//------------------------------// // One Night In Innsbeak // Story: Griffon The Brush-Off - Extended Cut // by AdmiralSakai //------------------------------// The next day crawled forward, slow and tense. Rarity spent most of it finishing the remaining three ponies’ formal wear. Twilight completed Who Lies Sleeping early in the morning; she found it interesting, in a mad sort of way, and utterly unhelpful. Rainbow Dash paced circles in her room, muttering and cursing, and tried to talk passing guards into sparring with her- to no success. Gilda remained completely unaccounted for. For lack of anything better to do, Twilight made another visit to the library- given how long the Luna Bay fragment had been left there to gather dry rot, she wondered what other treasures might’ve been buried in among the weather reports, salacious romance novels, and damning financial journals. Although Lord Goldstone himself was, as always, nowhere to be found, his servants were out in force, presumably preparing the manor for the night’s festivities. She even spotted the cyclone-pushing hen Rainbow Dash had mentioned, having bothered to empty the dust bags behind her and put some effort into genuinely cleaning the carpet. More than a few small, fast airships- private yachts or charter flights, most likely- passed over the library’s big glass cupola, destined for the harbor. Even more air chariots flew back the other way, no doubt ferrying guests up to the manor and past the squalor of the lower city. The sky remained clear the entire day- Twilight wondered if Goldstone had ordered the rain held off specifically for the occasion. She stayed in the library the whole afternoon, making a conscious effort to avoid bothering anygriff, and in turn nogriff bothered her. It turned out that there was little of any real value left to discover, but at least searching passed the time. The only text she encountered that seemed of the remotest historical significance was a scroll- an illuminated manuscript, rather- written in a language she was unable to decipher, possibly Proto-Yakic. Assuming it wasn’t some sort of forgery written in gibberish, that would’ve placed it sometime in the pre-Classical era, before the destruction of the Crystal Empire had cut off all but the most treacherous passes into the mountains of Yakyakistan. It was gorgeously but rather abstractly illustrated; depicting an ornately-dressed yak, and something that might’ve been a volcano, or possibly a dragon. Unfortunately, without a properly laboratory setup, there was no way for Twilight to authenticate it, and she wasn’t about to either buy it or take it without asking. Either option meant another possible confrontation with Goldstone, and she hoped to avoid that if at all possible. It was early evening when another servant appeared, in a yellow formal jacket faded to a faint pastel- which ironically made it far more bearable to look at. In broken Ponish, he offered to escort “the esteem Doctor Twilight Sparkel” to her waiting associates. Twilight was a bit surprised to find that the manor’s ‘grand ballroom’ was, in fact, actually grand. She’d been expecting the usual Goldstone corner-cutting, but she supposed he wouldn’t have been able to maintain his position as absolute ruler of the city without some sort of genuine managerial skills. The crystal chandeliers up above were dusted and illuminated, if dimmed to an ambiance-friendly soft glow. The many-vaulted wooden ceiling beyond them was clean and appeared to have been polished; and somewhere the tiercel had managed to get hold of an array of velvet-cushioned chairs and tables with matching yellow tablecloths. He’d even established a little bandstand in one corner, playing some sort of waltz that had gone out of fashion around the turn of the millennium. Quietly, Twilight thanked her lucky stars that nocreature seemed to be treating the music as any sort of invitation to dance. All of her previous attempts at the act had only been described as… enthusiastic. The carpet, clean for once, proved itself to be a blindingly intense yellow, and the polished dark oak paneling came as close to complementing it as wood was ever likely to get. That indicated to Twilight’s historian’s eye that the room had either been an original part of the manor, or retrofitted with some effort to match its architectural style, awful though that may have been. Either option demonstrated some actual willingness to spend bits on upkeep. Shame about the entire rest of the city, the scholar remarked quietly to herself. She’d been to functions of this sort exactly twice before, during her childhood. Once, when her father’d been accepted as editor-in-chief of the Canterlot Journal of Medicine; and again when one of her mother’s novels had won some moderately-impressive literary award. That latter event had also been where Shiny had met Princess Cadance for the very first time. Twilight had found them both harmless, if overwhelmingly dull- the events, of course, not her brother and Cadance. The atmosphere here, however, was quite different. For one thing, those functions back in Canterlot hadn’t had nearly so many armed and uniformed guards stationed near the walls. Some were clearly experienced house troops; the majority slouched at their posts, chatted with each other, and consumed alarming amounts of the alcohol offered by the serving staff. Knowing Goldstone, he’d probably hired whatever toughs he could manage off the streets of the lower city to fill out his ranks. The guest list was also proving to be surprisingly diverse- discounting the security and waitstaff, non-griffons outnumbered griffons by a substantial margin, and more were arriving every minute. A surprising number of them were ponies, and Twilight was quietly glad not to recognize anypony she knew from the Government. She turned back to Rarity and Rainbow Dash, who had been escorted in not long after Twilight herself. “I… think it’s safe for us to split up. We’re not going to have much luck sorting through a crowd this size if we don’t, anyway,” she muttered. “Gotcha’.” Rainbow Dash tapped a hoof against the red sash of her white belted tunic- a chiton, to use the proper term from Old Pegasopolis, trimmed by a gold geometric pattern. The entire garment was designed to be turned inside-out to expose a black inner lining with several concealed pockets, and the traditional pegasus sandals that accompanied it were padded to muffle hoofsteps. Twilight, admittedly, also found the whole assembly quite fetching. “Shame we won’t get to use any of this,” was all she said aloud. “I don’t mind.” Rarity shrugged. Without the need to go sneaking off anywhere, she’d opted for a simple sage-green ballgown embroidered with a few faux-sapphires, with a slim silver necklace and matching earrings. “In fact, I appreciate the chance to test out some new designs. These might be more… practically-minded than my usual fare, but I guarantee we’ll all look fabulous doing whatever it is we need to do.” “Yeah, these sandals are actually kinda’ neat,” Rainbow added, “I thought I’d have to fight you over, like, stupid three-inch heels or something, but-” She was cut off suddenly as one of the servants stepped onto the band’s small platform, and called out in magically amplified Ponish: “Honored guests, His Most Honorable Marquess and Lord of this Fine City, Gerald Goldstone the Thirteenth!” Then the servant repeated his message in Griffish, or at least repeated something- it wasn’t as though Twilight could compare. Goldstone himself stepped out into the far end of the room not long after, that strange gold amulet hanging over an eye-searing yellow tuxedo jacket. On his left lurked a strange figure completely covered in faded blue robes; presumably the same mage Gilda and Rainbow Dash had spotted the day before. On his right, in polished full plate, his big guard captain scanned the crowd warily. A good portion of that crowd converged immediately towards Goldstone; Twilight nervously scanned over those who remained. She fiddled with the strip of pink fabric wrapped around her neck and tucked into her short, barrel-hugging pastel yellow dress. “Rarity, are you sure this cravat is on right?” “It’s fine. And it’s an ascot, dear.” “… Right.” She struck off across the carpet, briefly surveying each group of guests in turn. It wasn’t hard to figure out when she’d found the one she was looking for. She’d only ever seen Gordon of Innsbeak half-in-frame in a grainy, black-and-white photograph before, but his thick black-framed eyeglasses were unmistakable. He proved to be predominately orange and gray in coloration, not unlike a robin, and wore a crisp white jacket; his eyes were a surprisingly bright blue-green despite his obviously advanced age, and his head constantly pivoted first in one direction, then another. He carried a slim black walking-stick in his right talon, despite seeming to have no difficulty moving around, and his sole companions were a trio of what Twilight guessed to be Innsbeak University security guards -identifiable by their crisp blue uniforms, segmented gray armor, and distinctive blue-rimmed, domed steel helmets. As she circled the group in ever-tightening orbits, slowly and carefully, trying to appear uninterested, she kept an eye on Goldstone and his entourage, as well. The longer Twilight watched -from a discreet distance- the more downright odd Goldstone's robed mage’s behavior became. While Grunt the guard captain made quick work of any hors-d'ourves that got within grabbing range, the mage never ate or drank anything- she just stood there until the waitstaff lost their nerve and moved on. She also looked out of place, grimy and disheveled like she’d been wearing the same set of robes for a year straight, especially in contrast with the immaculate presentation of Gordon and his guards. Twilight had ended up looking like that before, but she'd always taken the time to at least shower before interacting with other ponies. Finally, there was something profoundly disconcerting about the way the mage moved- her head panning from side to side exactly ninety degrees, every thirty seconds, like clockwork. Twilight swallowed hard, and continued her spiral towards Gordon regardless. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin as a mare spoke up right next to her left flank, in a high-class Appleloosan accent. “Wait a second, Twahlight? As in, Doctor Twahlight Sparkle?” She pulled up short and twisted around, head briefly filled with images of ESS operatives sent out to detain her for attempting to access dangerous magical information. The mare she found, however, looked like she'd just stepped off a westbound stagecoach. She was a short little cream-colored earth pony with a rather elaborately-styled red mane, chubby and just on the far side of middle-aged. “Ah don’t believe we’ve met, but Ah’ve got a way with faces, and Ah’m sure Ah’ve seen yours before. Cherry Jubilee, pleased ta meetcha’!” She stuck out a hoof, and very cautiously Twilight met it with her own. “Oh! Umm… yeah. I’m Twilight Sparkle. I was… uh… in the papers a little bit, a few months ago.” Twilight cast a surreptitious glance back at the University griffons. They were already moving back away from her again, as a coordinated unit, with Gordon in the lead. For such an old creature, he was alarmingly fast. “Yeah, Ah saw.” The strange mare took a few steps closer, almost to the point where Twilight would’ve felt compelled to back away, and whispered “So, word through the grapevine is, you’ve got an angle on gettin’ ‘round them pesky Commerce inspectors…” “… huh?” Twilight cocked her head, genuinely confused, before remembering that Rarity had mentioned claiming something like that in her meeting with Goldstone. “Ah, yeah, I hear ya’.” ‘Cherries’ nodded and smiled a strange little knowing smile, “Iff’n you don’t wanna talk about it here, you can always just drop by my slip at the harbor… Ah promise, Ah’m the soul of discretion, and Ah can make it well worth yer-” Whatever the mare might’ve been about to say was cut off by a peculiar, rhythmic rattling of metal on metal. Then there was another voice, harsher and with an accent Twilight couldn’t place. “So, you’re Twilight Sparkle, huh? Princess Celestia’s newest flunky?” She wheeled around again, to encounter a very tall harpy in a militia uniform identical to the one Rainbow Dash had described at the market. The strange clanking noise had been produced by a brace wrapped around her ankle. Concerned, Twilight backpedaled slightly. “I’m not- or, well, I mean, yes, I am Twilight, but I’m not-” “I’ve got a message for your princess.” The harpy -there was a nametag on her uniform, but Twilight couldn’t make much sense of the foreign lettering- advanced another few steps and jabbed a talon at Twilight’s forehead. “We will end the minotaur invasion. We will drive them from our islands. We will take back what is rightfully ours. And we will do it without Equestria’s so-called help.” “But that’s not-” Looking over the harpy’s shoulder, Twilight spotted Gordon almost within easy speaking range of Lord Goldstone. “Okay, you know what? Fine. Message received.” That seemed to satisfy the harpy, or at least turn her expression slightly less venomous. Twilight quietly thanked her lucky stars that no one at the gathering had yet recognized her as Commander Shining Armor’s sister. Before the harpy could think of any additional demands, Twilight ducked past her and set about weaving her way back towards the doctor’s group, bypassing a half-dozen other clusters of hushed conversation. “… hoping to get a shot at that big iron vein they just discovered in the Frozen North…” “… how much is liquor running you these days in Saddle Arabia? …” “… Tartarus, maybe there’s money to be made down in those southern islands. Nothing but yetis and snowbeasts for competition down there…” Finally, she was able to slip back into easy hearing range- and close enough to feel the tingly not-quite-vibration of dozens of protective enchantments, all centered on the old griffon in the crisp white coat. The sheer volume of them left Twilight wondering why he even bothered with the guards. Backup or intimidation, perhaps, or proactive crowd control. “Man, I must be getting old,” he was muttering, in rough but surprisingly articulate Ponish, “This modern-day music just sounds like noise to me…” Twilight swallowed hard and stepped closer. “Ummm, excuse me… sirs? My name is-” The guards simply stared past her as a unit, but Gordon looked up over his shoulder suddenly. “Is somepony following me?” His blue-green eyes fixed directly on Twilight, or rather at a point somewhere above Twilight’s left ear, wide and somewhat unfocused. “Don’t come near me. Don’t come near me! Personal space, Windsdammit, personal space!” He was shouting, now, and nearby guests were turning to look at him, but he didn’t seem to care. Twilight backpedaled as quickly as she dared, as the old griffon reached out one talon and began making abortive little spell-casting motions. Just before she lost sight of him completely, he cackled, “Yeah, whether it’s a particle or a wave doesn’t really matter, it’ll still kill you…” There was a long pause, and then he continued, “I wonder if they’re like infants, and think if they can’t see me, that I’ve literally disappeared…? No, I guess they’re more developed than that…” Well, so much for the direct approach. Thanks, Berries Jubilant or... whatever your name was. Continuing to back away, Twilight almost staggered into the harpy again, although this time she was lucky enough to avoid notice. Instead the harpy’s attention was fixed on Lord Goldstone, who was heading her way alongside a big gray Abyssinian, with a ridiculous-looking skull and crossbones pattern dyed into the fur on his shoulder. The tiercel was muttering something about “the munitions dealer I’ve been working with, Colonel Zahn,” although since the Abyssinian wasn’t wearing a proper uniform -indeed, he’d decided to wear a muscle shirt and camouflage-patterned trousers to a formal reception- Twilight found herself wondering what exactly he was supposed to be a Colonel of. Then she entirely lost interest when she noticed the big, tan griffon hen with a distinctively purplish crest and sleek black dress, slowly but surely making her way through the crowd towards them. Gilda. Gordon and his entourage forgotten for the moment, Twilight began the tense and laborious process of searching the crowd for Rarity. Rarity nodded along to the conversation of a strange, short little cream colored earth mare with a strong Appleloosan accent- Cherry something, if she remembered correctly. “You know, Miss Rarity, Ah got an eye for talent ya see, an'-” Out of the corner of her eye, the tailor watched Twilight Sparkle approach a small group of uniformed griffons- the one in the lead wore a crisp white coat and thick black-framed glasses, and Rarity wondered if this was in fact the infamous Gordon of Innsbeak. Twilight opened her mouth and stammered something inaudible. At the same time, the old griffon’s head snapped around to focus on a beige-coated mare with a pink-and-blue mane who had been lurking behind her. “Is somepony following me?” he demanded, and then he shouted “Don’t come near me. Don’t come near me! Personal space, Windsdammit, personal space!” Twilight backed away, shaking her head, while the beige mare faded into the crowd. “Oh! Sorry, that's Lord Goldstone.” Cherry-something-or-other shook her head, “We’ll have ta’ catch up some other time.” Rarity nodded. “Of course.” She'd been able smell the griffon on his way, well before she’d laid eyes on him; an unholy combination of sea spray, Abyssinian Catchouli, and something overpoweringly sweet. In a formal gathering like this, a tasteful amount of cologne or perfume was proactive deodorant; an excessive amount was proactive body odor, and for whatever reason Lord Goldstone thought he was underdressed unless he could peel paint off the walls by standing in one place for too long. The two hens standing on either side of him were probably paid not to notice. Rarity did note, however, that despite her nearly constant intake of hors d'oeuvres plucked from the trays of any servants who got too close, the guard captain -unlike many of her subordinates- didn’t seem to ever touch a drop of alcohol. “Rarity?” The tailor heard Twilight’s voice hiss, and turned her head to find the smaller unicorn hunkered down next to her. Neither Goldstone nor Cherry paid her much notice. “Don’t… uhh… don’t act alarmed or anything, but… Gilda’s coming your way.” “Gilda?” Rarity scanned the crowd as Cherry and Goldstone sidled off together some distance away, and finally caught sight of the griffon heading in more or less the same direction. “Yes, Ah have the paperwork for the work visas right here. 'Farmhooves'- er, talons, Ah guess." She heard Cherry say. "That is what you requested, isn't it? 'Quick talons and strong backs'" Lord Goldstone snickered. "And these griffons’re all clean, you say?” Rarity thought back to her previous conversation with the mare and shook her head, vaguely scandalized. “Well! 'Talents,' indeed!” Twilight kept one eye on the tailor and the other on Gilda. “Look, just, whatever you do, don’t let Goldstone notice she’s here…” With little else to do, Rainbow Dash had sought out some of the more respectable-looking guards. Thanks, no doubt, to their rapidly increasing liquor intake, they proved to be fairly amiable sorts, although very quickly Rainbow found herself running out of war stories to exchange. “Don’t worry about it,” said an older gray-green hen who had introduced herself in mostly-decent Ponish as Lieutenant Gwynn, “pony sellswords aren’t exactly uncommon around these parts, and they’ve all gotta get their start somewhere. In fact, I’ve got a buddy down in Dore who’s putting together a new company of independent contractors… I’m sure he could find some jobs for ya…” “Very probably,” a somewhat heavyset older cockerel spoke up. Of their group, he was the only one wearing a tastefully old-fashioned suit instead of armor, and a pair of big round eyeglasses- obviously not a soldier, but the soldiers seemed universally to look up to him just the same. “But while I have no doubt that you’d be capable of great things as a member of Gwynn’s Rangers, I think you’d accomplish still more back home, in Equestria, among your friends and fellows.” He drained a snifter of some sort of some sort of strong, peaty liquor, then refilled it from a bottle he’d stashed on one of the end-tables. Despite this being his fourth such drink, he didn’t seem remotely intoxicated- either there was some sort of magic at play, or he just had a cast-iron gizzard. “Believe me, I’ve… some experience in these matters.” “Uhh.” Over the old cockerel’s shoulder, Rainbow thought for just a moment that she’d seen Gilda heading back towards them, as ridiculous as that sounded. She craned her neck to get a better look, and then felt her stomach leap into her throat as she realized her friend was indeed present. “Oh! I’m… terribly sorry,” the tiercel extended a talon as though to shake, seemingly misinterpreting her surprised reaction, “Forgive me for not introducing myself. I’m Lord Gestal of Cargriff. I make it a point to attend functions like this whenever practical, to reflect on the tragic condition to which the venerable House Goldstone has now… degraded.” He shot a venomous glance across the room at Gerald XIII, who was currently standing midway between Rarity and a short, tan-coated earth pony with an elaborately-styled red mane. “Oh. Umm. Rainbow Dash,” the pegasus answered, while trying as inconspicuously as possible to scan the crowd for another sighting of Gilda. “Oh, yes, of course.” Gestal chuckled, deep and warm, and remained square in the middle of Rainbow’s sight line, “We do get the newspaper out in Cargriff, you know!” Over his shoulder, the pegasus could see Gilda circling Goldstone like a shark. Goldstone didn’t yet seem to notice her; mostly, he looked busy talking to Rarity and the tan mare, but then he was joined by the harpy and the Abyssinian from the black market. “But more than another pegasus sellsword,” Gestal continued, “Griffonia needs allies, friends over in Equestria, right now.” He waved a talon at Gwynn, who was looking more and more exhausted by the minute, “While our various house troops might cut an impressive figure in their custom livery, and with… some exceptions-” he glared again at Goldstone, and the fat hen beside him, “- can compose a disciplined and well-equipped force within their home territories, they are not and never will be an army. Should the dragons ever find in themselves the leadership necessary to engage in organized warfare, I don’t believe there’s much we could do to stop them.” Rainbow nodded, struggling to keep her friend in view as the harpy and the Abyssinian broke out into a full-scale argument. Most of it was inaudible or in such mangled Ponish that Rainbow had no way of understanding it, but she caught the phases “substandard parts,” “overpriced,” and “that stupid tattoo” well enough. Almost casually the harpy slung the contents of her wineglass into the Abyssinian’s face; he yowled and took a wild swing at her with his claws extended. The harpy deftly sidestepped, and sent him crashing to the floor with a quick sweep of her brace-wrapped left leg. She backed off as soon as the yellow-vested guards converged on the scene, although she continued to wield her glass like a punch dagger, the stem held between her talons. By the time Rainbow Dash looked away from the spectacle, neither Gilda nor Lord Goldstone were anywhere to be seen. “I bet the zebras’d stop ‘em. The dragons, I mean,” said Lieutenant Gwynn. “Would they, really?” Rainbow asked, then slipped over to the outer edge of the gathering as quietly as she could- she’d spotted Twilight on her way over. “Oh, the zebras would certainly stop them… and then keep on marching north…” Gestal laughed again, this time with more than a little bitterness. “Notus’s breath, if Equestria ever decided it wanted this shithole…” Gwynn continued, “Well, I’m not saying we should just let ‘em have it, but if it’s them or the dragons or the zebras, well…” Twilight finally managed to slip over beside the pegasus. “What’s up?” Rainbow leaned over and whispered. “Gilda’s back. She’s been lurking around here somewhere, I think she’s trying to get to Goldstone,” Twilight explained. Rainbow nodded. “Yeah, I saw her come in, but then I lost her…” “Now, if somepony were to remove Lord Goldstone, I wouldn’t be particularly upset…” Gestal muttered to the assembled troops. “There. Over there…” Rainbow followed Twilight’s outstretched hoof, and spotted Gilda once again heading directly for Goldstone. Rarity seemed to be doing her best to keep the tiercel moving away, but she had to look casual about doing it, and casual meant slow. Gilda had no such restrictions. Gilda called out “Gerald! Buddy!” and Lord Goldstone twisted around to look directly at her, even as Rarity wrapped a guiding foreleg around his shoulders. “… just don’t see why the zebras would bother, is the problem,” Gwynn was saying, “Neither the Dragonlands nor Griffonia are part of traditional zebra territory, and for them that’s a pretty important distinction.” “My dear,” Gestal clicked his beak disapprovingly, “Perhaps you’re simply too young to remember the last time ‘traditional zebra territory’ suddenly became much larger…” Gilda had made it into easy speaking range of Goldstone by that point. Rainbow couldn’t make out what they were saying, both because it was nearly inaudible at this distance and because it was probably in Griffish. Whatever it was, it sent Rarity off in another direction with a rather frustrated expression. “But I’m sure Equestria would intervene…” Gwynn continued. “Intervene to accomplish… what?” Gestal chuckled again, and pounded back yet another glass of liquor, “Prevent their ‘civilized’ fellows from doing a bit of ‘civilizing’? Why would they? Ponies are the best at it! Just look at Saddle Arabia!” Rainbow watched, baffled and a little alarmed, as Gilda circled around Lord Goldstone, laughing and gesturing with her wings and talons. Something she said made him laugh in turn, and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned in close to him. It was hard to tell, but Dash was fairly certain she’d disconnected the clasp on Goldstone’s amulet with her beak; however it was accomplished, she caught the glint of gold and ruby disappearing down the front of Gilda’s dress. Goldstone laughed again, oblivious to the fact that his precious amulet had just been replaced. “Damn,” the pegasus whistled, “Gilda’s got game!” Twilight, for whatever reason, jumped a little in place, and giggled nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess she does…” Then she muttered nearly inaudibly, “Dammit, focus…” “I thought you locked that amulet in your room?” said Rainbow Dash. “I did.” “… shit.” Gilda returned Goldstone’s embrace, rapped him on the shoulder, and then staggered away, suddenly reeling about as though drunk. Twilight looked at Rainbow Dash, shook her head, and then set off towards the hen. “I think you’ve had enough, Gilda,” she snapped, “We should probably head back to your room.” Very much to Rainbow Dash’s surprise, Gilda nodded, leaned against Twilight’s shoulder, and followed her back out to the edge of the ballroom. That made the pegasus suspicious. As she started to follow, though, Lord Gestal waved at her with his half-empty bottle of liquor, and when she looked away again, both of her friends had vanished from sight. Gilda and Twilight Sparkle walked side-by-side through the dim, winding, drafty corridors that connected the central wing of the manor to the guest quarters. “Well, I… guess that’s that, then…” Twilight finally said, after a few minutes of awkward silence. Gilda nodded, but said nothing. Thanks to Geraldine III’s… unique approach to architecture, even the background noise of the party had already faded away, and the silence was making Twilight distinctly uncomfortable. “What, no big long shouting match about how I just don’t understaaand life on the streets of Griffonstone or whatever?” The big griffon shook her head. “Nope! You caught me, fair and square. Time to pack it in.” If that was supposed to be reassuring, it only left Twilight more confused. “I’m… I mean, I’m glad that you’re finally seeing reason about this whole mess, but… I mean, why go this far? If you wanted to put things right with us, you could’ve just come back and talked to us in private, you know. What did you think I was going to do when I saw you at the party, anyway?” Gilda laughed, briefly. “Actually, I thought you were gonna do something sneaky and overcomplicated, which wouldn’t’ve worked as well. Wander off and try to teleport me away or some shit. You just coming up and telling me I needed to leave… I didn’t think you had it in you. Not much I could do about that.” She slowed down slightly, and leaned in until her beak was just a few centimeters from Twilight’s left ear. “If I’d made a scene, like that dumbass arms dealer or whatever, the guards mighta’ gotten involved, and they coulda’ found the real amulet, and then I’d be really fucked.” She half-shrugged. “I guess, really, I just wanted to show you ponies I could actually do my part… that the whole thing woulda’ worked if you’d just had the gizzard to go through with it.” “Mmmhmm.” They turned one final corner to the suite of guest rooms. The hallway was completely empty, which suited Twilight Sparkle just fine. The fact that Gilda’s beak was still just centimeters away from her head was less ideal. “That’s good to hear, but… well, I really can’t risk you going around and making any more trouble when I’m this close to just going up and talking to Gordon… you know, like adults. I’ve got a variable-duration sedative spell, so I figure the… cleanest way to do this is just to knock you out for a few hours, instead of, I dunno, tying you up or something…” Gilda, surprisingly, nodded again. “Yeah, I was afraid you'd try something like that.” Then she slipped something long and wooden out of the sleeve of her dress. Twilight lit her horn and began the process of casting her most reliable stun spell, but Gilda was faster. The object -whatever it was- slammed directly into the unicorn's head just above her right eye socket, sending her reeling and staggering in a haze of slurred profanity. Through the ringing in her ears, she thought she heard Gilda say something that sounded like “Stay down, princess, if you know what’s good for you.” “Yeah… no…” Twilight discovered it was more difficult than she'd expected to think of a good comeback when suffering from blunt-force trauma. She almost had her hooves under her again when another impact slammed into her forehead, just to the other side of her horn. The last thing she saw was that awful, awful yellow carpet rushing up to meet her. Gilda’s first task was to haul Twilight’s insensate form back into her guest room, where she wouldn’t attract attention. Fortunately, the skinny Canterlot mage was more than light enough to drag around by one foreleg. Briefly, Gilda considered taking some effort to actively restrain her; but there was nothing available with which to tie her up, and that wouldn’t be much use against telekinesis anyway. Gilda had heard of ways to disable a unicorn’s horn without causing long-term damage or using special equipment, but had never bothered to read up on what they were. Oh well, she’s out cold. As long as nogriff comes to check on her, she should stay down long enough to not be a problem. After that, she stalked through the empty corridors, navigating by memory and the talon-drawn map she’d tucked into her dress; heading for one of the manor’s ubiquitous storage rooms close, but not too close, to the chapel. She'd noted the location back during her departure, and confirmed it was on the other side of the breakroom the chapel guards used, but hadn't had the chance to check inside. It proved to be mostly full of sculptures and carved stone panels, depicting grotesquely overmuscled centaurs doing unspeakable things to each other, although in one corner Gilda spotted a small rack filled with glass bottles. Pulling one out, she found it to be wine, although the labels were written in a language she didn’t recognize. Perfect. She’d been hoping to bring some sort of beverage with her from the party, but of course that had been rendered impossible by Twilight Sparkle sticking her fuzzy purple snout into Gilda’s business. “You know, in any other circumstances, I’d enjoy this,” she muttered, extracting a promising-looking bottle. “Aww, fuck it, I’m gonna enjoy this anyway.” She pried out the stopper with one talon, and then reeled backwards as her nostrils filled with the scent of moldy newspaper. Corked. She gargled a few beakfuls of the noxious stuff anyway, just to get the scent of alcohol on her breath. Then she grabbed a particularly sizable sculpture of two centaur wrestlers -or perhaps just one horribly deformed centaur with two heads- and hurled it through the window with a satisfying crash. After that, she headed out the door and right for the chapel, making sure to stagger drunkenly with her tail in the air. It wasn’t a particularly difficult task to pull off with a bottle of wine in one talon, pockets full of amulet and blackfeather powder, and a rolling pin tucked under her right wing. Goldstone had switched out the guards at the door; this time one was a gray-speckled cockerel who looked no older than sixteen, and the other an older greenish pegasus mare with a muzzle that looked to have been broken and reset easily a dozen times. Both glared at her as soon as she staggered into the corridor, and brandished their weapons- a crossbow for the cockerel, and a nasty-looking halberd for the mare. “Hey, uhhh, can you guys, like, help me find my way back to the ballroom? I’mma lil’ -hic- lost…” she stammered, closing the distance to them. The cockerel grabbed a whistle from his baldric and stuffed it in his mouth, but Gilda let herself tip sideways against him before he could put it to any use. “Hey, c’mon, it was jussa joke, buddy, you dunneed to freak out… You guysh’re no fun…” The cockerel, to his credit, stayed standing right where he was and pushed her back onto all-fours. “Hey. Hey. Back off. We got a job to do.” “Isn’t that one of Goldstone’s guests?” The pegasus asked, in somewhat coarse Griffish. “They’re all Goldstone’s guests.” “She’s been here for three days, though…” Gilda took advantage of the cockerel’s monetary distraction to nuzzle up against him again; this time he immediately moved to push her away and seemed about to bring his crossbow up into firing position. “Oh, shit, you’re ri-” Before he could finish, Gilda swung the wine bottle into his head with her free talon. There was a sharp crack as it shattered over his helmet, showering his face with glass shards and rancid wine; he hit the ground hard, desperately rubbing his eyes with both talons, down but not out. In one motion Gilda pivoted in place to face the mare, and extracted her rolling pin from under her wing. The mare brought her halberd up into a guard position- a fraction of a second too late to stop Gilda from landing a solid hit in between her eyes. As she collapsed, Gilda wheeled back to the cockerel and clubbed him in the back of the head, underneath his helmet. It was all over in a little under six seconds, and neither the guards in the chapel, nor back in the ready-room, had likely heard a thing- assuming the latter hadn’t already been dispatched to check on the broken window further back down the hall. Catching her breath, Gilda considered her options. She hadn’t planned to seriously harm either of the guards- at the end of the day, they were just griffons in need of a meal ticket like any other. The helmets they wore just meant she could hit them harder and they’d still pull through. Probably. But ponies didn’t usually put up with the conditions in which Goldstone kept his staff- for the physical sort, there were dockyards and construction sites and mining operations back in Equestria that offered much better pay. A pony taking a position as a guard, here, was in all likelihood just looking to abuse what little power she could get. On the other talon, of course, even ponies ran into a streak of bad luck sometimes. Gilda quickly patted the both of them down, grabbed their keys and the cockerel’s crossbow, and then let them be. Shit. Really wishing I had Dash with me right now… oh well. If she wants to chicken out, that’s on her. These guys ain’t that tough anyway. Next, Gilda extracted her tin of blackfeather powder and gave herself a light dusting. She wasn’t invisible in the shadows of the hallway, but she’d gotten as close as she was ever likely to get. Quietly, she unlocked the door to the chapel with the pegasus guard’s key. She sucked in a deep breath, focused, and then slammed it open and bolted inside. Two more guards, both cockerels, were sitting not far from the entrance, playing some sort of card game over their little folding table. Gilda dashed forward, leapt, and caught the cockerel facing away from her in a flying tackle. Both of them slid across the table, and Gilda managed to deal him a solid blow to the back of the head with her rolling pin before they collided with his friend. She kept up her momentum, slipped the rolling pin across the second guard's throat, and pinned him to the floor. He struggled and tried to throw her off, making horrible little gagging noises the whole time; but even though he was well-fed by Isles standards, he was simply no match for a hen who’d grown up on a steady diet of prime Equestrian beef. After about a minute, his frantic struggles ceased and he went limp, unconscious. Gilda sliced the strings on both of the guards’ crossbows with a talon, then dragged the two others from outside over to join them in their corner. Finally, she eased the door closed again, and locked it behind her. The interior of the chapel proved to be quite ornate indeed, as far as such things went: all fine wooden benches and ornate, abstract stained glass windows. However, the architecture paled in comparison to the statue of Nemesis, placed dead-center at the back. The goddess had many names, and many more titles, but her most common epithet was the Spirit of Retribution. The statue stood easily ten feet tall in a chariot drawn by her two traditional griffon heralds, all sculpted of what appeared to be solid gold. Vaguely griffonoid in anatomy, Nemesis herself possessed great dragonic wings, three different heads, and four different forelimbs, each holding a golden model of one of her four mythical instruments- bridle, measuring-stick, sword, and lash. Her left head vomited coins; her right spat gilded flames; and her center head possessed no fewer than six different exquisitely-detailed eyes. Her leonine tail wrapped around a set of scales, which cleverly doubled as an offering plate. The whole structure was profoundly disconcerting to look directly at for too long, but then Gilda supposed that had probably been the sculptor’s intention. Beneath that towering figure, the ornate gilded pedestal and box in the center of the chapel almost seemed like an afterthought. Gilda experimentally scratched one talon through one of the chalk circles drawn on the floor around it. Immediately, the amulet tucked into her dress began to hum and vibrate; she extracted it and slid it under one of the benches, less because she feared the noise might attract attention than because it was simply distracting, and she needed to focus now more than ever. From her other sleeve, she extracted a slim leather roll filled with lockpicking tools- a souvenir of a second trip down to the Markets after she’d walked out on her pony charges- and set right to work. The lock, in fact, proved almost comically easy to bypass- Gilda had more trouble scraping away several hundred years of packed dust in the internals than she did with any intentional security. It clicked open after about a minute of dedicated fiddling, and ever-so-carefully she eased back the lid. There was, indeed, nothing but a griffon skull inside, sitting on a little velvet pillow embroidered with the Goldstone family crest. Gilda didn’t consider herself any sort of expert on skulls -other than having cracked five in the last half hour, anyway- but the specimen in front of her looked decidedly unimpressive for all the trouble it had caused. It was a little bit singed near the beak, perhaps, but that was all. She pulled a small burlap sack from where it’d been stashed in the front of her dress, and gingerly reached into the box. She slipped the bag over the skull, lifted both back out- and for the very first time noticed a gossamer-thin cord, the same color as the box lining, running from the pillow through a tiny hole drilled in the back. She’d barely managed to duck behind the stone pedestal when the flashbang crystal hidden in the sculpted offering tray exploded, scattering ancient guilder coins like improvised grapeshot and reducing her world to a faint buzzing and indistinct blobs.