I felt the blow before it reached my side. Despite the thick jacket, a blow from a hoof of any kind is sure to cause some discomfort. Even as my ribs creaked in response, I was turning. Something bright caught my vision for a moment. Across the dusty yard there was a flicker from a lower window of the grimy factory. The shout came a moment later, rising above the din of the assembled ponies.
Fire!
Fire!
In that moment, a sudden shift came over those in the courtyard. The dredges broke away from us and attempted to reform. I’d not seen the one who’d kicked me but I dropped another with a swift blow to the snout when he tried to regroup with the others.
The situation, for the moment. Stood still, as we looked at each other across that dusty courtyard. There came, from that far corner, a shattering of glass and another red rose bloomed in the window.
Our captain, a stallion of some considerable experience in the matter of quenching rioters, made the sign we’d been waiting for. With it, our line shuffled and our fliers took to the air. On the ground, myself and my fellow unicorn stepped forward, covered by a quartet of Burly stockponies.
We revealed ourselves then. As the rabble realized the implications of this sudden shift in tactics. The older ones, and the smarter amongst the group had already begun making a hasty retreat towards the gate. As magic gathered in my horn, and a low buzz began in my ears, the leader, a mare, Sodium?... I think was her name. Stepped forward, and began to make some grand proclamation.
Now, I’ll never admit it. But I’d heard her speak in the square. Didn’t listen to the words, I was more fascinated by the mass of scar tissue on her face. Someone said she’d lost it in an industrial accident. Another, said it was due to a jealous stallion in her youth. Whatever the reason, it made her larger than life.
Our magic, made her no larger than a hoofspan.
It is good, to be employed by the state.
The leftenant, a mare whose face might as well have been bleached for all the color left in her fur, was no one’s fool. I knew this from the first time we encountered the locals, and she’d had me “Surgically”, a word she’d picked up in the academy, remove a wheel from their lead wagon.
They didn’t take too well too that, but it had set the tone for our time in the mountains.
Well, other than the cold. I hadn’t expected cold in the desert. Strange what one remembers when pressed.
The natives, well. We did press them a bit too. They had resources, precious metals, mostly. The same kind that we make bits from. Can never hurt to have too many bits. Not much to spend on out in the desert though.
Didn’t mean we didn’t try. Although, now that I think back on that. I do seem to remember getting an awful lot of gifts. The crown though, they knew how to keep us supplied in bits. Nothing like sitting under the sun, cold air whipping through your doubled up pantaloons, and being shown an ever growing number in the ledger.
I feel like it was there when I first began to really appreciate the kindness of a warm beverage. Something… smokey, and tart. We’d brew it over the fire from local plants, eat the resulting soup and drink the remaining broth.
Hard to explain what it’s like, sitting in a tiny shack. Waiting for an order to come in over the wireless. Just you, the leftenant, and a platoon of horseshoe shiners just waiting and watching the sand.
They of course, won’t talk to you, won’t even acknowledge your presence. Bad luck they say. To be seen as friendly with a unicorn. Like tying a four leaf clover to your tail before the harvest festival. Nothing good will come of it.
Funny thing… Horses, they really know a thing or two about fabrics. Why, I had… three? Four, maybe new coats by the time they shipped us half way across the world. Wasn’t really a need for a unicorn when there isn’t any resistance.
But in the end, the crown got its metals, and I, got my second posting.
The parades. The endless parades in that oppressive heat. Mind Numbingly stupid they were... and I didn't even have to participate in them. Well, other than stand in the shade, next to the governor. A nice enough stallion, shame about his wife.
Died of something or other, I never did pay attention much to her. Not when she wore naught but the sweat of a summers afternoon. Nor when she was wasting away under that blanket, his governership had sent for, all the way from the far end of the world.
Didn't matter much though, there was always someone around to take ones mind off the heat. 'Sides, it wasn't every day that the governor wanted to parade his troops through the street. Sometimes he just wanted the local opposition removed, and for that, it was a trifle.
He'd say things plain, didn't need to hide his words. Who'd even bother reporting him? And to whom? He was the local authority, and his cousin was the next rung up. Nasty shock for some of the would be resistance to his rule when a complaint would have me and the mates knocking on their door.
Well, knockings a polite way to put it.
But he didn't mind much, and when his new wife stepped off the boat, I figured she wouldn't mind me knocking on her door either.
Three years later, and I was stationed aboard a ship with a bound cargo. A group of griffons were my charge, I’d not asked what was to become of them when we landed in our final port of call. A tropical island, the kind of place where a pony could spend their waning years in comfort and security.
I’d shed my overcoat for the evening and had made my way to the buffet. It was there, as I gathered my greens and sweet dressing that I made a remarkable discovery. The buffet, as was the custom, had for that evening’s entertainment a most exquisite singer. I’d be remiss to not mention this great beauty and that evening, I had a most delectable dessert.
But you don’t want to know about that, do you. You want to know about what happened to that group of griffons.
That is, after all what we are here for isn’t it.
Oh, the stories I could tell. The bodies we’d piled up for the crown. The bits that we held in our hooves. And those just on the other side of a chest lid. I bet you all wouldn’t even know what to do with that many bits.
Spend it all, most likely. On food, for the poor? For the starving? For those poor wretches in the alleys. They’re little more than vermin. Not like you all. No, not at all. But would you like to know something interesting about those griffons? They didn’t make a noise. Not when we put them on the boat. Not when we took our little cruise across the sea. Not when they were shuffled down the road to that great house.
No… they didn’t make a sound, not even when their wings were clipped and their tongues removed from their beaks. Not when we pulled the nails from their paws.
In a sense. I almost envy them. For they had the greatest honor of all.
But here I am, rambling. And you all have more important things to do. Strikes to plan, informants to torture. I suppose… you all think the crown isn’t aware of what you’re all doing here. That it’s become stale, unknowing, that the levers of power have become stuck. Grinding away forever against the growing revolution.
Now, as much as I’d like to dispel that notion, some of you will still think you’re oh so clever. Hiding out in this factory basement. Because who’d ever come down here except workers. Shame really, that you’ve already removed my horn. I could show you a thing or two about how to really make someone talk.
Why, It was only last week when I was in the cities most esteemed establishm–