Gilda prowled the manor early next morning. She had no particular reason to be prowling -simply wandering around casually would’ve attracted exactly as much notice- but the dim and dust-choked nature of the place was naturally suited to it. Rainbow Dash followed along beside her, head pivoting this way and that, in companionable silence. There was, in fact, precious little to comment on in any case- either Twilight or Rarity might’ve had something to say about the moldering artifacts they passed in wall displays, but as far as Gilda was concerned they weren’t anywhere near valuable enough to merit her notice. The monotony was broken only when, every so often, the level of the floor changed, accompanied by slanted sections or little miniature stairways, and with it the entire architectural style of the building. Gilda couldn’t be bothered to put a name to any of the styles, of course -although that Rarity dweeb would probably be all over it, Twilight too for that matter- but it was at once painfully obvious and horribly unclear where one building had originally ended and another begun.
They’d encountered only a single other living thing during half an hour of reconnaissance. A wizened old skeleton of a hen, wearing a Goldstone-yellow coverall that might’ve passed for a maid’s uniform, had passed them from behind. She’d been shepherding along a pair of magically-generated whirlwinds with her wings, although the nets she carried were so stuffed full that most of the dust they disturbed ended up right back on the floor again. Rainbow Dash actually thought it was a good idea to wave, but the maid had ignored them both and kept stubbornly on what was probably a designated patrol route. Gilda could sympathize, more than she might’ve liked.
They’d found what were probably the servants’ quarters not long after- little more than a collection of ratty, mildewy cots crammed together in what might've been a long-forgotten guest room in some defunct estate. These, however, had been utterly empty. That was a blessing in that there was nogriff around to seeher and Dash, but also a curse because there was nogriff around to pump for information on where to go. The mazelike interior of the manor quickly became downright disorienting as corridors doubled back on themselves and dead-ended in tiny rooms of unclear purpose.
Finally Gilda shrugged, cursed herself mentally for falling back on her much-reviled Fliers Camp classes, and pulled a quill and a sheaf of paper from her saddlebags. “Aww, shit,” she muttered, “Was the last little staircase thingy five rights ago, or six?”
Rainbow Dash stretched her wings, and stared off into the indeterminate distance. “Oh, yeah, uhh, I think it was left, right-right-right, then the carpet turned from yellow to kind of a plum, then straight ahead past three doors, then they got the gray carpet, then two more lefts.”
Gilda gave a low whistle, and dutifully set about jotting down the path they’d taken when Dash jabbed a wing into her ribs.
“Well, aren’t you Little Miss Filly Scout,” Rainbow laughed, “What, you think Instructor Barns’s gonna give you that cartography badge?”
Gilda was about to reply when the pegasus stopped dead and held a wing in front of her mouth. “Shh! Something’s coming!”
Gilda also scrabbled to a halt, and listened closely. Up ahead, she could hear three sets of pawsteps, and the distinctive jingling of chainmail. The ordinary house troops didn’t wear chainmail.
Silently, she made the old pegasus wing-sign for ‘hide’. Rainbow nodded, and slipped behind a suit of ornate minotaur armor rusting away and collecting cobwebs in a nearby alcove. Gilda scanned the opposite wall, spotted a mostly-open doorway, and padded inside to discover a small storeroom almost completely filled with stacks of mildewy fabric- silk, maybe, or some other valuable material. She positioned herself behind the largest pile, with a narrow slit of the corridor still visible, and waited.
She heard a cockerel’s voice first. Gilda had been so used to Lord Goldstone speaking Ponish that she didn’t immediately recognize him now speaking Griffish. His tone was different, more threatening and direct, with an accent that tried to be aristocratic Received Griffish, but had been smothered under so many bizarre little inflections that it sounded more like a misaimed parody of Cockney. “… you will be paid in full, provided that your wards hold up for the duration specified.”
A hen’s voice followed his, old and scratchy, also speaking Griffish, with a proper Received Griffish accent. “If you’d like, we can bring in a second mage to attempt to bypass the wards and demonstrate their effectiveness.”
At about that point, the speakers walked past Gilda’s narrow spy-hole, all more or less abreast. The guard captain who’d flown them up to the manor a few days ago was closest, and proved to be the owner of the audible chainmail. Lord Goldstone himself was in the center, his tail flicking back and forth angrily. Farthest away, a hunched, vaguely griffonoid figure trailed along slightly behind. The figure was covered from head to tail in somewhat disheveled, midnight blue robes decorated with faded golden eye-patterns; the only actual body part visible was a short, wedge-shaped black beak, protruding from the shadows of a voluminous hood.
“Hmph. Anygriff can sketch some chalk circles, wave their talons around, and say they’re working ‘magic’,” Goldstone addressed the robed griffon before all three of them passed out of sight once again, “A demonstration by one of your own confederates hardly counts as a demonstration at all! You should consider yourself lucky you’re even receiving a down payment on such an exorbitant fee!”
“Lord Goldstone, the University tolerates your impositions upon academic affairs because, thus far, you’ve made it worth our while to do so,” the robed griffon rasped, or at least Gilda presumed she did- it strained credulity to imagine such a voice coming from Goldstone’s bodyguard. “If you should decide to persist in this new obstinacy…” the rest of the sentence quickly became inaudible as its speaker rounded some corner, no doubt into yet another section of the labyrinthine manor.
Gilda waited a good thirty seconds in utter silence, and then decided it was safe to leave her hiding-spot and lean around the doorway.
The hallway was empty, as far as she could tell. She stepped out into it, and almost immediately Rainbow Dash joined her.
“What was that all about?” the pegasus whispered.
“I dunno, but that other hen was dressed like one of the University mages, and they were going on about something to do with wards. Goldstone didn’t like them, or didn’t think they were going to work, or something, and he didn’t want to pay the University for them.”
“Wards on what, though?”
Gilda scratched under her beak. “Yeah, and wards against what?”
“Beats me.” Rainbow shook her head, and then flicked out a wing. “But they came from that-a-way…”
They walked along for perhaps another five minutes together, carefully and quietly, checking their corners at each intersection. The first two paths they explored proved to be dead ends, one terminating at an incongruous gable window and the other a brick wall, but when Gilda slipped her head around the corner of the third intersection she found herself looking at an ornate double door bracketed by a pair of guards. They looked fit and reasonably well-fed -which Gilda knew in Innsbeak resulted only from being reasonably well-paid- and attentive; and under their blazing-yellow tabards she spotted the characteristic grid of their brigandines’ riveted metal plates. Small, inset stained-glass windows flanked the doors as well, but from her angle Gilda couldn't see much inside.
Looking up, she next spotted a second-floor balcony protruding from the wall just above her head. As quietly as possible she spread her wings and took off, then glided into a gentle landing atop it. Just as quietly, Rainbow Dash followed her.
The griffon dropped onto her belly and squirmed her way over to the edge- just as she’d hoped, the balcony offered a good clear view of the guards around the corner, while preventing her from being seen in turn. If the doors ever opened, she’d probably have a pretty good sight line into the room beyond, as well.
They observed the other griffons in silence for a few minutes as the griffons, in turn, got up to nothing much. Then, as a clock somewhere in the depths of the manor struck eight, accompanied by a rather tinny version of the Reinbridge Chimes, Gilda heard a door squeak open somewhere further back along the hall. It was followed by the sounds of pawsteps and shifting equipment. She eased away from the edge of the balcony and tried her best to control her breathing. After perhaps ten seconds, another quartet of guards marched past in close formation, and headed down the hallway to the doors.
“Careful. These guys look like pretty tough customers,” she whispered to Rainbow Dash as soon as they were clear again.
“How can you tell?”
“Their helmets aren’t beat all to shit, they’re in good shape, and they know how to move around as a unit. Also, they walked right underneath us, and I couldn’t smell them.”
Rainbow Dash’s muzzle scrunched up in confusion. “I thought griffons had a weaker sense of smell than ponies?”
“We do.”
The new guards spoke inaudibly with the two at the big double doors for a few seconds, and then one of the originals gave it three sharp raps with a talon. It too eased open, and yet another pair of guards stepped out, bringing the total complement to eight.
Inside, Gilda caught only a glimpse of gold and fine wood paneling- a chapel, perhaps. Two chairs and a folding table sat in one corner, presumably for the guards’ use. The floor was broken up by long granite benches and offering tables, and was painted strange colors by the light shining through the stained-glass windows- although, unfortunately, those were far too narrow for a griffon to fit through, and bordered with stone. Something big and golden stood at the far end of the room, which Gilda lacked the angle to see properly.
“Oh. Right. I’m not surprised Goldstone has some kinda’ treasure in there,” she muttered, “I guess I just forgot.”
Then she fell silent as she noticed, directly underneath the structure, an ornate golden box set atop a gilt-inlaid oaken pillar. It was surrounded by concentric circles of bright white chalk studded by some variety of runes, and Gilda reckoned it was almost exactly the right size to hold a griffon’s skull.
Two of the newcomer guards stepped inside and shut the doors behind them. The other pair of new guards took up position outside the doors, as all four of the griffons who had been in the area originally marched back through the halls and became inaudible after another squeaking of hinges. The entire process had taken a little under thirty seconds.
Gilda gently bumped Rainbow Dash with an elbow. “Hey. Did’ja see where they went?”
“Yeah. Sixth door back, on the right. Same place their buddies came from.”
The griffon nodded. “I’d kinda’ like to see what they do if there’s intruders.”
Beside her, Rainbow broke out in a devious grin. “So… how do you wanna do this?”
“Given what a fucking maze this place is…” Gilda thought out loud, “They’d probably believe us if one of us just walked over all casual and said we got lost.”
The pegasus grinned wider. “I’ll go. I figure I’ll be pretty good at playing some featherbrained flunkie of Twilight’s who can’t find her own front hooves.”
“Playing?” Gilda sneered.
"Fuck you, Gil."
"Fuck you too, Dash." Gilda paused, glanced over the balcony again, then continued, "Seriously, though, sounds good. I’ll stick around here and see how long it takes ‘em to do their next shift change. Just like flight camp, huh?”
“Yeah. Just like flight camp. You hold onto the map, in case they walk me all the way back to the guest rooms.”
"Gotcha’." She tapped a talon against the pegasus’s shoulder, and hissed “Okay. Go.”
Rainbow slipped off the balcony and glided around the corner, head pivoting as she looked around slack-jawed at the furniture.
“Oh, thank ruttin’ Boreas,” she half-yelled, landing with an audible thud. “Hey, uhh, can you guys tell me how to get back to the Notus-damned guest rooms? I got lost following this wall with all these really neat weapons on display, but then I think I got turned around after the fifth turn… or, was it the seventh? Or maybe it was that split-level balcony thing?”
One of the guards stepped over to her and looked her up and down, not even bothering to hide his frustration. Then, to Gilda’s surprise, he pulled something small and metallic from the bandoleer on his chest- a whistle, it turned out- and blew three shrill notes. “Georg walk with you,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “follow him, yes?”
She heard the door down the hall open once more, followed again by the sound of movement. After a few awkward seconds, another guard strode down the corridor and motioned to Rainbow Dash with one talon. They set off back down the hall and vanished from sight.
Gilda remained perched where she was, and settled in for a long stakeout. About twenty minutes in, she heard somegriff padding back down the hallway, alone. She peaked over the balcony and watched the guard who had left with Rainbow Dash- Georg, she presumed- rejoin his unit.
It took only another forty minutes before the other guards changed positions again, replaced by the same four who had been present originally in a nearly identical maneuver. That was interesting: Goldstone obviously knew he needed to keep his best guards sharp, but the fact that they were doubling up indicated he could not, in all likelihood, afford an entire roster of them.
She slipped off the balcony, glided most of the way back down the hall, and began carefully padding her way back to the other wing of the manor.
Rarity’s first task was simply to find a servant- surprisingly difficult in the vast, empty, winding halls of this place. Finally, however, she managed to corner a young cockerel, perhaps thirteen years old at the latest, with a tray of hot scones in his talon, heading back towards the guest quarters. Then she asked him whether she could see Lord Goldstone, alone, at some point during the day. His eyes went wide as saucers, he stashed the tray on an end table without a word, and silently lead her to a closed door in another wing of the complex. He knocked on it, quietly, and stammered something through it in Griffish. Rarity heard Goldstone’s voice reply. Then the servant pushed the door open, to reveal a somewhat smaller but no less junk-choked dining room than the one where they had been served dinner last night.
The tiercel himself was the solitary occupant, seated at an elegant little bistro table before a plate full of eggs, baked beans, roast tomatoes, some sort of gray meaty substance, and a few objects that might have been bacon: rashers, Rarity believed they were called. He looked up from his meal as soon as she entered, and gave an odd little wave.
Rarity’s eyes were immediately drawn to the bulky, circular gold amulet hanging from a chain around his neck. A thin outer ring was covered in illegible text; from it two sculpted talons extended towards the center to clasp around a massive, brilliant-cut red gemstone. Rarity squinted for just a moment, to confirm: red beryl, shockingly rare. She wasn’t entirely certain who could wear such an object well, but on a lanky griffon like Goldstone, without any other clothing, it looked especially out of place.
“Rarity, from Ponyville!” he greeted her with surprising warmth, “I’m terribly sorry we didn’t have more of a chance to get to know one another at dinner last night; I’m afraid Doctor Sparkle kept me dreafully busy…”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Rarity smiled, the sort of smile she usually reserved for too-helpful doormares and overly chatty customers, “In fact, that’s why I wanted to meet with you in the morning. There’s a few things I’d like to discuss with you without Twilight being here, and she’s not usually awake until nine-thirty or ten.”
Goldstone leaned forward slightly, his breakfast apparently forgotten for the moment. “Do go on…”
“Well, she’s not usually a morning pony in the best of times, and she spent most of last night puzzling over that wonderful little box you gave her.”
The noblegriff laughed that odd little dry laugh of his. “I meant go on with what you wanted to tell me about. Twilight Sparkle’s sleeping habits aren’t especially newsworthy, although I am pleased that she’s finding the cube a challenge.”
Rarity, for her part, had of course known perfectly well what Goldstone meant, but she would much rather the tiercel thought her warm and shallow and easy to distract- and, therefore, an easy mark. It was a fine line to walk, however, between a vapid socialite and a legitimate businessmare.
She’d also lied about Twilight- the other unicorn had in fact barely started working on the puzzle cube, and Rarity had woken her up early specifically to tell her what she’d be doing. But Goldstone didn’t need to know that.
“Please, do sit down,” he continued, and motioned at the chair directly across from his own. “Trottish egg? Or some pudding, perhaps?”
Rarity slipped into the offered chair, and then peered at the grayish substance Goldstone was currently heaping onto a corner of his plate. “No thanks, a friend of mine once tried making pudding for breakfast a thing, and it... didn't turn out well. Those tomatoes do look delicious, though.” Keep him talking, keep him engaged.
“Hmph. Your loss.” Goldstone rapped a talon against the table surface and muttered some sort of Griffish instructions to the young serving-cockerel, who immediately scampered out the door.
“I… don’t know if you’re aware, Lord Goldstone,” Rarity continued, bracing her front hooves against the table, “But I work as a fashion designer and clothier back in Equestria. Fairly recently, my business received a rather sizable influx of investment, and I’m hoping to move into an international operation.” Hopefully, someday, that would even be true.
She unbuckled her saddlebags and extracted a notebook of some of her older designs- mostly pegasus-centric ones she’d drafted last year, which were now of course terribly out of date. She floated it over the table and Goldstone gently plucked it out of her telekinesis- a strange, awkward gesture even for such a strange, awkward griffon. Rarity noticed he kept his left side angled away from her the entire time.
“I must say, these really are quite lovely,” he muttered as he leafed through it. Rarity wasn’t immediately certain if he was simply being polite, or really did have not the faintest understanding of haute couture. Given the gaudy amulet around his neck, and the fact that luminescent yellow -not even goldenrod, or gold, or a soft pastel, just yellow in its most distilled and awful form- hadn’t been in style since the late 1060s at best, she suspected it was more likely the latter.
“Oh, I’d be honored to commission some of these designs for myself and my staff.”
Definitely the latter. Good. If Goldstone didn’t know a button from a buttonhook, and more importantly didn’t want to reveal that fact, her job would become substantially easier.
“I’m flattered,” was all the unicorn said aloud, “but at the moment I’m afraid I’m severely limited in just how many pieces I can manufacture. I spent an entire week recently filling an order of thirty bespoke dresses entirely by myself, and if I’d had just one other pony to work the sewing machine, or fetch supplies, or watch the dye buckets…” That part was true, at least.
“That could of course be arranged!” said Goldstone.
“Actually,” the tailor continued, “I was hoping you might be able to assist me in moving my business into mass production. I want to be able to stock these designs in every middle-class garment shop from Manehattan down to Tabbytown, and that means three or four full-scale workshops. I have enough initial capital to buy the properties and equipment I’ll need, but the cost of labor per unit is simply too high for me to ever turn much of a profit manufacturing in Equestria.” She leaned forward. “I’d heard that you’re the tiercel to speak to if one wants to do business in Innsbeak, and that the labor market is far more affordable here…”
“I’d imagine!” Goldstone cocked his head in a particularly avian gesture. Sometime during her explanation, he'd pushed his plate aside again and fixed his gaze back on Rarity. “So, tell me, Rarity, just what’s so unprofitable about Equestria.”
The tailor made sure to arrange her features into a suitably put-upon expression. “Well, first, I'd have to join the Equestrian textile workers' union -and pay all of their fees- before I could hire through them, and they set their minimum wage at seventeen and a half bits an hour, with time-and-a-half for anything over an eight-hour shift, or forty hours a week…”
Goldstone set down the notebook and clasped one talon over his chest in exaggerated shock, just above that ridiculous amulet. “Four Winds, that does sound awful! I understand completely why a discerning businessmare like yourself would be reluctant to operate in that… environment. In Innsbeak, though, I can arrange for as many griffons as you can provide sewing machines to be put under your employ, in twelve-hour shifts, for the local equivalent of only ten bits an hour. All I ask in return is, say, a five percent cut of your sales back in Equestria.” Very suddenly, his feigned sympathy evaporated, and his muddy-brown eyes narrowed. “Oh, and I'll want monthly financial reports. I'll know how much product leaves the Isles, so don't do something stupid like under-report your earnings.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Rarity grinned, but not because she found the offer at all appealing. Appalling might’ve been a better word. In addition to the twelve hour shifts in what would likely be sweatshop conditions, she’d be very surprised if her potential griffon employees would actually be getting five bits an hour. In fact it was an open question whether they’d even be paid at all. No doubt the difference, whatever it was, would be shuttled directly into House Goldstone’s coffers. But, of course, Goldstone’s con assumed the workshops would ever actually open in the first place. Rarity did indeed have plans for massively expanding her business should she acquire sufficient capital to do so, but the Free City of Innsbeak certainly did not feature in any of them. She hadn’t built a local landmark out of nothing but an old sewing machine and her parents’ attic by being stupid.
“That sounds more reasonable,” was all she said aloud.
“Exactly!” Goldstone clapped his talons together, and as he did so Rarity noticed there was indeed some sort of small, dark object tucked underneath his left wing.
“It will, of course, cost somewhat more to ship all of my equipment out here to Innsbeak,” the tailor continued, and noticed Goldstone’s feathery eyebrows lift up ever-so-slightly when she confirmed he wouldn’t need to provide any of the machinery himself, “but we’ll be more than able to recoup that cost once the looms start running.”
The young serving-cockerel slipped back in at about then, setting in front of Rarity a plate of scrambled eggs, roast tomatoes, and baked beans; along with a glass of shockingly orange liquid. Rarity made sure to daintily sample each: the eggs were mediocre, the beans and tomatoes surprisingly good, and the liquid might’ve passed for orange juice if she’d never laid eyes on an actual orange.
Across from her, Goldstone leaned forward again, his expression turning serious again. “Of course, I’m sure you understand that importing goods into Equestria opens up the manufacturer to inspections by the Ministry of Commerce. The stated intent is to certify that working conditions and the like are in accordance with Equestrian standards. Sadly, though, griffish businesses are very rarely permitted to pass, however lenient our policies. It seems that some ponies,” he paused, and shook his head, “present company excluded, of course, just don’t want to see griffons engaged in productive enterprise. Why, the last time the Equestrian Consul was visiting here, he was obsessed with denying my servants agency by asking them if they were being overworked- as if they didn’t have a choice about what career to pursue and what hours to keep!”
Rarity nodded along as best she could. “Oh, yes, horribly tragic, isn’t it?” She leaned forward as well, partially to look conspiratorial and partially to try to get a better look under Goldstone’s wing. “But… this is where our mutual friend Twilight comes into the picture. In between her various academic larks, she’s made friends, who have still other friends at the Commerce Ministry. In fact, she sat down with Operations Minister Harshwhinny not a month ago.” Rarity simply neglected to mention the acrimonious nature of that meeting. Some might call that dishonest. She was fairly certain Goldstone would understand if she simply called it ‘marketing’. “She can make sure there won’t be any inspectors coming to Innsbeak at all.”
The tiercel nodded along, eagerly.
Rarity slipped a quill from her saddlebag, and turned her old design notebook to a fresh page. That morning, she’d taken the time to refamiliarize herself with her longer-term business plans; it wasn’t hard to adapt them to Innsbeak’s environment. “Now, we’ll probably want to continue sourcing raw fabric from the wholesaler I use in Vanhoover; transportation is cheap and I can’t say I use certified ‘fine’-grade cloth if it’s produced outside of the Equestrian grading standard. The harbor and rail system here will be excellent for shipping, so I think I’ll want a plant as close as possible to one or the other…”
A clock somewhere in the manor chimed nine, and very abruptly Goldstone held up one talon. “Excuse me, for one moment.” He leaned back, and then held up the amulet around his neck as though inspecting it. Rarity noticed that the gem in the center was now glowing bright red. Goldstone tapped it twice, and the light extinguished. Then, just as suddenly, he was back to looking intently at her and the rough accounts table she was sketching out in her notebook. “Perhaps, my dear, we should discuss some of the details over dinner? Perhaps... three nights from now? I’ll have made some calls of my own by then, and I promise you we’ll be able to give this relationship the ceremony it deserves.”
Rarity had been on too many failed dates not to develop some sense of when a pony -or any other creature, she supposed- was genuinely attracted to her, and she was quite sure Goldstone was not. Not that it bothered her, as she was fairly certain she didn't meet many standards of Griffish beauty- whatever those may have been. But it did make his feigned interest rather curious.
Nonetheless, she smiled again, and said “Oh, I’d be simply delighted. But, until then… I do have one favor I need to ask of you.”
Goldstone leaned forward once more, and this time Rarity caught sight of a tiny metal keyring held in place by a length of chain underneath his wing.
“I know Twilight Sparkle can be a bit of an… acquired taste, but it really is important for her to stay here for at least a few more days. I had to practically beg her to bring me along on this trip in the first place, to have a chance to meet with you…” In fact, it was more appropriate to say the reverse had occurred, but again Goldstone didn’t need to know that. Rarity tried to make her expression as earnest and winsome as she could manage. “I’m sure it would go a long way towards securing her cooperation if you could maybe just shave a few thousand bits off the price of that skull she’s looking for…?”
“I… don’t think that would be a good idea,” Goldstone shifted awkwardly in his seat; just as he had when he’d been trying to conceal the keys under his wing, although at the moment it was in absolutely no danger of being visible. Rarity wondered why. “Twilight has access to nearly bottomless reserves of the Equestrian government’s money; it’s just a matter of making her desperate enough to request it. She’ll come around eventually. You… do want me to have the most funds available to support our new venture together, yes?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Rarity stifled her disappointment.
Goldstone nodded again, that weird little smile back on his face, and rapped on the table again to summon his servant. “I propose a toast, to new opportunities!” then he looked back at Rarity. “Mimosa, or screwdriver?”
Twilight had managed to get the puzzle cube open in a little under fifteen minutes. That was a disappointing showing for her, but the box was clearly designed to make more sense for a creature with hands, as various panels slid around and rotated; her telekinesis and forehooves working together were only barely up to the task. Much as she’d suspected, there was a second, smaller box inside the first, with a four-digit combination lock on the top and ornate number-filled designs on each side.
Rarity returned from her meeting with Goldstone just as Twilight was starting to get tired of peering at the thing. Presently, the tailor was lurking in the corner of Twilight’s room with her sketchbook, while the scholar went over her notes on radion and made a few basic corrections. Her presence wasn’t exactly unwelcome, especially since both Gilda and Rainbow Dash had been missing since long before Rarity had set out.
Eventually, there came another knock at Twilight’s door.
“Go ahead,” she called out, somewhat apprehensively, and then relaxed when the door opened to admit Rainbow Dash and Gilda walking side by side. Twilight peered at them, confused. “Wait, where have you two been?”
“We’ve been scouting out where Lord Goldstone’s keeping that stupid skull,” Rainbow Dash explained, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Good for you, I guess,” Twilight scanned what she’d arbitrarily designated the first side of the cube. There were far more than four numbers present in its design, intermixed with a complicated geometric lattice formed from intersecting straight lines. She squinted, realized that exactly four of the resulting ‘cells’ were regular polygons, and entered the numbers inside of them from least to greatest number of sides- triangle, square, pentagon, hexagon. Something inside the box clicked, but that was all. She returned her attention to her friend’s report. “The thing is, I don’t think Goldstone’s just going to let us poke at the skull, though, unless… you’re not seriously thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we are,” Gilda answered. “I think we oughta’ just take the damn thing and get it over with.”
Twilight sighed, and spun the box in her telekinesis. The next panel consisted of a veritable rainbow of colored numbers, intermixed with other non-number symbols against a swirling abstract background. Twilight spotted four that were the same shade of red, and entered them in the combination lock first from left to right, then top to bottom, then in chromatic order of the background colors nearby. No combination produced any result. “You… want us to rob Lord Goldstone, while we’re currently guests in his mansion.”
“Pretty much,” Gilda continued, “We’ll be in, and out, and on our way to that Gordon dweeb before Goldstone even knows we’re gone.”
Twilight stayed focused on the symbols, unwilling to even seriously entertain such a ridiculous line of reasoning. She realized that the Minoan letter sigma appeared in each corner, always in bright green, and decided to perform a quick mental summation of all the green numbers. The result was, indeed, four digits long, and entering it produced another audible click.
“We scoped out his security,” Rainbow Dash continued, “and he’s only got a couple of guards around the chapel where the skull is, two out in the open and two camped inside. I think Gil and I can take ‘em out quickly enough, and quietly enough, that we wouldn’t have to worry about any more coming.”
“Goldstone was wearing this dreadful amulet when I went to see him,” Rarity spoke up for the first time since Rainbow and Gilda had arrived. “I saw it light up, so I think it’s magical. He was also keeping a set of keys hidden underneath his left wing; one of them was probably for the chapel.”
Gilda nodded. “Yeah, I bet it’s linked up to the magic circles we spotted around the skull.”
“And the key, too…” Rarity added.
“Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering this too, Rarity!” Twilight admonished, as she rotated the box once again. This side featured numbers in a neat four-by-eight grid, with a single space left empty in each row. Each sequence corresponded to a thaumaturgical or mathematical constant out to eight significant figures, but when Twilight entered the missing numbers in order from top to bottom the box failed to respond. “Why would Goldstone even have a lock on the door to a chapel, anyway?” she asked, feeling frustration starting to build just behind her eyeballs.
“That’s where the tithe coffers are, along with a fuckton of other golden shit I didn’t even get a good look at,” Gilda explained, “Fucker’s scarfing down roast pheasant while the city he’s supposed to be running starves. He's stuffed his own goons in the coldest part of his mansion, while there’s what, a dozen different guest rooms next to ours that nogriff’ll ever use? And the only way for an honest griffon to even get away from him is by lining his pockets with their every last rusty guilder. So don’t try to tell me that Goldstone doesn’t have it coming. Whole city’d be better off without him.”
Rarity nodded. “Tell me, Twilight, honestly, that you don’t want him taken down a peg or two.”
“Well, I mean, yes, but we aren’t here to be toppling governments or whatever. We’re just acting as private citizens to gather information.” She stared at the grid design for a little longer, and realized that each included every number from one to eight, save for one- the excised squares would’ve contained duplicates. Instead of the actual values, she tried the missing digits from bottom to top, and then from top to bottom, and was rewarded with another click. She spun the box around a final time, to locate another grid where each cell contained a number and a directional arrow. She grabbed a quill from the table in front of her and began tracing out the various paths- anything to avoid listening to this nonsense.
“Listen”, said Rainbow Dash, “We’re not talking about, like, assassinating the guy here; just liberating him of some of his stuff without paying him to be a massive shitlord about it.”
“I really think we ought to consider the idea, darling,” Rarity added, “I’ve gotten my hoof in the door with Goldstone, but I don’t think he’s going to budge on selling that skull any time soon.”
“I am considering it. I just think it’s way too dangerous- especially when I’m… almost… done with this stupid box…” Twilight’s quill traced a path from one end of the pattern to the other, where a single sequence of four digits repeated four times. She twisted the combination lock into the appropriate position, and was rewarded with another click, but nothing else. “… And I’ll be able to get Goldstone to just sell the damn skull to me…” She turned the object over and over again in her telekinesis, trying to determine if there was any sort of order to the panels- a final code, perhaps. None seemed forthcoming. “Hmm.”
“If you’re really gonna solve the box that quick, then there’s something wrong with it,” Gilda warned, “there’s no way Goldstone’s actually going to hold up his end of the deal.”
Twilight peered at the artifact more closely. The lid did indeed seem to have lifted up slightly, no longer latched tightly in place; rather, it was able to move a few degrees up and down, swiveling from one edge. Through the gap at its widest point, Twilight even fancied she could see something white and rectangular sitting inside. But that was all. “Maybe you’re right,” she muttered, “Or maybe I’m just stuck.”
“Well,” Gilda drummed her talons on the guest room’s small coffee table. “In my experience, when the lock's giving you trouble, check for the next weakest point: maybe you can pull that hinge pin out?”
Twilight shot her a skeptical glance.
“Goldstone can figure out if you used magic to scan the insides of that thing,” Rainbow Dash added, “or just smashed it open or something. But that doesn’t mean you can’t cheat.”
Twilight shook her head, briefly. All her life, puzzles had legitimate solutions, or no solutions at all; cheating had never been in the cards. It wasn’t too long ago that trying to break the rules and outfox one of Nightmare Moon’s sentry pillars had nearly gotten her killed. Then she shrugged. “You know, you might be onto something. Maybe the whole point of this box is to mess with the hinge… like, that it slides apart or something. Rarity, can you come over here and help me with it? I don’t trust my horn to mess around with fine parts like this.”
“Of course, darling.” The purple aura surrounding the box quickly faded to pale blue, and it began to turn this way and that.
“Good thing you’ve got us to do the outside-the-box thinking for ya, boss,” Gilda snickered.
Rainbow Dash jabbed a wing into the griffon’s ribs. “Gilda, why?”
“Twilight,” Rarity muttered, “This hinge is welded closed.”
She floated the box back towards Twilight, hinged-side-up. However closely she looked, the scholar couldn’t discern anything of any particular significance about its construction, until she realized the solid metal bar where a hinge might’ve been had in fact been the hinge, before somepony- or somegriff- had welded it solid.
For the first time, Twilight wondered how, in a sprawling manor filled to the brim with miscellaneous historical garbage, Lord Goldstone’s servants had been able to recover the box within a minute of Goldstone having asked for it. Either by sheer coincidence it had been gathering dust in the neighboring room ever since Geraldine XII had acquired it… or Goldstone had been planning to present it before he’d ever sat down with her and her friends.
“Can you get the hinge open?” she asked Rarity.
“I don’t think so. Not without prying the whole thing apart, anyway…”
“That. Mother. Rutter!” Twilight snapped as she set the ruined box down on the coffee table. “This… is a priceless artifact…” she hissed, and then continued with her voice packed full of sarcastic lightness. “Oh, wait, I’m sorry. This was a priceless artifact…”
Twilight Sparkle strode down the hallway to Lord Goldstone’s last reported location, puzzle-cube floating in her telekinesis, Rainbow Dash and Gilda at either shoulder, and Rarity bringing up the rear. After they’d gotten an approximate location from one of the kitchen servants, the tiercel had proven to be easy enough to find: there was only one door in this hallway that had one of the house troops standing at attention in front of it.
Gilda stepped forward and shouted a few sentences of authoritative-sounding Griffish. The guard gave a funny little half-bow and padded off some ways down the hall.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Gilda explained, “she’s not paid nearly enough to deal with us.”
Twilight nodded. She could hear somegriff through the door, Goldstone himself perhaps, speaking Griffish rather loudly, and so she turned back to Gilda. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s talking about it being stupid to try to sell fish directly in Equestria, I think.”
“Not really my problem, then.” Twilight rapped her forehoof against the door. “Lord Goldstone? I’d like to talk to you!”
“I’m afraid I’m rather busy right now, Doctor!” the tiercel shouted back in Ponish before continuing whatever indecipherable conversation he’d been having previously.
“He’s going on about how he owns the whole fishing industry and it’d be bad to try and go independent,” Gilda supplied.
“Lord! Goldstone!” Twilight shouted.
There was no response.
“He wants somegriff to get back in his good graces by delivering a lot of fish at, like, half price right away,” Gilda continued, glaring at the closed door.
Twilight shrugged. “All right, if that’s how he wants to do this… girls, if you could step a little closer to me, like within two meters… yeah, that’s good.” The scholar set the puzzle box down a safe distance away, grit her teeth and concentrated; all four of them vanished in a muffled snap of wobbly magenta light. Moments later they all reappeared on the other side of the door, along with a neat circle excised from the hall carpeting. Oh well.
This dining room looked largely identical to the one Twilight had visited before, although the big picture windows at the far end now faced an unpainted brick wall. The overall effect would’ve been charmingly rustic, if the rest of the room didn’t look like it had been transported directly from Verneigh- which, given what Twilight knew about Geraldine III, it might well have been. She wondered if Goldstone planned to meet with them in a different room each and every time they interacted.
The noblegriff himself was standing behind one of the chairs, a pair of yellow-barded guards flanking him. Both of his talons were wrapped around the outstretched wings of a mangy old cockerel in a faded blue ship-captain’s coat, effectively pinning him to the chair in an awkward-looking pseudo-bipedal posture. Goldstone jerked backwards slightly when Twilight and her friends materialized, and the other griffon made a strangled little yelp as the torsion on his wings briefly increased. The guards sprang into motion and positioned themselves between Goldstone and Twilight’s party, trading glares with Gilda and Rainbow Dash. Rainbow scuffed at the ground with one hoof while Gilda shifted her wing and shoulder muscles, producing a few loud pops. After perhaps ten seconds, Goldstone released the cockerel’s wings and motioned for the guards to step aside.
“Doctor… Sparkle…” he hissed, “I would’ve hoped that my continued respect for your privacy over the course of your stay here would have inspired you to extend the same courtesy to me. I was just in the middle of a very… important conversation with one of the local trawler captains, but now I suppose that will have to wait for another day.” He sidled back to the only set place at the table and sat down, and true to Rarity’s description Twilight immediately noticed the large gold-and-beryl amulet that now hung from a chain around his neck. She also noticed that the knife sitting next to his plate of filet mignon was both far larger than it had any reason to be, and very, very sharp.
“I don’t appreciate being cut out of the business that’s occurring in my city,” the acidic tone in his voice faded away, and he continued as calmly as though discussing the next week’s weather schedule, “This aspiring privateer here seems to have forgotten that I own the docks down in the harbor. And the registration office. And the supplies and repair tenders. And the health inspection agency.”
Gilda puffed out her chest and looked him square in the eye. “What health inspection agency?”
“They’re the gentlegriffs who show up and break your wings if you don’t play by the rules,” Goldstone answered, perfectly casually. “Very bad for your health, you see.” The corners of his beak turned upwards slightly; grinning at his own joke.
“Yeah, well, if any wings are getting broken today, they’re gonna be yours,” snapped Rainbow Dash.
Goldstone must’ve heard her, but he gave no sign of it. Instead, he waved at the nearly-petrified figure of the trawler captain and barked a short sentence in Griffish.
“He said the fucker’s free to go, but he wants the delivery by four o’clock two days from now,” Gilda turned and whispered in Twilight’s ear.
The captain, for his part, just slumped forward in his chair. He looked from the ponies to Goldstone and back again in abject confusion, and remained exactly where he was.
“Well, I’m sorry to have to interrupt.” Twilight reached out with her telekinesis, unlocked the dining room door, and floated the puzzle cube onto the table from where she’d left it outside. “But I think somecreature was trying to put one over on your ‘dear old mum’ by selling her a defective puzzle box. Rarity, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course.” In the tailor’s deft telekinetic grip, the screws holding the back hinge of the box in place were neatly twisted out, and with a quiet snap the entire artifact separated into its top and bottom halves. The top included the hinge, complete with a solid band of metal running between both wings. The bottom revealed four distinct locking mechanisms, all of them unlatched, and a single strip of glossy thaumosensitive paper- a jagged dark pattern along one side where it had faced edgewise towards Twilight’s teleportation field, but otherwise pure white.
“Oh, now, that’s interesting,” Twilight said, her voice practically dripping with fake surprise, “these things usually darken on their own over the course of a few months, just from exposure to ambient magic, so this one has to be new. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were the one trying to put one over on us.”
Goldstone just sat there silently at the table for a long few seconds, apparently unperturbed. He seemed to have completely forgotten about the continued presence of the trawler captain, who was still hunched down and quietly shuddering in his seat.
“I’m afraid that’s a moot point by now, actually,” the tiercel finally said, “The interest on Geraldine III’s skull is now set at thirty thousand bits.” He paused, glanced at Rarity, and continued a little more softly, “I’m afraid I couldn’t ‘knock a few hundred bits’ off the total even if I wanted to.” Then he looked back at Twilight, and his tone sharpened again, “Also, I never gave up ownership of that artifact, so you’ve tasked your friend here with destroying my property.”
Twilight gave Rarity a discreet nudge, and just as discreetly the tailor began slipping the pieces of the box back into place.
“In light of our previous dealings together,” Goldstone continued after another, longer pause, “I’m willing to offer you one more chance to come to reasonable terms on this matter. If you don’t, I’m sure Gordon himself will- especially once he learns there’s another bidder for the skull, who just so happens to be from the Royal Academy in Canterlot and who has been lurking about my city trying to gather information about him.”
Twilight opened her mouth to reply, when Gilda quickly waved a talon in her direction. She followed the hen off of their circle of carpet and into a corner, where Gilda leaned in close and shook her head.
“I don’t get it,” Twilight whispered, confused, “Won’t knowing Goldstone’s trying to start a bidding war between him and some third party make Gordon less likely to deal with him?”
“Maybe,” Gilda shrugged, “But him knowing that’d hurt you more, and Goldstone knows it. You really don’t get griffons, do you, boss? You’re an outsider, and kind of a nosy one too. A… what’s the word ponies use, a… a busybody. Gordon might not be happy with Goldstone, but he’s gonna hate you for sticking your fuzzy purple pony snout in his business and tripling the price on what should’ve been an easy sale.”
“Ah.” Twilight had always considered her snout more silky than fuzzy, but the griffon had a point. She turned back around to face Goldstone, stepped up to the table, and tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible.
It was about then that Rarity floated a neatly reconstructed puzzle box between them. “There. Good as new!” she explained to a wide-eyed Lord Goldstone, “It was just a matter of a few screws and pins; nothing compared to my regular designs.”
“Ah. Well, in that case!” The tiercel twisted slightly in his seat to look at Rarity, and the ice in his voice was suddenly replaced by honey, “I should probably inform you that I’m going to be hosting some of Innsbeak’s more influential citizens here at the manor two nights hence. I’ll send out a few feelers for property and capable foregriffs. You’re more than welcome to remain here until then, and I hope you haven’t forgotten our dinner date the day after!” Then the flexible sides of his beak compressed into a thin line. “As for you, Doctor Sparkle, it would be a shame to destroy a lucrative partnership such as ours over this sort of petty disagreement… so I’ll provide you with a bit of free advice- Perhaps Gordon might even be convinced to attend, assuming I have something he wants… but don’t try to approach him yourself, at the celebration or anywhere else. This isn’t the first time somepony from Canterlot’s tried to get ahold of his work, and neither he nor the staff he always brings with him on expeditions outside of the tower are very fond of intrusions on his scientific integrity. A good old-fashioned mages’ duel would certainly provide some excitement for my guests, but that trick with the carpet notwithstanding, I don’t think you’d be the one to come out on top. Surely your life and future career prospects are both worth more than thirty thousand bits, yes?” Then, quite unexpectedly, he turned to Gilda. “Oh, and mainlander? A tight little number in scarlet would really bring out the highlights in your crest, should you decide to make an appearance. Just a suggestion.”
Twilight wasn’t entirely certain how to respond to that. Judging by the confused stares Goldstone was receiving from Rainbow Dash, Gilda, and especially Rarity, the others weren’t having much better luck. So, instead, she simply turned around and strode back out into the hallway. Her friends followed a few seconds later, and they set out on what Twilight was reasonably sure she remembered as the path back to the guest rooms.
“So, uhh, why didn’t that seagriff just tear Goldstone a new one and be done with it?” Rainbow Dash asked once they were safely out of earshot.
“Fucker’s tougher than he looks,” Gilda explained, “He’s supposed to be, like, a classically-trained boxer and swordsgriff and shit. And even if that poor schlub could take Goldstone on in a one-on-one fight, without those guards getting involved, striking a noble would mean he's just dead, his family's dead, and his ship becomes just another Goldstone property. Really, he should be thanking Nemesis right now he ain’t limping down the hill back home, dragging his wings behind him.”
“When we’re done here, I think we oughta’ report this guy to somepony,” Twilight spoke the first thought to come into her head aloud, then scoffed, “Oh, yeah, but to whom? This asshole… really has no accountability whatsoever, does he?”
“Well,” Rarity suggested, quite primly, “there’s still the option for Equestria to invade…”
Twilight shook her head, and laughed, bitterly. “Right now, I wouldn’t mind if we did.” Then, after rounding another corner in silence, she spoke up one more time. “Whatever we need to do to steal that stupid skull out from under him, let’s just go ahead and do it.”