As the first pony clambered out of the confines of my ship's hold, I began to count.
Two pegasi, five earth ponies, ten zebras from the south, an Asstyrian donkey, and one very unlucky Saddle Arabian. In total the procession numbered eight mares and eleven stallions, and was worth two-hundred-thousand Abyssinian birr, twenty-thousand Chiropterran bits, or ninety-thousand Colthaginian zhekels. Given local exchange rates this would net me a sales revenue of approximately thirty-thousand Griffonian idols, less operating expenses and the irritatingly high Colthaginian taxes.
I tapped my beak as I double-checked the math. There were still losses to account for, namely the pony that had jumped ship off Terrarife, but I didn’t want to spend the rest of my day crunching numbers while I was anchored in such a beautiful part of Zebrica. Instead, I sat back in my chair and enjoyed the warm breeze as I watched the zebra soldiers lead my cargo down the gangplank.
As each ragged creature stepped onto the dock a customs official made a quick inspection before waving them through, the guards occasionally prodding with their rifles to keep things moving along. It was a routine and quiet affair, though a few low whimpers and sniffles could be heard from the less hardened captives.
When I’d heard that slavery was legal in Colthage under the watchful eyes of the Zarcids, I could scarcely believe it. The Colthaginian Republic was an undersaturated, fabulously wealthy market, and the only barriers to my entry were a few hippogriff naval patrols. A griffon couldn't ask for a better business opportunity, and though I had failed to take the tariffs into account my profit margins would still be quite comfortable.
I checked my pocketwatch, and seeing that it was already half past three decided not to waste any more time overseeing the transfer. “Dirk!” I shouted to my business partner as he descended from the pilothouse. “I’m going out on the town, you handle things from here.”
“On it Mr. Girardin,” replied my fellow countrygriff as he raised a claw in salute. “Want me to handle the sale too?”
“You’re welcome to, but don’t let them short-change you on the donkey. Five thousand or nothing, he’s a hard worker.”
After waiting for the gangplank to clear, I promptly disembarked my rusted hulk of a ship and left Dirk to sort out the remaining minutiae. Having now evaded the mess that was Colthaginian customs and with the rest of the day off, I was now free to relax and enjoy the city to my heart's content. As I passed the guards, I headed away from the harbor and into the winding streets of Hippone.
There was something about the town that put the ones back home to shame. Maybe it was the rows of ancient marble columns lining the avenues, or the sun-kissed villas dotting the verdant hills. Maybe it was the gardens of exotic flora, or the lilting sound of the stringed instruments popular among the local zebras. Whatever the reason, there was an otherworldly calmness to the place that belied its role as one of the most active ports in Zebrica, and for me the dissonance only added to its mystique.
Fitting, then, that I should meet her there of all places.
It was her stall that caught my eye - a little stand just off the cobbled street, on the edge of a small park near the city’s merchant quarter. It was brimming with an arrangement of brightly colored flowers that covered the counter and festooned the simple awning overhead.
Standing behind it was a young mare. She was a zebra, like most of the locals, as evidenced by the striking pattern of stripes that ran down her neck to disappear beneath the hem of a faded blue dress. She had a mane of dark, silky hair with a couple of stunning white highlights, and she wore it up in a delicate bun. Her eyes were the color of sea foam with a hint of playful mischievousness to them, and my breath caught in my throat as she looked in my direction.
I walked over to her stall as if in a trance. At my approach she leaned on the counter and smiled softly at me, beckoning me to peruse her wares. The rich scent of foreign flowers graced my senses as I stood before her and looked down at the dizzying array of stock.
“See anything that catches your eye?” she said, her velvet voice like music to my ears.
I paused to swallow my apprehension, and pointed to a cluster of small white flowers with a particularly strong aroma. “Pray tell, what is this?”
“Zanbaq jasmine,” she hummed, giving me a coy look. “I had them imported from Hindia.”
“Well miss, I must be honest with you,” I said in the most suave tone I could muster. “I’ve traveled the world from Haukland to the Zebrides, but in all my travels I’ve scarcely come across anything so pretty.”
Her cheeks became flushed as she suppressed a giggle.
I took my chances and leaned in. “If you’re willing, I’d be interested in learning more.”
She looked down at her hooves and shook her head as her blush deepened. “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t dally with sailors.”
I had been many things over the years, but "sailor" was certainly not one of them - at least not in the technical sense, as I preferred to leave nautical affairs to Dirk. The suggestion was almost amusing, and I took a step back in feigned insult. “Ah! Forgive me, miss. I must be in quite a sorry state today if such a respected merchant as myself could be mistaken for a scurvy seagriff.”
The mare let out a surprised laugh and gave me a genuine smile, evidently more at ease in the company of a gentlegriff. “Well, I suppose I could make an exception just once. It’s not every day you meet a griffon in Hippone, after all. I’ll be in the park after work if you'd like to keep me company.”
“I would like that very much, miss,” I said as I bowed in gratitude.
After a few more hours in the city, I stopped by the park that evening and much to my delight found the young mare waiting as she’d promised. As night fell I joined her for a walk, marveling at the botanical wonders of Zebrica while the faint, dulcet tones of the lyre-players drifted over from the surrounding villas.
I learned there that her name was Zasherah, though she preferred just Zash. She was quite knowledgeable about the local flora, having worked the gardens for nearly three years now, and relished the opportunity to tell me about every tree, fern, and hedge we passed. Yet she told me she was only a botanist by circumstance - having picked up the trade as a means to help pay for her education.
For my part I regaled her with a couple of tales from my adventures abroad. She listened most attentively to my story about the time I aided a beleaguered Gryphussian village by running goods through a Southern Continent Company blockade, one of my more daring ventures in the last decade. I neglected to mention that the goods in question were several bushels of opium, but that was tangential information anyways.
***
After such a pleasant afternoon together, it was only natural I would seek her out again later. While I normally only spent a few days in port at a time, I decided that Dirk and I would remain in Hippone for a few months while we planned our next voyage. I reasoned it was because of the winter storms along with our sales taking longer than expected, but I'll admit other factors played a part.
It didn't take long for me to start visiting her every day I could. She told me that her parents were shopkeepers in a village to the south, and that she had come to Hippone to study the equinities. Literature was a particular passion of hers, and while I didn't entirely share her enthusiasm for it I did find that we were familiar with a few of the same griffon authors - Cornelius Vinke was a favorite of hers.
I told her more stories about my own life: that of a humble Fezeran merchant travelling the world in search of fortune. I told her about the time I’d been robbed by Kirin bandits in the Marekong delta, and the time I’d been forced to spend a winter in the Changeling hive of Ditrysium when the bay froze over. I did not mention my more recent ventures, since these were neither relevant nor interesting, but as our evenings together became longer and my repertoire of stories began to dwindle, I may have added a few… embellishments.
“The moment they saw their vicious leader felled by my blade, the remaining pirates scattered in terror! My griffons and I chased them back to their ships with their tails between their legs, and only once they had cast off and fled over the horizon did we stop to rest.”
I had spent much of that afternoon helping Zasherah with her gardening. It was truly arduous work for one such as myself, but I had soldiered through without complaint. Now that we were done we had taken a moment to rest in the shade of one of the palm trees and watch the sun set over the harbor. Zash lay next to me, her head resting light on my shoulder as she listened intently to my tale.
“Many of my griffons were so exhausted from the battle that they collapsed right there, the poor souls! But having rescued the locals from certain demise, they came quickly to our aid and carried us back to the village as heroes. We were rewarded with a great feast that night, and after a well-deserved night of rest set sail at sunrise.”
“And the pirates?” asked Zash, looking up at me in curiosity. “Did you ever catch them?”
I tapped my beak as I tried to come up with a decent ending. “Alas, while we searched long and hard the scoundrels had disappeared without a trace. I can only hope they learned their lesson, but if nothing else I doubt they’ll be troubling those villagers ever again.”
Zash smiled softly at me, and I felt my heart melt just a little. “I should hope so,” she murmured as she nestled her muzzle into the crook of my neck. I could have sat there all night, just enjoying the feeling of her coat against my feathers as we watched the sky slowly darken, but sadly it would only last a few more minutes.
Out of nowhere Zasherah shot upright in surprise. “Oh, Za’al damn it!”
“What is it?” I drawled, aching with sorrow as I was ripped out of my reverie.
“I just remembered I was planning to meet with some friends tonight. They’ll be expecting me soon, I should get going.”
“Wait!” I sat up and clutched at her leg in desperation as she turned to leave. “Surely you could stay just a few more minutes? It’s such a lovely evening, and I’d hate to spend it by myself.”
Zash let out a sigh as she sat back down. “I’d love to, really,” she said, putting her hooves around my neck in a gentle hug. “But I can't just abandon my friends. I'm sorry.”
She let go and stood again to leave, but she hadn’t taken two steps before she stopped again and turned to face me with a twinkle in her eye.
“Now that I think of it, maybe you’d like to come with us?”
I hesitated, knowing full well the dangers of mixing romance and friendship. “Oh, I’m not sure that a griff like me would be…”
“Oh, come on,” she replied with excitement as she helped me up. “I’m sure they’d love to hear about your adventures. In fact, I have a feeling you’ll get along famously!”
It was hard to argue with her enthusiasm. Before I knew it she had dragged me through the maze of cobbled streets to an outdoor restaurant just off the harbor, an little out-of-the-way building with abstract, colorful murals adorning the walls and a number of carved wooden tables beneath an awning out front. Being this late in the evening it was mostly empty, but a couple of zebras were still sitting at a table drinking tea. As we approached, one of them - an older mare in a sunhat - gave me a side-eyed glare.
The two of us had a seat across from them. The other mare present, much closer to Zasherah in age, gave her a disappointed look.
“Zash, you’re late again. We were getting worried,” she said, her brow furrowed in concern.
Zash laughed it off, cheerful as ever. “It’s nothing, Zan. The gardens just took a bit longer than expected is all. I hope I didn’t miss anything?”
“Nothing important, just dinner,” sneered the older mare without taking her gaze off me. “Mind telling us who this is?”
My partner laid a hoof on my shoulder. “Just an interesting griffon I met in the market. He's a merchant captain. We've been getting together pretty often lately, and I thought I’d bring him along.” She then turned to me. “These are Azibal and Zanitha. They’re my friends from university.”
I waved halfheartedly. Azibal stared at me like one might stare at a particularly annoying mosquito. I declined to stare back in an attempt to keep the awkwardness to a minimum, and instead focused on twiddling my thumbs.
Azibal rolled her eyes. “If we’ve finished with the formalities, I’d like to get down to business.” She withdrew a few sheets of paper from her satchel and laid them on the table before Zasherah. “Zan and I thought a bit of poetry might make our pamphlets more engaging. We’d like you to take a look at some of the excerpts and see if anything stands out.”
Zash slid a couple of sheets closer and skimmed over them. She spent a couple minutes looking through them before she stopped on one and pushed it to the center of the table. “This one. The translation could be better and it might be tricky to fit in the pamphlets, but Altu’s got a way with words. If any creature can convince the zebras around here that things need to change, it’s her.”
I leaned over the table to look at the poem in question. At first nothing looked out of the ordinary, but as I read further the language became a little too controversial for my liking. I'm not normally the sort of griffon to get flustered over politics, but there was a very clear theme to the work that gave me ample cause for concern.
The poem was about a revolt on a slave ship.
Cocking my head at my companion in a mixture of curiosity and horror, I asked, “What are these pamphlets about, exactly?”
Zash grinned and gave me a friendly nudge. “Oh, I forgot to explain! My friends and I are abolitionists, you see. We’re trying to end slavery here in Colthage. The pamphlets are part of our campaign.”
“It’s awful what those poor creatures have to suffer through,” Zanitha cut in, a downcast look on her face. “But we’re hoping if we keep spreading awareness, maybe more zebras will want to do something about it!”
“Of course,” said Azibal as she narrowed her eyes at me, “I doubt a wealthy griffon such as yourself would care much for the plight of innocents.”
I could have told her that yes, in fact, I had no qualms whatsoever about selling creatures into servitude, but I would not dare make such a faux-pas in front of my dear Zasherah. Instead, I lifted a claw to wipe the sweat from my brow and formulated my riposte. I wasn’t about to let some smug zebra activist talk down to me in front of my paramour.
“With all due respect ma’am; I do sympathize with your position. I’ve seen all too many heinous deeds wrought by a slavemaster’s hoof. Why, I once knew an Abyssinian slaver - nasty piece of work, that one - who would give a slave forty lashes if they so much as spoke out of turn.”
Azibal stood and slammed a hoof on the table, rattling the teacups and making Zanitha jump. “And I take it you simply turned the other cheek at this injustice?” she remarked with a contemptuous leer.
Zasherah quickly laid a hoof on her friend’s shoulder. “Come on Azi, I’m sure he did what he could. Right?” she said, giving me a warm look.
“Y-yes, but of course!” I stammered as I attempted to bend the truth into an acceptable answer. “I helped a dozen of them board my ship, and then I, uh… moved them out of the country.”
“See?” Zash slowly sat her friend back down. “He’s on our side.”
I forced a smile.
Azibal’s gaze softened, if only a little bit. “Hmph. Well then, I suppose there’s no harm having him sit in on our meeting.”
The mares would continue to discuss the matter of abolition at length. By the number of names thrown around I got the feeling the movement was much larger than just the three of them - dozens, if not hundreds of zebras in Hippone must have been committed to the cause. More ideas were brought up, worked on, reworked, discarded, and developed, most of which were either well beyond the group’s resources or negligible in their usefulness. I contributed by suggesting they graffiti the local slave pens, a bold plan which Zanitha and Azibal favored more than I'd expected. I must admit, there was something thrilling about the idea of undermining my colleagues' business.
Finally the conversation wound down and the three zebras said their goodbyes. Having tolerated my presence for the rest of the meeting Azibal even offered to shake my claw before we parted ways, and ever the gentlegriff I offered to personally walk Zasherah back to her residence after that.
We stopped just outside the humble flat where she lived, and there she threw her hooves around me in a warm embrace.
“Thanks for coming along tonight,” she whispered in my ear. “It means a lot to me. I know my friends can be a bit aggressive at times, but they’re really trying to make a difference.”
“There’s no need to thank me, really. I’m just glad it makes you happy. In fact, I want you to know that you and your friends have my full support,” I said as I gently ran my claw across her withers.
“You don’t know how nice it is to hear you say that.” She whinnied happily before letting me go. Her face then turned a shade of crimson, and she mumbled as she asked, “You wouldn’t be planning to leave soon, would you?”
I couldn’t help but smirk - Zash and I had been playing the game of flirtation for quite some time, and I had long been ready for something more direct. “Not at all, why?”
“Well, there’s a protest planned for tomorrow in the main square. We’re all attending, and I think it would be… really nice if you showed up.”
Not quite the confession I'd been expecting, but I suppose there was always tomorrow. And furthermore, I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"But of course, my dear!"
***
And that was how I found myself wading through a sea of abolitionists at nine-o'-clock the following morning.
The square was filled with more zebras than I could possibly count, stallions and mares, some bearing hoofwritten signs, others looking ready for a fight, a mix of young activists and older academics. I’d spent nearly an hour looking for Zash before I found her near the center of the crowd, chatting with her friends. She lit up at my approach and waved me over, hopping hoof to hoof in anticipation. Then she motioned up at a balcony attached to one of the great stone villas ringing the plaza. “They’re going to speak soon!” she shouted over the clamor around us.
A figure stepped out onto the balcony above: a zebra mare, probably a patrician by her looks, dressed in the most ridiculous ballgown I had ever seen. I wondered what on earth this had to do with the protest, but then she raised her hoof and the whole crowd fell silent at once.
“Friends, citizens, zebras of Hippone,” she began, her voice echoing across the plaza.
“We’ve come here today because of a great injustice, perhaps the greatest injustice in the world today. While the hippogriffs, ponies, harpies, and even the griffon kingdoms have come together in condemnation of the vile practice of slavery, the government of Colthage has continued to uphold and defend it.
"We have all seen the foals ripped from their families, the mistreatment given to those in bondage, the wanton cruelty of the landholders. How can the Zarcids claim to uphold justice while perpetuating such injustice? How can the constitution protect such a horrific practice? And how can we claim to be the oldest republic in Zebrica when we continue to exploit the most vulnerable among us?”
She shook her head, raising her voice into a shout. “Zebras of Hippone, we cannot allow this to continue! And that is why today, we protest for liberty! For freedom, justice, and harmony to everyone in Colthage!”
The crowd erupted in wild applause. Zasherah let out a cheer, and I found myself cheering with her as hats and scarves were thrown in the air. Then the tide of zebras rolled across the plaza, and we were carried along like leaves in a storm.
I don’t know when we were separated, but I hardly noticed Zash missing from my side as we were swept up in the excitement. The crowd had started a chant of “down with slavery!” as they marched towards the harbor, and such was their collective fervor that I found myself shouting it with them. More zebras joined as we marched through the city, growing the crowd even further and only adding to their agitation. By the time we’d reached the slave market, the chanting had morphed into “down with the landholders!” and “down with the Zarcids!” As we spilled into the market the enraged protesters quickly tore down the auction scaffolds. The few merchants still present made a break for it.
It wasn’t long before the authorities took notice. A regiment of soldiers filed into the square, forming a line and attempting to contain the protest with rifles at the ready. The protestors responded with a hail of jeers and insults. Several objects flew over my head - bricks, bottles, and anything else the zebras could get their hooves on.
The crowd then surged forwards, shouting obscenities as the troops were pushed back. Then the line stabilized, and the zebras in front of me beat a retreat as the soldiers prodded them with bayonets.
I lunged forward myself with a brick in claw and let out an undignified screech, only to stop dead in my tracks as I came face to face with a very surprised soldier.
"Mr. Girardin!?"
The guard from the docks froze in confusion for a second, then waved to his comrades. “Quick, we need backup over here!”
Before I could overcome my own shock, a pair of uniformed zebras had seized me by the arms and pulled me across the line to safety.
“What in the- get off me!” I huffed at them as I clawed at their forehooves.
The soldiers let me go immediately. “You alright, Mr. Girardin?” a sergeant asked. “Worst mob we’ve seen in a while, lucky they didn’t tear you limb from limb.”
“Of course I’m alright, you nitwit! I was just-”
At that moment I saw the slave pens across the plaza. Aside from a few rude phrases scrawled on the walls, somezebra had unlocked the cages. A dozen or so slaves - including one very happy Saddle Arabian - had been let free.
I nearly had a heart attack at the sight.
Gripping the sergeant by the collar, I shouted “Stop them!” as I pointed to the sixty-thousand-idol investment now making a run for the docks.
“Right away, sir!” The sergeant pulled himself free from my grasp and rallied the others. Pushing with bayonets and firing warning shots into the air, they began to disperse the crowd. A few protesters resisted only to be pulled through the lines and beaten with butt-stocks and truncheons. It occurred to me that Zash probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
One such protester caught my eye - another griffon. As I looked closer, I realized he looked familiar.
“Wait!” I shouted, pushing the soldiers off the poor griff. He had curled up to protect himself, and raised his head as I approached.
“Mr. Girardin?”
"Dirk? What in Boreas' name are you doing here?"
My business partner smoothed his ruffled feathers and let out a bit of nervous laughter as I helped him up. “Sorry for the trouble Mr. Girardin. It’s sort of hard to explain, but I've been seeing this hippogriff lass…”