Everyone stood in silence for what felt like an eternity. The air felt charged with a tension of being on the cusp of some incredible discovery, yet that discovery was a complete unknown. The only sound piercing that silence was the Yellow Rose’s natural resonance and their own harsh breathing.
Cold Snap watched Mr. Horn and Captain Gideon. They both focused intently, and seemed completely lost in thought. Mr. Horn still couldn’t quite come to grips that his lost delivery rested before him. The captain remained introspective. He scratched neck idly and seemed willing to take as much time as necessary to puzzle out the riddle.
Finally, Snap couldn’t take it anymore. “So, um, is there anything else?”
That shook the other two from their reverie. The griffon let out a halting sigh. “Unfortunately not. Still, I have to assume that our mutual enemies saw these as well.”
Frowning, he picked up the skin. “No, I have to assume that they had as much time to study as we have. Perhaps they picked this one apart, or at least managed a photograph of these pieces.”
“What’s a photograph?” Snap asked.
Captain Gideon blinked. “Certain chemicals exposed to light will embed an image into a wet tin plate. If they are quickly prepared, then they are a permanent image that can be stored or referenced later. However, that is an involved process that is unlikely to be found aboard a ship.”
“But not if they do it magically,” Mr. Horn finally spoke up.
The captain’s eyes widened. He growled softly and stared across the table with the box, the gadget, and his various papers scattered across it as if they were party decorations. He laid the skin upon a clear spot and smoothed it carefully. “If they do have a magical image of these things, then they will be working on this just as we are as soon as they recover from my crew’s shock crystals.”
“They have it,” Snap surprised everyone, including himself, by injecting himself into the conversation.
The others briefly forgot about the artifacts. “How do you know this?” Captain Gideon asked.
Snap uncomfortably rubbed his foreleg. “It’s, well, that overboard.”
He took a breath and tried to channel confidence he did not feel. “Think about it. They threw it overboard. Maybe they wanted it back, but they had to have some backup. What if they couldn’t get it back for weeks? It doesn’t seem like they’re the kind to practice patience.”
“He makes a point. They probably wanted to keep it from us,” Mr. Horn said.
“Mr. Horn,” the captain’s voice turned cold. “I should ask just how much you know about this group. I still find the timing excessively convenient, and you seemed to be in a great hurry to retrieve it earlier, and you were paid for discretion. No one pays for discretion unless they have something another wants. So, who are we facing, and why should I assume that you are not playing us for fools?”
Caught off guard by the captain’s accusation, the hippogriff spread his wings wide defensively. “And how was I supposed to know they were following me? If they were with my client, then why would I stay away from them? And if they were with my client, why would they storm the ship and take it?”
“Because your client could be playing both groups, and they would storm my ship because they thought you failed. They were only needed when their courier failed to deliver. It is excessively elaborate, but still possible. Tell me, exactly who is your ‘client’?” Captain Gideon tapped his desk impatiently.
That cooled Mr. Horn’s fire. “When you put it that way…” he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I truly don’t know my client. All arrangements were made either by a messenger or by written letters, none of which I have now.”
The captain gave a look that had Mr. Horn rolling his eyes. “No. I’m afraid I don’t remember them in detail, and even if I did remember every word of my writings with them, they would all be extremely uninformative, basic meeting locations, lodgings, and other necessary expenses. No master artifact plans.”
“Um, the box?” Snap asked to redirect the conversation to useful matters before they two were at each other’s throats.
That stalled the two quarreling birds, for now. Mr. Horn looked at the painfully small collection of things they’d risked so much for. They did not seem like the sort of things that would harbor any great secret. He sighed. “I’ll admit I took a few peeks at them before I boarded the Golden Hound. None of the symbols on the skin made a whit of sense, and I couldn’t find anything that might explain the device.”
“Perhaps because you don’t know where the item came from?” Captain Gideon asked.
“And you do?” Mr. Horn contested hotly.
The gray griffon shook his head. “I know as little about the origins of this tableau of antiquities as you do. If it is of any significant age, as I have reason to believe it is, then it could be from one of hundreds of cultures or tribes scattered across the lands. Let’s start with the basics, shall we?”
Without waiting for any protest, he picked up the skin. He sniffed it slowly and rolled it between his claws. “The scent of smoke gives it away. This is a brain-tanned hide. Such a method is crude, but adequate in wilderness situations or when modern tanning solutions are unavailable. It also indicates that a predator species tanned and wrote on it. Ponies would not have used leather. Wouldn’t you agree, Cold Snap?”
Snap gave a pained nod. The captain was spot on with that guess. “Unless the maker was some lunatic. Even we hippogriffs haven’t used such barbaric practices,” Mr. Horn butted in.
The captain gestured to his bookcase. “For how long? I can point to several accounts where hippogriffs, and griffons too I must admit, have performed atrocities that make cowhide insignificant. I am getting off-track though. Notice the writing. The symbols are arranged into columns and rows. This is perhaps the one immediately useful clue we get.”
“Can you read it?” Snap asked in growing excitement.
Captain Gideon fixed him with a displeased stare; then he softened. “It is familiar. The symbols themselves are rather limited. We have an alphabetical language as opposed to a character language. If I had to guess, this is a dialect of Griffish. Conflicts within the major clans forced them apart, and the languages splintered. Since then, they have rejoined, but the dialects are similar enough that you can read them with some difficulty and reference material.”
He picked up a quill and consulted a ragged book before scratching out what he thought it said. Occasionally, he would pause and twirl the quill in thought. Other times, he wrote so furiously that he almost forgot to dip his quill. Still other times, he scratched out a letter, a word, or even an entire line as he realized his mistakes. Finally, he blew on the page and studied it. Both Snap and Mr. Horn crowded behind him to read.
The captain had recreated the map
Thirteen days of flying on Boreas’ winds brought me from my home to the land where the seas were born. Legends promised knowledge and life to whoever found it, but when I arrived, I had been deceived. There was only fire and destruction. I had not been the first one there. A tall creature unrecognizable in death had been here before me. A box and a bauble lay clutched in its grasp. I took them as my pitiful trophies. There was no power here. Only death.
-Grimlock
Everyone held their silence as they read and reread the peculiar note until Mr. Horn chuckled. “Well, it seems I may be of help here after all.”
The captain turned in his chair to face them. His forelegs were crossed and his eyebrows were raised. “Oh? And just how might that be?”
“The name, Grimlock. He was a griffon. Power hungry by all accounts. Led a bloody revolt against King Gunther the Second nearly fifteen hundred years ago. It failed, he survived. Then he disappeared for a number of years before returning and trying it again against the king’s son. This time, they clipped his wings and threw him off a cliff.”
Captain Gideon put a claw to his beak and slowly tapped as he processed the note. “As he lived, so he died. It still does not explain what he wanted or what he found.”
Snap tried his luck again. “But what about the other parts? Boreas’s wind and seas born?”
This time, the captain had an answer. “It’s a common sailor’s tale. Boreas is the griffon god of winter and the northern gale. It brings storms and cold with them and is dreaded by the sailor. The other? Well, that’s an older tale yet. Supposedly, there were once no seas. Only lakes that the first navigators plied around. They were mocked and called useless since you could walk everywhere. Then, one day, a fountain erupted in the plain and waters rose and rose and rose, until the lands were split and the seas were born.”
Mr. Horn studied the map. “Thirteen days as the griffon flies. There are only so many places a north wind could take a griffon within a fortnight. Between that and the map, we should be able to find it.”
The captain stood and began pacing. He stopped at a chest and pulled out a map. He silently studied it before stowing it and pulling out another. Once he tired of that, he faced his two guests. “I can, but it will take time. But remember that if I can, our unknown enemies can as well. I am not the only one who can parse through ancient Griffish.”
After that, he pulled out another piece of paper and started scribbling down his orders. Snap grew bored and instead focused on the unexplained box and...whatever that thingy was.
Neither of the two held any clues about their origin aside from Grimlock’s note. The gem-encrusted thing was practically nothing more than peculiar jewelry. It held no markings, and it looked like it would be at home in an aristocrat’s collection.
The box wasn’t much different. Aside from its foreign wood and artistic flair, it also looked like a chest he might find in most well-to-do houses. He imagined there was a story behind the pastoral scenery and the fruiting trees, but it was just a box an ancient griffon rebel had robbed from a corpse.
He began turning it over and over, admiring the quality of the construction. There were no iron nails, instead a mixture of bronze tacks and jointed wood panels. A bronze hinge held the lid on, and a bent piece of metal embedded in the lid functioned as a crude catch spring.
It was a rather curious thing. He wondered about the culture that created it and the extent they would go to in order to decorate a simple thing like it. Why, they even engraved the inside. Wait, the inside?
Snap tilted the box to catch more of the light generated by those fascinating light gems the Rose used. There were carvings on the inside. Somepony, or someone, had scratched symbols into the lid. These were not Grimlock’s work. These carvings looked far older, and the language looked absolutely foreign. The characters were so tight they were practically overlapping. The captain and Mr. Horn were in another discussion, thankfully a more civil one based on their voices.
“Captain? Can you read this?”
The two stopped, and the young captain was beside him. His eyes roved over the scratching. They squinted. They focused. Finally, they relaxed. He shook his head. “No. I don’t even recognize it. Perhaps it is a unique language, maybe a dead language outside of academia or religion. Notice the number of symbols. They are not consistent from row to row, but they are similar. So, I would assume this is poetical or at least in rhyme. That said, it is an unlikely possibility. We will keep trying to solve it. In the meantime, we have to plot a course.”
Mr. Horn casually inspected the alien writing. The hippogriff gave up almost immediately. “A course? Where to?”
“Why, a course to the sea’s cradle, of course.”
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Cold Snap felt exhausted. It was funny because he hadn’t felt nearly so tired when he first entered Captain Gideon’s cabin a short hour ago. Nearly drowning and then intensely studying a historical, if not magical, artifact had absolutely sapped everything from him.
He trudged down the stairs that led to the central corridor that led to the rest of the ship. Once he stood in the intersection, he looked around in dazed confusion. Where was everything in this ship? So far, the only thing’s he’d seen were the captain’s cabin, the wheelhouse, this stair, and a storage closet.
His stomach gurgled as he realized he hadn’t eaten for hours and had not a clue where the food was on this ship. What sounded fantastic to him right now was a meal, a bed, and a bath to wash the icky salt itch out of his coat. Which order he wanted them in was still up for debate.
Some time must have passed as he stood in the stairwell debating his next life choices. The world beyond may as well have not existed. Finally, a hoof knocked him back into the real world, and he fell to his rump with a grunt.
Nebula stood in front of him, looking perplexed and his hoof still raised. He looked back and forth between his hoof and his friend. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”
“Sorry,” Snap mumbled as he rubbed a sore shoulder.
“What are you sorry about? And you don’t look so great. Maybe you ought to take a nap or something. What happened in there anyway? What was in the box? Treasure? Treasure map? Cursed, uh, cursed….whatever things you curse?”
Not a word. That was the captain’s command. Cold Snap bit his lip. Nebula had been his closest friend since forever. They never kept secrets, not if they could help it. It didn’t feel right keeping it from him.
“Sorry. Captain ordered me not to tell anyone.”
Nebula’s face fell. “Aww. Come on.”
Snap wasn’t having it, but he also knew Nebula would push. “Later. Someone wants that box bad. Just assume that it’s old and confusing.”
His friend immediately brightened just a little. Snap hoped that was enough for Nebula and not too much for the griffon captain. Secrets were not his strong suit.
Too many minutes later, Nebula stopped him in front of a tiny cot. Snap stared at it stupidly in his exhaustion and tried to make sense of it. Nebula pointed at the bed-like object. “The Midshipmare said we were to bunk with the crew. Better than a smelly closet, right?”
If he asked it in humor, Snap couldn’t tell. His eyes lay on the bed, how it hinged off of central poles and was suspended by chains leading to the next cot and the next and finally the ceiling. It was a most efficient system. Undoubtedly, it was not comfortable.
“She also said that we will get jobs just like the rest of the crew and will report to her, the mate, or the captain. She said we will also get paid depending on our performance, and”-
Snap had already tuned him out. All his thoughts focused on the bed and how to get in it. He gripped the frame and heaved himself. He rolled into the cot and felt how surprisingly comfortable the mattress was. His eyes already sagged and his friend’s jabbering slowly turned into a monotonous drone.
Work. Part of this ship. Part of her crew. Yes. He would worry about those pesky chores later.
Once he got some sleep.
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As it turned out, there were quite a few jobs aboard a vessel like the Yellow Rose. There was food to cook, maintenance, and never-ending cleaning against the salt spray. Some member of the crew could almost always be found scrubbing the deck or touching up the monotonous gray paint.
Cold Snap and Nebula, being the newest members of the crew, were not spared from these assignments. In fact, given their complete unfamiliarity with the workings of a ship like the Rose, they were given the most menial tasks.
The first day, they scrubbed the deck and painted over the scuffs she had picked up in battle. The second, they worked in the galley preparing breakfast. It had been going well until Nebula had tried to improve the kitchen efficiency with a slight bit of magical automation. That backfired horribly and gotten them banished to the bowels of the ship.
Black dust covered Snap’s coat. His sweat mixed with the dust and left it a runny mess that dripped down his nose. He jammed the shovel deep into a crumbly black pile. With a grunt, he lifted the scoop and tossed the load onto a chute that carried the black rocks down to a blazing furnace.
He winced from the brief heat and bent down for another load of coal. Everything felt sore. Every part of him dripped and itched, and he still had several hours to go before he was relieved from this backbreaking labor.
The one solace was that coal was light. It really seemed incredible how this rock could power a ship like this. Of course he knew what coal was and its value in metal smelting, but using it in this capacity, to drive massive pistons that spun shafts to propel the ship? Absolutely incredible.
Nopony had bothered to explain how the engines worked. The chief firepony had spent so much time next to them that they were simply another device he had to keep running. However, Snap had been watching everything for hours and had just about got it figured.
The coal would feed the furnace which would boil water. Hearing the hiss in the pipes and the bleed air from the system proved beyond a doubt that the Rose harnessed steam. As long as it was contained, it would build pressure until it powered a series of reciprocating pistons. An offset rotating wheel translated the pistons’ linear motion into rotational motion that turned what the firepony had called “screws” outside. With a reversing mechanism, the ship could travel either forwards or in reverse without needing the wind.
It was an absolutely fascinating system, and he was trying to memorize every detail of it. Just the steam power system could be put to so many different tasks around the plantation.
If only he made it home to build it. Snap grew a little melancholy at the thought. At first, everything happened to him like an absolute whirlwind. It was a struggle just to find a calm moment after their capture. Now, he had too much time to think in between shovels.
As fun as this little adventure had been, Cold Snap couldn’t help but think about when he got home. Sure, his family wouldn’t miss him for now, but once the day of his expected return passed, they would only get more worried. If their guard had survived and made it back home, then they would expect the worst.
With a character like Captain Gideon, who know how long before they returned? He might grow bored of them and this little mystery before two weeks passed. He might decide that impressing them into his crew permanently was in his best interests.
Should that happen, then the only course left to Nebula and Snap was to jump ship at the closest port and hope for the best. They could steal theYellow Rose’s rowboat and a few supplies and make for the closest shore. Navigation poked holes in that plan. He simply didn’t know where the closest ports were or even how close they might come.
Captain Gideon kept the maps either in his cabin or in the bridge for the helmspony. As of yet, Snap had not been able to get a look. Even if they did find a possible opening, they still didn’t have money to get them back home. That seemed like a smaller problem in light of simply escaping the ship.
For now, it seemed the more prudent choice to remain in Captain Gideon’s servitude until a time where escape actually seemed possible.
Granted, that seemed difficult when he doubted that a ship like the Yellow Rose ever visited any ports. No self-respecting demon ship would ever make berth in a port. However, it had to get food, water, and coal somehow.
Snap had already asked about his seized spices. He’d seen them in the ship’s hold. The captain’s only response was: “You care about that now?”
Snap had since written the bale off as lost.
A hollow tooot sounded above Snap’s head. A cylindrical whistle affixed to the boiler’s body dripped condensate, and a metal needle in a glass circle hovered nearly two-thirds of the way to its maximum.
He let the shovel thud into the coal bank. The engines were at pressure, and he could afford to breathe for a few minutes. He sat in the coal. It wasn’t like he could get any dirtier.
Some minutes must have passed that way. Something crunched in front of him. Snap blinked and saw Nebula, just as sweaty and grimy as he was, staring off into the distance.
“Hey,” he managed.
That brought Nebula back into reality. “Hey yourself. I’m regretting everything I ever did in that kitchen.”
Snap laughed and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Good.”
His friend’s magic glowed and rooted around in a small satchel he kept around his neck. “I found these when we were painting. I don’t know what they are. They were in the crevices where the crew were fighting the other day.”
He withdrew several identical copper cylinders and passed them over to Snap. It was rather small, barely longer than an acorn, and hollow. The cylinder was fairly consistent in size except for a slight raised ring sat at the very end of the cylinder.
Snap looked over the round ends of the peculiar device. It was flat and smooth on one side and held a smaller circular disk in the center. This one was of a lighter colored copper and had a tiny dimple in its center.
The other end was open and dark. It held black residue and smelled of bitter sulfur. He gave it a cautious taste and immediately started spitting. Somewhere in there, he dropped the cylinder. Nebula started laughing.
“Ha” -spit- “ha. So what are they?”
Nebula lifted the copper pieces and tucked them back into his pouch. “No idea. Smells like gun-smoke, but I don’t know why. Something that happened during the fighting. Maybe something they held the powder in before they reloaded?”
Snap shrugged. It made as much sense as the rest of this ship. He checked the gauge. Pressures were down. He groaned, took the shovel back in his grip, and resumed shoveling.
Two hours later, the two friends stumbled out of the engine room. Outside, the weather had soured. A low drizzle sprinkled the ship, and the waves had turned choppy. They took a quick detour outside to let the rain wash off the coal dust. The rain gradually thickened, and they retreated back inside once they felt clean enough.
They were almost back to their bunks when the ship shuddered beneath them. Everything went still for a second. Then, the crew started shouting and rushing.
Cold Snap and Nebula froze in indecision. The captain’s voice crackled in the air around them.
“Crew, battlestations. All crew to battlestations! We are under attack!”