//------------------------------// // Chapter 16 // Story: Odysseed // by AuroraDawn //------------------------------// “AHA!” The shout startled Applejack, bringing her out of her train of thought about figuring out what she could do to escape. Her first idea was jumping ship at the first sign of land, but the knowledge that there were all sorts of dangerous sea monsters hiding anywhere in the South Luna Sea quickly ended that idea. The next thing she had considered was sabotaging their supplies, forcing them to make port. It had potential, she figured, but there was no way they would dock at an Equestrian port, and she had no clue what sort of towns the ones they would stop at would be like. Better the Discord that you know, she concluded, deciding not to risk a far less accommodating town. Then she started running back through all the old stories she remembered, thinking what the heroes and heroines had done to escape. There was Dirty Jone’s Stable, Buckbeard and the Queen Chryssy’s Revenge, even Captain Hoof that she could remember. It was when she was planning how to get a clock and a crocodile that Keelhaul had yelled, and she practically jumped up in surprise. “Huh? What? Whazzat?” she cried, looking around her. Before landing eyes on the changeling, she glanced out the windows and grimaced. Black, billowing clouds were racing towards them—or they towards it—and the rolling of the ship was starting to increase. The recognition of the tossing waves brought immediate discomfort to her stomach, and she shrank down where she sat. “I’ve figured it out, I have!” Keelhaul cackled, wobbling over excitedly to Applejack before pulling her—despite her resistance—up to the map table. “Look here, see? No, beside the hoof. The other— here, just...” he rambled over himself, dropping the leg sideways on the bottom of the map. “Through that hole. Oh, grow up, it’s chitin all around. See that?” She looked through his leg, cautiously, as though it might bite, and saw a straight line of what appeared to be coastline of the Frozen Wasteland. “I-Ice?” she guessed, confused. “Yes! But see the difference in colour between the north and the south side?” He lit up his horn and shined a light onto the map as the clouds started to overtake them. A distant but much closer grumble of thunder reached the ship, and Applejack started to sweat. “Uh… yes.” “The outside part is ice sheets, large chunks of ice that float on the water. The inside part is actual land, though still covered in the stuff. See how it curves there, up and around and then levels out again?” “Sure, but how can that be where Source Island is, if it’s all a sheet of ice?” “Marrow might be out of line to call ye daft, but don’t go giving him proof, lass.” “Hey!” “It’s summer. The sheet ice is partially melted, broken up; dangerous, dangerous sailing in those parts. Like navigating a reef in the shallows. Ye’d typically never do it without somecreature who knows the location.” “Okay, so it’s accessible, but stupid to go in blindly. That don’t sound so hopeful to me,” Applejack said, scratching her chin.  “But think back, lass! The third stanza. Directly as Cuckoo’d fly, follow Coltlantis’s eye.” “Cuckoo?” He waved a hoof rapidly, shooing the question away. “Later. If I take this here, and draw a straight line directly from Coltlantis, south’a Temple Island, and to the center of this here inlet, it gives us only one way to approach.” Applejack looked up at Keelhaul, his excitement catching on. “So you can sail directly there without needing to follow all the directions!” “Indeed, lass! HALF PINT!” he shouted suddenly, sending Applejack flinching back. Keelhaul stomped his pegleg a few more times, and in seconds that tiny shetland pony from before was inside, his shaggy coat drenched in water. Keelhaul blinked when he saw him, and then turned around and glanced out the windows for what was apparently the first time that day. He turned back to the pirate, whose jaw was set in a frown.  “There be a storm,” Keelhaul said, pointing his pegleg at a window. Half Pint presumably stared cold at him through the mess of mane over his eyes. “Did the rest of ye notice it?” “...Aye, Captain,” came the voice. It reminded Applejack of Babs Seed, if Babs Seed had been a smoker for twenty years. Keelhaul chuckled awkwardly. “Have ye done anything about it?” “...” “Loose Cannon’s already got the sails reefed and the storm jib up, don’t he?” Half Pint hissed through ground teeth. “Is that all you wanted, Captain?” “Ah, no. Here. We have our heading.” He tapped the map at the spot recently circled, and Half Pint slopped over to the table, threw two hooves onto it, and hauled himself up to look. “Now, Captain?” “Feasibility?’ “We’ll have to run before the storm, but we can do it.” “Right then. Off with ye, pass the order to Loose Cannon.” “Aye aye, Captain,” Half Pint snarked, possibly rolling his eyes. Applejack couldn’t tell, but by this point in the conversation she was laying flat on the floor, eyes closed, clenching her teeth as her stomach gurgled, and wasn’t looking anyways.  “Hmm?” Keelhaul looked down at her. The ship tilted wildly to port and then back over to starboard, heaving up and down as it did so, and he nodded. “Ah, I see. Up with ye, lass, let’s get ye to yer quarters. They ain’t luxurious but they’re on the bottom deck. The motion won’t be as dramatic down there.” Too sick to object, Applejack let Keelhaul heave her to her shaky legs, and followed obediently as he urged her back outside.  Stepping out into the rain, she was met by chaos. Gone were the endless blue horizons, replaced instead by blackened clouds that roiled faster than her stomach and torrential seas obscured by grey sheets of rain. The downpour immediately soaked her through, though the water was surprisingly warm, closer to room temperature than anything else. Wind buffeted her, and she pushed her hat down hard, jamming it securely on her head.  She risked a quick glance up above and saw two unicorns, their magic wrapped around huge ropes right next to them, struggling under the strain of hauling the line back. With each coordinated step, the main sail in front of her lifted up slightly. Blocks rattled in the wind as the line ran through them, clanging noisily against the mast and railing. She ducked her head back down and followed Keelhaul’s tailfin down the stairway to the gundeck of the Infiltrator.  The interior of the ship was strangely familiar, arranged almost identically with the Croupiere’s. On each side of the ship, four large cannons sat stowed on their tracks, with ropes and blocks lashing them into place against the rocking of the hull. Dim lanterns offered little against the dark of the deck, struggling even harder now with the miserable skies and seas. At the aft, Applejack could see the same arrangement of small cabins, but Keelhaul swung around the stairwell and kept descending, and she continued to follow him.  Two decks down Keelhaul finally stopped, pausing while Applejack emptied her stomach over the stair rail, and spread his pegleg wide across the deck.  “Welcome to the brig, Applejack. There’s a bucket in the corner for all yer leavin’s, and a pile of hay in the other. Should be a tad more comfortable than a hammock, though don’t expect much.” He stepped forward, unlocking the iron door separating the aft section from the rest of the deck, and then stepped aside.  Bleary eyed, Applejack looked at him, bemused.  “Oh, come off it!” he griped, stomping a hoof. “Yes I’ll be lockin ye in, but yer welcome out whenever ye ask. Ye and I both know that I can’t trust ye yet, and I ain’t gonna put me crew in danger by lettin’ ye run free and sabotage the ship. Plus,” he said, glaring at her, “yer sicker than a shark in freshwater, and I’m offering ye a bed.” Applejack sighed, nodded, and then walked forward, letting Keelhaul latch the cell door shut behind her without further argument.