Agitants and mourners surged through the streets of Derecho in a violent parody of the last months’ parades.
Once the complex had been declared structurally safe, Romulus made his way to the ruins of the terrarium. Laborers and staff combed through the burned wreckage to salvage what precious little had survived the fire. The floor had been patched to prevent curious commoners from flying beneath the city to get a peek at the damage. Derechans loved destruction as much as they loved the grand idea of Derecho itself. A noble estate letting a fire, of all things, burn out of control and smother so many lives was a perfectly Derechan story. The ponies outside the gates wanted their fill of it.
An aide burst in. “General, sir—senator Giesu is here.”
He’d arrived quicker than Romulus expected. “Let him in.”
“He’s already in, sir. We told him you were in the conference rooms.”
Romulus nodded. “Good work.”
The conference rooms were on the other side of the estate. Romulus guessed he had about fifteen minutes to think of what he was going to tell the senator. He gave the charred remains of a centuries-old ornamental rug a little kick with his hoof before turning to the labor foreman across the room. “I’d like a copy of the salvage list.”
The foreman nodded, his face stern. Romulus realized most of the other ponies in the room wore the same mask. The intensity of their gaze was like those of subordinate commanders after a route.
Romulus retired to his office and nursed a strong mug of coffee until GIesu finally found him. He saw the senator’s hulking shadow through the frosted glass of his office door and felt the beating of his hooves against the cloudstone.
The general’s mind went back to his first campaign, when armies of hooded zebras marched on his outnumbered legions in the open plains of Numba ya Joka. Their war songs were cheery and light. He wished he had that sort of blithe courage.
The door burst open. A stale, sweaty smell filled the air.
“Do you find—” Giesu paused, gasping for breath. “Do you find this amusing?”
Romulus set down the cup of coffee and gestured towards a chair opposite him. “I don’t find death amusing in the slightest.”
Giesu made no move to sit. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your little dirt munching pets who burned down your estate.”
“We haven’t determined the cause of the fire yet.”
“What else could it be?” Giesu bellowed. “You’ve been babying them for a whole month now, and look what you’ve got to show for it. First they fail to produce anything of value. Now they drop this steaming nightmare into our laps.” Giesu finally surrendered to the whims of his aching hooves and sat down in the chair. “You’re just keeping them around because you feel guilty.”
“You know as well as I do how powerful those mushrooms are. We can use them.”
“Forget the mushrooms. Honestly, what is your obsession with them? I’ve had them a hundred times.”
“You haven’t had the real deal.”
“So I’ve heard. Listen, general, please think about this logically. A minor magic buff in battle just isn’t worth all this bad press. And the damages! We have to seriously consider whether this fire is going to tank public opinion of us.” He balled up a hooffull of his fancy imported robe and used it to mop the sweat from his brow. “It’s time to cut them loose.”
When Giesu looked up, Romulus was holding a machete.
“General.” A note of nervousness wormed its way into Giesu’s voice. “What are you doing with that.”
Romulus held up his other hoof, which cradled a bottle of expensive champagne. “My friend,” he announced, “we’re celebrating.”
Giesu deadpanned. “We’re celebrating?”
“Yes. Don’t you see? We just won.”
In one fluid motion, the machete swiped the cork of the bottle clean off. A merry pop filled the air. A dribble of foam cascaded down the bottle’s neck and onto the general’s desk.
“Is this more soldier humor?” Giesu asked.
“Who said I was joking?”
“Very well then. Enlighten me.”
“There will be no more campaigns. No more incursions. No more carrying dead ponies on shields. No more. Those hundred deaths down there on the ground bought the lives of thousands of Derechans.” Romulus downed his glass in one gulp, then pulled out a large notepad and a pencil. “Allow me to elaborate.”
Giesu’s stomach rumbled. Was he hungry or nauseous? He could never tell the difference. He clutched his glass of champagne, staring into the bubbles like they held some coded message for him and him alone, as Romulus began to unveil his plan.
Flannel had survived being run out of his homeland on the pitchfork tip of an angry mob. He’d been worked over, hosed down with insults, and shoved facefirst into the dirt again and again. He’d kept himself afloat when so many of his friends sank into the deep waters and never resurfaced.
None of those experiences compared to the terror of this moment.
When the terrarium collapsed, they retreated to Flannel’s bedroom. Every sound echoing off the long, lonely corridor made him flinch. All Romulus had to do was walk up here and say the word, and they’d be finished. There was no distance nor locked door that could stand between the general and something he wanted.
Flannel turned around. Hypha was still curled up in the corner. He hadn’t spoken since the terrarium fell out of the sky.
How long had he planned the arson? More importantly, how had he not seen this coming? Fire wasn’t rare in Derecho because wood was expensive. Cloudstone was a clever marketing ploy. Even its name was a lie. As sturdy as it felt underhoof, it was still lighter than air.
Flannel wondered, for the fifth or sixth time today, if he should act on the urge to kill him.
“We’ll need new rocks,” Flannel said coldly. Mass murder or no, he was here to do a job, and he was going to do it. He needed his superiors to know whose side he was on. “Sand, soil, tubing... what else?”
Hypha didn’t reply.
Flannel squatted down so he was right next to Hypha’s ear. “What else, Hypha?”
Hypha’s whole body trembled. “I don’t—I—why would she do that?”
“Maybe you did it.” Flannel stood up. “You used crushed up shale in the soil, right? What kind of shale was it?”
Hypha swallowed a lump in his throat. “Haynesville shale.”
Flannel made a mental note to figure out what Haynesville shale was and where to get it. Sourcing things from the surface was going to be significantly more difficult this time around.
“I’m gonna take my mushrooms to the general,” Flannel said.
That got Hypha’s attention. He leapt to his hooves, using the wall as a crutch. His prosthetic clicked and whirred frantically. “If you do that, all of this will have been for nothing.”
“You’re not thinking with your noggin. We’re the most convenient scapegoats. We’re always the scapegoats. We gotta give him something, or he’s gonna hose us.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“You don’t get how these things go. The ponies on top find a pony on bottom to blame, then that pony gets hogtied and thrown off the side of the city. You killed ponies. Now they want blood.”
“No. It’s not... Not after...” Hypha trailed off. His eyes flickered between Flannel and the basket. “She didn’t do all this just so we could throw it away.”
The urge to get right up in Hypha’s face and scream passed through Flannel’s mind. He’d have plenty to scream about. But instead, he took one big step back, sucked in a slow, deep breath, and walked over to his desk. The process of making lists and preparing for a new job wasn’t particularly difficult, but it required his complete attention. He could lose himself in it, let the monotony dull the edge of his anger.
He felt Hypha behind him, a tumbleweed of uncertainty and fear. Good. A little fear might just set him on the right track. To think he was letting this scared kid lead him... well, safe to say there’d be no more of that. It was straight and narrow from here on out. No more meditating. No more funny mushrooms. No more any of it.
“We have to figure out why this happened,” Hypha said.
Flannell’s face twisted. His calm evaporated like so much cloudstone in a fire. “I’ll tell you why. All those ponies are dead because you forgot cloudstone is made of clouds, and it can evaporate if it’s hot enough. And you thought Romulus cared about you beyond what you could provide for him, which is wrong. And you thought I was gonna go along with your weird little mushroom cult because of a few little flying tricks and a cute little vision quest. But guess what! If I dug through the trash and ate last week’s bean slaw salad, I’d probably see some pretty wild things too. Maybe I’d even see mother sky. Maybe she could tell me why it was actually a good idea to light a cloud city on fire!”
With that, he took out a quill and threw himself into making a list of what they’d lost. He made it two lines before the quill snapped. Flannel snarled and pulled out another one.
“Mom’s gonna kill me,” he muttered.
Mayweather had been general Romulus’s attendant for nearly a decade now. She never accompanied him on campaigns, so the soldierly side of the general remained a mystery to her. But she knew the politician side of Romulus better than anypony else in the entire kingdom.
Right now, she deduced that Romulus was piss-drunk.
“Speech!” Romulus shot down the hall like a volley of arrows. He bellowed down the hall in a voice that sent lesser ponies scurrying. “I need to make a decree! I need...” He peered at the bottle of champagne he clutched in his hoof. “Mayweather!”
Mayweather, who had been trailing behind him the whole time, said, “Yes, sir?”
“I need—”
“To make a decree. Yes, general. Should I inform the press corps?”
“Yes. Let’s do it outside by the gates. I want the public to hear.”
“Right now?” She glanced at his rumpled robes, the patchwork of mysterious stains accenting his outfit. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir?”
“Trust me Mayweather.” He hiccuped. “It has to be now.”
Just then, Giesu emerged from around the hall, swaying heavily from one side to another. “You still didn’t—” He paused to huff and puff. “General—you didn’t tell me what—what is the plan? The plan, Romulus!”
He raised one hoof into the air, like an ancient statue of a god racing into battle. Then he threw up. The sound made Romulus throw up, too.
Mayweather rolled her eyes and went to get the cleaning staff.
One power nap, two strong cups of coffee, and three more dry heaves later, Romulus emerged from the gates of his estate looking just as regal and austere as ever. A crowd of journalists and locals had assembled on the street, held back by a ring of pegasus guards in red and black armor.
No nobles decided to attend, though Romulus noted a few aides and advisors clustered near the periphery. Good, he thought. The rats will hear.
“Ponies of Derecho,” Romulus bellowed. “Last night, we suffered a horrible tragedy. A hundred and four ponies, forty six griffons, five diamond dogs, and one yak lost their lives. The terrarium in my estate caught fire. It burned so hot that it melted through the cloudstone foundation, and the debris fell down to earth.”
The crowd let out a murmur. A few looked angry. Some seemed skeptical. Most of them looked hungry.
“After reviewing the evidence, we concluded this was no unfortunate accident. This was nothing short of an attempt on my life!”
Now he had their attention. The hunger ramped up to ravenous impatience. The crowd started to push forward. The guards dug in their hooves.
“And not just my life, either. Senator Giesu of Derecho was set to arrive at my estate the morning the attack took place. We still don’t have all the information. But it seems as though the assassins were hoping to catch the two of us while we had breakfast.”
He slammed his hooves down on his podium. “But those amateurs failed!”
The crowd went wild.
Before the din had fully died down, Romulus went on, “There exists within the Derechan republic a faction of powerful ponies. These ponies have watched me from the shadows, observing my numerous successes in the defense and expansion of the republic. They hate it. They hate me. But most of all, they hate you.” He paused to sweep a hoof over the crowd. They hate you because I am you. They fear a commoner rising through the ranks to achieve greatness. An earth pony, no less. I was born in misery and poverty. I joined the army to elevate my station. And through the merit of my own accomplishments, I did just that. I rose to the rank of general. I led conquests. I brought glory and riches to Derecho!”
Then he jabbed his hoof in the direction of the political forum. “But they don’t care about that. Our prosperity means nothing to them. In fact, they hate our prosperity too!”
The crowd roared in agreement.
“They don’t want Derecho to be rich or powerful. A prosperous and powerful citizenry is a citizenry that thinks for itself. Only the starving and the weak follow blindly. These ponies in power—they want you to be starving and weak so they can control you.”
Then, as the crowd pressed into the line of guards, as the senatorial aides and advisors began to melt away into the shadows, Romulus cried out, “One can only imagine what Derecho could be without them!”
The crowd, jubilant and frothing mad, broke through the line of guards. Romulus greeted them with open arms.
It took all afternoon for the crowd to dissipate. Romulus staggered back into the castle, supported physically by Mayweather. His ceremonial armor was nicked and scratched. Several ponies had torn pieces out of his cape as souvenirs. His guard captain was furious at him for putting himself in such an exposed position.
But he’d won. That speech was a battle, and he’d won.
He found Giesu in the dining room horking down some kind of pasta dish. A servant brought out a plate of steamed fish brushed with oil and spices. Giesu caught a whiff, and his eating slowed.
“That was a good speech,” Giesu said. “If the other senators weren’t plotting to kill us, they will be now.”
Romulus nodded, then went back to his fish.
“I’d like to stay here for the next few days. Given the circumstances, a trip back to my estate could be dangerous.”
“I’ll have a room prepared for you.”
“Good.” Giesu slurped up a long strand of pasta. “I’d also like to make some changes to—”
Romulus tossed his silverware onto his plate with a loud rattle of silver and china. “Stop.”
“You don’t even know—”
“I know exactly what you’re going to propose. The answer is still no.”
“You don’t see the full picture.”
“No, you don’t see the full picture. The mushrooms you took at Canary’s Cage are a shadow on the wall compared to the real ones.”
“The mushrooms will give our army vision that aren’t really there. Don’t you think that would affect their ability to operate in the field?”
“We’d give them a small dose only. Not enough to induce hallucinations, but enough to buff their latent magic.”
“I understand it’s difficult for you to remain objective, but please try to understand it from my perspective.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“This is... what did you call it? An earth pony thing.” Giesu waved a hoof in the air. “These mushrooms have clearly affected you quite profoundly, no doubt because of your genetic predisposition to them, and now you’re unable to view their strategic value objectively.”
“I am objective. You just don’t have all the facts.”
“You’re seeing facts that aren’t there, general.”
They stared at each other across the long table. After a protracted silence, they went back to dinner, marinating in silence and a collective hangover. When Romulus finally spoke again, it was to ask for two mugs of tea.
When they arrived, he lifted his mug and said, “To no more campaigns.”
Giesu raised his in kind. “To no more campaigns.”
After dinner, Giesu and Romulus retired to their respective bedrooms. Before he bedded down for the night, Romulus penned a note to Mayweather. It read:
find hypha and flannel. place them under guard. no one is allowed to see them except me. NO ONE. that means you know who. burn this after reading