//------------------------------// // 32 — Fractious Frigate Part I: Cascade Diver // Story: Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince // by scifipony //------------------------------// HRH Starlight Glimmer Regina Aurora Midnight The Earl of Grin Having and the Princess of Marks My distrust of Celestia, that she could conscience setting up a war to push her agenda forward, left me no choice. I found myself following the chief petty officer to the part of the airship docks known as Castle Canterlot Station. Because the Prince, Princess, and the lieutenant of the guard started bickering as we left the palace, I left them behind with an admonition that they had better "kiss and make up" before next I saw them, preferably literally—lest "I'd... something!" I was glad I'd left the three behind, because Kibitz led Hue and Cry to meet me on the way out of the southeastern portcullis. Firefall remained AWOL. We took an obscure descending worn brick road on the east edge of the dish-like level of the Promenades, where events were staged under the Royal Address Balcony. The path led between the quarried stone foundation and the adjacent Palisades Park, curving toward the precipice. I cut off her next question with an answer I didn't want the prince to hear, that I might be throwing my new teacher to the wolves, assuming it wasn't somehow deserved. I recited his townhouse address and said, "I spent the late evening there, riding him." She nodded, "Dancing, Dinner, and Dessert." Surprisingly, her stoic auburn visage cracked a carefully measured grin of approval. "Right," I said, "All good. Private. However, you will find my cloak there. Retrieve it. His overzealous bodyguards made me suspicious, so—" I coughed. This copper knew the princess I was and the criminal I'd been. "I picked the lock to his attic and took a look-about, but felt bad and left. Try not to break doors. Once this is over, I'd rather explain myself to the prince why I sent you." She nodded and gave Streak a look. When the uneasy pegasus shrugged and kept her silence, the copper with the red beret saluted and turned back toward downtown. We proceeded clockwise around the rim of the mountain and below the level of the castle. The old sailor explained the terminology he used because everything, starting with boatswain, had sounded like a foreign language. Free Loading Oat Eater (FLOE) spoke volumes. Proper Step and Celestia had concentrated my limited warcraft training growing up to army matters, but as I had parts of the ship explained to me, it made coherent sense. There was plenty more to a ship than a keel, sails, and an airbag. He filled in well for the purser, the pony in of charge money matters, including finding and acquiring food, supplies, repair material, and weapons. I created a mental tally of what I might order sent to the Eagle's Stoop. Paved into mountain sandstone, the huge blocks of rock had rested here for centuries; they displayed mineralized seams of rust and golden salt. Everything dripped, especially as we approached and went under the roaring eastern Canterlot Mountain Cascade. I smelled algae. A rushing curtain of white water hid the view. Mist rainbows from the newly risen sun illuminated everything. The sailor hid his head with his hat while the moisture wet the rest of us. Streak fluffed her wings, flicking away droplets. I'd trotted beyond the waterfall, heading for the next one, before it occurred to me I could have cast Shield. Doubtless, that's how they kept machines and supplies dry. "Ugh, Starlight!" I glanced over the edge of the precipice. I saw the catch lake below and the darkly foreboding Everfree Forest beyond. I strained my neck to see Ponyville as it came into view. I subconsciously heard the whistle of feathers. Like before the griffon attack. I jumped back— —just before a pegasus barreled by and would have struck me. I lost traction in my startlement, hooves skidding. The wet pavement slick as ice and my steering away counterintuitively slid me toward the edge. Streak grabbed me with all four hooves, flapping for all she was worth. She pressed on all my bruises as she stabilized me even as my forehooves went over the side. A pegasus guard shot above me, a silvery streak, then dove in pursuit. My bodyguard instinct cried assassination attempt. "A cascade diver," my logical mind made me assert aloud. I really was nopony. That did not stop my wildly swiveling ears from hearing new spectrums of sound previously missed, mostly hooves slapping wet stone and dripping water, but also whistling wind and birds twittering. I swallowed hard, working to calm my racing heart. When the guard questioned the miscreant that buzzed me, I'd learn more. A month ago, a classmate had illegally dived the eastern cascade. Blind Luck was an appropriate name, especially since the frizzy-maned tan filly was a unicorn! A pegasus could let the wind currents suck them downward in a slipstream. My genius classmate had used Shield rolled into a dolphin shape. Everypony knew she had succeeded, to the extent. She'd shown up a mass of bruises, with cracked ribs and a concussion, having arrowed to the bottom of the catch lake, only surviving because her Shield trapped air. Like all spells, the magic wouldn't let a pony get badly hurt; a relative term because it floated her unconscious to the surface. I needed no additional impetus to cast Shield. Five minutes later, the frigate hove into view. The air bag also had the streamlined shape of a dolphin, accentuated by the bluish greyish sky illusion laid upon it. I saw an oversized pony climbing the net rigging toward the airbag, then realized the puce stallion wasn't that big and neither in scale was the frigate. I soon deciphered the oddities of the stretched fabric-sided hull, held taut by a frame, starched shell-solid by paint and shellac. Canoes were constructed this way so a single pony could carry it on their back. I saw pony-sized chips and huge dents, that incidentally had net stretched between copper strips as a strengthener. The side I viewed looked splintered; paint hid a charcoaled texture in places where burns were patched but not repaired. Were it a canoe, it would leak. The inverted hammerhead keel looked too lacy to standup to a gale, let alone a lake, but rigged with sailcloth it functioned to let the airship sail through the air. The engineering aspects went beyond me. My horn sensed magic, probably runes along the upward bend toward the back. Not a particularly stealthy attribute. The chief corrected my observations. "That front 'crossbow' is a Ballista Minotaur-pony3, hot stuff last century. The rear casement got blown off in the Stoop's final engagement and never replaced. The three on the side are Harpy-class trebuchets. Like those aft two, all three on the port side are undergoing recommissioning." "Which means they don't work." "Should be scrapped. Yes, but we don't have the liberty to do that. We've only pony power to fix them. Budgets." "It looks impressive from a distance." "Heh, heh," he said, scratching the back of his mane. "I ought warn you, Ms. Glimmer: Our skipper is a short-timer." I arched an eyebrow. "As in not competent?" "Competent by most measures. Too competent, maybe. Yet, she's still an ensign after four years duty, which says how well she's liked." "You dislike her?" "I am not saying that. What I am saying is she's days from discharge and looking forward to it." The road led upward to a small flat area outside the castle wall. Docks for commercial airships sported a long plain white building, mooring for four ships, and retractable ramps. The Stoop docked at the fourth grey pole, and moved lazily like a windsock. A lower deck opened with a tongue-like wood ramp from which a slat-and-rope-bridge hoof-way extended to the dock. It didn't restrain the ship from being buffeted by the winds that whipped my mane across my face as I left the road along the side of the mountain and entered the cobbled dock area. As I clattered up the slat ramp, I noted the buzzing ropes were as thick as my leg and wouldn't snap anytime soon. Looking down between the slats, I saw white water slowly descending. We were so high, I felt the thunder of the cascade filling the lake more than I heard it. A flock of ducks in a V arrowed by, little more than dots below. I'd been flown by a pegasus thrice now, so I kept my gait and vertigo under control. The air smelled good, and felt cool and misty. From my vantage, I saw Ponyville stood a few hundred pony lengths outside the Everfree Forest at the closest; the lofty trees likely shadowed it near sunset. Ponies looked like ants, some trailing something at this distance, but pink and mint color made it obvious they were ponies with wagons. Inside that forest lived various species of magical deer... The Golden Stag obliterated the village. I shivered as we entered the maw of the ship. The gloom echoed with our hoof falls. Wooden ribs and crossmembers creaked and groaned as the wind randomly buffeted the vessel. I got directed to a stair before my eyes adjusted. I strode behind the chief onto the main deck. As I squinted into the sunlight, I noted the scuffed and gouged teak planks nevertheless gleamed. I saw at least a dozen sailors, many hammering and adjusting guy wires on the closest trebuchet. Slightly older sailors sat, watching and commenting. Commenting on a pony's laziness while sitting seemed vaguely derogatory— The chief blew a whistle. I jumped, my fur bristling. The loud scree! cut through the sound of the wind blowing over the rails, ramped up from a low shrilling to a loud piping then back down to the low shriek that cut off sharply. He shouted, "Crown Princess on Deck!" Streak slammed into me, covering me with her wings, interposed between me and the petty officer. That merited more looks from the older sailors than I had. The cadets had a green stripe on their uniforms; they snapped to attention. A few fell, scrambling off the arm of the trebuchet. A guy wire went sprong! The cadets saluted. The veterans unenthusiastically sketched a hoof off the deck toward their heads, then occupied themselves elsewhere. "I see," I murmured. With a sigh, Bent Feather added, "Carry on!" I unglued Streak, who discovered her wits and fluffed her feathers back in place. The chief added sotto voce, "That was 'Piping Aside.' If you're embarked, best get used to the bosun whistle." "Yeah, sure, that'll happen," Streak murmured, unimpressed. Streak didn't notice the naval pegasus critically eyeing Hurricane's armor. Proper Step allowed himself a quiet chuckle. He murmured, "Never say never because that always makes it happen." I said, "I hold the rank of Captain of the Army. On land... in training, to be clear." "Noted," the petty officer said with a small smile. "Follow me." We passed by the gawking crew, while the cadets went back to work, into what he called the "forecastle" with a flying bridge, so-called I presumed because it extended a few pony lengths "port" and "starboard" over the rails of the main deck like wings. I noted the metal undersurface: painted grey. No illusion there. The same grey paint covered everything not decking, an obvious many-layered frosting laid down over decades, rounding every corner. Lanterns that were brass inside, glowed wanly with enchanted multicolor pebbles. The wood decks displayed layers of shellac, polished to gleam like ice. We ascended two flights of stairs (still below decks) until the chief rapped a coded knockity-knock on a hatch-like door, before pushing down the brass lever. It revealed a mahogany desk and a view aft: the top of the bailey wall, the castle spires, buttressed ramparts, and ivory towers, which made for a grand view. I saw a large bunk, an inked-up wall-size navigation map of Equestria, a stowed duffle bag, and military issue chairs. No personalization; no memorabilia; no certificates; no desk nameplate; nothing. This mare needed none. Bent Feather pointed a wing at the raised sill before I could trip entering the commander's quarters.