it comes, it can be messy. Thank you, General, for coming here. I’m not sure that I could have managed the trip to Atlas Academy in my condition.”
“I understand,” Ironwood replied. “It’s not a problem.”
Shining Armor gestured to the chair he had risen from. “Please, sir, sit down.”
Ironwood waved one hand. “Keep your seat, Captain; I’m fine here.”
Shining Armor hesitated for a moment, but resumed his seat. “Thank you, sir.”
“How are the new security arrangements for the Council working?” Ironwood asked him.
“Clover’s team is integrating well, sir, and I’ve been very impressed by Flash Sentry.”
“He’s settling in alright?” Ironwood asked. Huntsmen who came to the Atlesian military without going through Atlas Academy first sometimes struggled with a degree of culture shock, lessened but not wholly mitigated if they’d been to Atlas for a Vytal Festival.
“He is from Atlas,” Shining Armor reminded him. “I guess that’s helped him find his feet. I feel a little sorry for Marrow, though.”
“How so?”
“He’s got five years on Flash, but he still gets treated like the rookie because Flash fought at Vale and Marrow didn’t.”
“Sentry has paid for his exemption from the teasing the hard way,” Ironwood muttered. “Once you lose a limb in the service, people feel a little uncomfortable talking about how green you are.” Though they can become more comfortable talking about how inhuman you are.
“Right, sir,” Shining Armor agreed. “Anyway, with Cadance like this, it’s good having people I can rely on to pick up the slack.”
“Nobody wants to take you away from your wife at a time like this if it can be avoided,” Ironwood said.
“With the benefit of hindsight,” Councillor Cadenza groaned, “a time like this was perhaps not the best time to be having a baby.”
“When would have been a better time?” Ironwood asked. “Last year, when the White Fang were running rampant in Vale? Councillor, if you waited for the world to be still and calm before living your life, you’d be waiting a long time.”
“A good point, but one which doesn’t completely negate my own,” Councillor Cadenza replied. “There is still and calm, and then there is this. Apart from anything else, I haven’t been able to campaign for Pearl the way I would have liked.”
“It hasn’t stopped her leading in the polls,” Shining Armor pointed out.
“I know,” Councillor Cadenza sighed. “But a lot can happen in an election campaign, and I wish I was able to get out there. Ah, well. There’s no point dwelling on what might have been, I suppose. Anyway, it’s not what I asked you to come and visit me to discuss.”
“The Mistralian embassy,” Ironwood said.
“Indeed, General,” Councillor Cadenza replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that Mistral has reached out to us, and we can finally get some accurate information on what’s been going on there since the CCT went down, but…”
“The manner of the outreach concerns you?” Ironwood suggested.
“It puzzles me, a little,” Councillor Cadenza corrected him. “Lord Rutulus has been here for two days, he’s made sure that everyone knows that he is here and where he comes from, and since then, he and his escort have taken rooms at the Glass Unicorn and made no effort to get an audience with the Council. It’s as if he’s deliberately trying to keep us all in suspense, but why?”
“I couldn’t possibly say,” Ironwood said, his tone neutral.
“I know about the history he has with Atlas,” Councillor Cadenza said. “Shining Armor has filled me in.”
“Of course,” Ironwood murmured. “You two were in the same year, weren’t you?”
“You let him off too lightly, sir,” Shining Armor declared. “Summary expulsion? For what he did?”
“There was no proof to contradict his version of the events,” Ironwood said.
“He’d argued with them before the mission,” Shining Armor declared. “There’s been bad blood on that team ever since the vacation ended, and he knew how to hold a grudge. And then his teammates all die on a mission, and he comes home without a scratch? I don’t buy that, sir, and I know that you didn’t buy it either.”
“No,” Ironwood said. “There is no doubt in my mind that, at the least, he left his team to die.”
“Then you should have drummed him out for cowardice,” Shining Armor said.
“And sent the message to all the other students that they shouldn’t try and save themselves in a truly hopeless situation?” Ironwood demanded. “You know how narrow the line between risking it all to save your comrades and throwing your own life away can get. I didn’t want to tell good kids that they ought to run to their deaths for no reason. That’s why I didn’t charge Rutulus with cowardice in the face of the enemy. I didn’t want him at my academy, but I wanted him to leave a legacy that would damage the whole school even less.”
Shining Armor shook his head. “I can’t believe that they’ve sent that guy to talk to us.”
“In Mistral, his school record probably matters less than the fact that he’s the head of a wealthy and powerful family,” Councillor Cadenza observed.
“Probably,” Shining Armor muttered. “And he was always a big admirer of Atlas; maybe he wanted to come.”
“Although some of the things he admired are not necessarily the things that we admire about ourselves, from what you’ve told me,” Councillor Cadenza said.
“He came to Atlas as an outsider, and he had an outsider’s view of Atlas,” Shining Armour said. “He saw what he wanted to see.”
“Regardless of what kind of a man he is, he is the man that Mistral has sent to talk to us,” Councillor Cadenza said. “Only, it seems that he doesn’t want to talk. Perhaps he’s waiting for the outcome of the election, but I would like to know for sure, one way or another.”
“What do you have in mind, Councillor?” Ironwood asked.
“I was hoping,” Councillor Cadenza said, “that you might call on him at his hotel, General, and get a feel for what he wants, what Mistral wants, why he has been sent here.”
Ironwood was silent for a moment, thinking about it. “I… I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Councillor.”
“No?” Councillor Cadenza asked.
“He’s not likely to look kindly on the man who expelled him from Atlas Academy,” Ironwood pointed out. “And, while this may just be my pride talking, I’d rather not go begging for a word with someone who can’t be bothered to request a meeting on his own.”
“This is hardly the moment to let your pride get in the way of important considerations,” Councillor Cadenza informed him.
“If you were in a state to go and meet with him, Councillor, I wouldn’t advise you to do so either,” Ironwood said. “It makes us look subordinate.”
Councillor Cadenza laughed. “And we of Atlas may never look subordinate, is that what you mean, General?”
“This is our kingdom, Councillor; why should we go to him?”
Councillor Cadenza sighed. “Our pride will be the death of us, I fear. If I suggested inviting him to dinner here, what would you say to that?”
“I’d say you might not be in a position to make the best impression, honey,” Shining Armor murmured. He paused. “I could go.”
Councillor Cadenza looked at her husband. “You?”
Shining Armor shrugged. “We were at Atlas together for a while. We were even in the same year. Sure, we weren’t friends, but how many people actually know that? Yes, I’m your husband, but even so, what could be more natural than going to see an old buddy who’s come all the way from Mistral? I can find out some answers, and nobody has to lose face.”
“I don’t seem to remember you had any problems with him,” Ironwood murmured. “Did you?”
“We used to go after one another with relish in sparring class,” Shining Armor admitted. “I guess you could say we were rivals, and I can’t say that I liked his attitude, but we never fought that I can remember.”
“Nothing that would make him refuse to see you,” Ironwood said.
“If he knows that I’m married to a Councillor, he’ll know what’s going on,” Shining Armor pointed out.
That made sense. “In that case, it sounds like a reasonable idea to me.”
Councillor Cadenza reached out and took Shining Armor’s hand. “Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” Shining Armor said. “You can’t go for… a whole bunch of reasons, so let me go instead of you.”
Councillor Cadenza smiled at him. “Thank you.”
Turnus paced up and down in his room.
He had been at the Glass Unicorn – one of Atlas’ premier hotels – for two days now. He had been… he would not say that he had been delaying, although some would; rather, he would say that he had been pondering, considering, contemplating how he might go about his various missions, public and private.
In other words, he had been delaying, but justifying it to himself.
He had some cause for delay. Since arriving in Atlas, he had paid attention to the news – it turned out that the merchants he had been paying for gossip from the north had been leaving some things out – and sending out his men to find out the lay of the land here. He now understood a little better now why Doctor Watts had given him the name of Abacus Cinch, a Combat School principal. She was also a backer of Jacques Schnee in his run for the vacant council seat. She might, Turnus was not sure of this, seek to become or presume to be his eminence grise, although with Mister Schnee behind in the polls – and was that not a great argument against democracy, that so great a man was failing to win over the citizens who judged not with their heads but with their hearts – her hopes were starting to look academic.
But then, who was Turnus Rutulus to assume that Chrysalis and Doctor Watts and their dark mistress did not have some means of influencing the election that they had not yet revealed? After the lengths they had gone to to gain influence in Mistral and power over him, he would not put such work past them.
For his public mission, to broker or at least begin the process of brokering an alliance between Atlas and Mistral, he had excuse for delay: with an election in the offing, it was prudent to wait until a new councillor was installed. There was no point in starting negotiations that would be derailed if the balance of power shifted as a result of the election, especially in a council that was finely balanced.
Turnus had been surprised, when he arrived and made discreet inquiries, to find out what was going on here. Atlas had seemed to him so strong when he had been here last: mighty, inviolate, everything that he hoped for his own homeland. There were many people who still felt that way: Atlas will always be Atlas, as they said. They felt safe, confident in the strength of their military, and with so much of that strength literally hovering overhead, who could blame them?
But there were cracks here, nonetheless. Not everyone trusted General Ironwood; there were those who feared he had misused the military and that he would continue to do so. There were those, worryingly, who wished to see Atlas turn away from the wider world of Remnant and look exclusively to its own security.
Turnus was surprised that Mister Schnee was such a one, had even become the spokesman for such attitudes. How could a man with business interests all over Remnant, whose revenues flowed in from all four kingdoms, preach isolation? It had not seemed in his character when Turnus had worked for the SDC. It was true that they had not been close, but from what he had observed, Mister Schnee was always interested in new acquisitions, always ready to embrace an investment opportunity in any kingdom.
Perhaps he did not fully understand Mister Schnee’s platform. He had considered seeking an audience with his old employer, but he hesitated for fear it would look as though he had chosen sides ahead of an election which, with the best will in the world, Mister Schnee seemed set to lose.
He could more easily understand why the agents of Salem would wish for an inward-looking Atlas. An Atlas that had abandoned the rest of Remnant to darkness and to Salem herself. Perhaps they had gotten to Mister Schnee somehow. Perhaps this Principal Cinch was the puppetmaster even now, with her hand up Mister Schnee’s back, opening and closing his mouth while she practiced her ventriloquism.
Or perhaps she is but a puppet of someone yet unseen.
If it were so, he pitied Mister Schnee – and even Principal Cinch, if she too were caught in such a web. As one puppet to another, they would have his sympathies.
The more he learned about events in Atlas, the less he understood them. What game was being played here, in Atlas and indeed across Remnant? In Mistral, they sought a certain girl who could open a vault beneath Haven Academy to obtain a great weapon stored within. Was there such a vault underneath Atlas too, and such a weapon? Did they know of it? Was a certain girl required to open it? Did they seek this girl in Atlas too, the agents of Salem? Did Salem have agents here, who would report to Watts upon his movements and his deeds?
Turnus hoped not for obvious reasons. If they existed, he hoped they would forgive his tarrying in this hotel, watching, waiting, trying to make sense of it all.
The message from Doctor Watts to Principal Cinch was contained in an encrypted drive that had been given to him. He had not read it. He had not been able to read it and feared to try too hard; if it could record that he had tried to break the encryption, then Juturna might pay the price. Not to mention the salient fact that he knew nothing whatsoever about how to go about breaking encryptions, and he led fighters, not technicians.
Perhaps someone in Atlas might have been able to help him, but he knew not where to turn, and to return to the important point, he could not risk that his efforts would be discovered and punished.
He would like nothing more than to turn the game – to see the heads of Watts and Chrysalis on pikes as a warning to those who sought to use him as their instrument – but he dared not take the risk with the safety of those dearest to him.
He was in unknown territory, and he would as likely blunder into some disastrous harm to Juturna and Camilla as he would find an escape for them from this predicament.
He would have to understand more to find a chink in their armour, and until that day, he must be as obedient as a slave.
And, now he had Shining Armor Sparkle coming to speak to him.
Turnus remembered Shining Armor from school. They had been in the same year and the leaders of their respective teams. Shining Armor had been greatly admired by many of their fellow students, and why not? He was handsome, athletic, intelligent, the best in their year in sparring class – even Turnus had to concede that Shining Armor was his superior, though to salve his pride, he maintained there wasn’t much in it. In the year that Turnus had been expelled, he had proved his skill and quality by winning the Vytal Festival – in Turnus’ home city of Mistral, no less. Yes, Shining Armor had been much admired, and yet… and yet, Turnus had found him rather a disappointment at the time.
He had not expected an Atlesian, still less an Atlesian held up as an example for others to follow, to be so emotional.
And yet… And yet.
Who was to say that that was a bad thing? Turnus was rather an emotional man himself in his own way. Shining Armor’s emotion… he had loved his sister, as Turnus could recall. Turnus loved his sister too, and felt no shame in that. He would not give up the love he felt for her any more than he would abandon her to the mercy of their enemies.
Perhaps my disappointment was that, having come all the way to Atlas to find a superior man, I found only a kind of mirror.
Perhaps my disappointment ought to have been directed at myself.
Turnus had tried to read on his flight to Solitas, but he had found it difficult. It was hard to concentrate on reading even the great works of Mistralian literature when his thoughts were so awhirl with dire possibilities.
Instead, he had found himself thinking, and perhaps simply because he was on a yacht with some superficial resemblance to the Tiger Bright, he had found himself thinking of his father.
“So. You mean to go through with this then?”
Turnus’ back straightened. “Yes, Father. I’m going to go to Atlas.”
His father stuck his pipe in his mouth. “If becoming a huntsman is what you wish, then Haven will train you well enough.” He paused. “It is perhaps not the best school, but… well enough, as I said.” He looked up and into his son’s eyes. “But then, you don’t want to become a huntsman, do you?”
“I want to see how a successful kingdom does things,” Turnus declared.
His father sighed as he took the pipe out of his mouth. “Mistral isn’t perfect, I know-”
“Mistral is falling apart!” Turnus cried. “How can you sit back and do nothing while-”
“'Nothing'?” His father repeated. “Is that what you think I do, nothing?”
Turnus shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean… how is catching common criminals and running around the lower levels doing anything to improve the state of this kingdom?”
“Why don’t you ask the people that my officers help everyday that question?” his father asked quietly. “The people who sleep more soundly knowing that the scum are off the streets, why don’t you ask them that question? Why don’t you ask Camilla that question?”
“You know what I mean, Father; helping individuals isn’t helping Mistral!” Turnus snapped. “We can only help Mistral by changing the way we do things, changing the way that we live, by following the example of a kingdom that’s gotten it right, that isn’t in decline.”
“To what end?” his father asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s the point?” his father demanded. “You can go to Atlas, learn their ways, bring them back here, and then what?”
“And then…” Turnus hesitated. “Then we shall see the glory of Mistral renewed.”
“'The glory of Mistral,' aye,” his father muttered. “And will that make you happy, son?”
Turnus closed his eyes. No, Father, it has not made me happy.
A part of me wishes you were alive to ask for your counsel; another part of me is glad you are not here to see what a mess I have made of things.
But let’s be honest, if you were alive, I wouldn’t be in this position. You wouldn’t have let any of these vipers within fifty feet of Juturna.
You would have trusted Camilla’s instincts, if not your own.
As he walked over to the table, Turnus turned his attention back to Shining Armor, who should be arriving very soon. Turnus had sent up to his room a bucket of ice and a pair of cut glasses, with the letters GU engraved on them in elegant, curved script. He had brought a few bottles of Imperial tokaji of excellent vintage with him from Mistral, and one of them sat on the table against the wall, next to the glasses and the ice bucket.
There was a knock at the door.
Given that he had two men in the lobby – inconspicuous, of course – and another, far less inconspicuous man outside his door, not to mention the rest of his entourage in the rooms beside his own, Turnus felt confident that this was not someone come to kill him. And so, he answered the door, and lo and behold, Shining Armor Sparkle stood on the other side of it. He had aged since Turnus knew him, as Turnus would have aged since Shining Armor knew him, but he still had the same firm jaw, the same blue eyes; he hadn’t even changed his hair that much. He was dressed in a suit and tie; Turnus was a little surprised he wasn’t wearing a uniform.
I suppose he wants to pretend that this is an informal visit.
“Shining Armor,” he said, injecting warmth into his voice as he held out his hand.
Shining Armor bowed his head. “Lord Rutulus.”
“Turnus, please,” Turnus said. “After all, this is Atlas, not Mistral, and we are old friends, are we not?”
Shining Armor’s look was wary, but he smiled a smile which didn’t reach his eyes and took Turnus’ hand. “Of course we are. It’s good to see you again, Turnus.”
“Likewise,” Turnus said, feeling as though Shining Armor was squeezing his hand harder than necessary. He squeezed back, and the two of them stood that way for a little while, each exerting pressure upon one another. They were of a height, since Turnus was not using his semblance to make himself seem larger or smaller, and evenly matched in strength. At least, that was what Turnus thought after they finally released one another. “Please,” he said. “Come in. Murranus, stay here.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Turnus turned his back on Shining Armor and walked back towards the table, leaving Shining Armor to follow. He heard the door shut behind them both.
“I’m told that you are a married man now,” Turnus declared.
“I am,” Shining Armor said, some warmth entering his tone. “In fact, Cadance is expecting our first child.”
“Really?” Turnus gasped. “That is excellent news! Will it be a son or a daughter?”
“We don’t know,” Shining Armor said. “We want it to be a surprise.”
“Ah,” Turnus said. “Either one will be a blessing, I’m sure.” He smiled. “This calls for a drink, don’t you think? I have some very fine Imperial tokaji, laid down in my great-great-grandfather’s time, just before the war, excellent vintage. Will you join me?”
Shining Armor hesitated for a moment. “Sure,” he said.
“I’m glad,” Turnus said. “It would have been very rude of you to refuse.” He scooped some ice into each glass, unstopped the bottle and began to pour.
“And what about you?” Shining Armor asked.
“I am engaged,” Turnus informed him. “Camilla and I will be married… as soon as the current situation stabilises.”
“Congratulations to you too,” Shining Armor said.
“Thank you,” Turnus replied, as he picked up the glasses and carried them over, offering one to Shining Armor. Turnus raised his glass. “To your firstborn.”
Shining Armor raised his glass in turn. “To the women who love us.”
“To good fortune,” Turnus said, before he drank deeply of the liquor, pouring it down his throat. He sighed contentedly. “For we are lucky men, are we not?”
“I know I am,” Shining Armor said.
“As do I,” Turnus said. “Please, sit down.”
“Thanks,” Shining Armor said, taking a seat by the side of the king-sized bed. “Your fiancée, did she come to Atlas with you?”
“No,” Turnus said. “Camilla has remained behind to administer the affairs of my household and enterprises. And you, you did not bring your wife to visit me?”
“Cadance is a little delicate at the moment.”
“Ah, of course,” Turnus said. “No doubt if our ladies were here, we would only bore them with stories of old school friends and days gone past.”
“I don’t know if it would be that long of a conversation,” Shining Armor replied. “All your old school friends are dead.”
Turnus sat down in silence, facing Shining Armor. He did not flinch away. He looked the Atlesian squarely in the eye. “So…” he said. He smiled. “You are a bold man to come in here alone with a man you think is a murderer.”
Shining Armor’s smile still didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps I’m confident that I’m still better than you?”
Turnus laughed bitterly. “I am remembering now how much of a cocksure and self-righteous prig you could be.”
“Prig or prick?”
“Both,” Turnus said. He poured himself another glass of tokaji but did not drain it all in one go this time. He would need to savour it if he wanted to prolong the enjoyment and remain sober. “Whatever you think-”
“I don’t think, I know.”
“You know nothing!” Turunus snapped. He sighed. “I did not come here to refight old battles.”
“I’m sure that’ll be a comfort to the families of those you killed.”
“Don’t try and pluck my heartstrings on their behalf,” Turnus growled. “I have killed or caused the deaths of many men, but none who did not deserve to die.”
“According to you.”
“Yes, according to me! Who else’s judgement should I trust when deciding who shall live and who shall die? My hand, my judgement!” He drank a little more, then put the glass down on the table. “As an ambassador from the Kingdom of Mistral, I am protected by diplomatic immunity, so if your intent is to get some sort of confession out of me-”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Shining Armor said.
“Then why are you here, my old friend?” Turnus demanded. “Why have you come to see me? Did you hope to prick my conscience? Believe me, there is much in my life that I regret, but the deaths of those wretches are not amongst that number.”
“Why?” Shining Armor asked.
“Why what?”
“I want to know why,” Shining Armor repeated. “Why did you do it?”
Turnus was silent for a moment. “Would you not kill a man who insulted and humiliated the woman you love?”
Shining Armor was silent for a moment. “No,” he said. “I might want to, and I might even hurt them, but kill them? No.”
Turnus leaned his head back against the chair. “Clearly, I am too much an antique Mistralian. I am not sure what I thought I could find here; whatever I learnt… my heart would have rebelled against it.” I was never the man to turn Mistral from its path; it was nought but vanity of me to think otherwise.
Pyrrha. It is Pyrrha who is the hope of Mistral, if any living is.
“Why are you here?” Shining Armor asked quietly. “Why have you come back?”
“Why have you come to see me?” Turnus asked.
“Because you haven’t asked to see the Council?”
“Ah, so your wife sent you as her emissary?”
“We’re two old friends, having a drink,” Shining Armor replied. “Reminiscing about old times. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Turnus smiled. “Of course not.” He picked up the bottle. “Would you care for another?”
“No,” Shining Armor said. “I’d prefer answers.”
“You’re not alone,” Turnus muttered under his breath. He raised his voice to say, “Tell me about Menagerie.”
Shining Armor’s brow furrowed. “What do you want to know?”
“I want confirmation of what I’ve found out,” Turnus said. “I want someone close to the circles of power to tell me what they know.”
Shining Armor considered for a moment. “Atlas has recognised Menagerie as an official kingdom,” he said, “and agreed to fund the construction of a CCT tower and a huntsman academy on the island, as well as providing equipment and resources to begin dust mining.”
“Dust mining which will not be under the aegis of the SDC,” Turnus said. “Why not?”
“Because Menagerie deserves the chance to profit from its own natural resources,” Shining Armor said.
“I see,” Turnus said. “That is… a very noble attitude.” He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Shining Armor asked.
“I’m just thinking that we in Mistral pride ourselves on our nobility, our honour,” Turnus declared. “Yet none in Mistral would have been so generous as you have been if Menagerie had come knocking on our door.”
“Maybe that’s why they didn’t come knocking on your door,” Shining Armor suggested.
“Perhaps,” Turnus allowed. “Or perhaps the presence of the Warrior Princess of Menagerie had something to do with it.”
“You are well-informed.”
“I’ve had two days with little to do but find things out,” Turnus replied. “I am sorry that I’ve missed the chance to meet the Dragonslayer. It sounds like a marvel.”
“I believe she goes by ‘she,’” Shining Armor said.
“Does she care?”
“Just because she’s a robot doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings,” Shining Armor replied.
Turnus’ eyebrows rose. “I assumed that not having feelings was the point.”
Shining Armor laughed. “If you had met Penny… boy, would you be in for a big surprise.”
“You sharpen my curiosity,” Turnus said.
“Perhaps the Council could arrange something, if you met with them.”
“Would it not be better to wait until after the election?” Turnus asked. “That way, I can meet with the whole Council and put my case without having to worry about what may change when the ballots are cast.”
“And what will you say when you do meet them?” Shining Armor pressed.
“Your agreements with Menagerie are bilateral, yes?” Turnus asked in turn. “Mistral has not recognised Menagerie as a kingdom, and I fear I cannot say whether we would be willing to do so, but leave that for a moment. A bilateral agreement, an alliance between Mistral and Atlas, that is why I am here.”
“Mistral and Atlas are already allies.”
“We were allies,” Turnus corrected him, “through a system of the world which no longer exists. A world which died when the towers went down.”
“The towers will rise again,” Shining Armor said. “When the tower on Menagerie is complete-”
“Then Mistral would have a trusted friend in Atlas, ready to stand beside us,” Turnus said.
“What does Mistral need a friend for?” Shining Armor demanded.
Turnus smiled. For my dreams which are now worth less to me than dust. Although that did raise a good question for which he did not really have an answer. Even his instructions from the Council were rather vague on that front – appropriate, since Chrysalis had arranged the whole thing as a means to get him to Atlas and in touch with Principal Cinch. “We are having some difficulties with grimm and bandits, although the latter problem is slowly resolving itself. We could use some Atlesian military assistance, both directly and in the form of advisers.”
“'Advisers'?” Shining Armor repeated. “Advisers on what?”
“You asked me why I was here, and I answered,” Turnus said. “You asked me why I had not yet approached the Council, and I answered that as well. I did not think you were here to negotiate with me on the Council’s behalf.”
“No,” Shining Armor conceded. “No, I’m not. I suppose you have told me what I wanted to know. Which means I guess we’re done here.”
“So it would seem,” Turnus said, rising from his seat as Shining Armor did likewise. He held out his hand. “I know – now at least – that you do not like me, but for my part, it has been good to see you.”
Shining Armor eyed his hand warily. “I wish that I could say the same, but… thanks for speaking to me, all the same. Cadance and Ironwood will be interested in hearing what you’ve told me.” He took Turnus’ hand.
Turnus pulled him forwards, wrapping his other arm around Shining Armor, embracing him like a brother; and into Shining Armor’s ear, he whispered a word, one single word: “Chrysalis.”