//------------------------------// // 2. The Ambassador // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// The clock ticked slowly forward. The small study could get uncomfortably warm in the summer afternoons, but the window was propped open to let in cool air. Rich mahogany cabinets lined the ivory-white walls. A delicate-looking but sturdy bookshelf sat tucked away in the corner, filled with volumes about distant nations and cultures. The center of the little room was filled by a desk covered with disorganized piles of parchment. A plaque on the desk bore the words Ambassador Strudel. An unusual pony sat on a stacked pair of cushions behind a large desk. His coat was gray, and his mane brown, an odd contrast to his canary-yellow robes. The ambassador was short, nearly a head below the height of an average stallion. His most arresting features, however, were the stubby horn on his forehead and the wings poking through his robes to lie folded at his back. The pony’s head rested on one hoof, the other toying with a quill. He pushed it around, idly watching it spin in its inkwell. Rye hated being bored. He looked down at the parchment on the desk, raising an eyebrow as if daring it to finish itself. He’d been working on this report for over a week and he was still no closer to being done. He leaned back and yawned. Cracking his neck, he stretched his wings to get the blood flowing through them again. He looked at them and smiled with quiet pride. His entire life, these wings had been too little to give him flight like a pegasus, but that was no reason for him to let them look ragged and mottled like a dying bird’s. Over the last few years he’d begun taking better care of his feathers, and it showed. They were neatly preened and cleaned, though a bit ruffled from a long day of work. Turning back to his desk, Rye tapped a hoof on the wood. He glanced at the clock and sighed. His stomach grumbled, and his mouth twisted. It wasn’t often that he skipped lunch, but then, it wasn’t often that he had the promise of dinner at his parents’ to look forward to. One of the downsides of living on his own had been leaving behind his father’s cooking. He shrank guiltily, remembering that he still hadn’t bought his mother a birthday present. He’d have to make a stop in the market after work. Maybe he’d get her some flowers or fruit seeds; she’d taken up gardening a few years back. Of course, what she really wanted from him… well, maybe someday. There was a knock on the door. Rye perked up, welcoming any change from the monotony of paperwork. “Come in!” The door opened to admit a tall, graceful-looking pony. Her mane flowed softly, despite the still air. The crown on her head gleamed in the sunlight from his office’s window. Rye’s eyes widened. “Princess!” He paused, protocol warring with practicality. If he bolted upright, he’d likely knock every paper off of his desk. He compromised by bowing his head hastily. “Hello, Rye.” Princess Celestia smiled at him. “How have you been?” “Still working on that report you wanted about the Kingdom of Dromedaria.” Rye squinted at the parchment. “I’m certain they’re up to something. The last time I was there, their minister of trade kept finding excuses to avoid me.” Celestia made a hmm of agreement. “I suspect they’re trying to find new buyers for their precious metals without offending us.” She shrugged. “But I’m not here to ask about the camels.” Rye blinked. “Is this a social call, then? Or…” He sat forward excitedly. “Have you got a new assignment for me?” “I do.” Celestia smiled faintly. “I know you’ve been going a little stir-crazy, cooped up in the capital.” “Don’t get me wrong, I love Canterlot, it’s just…” Rye sighed in aggravation. “My mother.” “Ah.” The princess’s smile grew, but only her eyes laughed. “How is she?” “She’s doing well.” Rye tapped a hoof on the desk. “You mentioned a new job?” Celestia nodded, turning a shade more serious. “We have a growing problem. Our shipping routes to the Golden Isles are coming under attack.” Rye’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think it’s Grypha, do you?” “No. Relations with the griffons are… strained, as ever, but though King Aelianus is still sore about losing the war, he wouldn’t dare break the demilitarization treaty so soon.” “Surely not the llamas.” “Certainly not. No, the attacks aren’t coming from any nationality, it’s a band of pirates who’ve started leading systematic raids on our vessels.” She frowned. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important the sugarcane trade is.” Rye nodded. He was well-versed in the subject; his father was always complaining about the price of sugar. “So where do I come in?” “The attacks themselves are not the problem, exactly. Our fleet is plenty large enough to protect our trading vessels, but the Marquis of Zyre refuses to let foreign military ships into her waters. I understand her concerns, but they are beginning to cost us ships, cargo, and lives. I need you to go to Zyre and convince the Marquis to permit us to send our own escorts to protect our merchants. Be delicate, I don’t want to imply that her own escorts are insufficient.” Her lip curled in irony. “Even though they are.” Rye nodded. “Your wish is my command, Princess.” He stood, careful not to disturb the mounds of parchment. “When do I leave?” “You’ll have to go to the Delta to take a ship. I’ll arrange your passage on one of our merchant galleys. I assumed a week would be sufficient notice.” “I can go sooner than that. I can leave tomorrow, actually.” Rye fidgeted. Celestia gave him a wry smile. “That anxious to get out of the city, hmm? All right. Tomorrow it is, then. I’ll send word ahead to one of our captains.” “Ah… I was wondering, have you considered what I mentioned last time?” “Oh, that’s right.” Celestia pursed her lips. “An assistant. I’m afraid I don’t have anypony to spare from the diplomatic offices…” Rye shrugged. “I just need somepony to help me triage diplomatic party invitations for anything useful and carry luggage. Anypony who can read and write will do.” Celestia’s eyes twinkled. “Oho, there’s an idea. Most of the Firewings aren’t busy at the moment. I’ll have the Guard-Captain send somepony with you. Go see him after this.” Rye pressed his hooves together. “Ah, excellent. Having a decorated officer along might help to impress the Marquis. Anything else I need to know?” “I’ll provide briefing material for you to read over on the trip. This one won’t be easy. The Marquis is… a difficult mare.” He bowed. “Very well. I’ll go speak to Captain Dragonslayer, then.” “Good luck, Rye. Oh, and…” Celestia smiled. “Wish your mother a happy birthday for me, won’t you?” “Certainly.” Rye bowed again, and the princess took her leave. * * * The royal guard compound was on the far side of the new castle, built to replace the one destroyed in the war four years ago. Still under construction, the castle was rising up from the mountainside like a golden claw, its towers reaching to the sky like talons. Rye walked past the countless scaffolds and ladders that belonged to the construction teams, making his way through the stone and wood. He arrived at the new Firewing barracks at last. The building was a short, squat little block of stone, large enough for fifty or so ponies to live within. The flag of Equestria hung limply from a pole at the building’s fore, rising as a light breeze carried past. Rye watched the flag flutter. Once, he’d have given anything to live in these barracks, to dress in the golden armor of the Firewings, and join their daily training regimen. He blinked thoughtfully. “Ambassador Strudel.” He turned to find a cherry-red pegasus in a blue military uniform looking evenly at him. Rye tilted his head. “Captain Dragonslayer.” The two stared at each other as the seconds passed. The captain’s mouth curled at the edges. Rye raised an eyebrow, and then both of their stern expressions vanished as they burst out laughing. The captain grinned at him. “I thought ambassadors were supposed to have good poker faces.” “I never was very good at cards.” Rye clapped him on the shoulder. “So Inger, how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since I got back from Dromedaria.” “Busy. Recruitment drives have been picking up lately. We’re a long way from pre-war levels of readiness, but the Firewings are getting back on their hooves.” Inger smiled. “And how are you? I never see you anymore, you’re always locked up in that stuffy little study.” Rye snorted. “You get to fight trolls and dragons. I have to battle dignitaries.” Inger gave a mock shudder. “Better you than me.” “Are you coming to the party tonight?” “Of course. Who’d pass up a dinner with Apricot Strudel?” Inger licked his lips. “Cranberry’s coming, too. Her sister offered to foalsit the colts.” Rye shook his head. “How do you and Cranberry juggle your jobs and those two munchkins?” Inger rubbed his eye. “It’s exhausting, I’ll admit. I’ve been trying to spend as much time as I can spare at home, but my poor wife’s been handling most of it. She keeps trying to find room in our schedule to head up north to the dig site in Sleipnord, but…” He shook his head. “Can’t you take a year or two off to watch the kids? The Princess couldn’t object.” “I can’t leave the Firewings right now. Most of them are still raw recruits, they need somepony experienced around.” He sighed. “At least we’re stationed in the city. Otherwise I’d never see Cranberry at all.” Rye was familiar with the stresses of a military family. He frowned in sympathy. “The two of you should talk to my mother.” Inger smiled faintly. “I guess I’ll never be too old to take advice from Captain Strudel.” With a sudden start, Rye remembered why he’d come. “Oh, Inger—the princess sent me to talk to you. I’m headed out on a new assignment tomorrow—” “Already?” Inger looked dismayed. “You just got back a month ago. We haven’t even been out for drinks.” “I know, I’m sorry. I meant to, but…” Rye shrugged guiltily. “Work, you know.” Inger sighed with regret. “Well, when you get back this time, come talk to me before you let yourself get drowned in paperwork.” He smiled wryly. “You need to live a little.” “I will, honest.” Rye fiddled with the clasp of his robes. “Um, so, I’m headed out to the Golden Isles tomorrow to work out a trade agreement with the zebras. I need an assistant. The princess told me to ask you for one of the Firewings.” “The Carriagibbean, eh?” Inger’s eyebrow rose. “I think I can spare a pony. Hmm…” He tapped his chin. “Staff Sergeant Specklestraw’s available. Wheatie’s been itching to get out of town for a while, anyway.” “Excellent. I’ll meet him in my study tomorrow morning, I have a few things to pack up beforehand.” Rye nodded his head. “I’ll see you tonight, then.” “Wouldn’t miss it. See you later, Rye.” Inger waved farewell. Rye turned and headed for the stairs that led from the castle down into the city. He still had a few hours to find a gift. * * * The bakery looked as welcoming as ever. Rye’s old home had finally closed for the day by the time he arrived, carrying a small wrapped bundle. The bakery’s stone walls still bore black stains from four years ago, when the two neighboring houses had burned down. They had since been rebuilt as a pottery store and the city district’s new post office. His father had been ecstatic about the post office, and the business it brought with it. The windowsills of the bakery were covered with delicately arranged flowers. Most had already bloomed and faded months ago, but several summer flowers were still vibrant and colorful. Rye wondered if his mother planned to take up tomatoes and other fruit, or stick to purely aesthetic plants. He knocked on the door, jingling the bell, and waited expectantly. The sound of hooves on wood echoed from inside, and the door creaked open. A beige unicorn wearing an apron beamed at him. “Rye!” Rye raised a hoof, smiling. “Hey, Dad.” “You’re just in time. I’m finishing up dinner, you can help me get everything out of the ovens. Come in, come in.” He wiped his muddy hooves off on the welcome mat, breathing in the smell of baking bread. With a sigh of happiness, he followed it into the kitchen, and kept going into the dining room beyond. He put his gift on the center of the table, making sure it stood up correctly. The table was already set for five. The plates were his father’s favorites, the ones with the hippocampi borders. Rye smiled and turned to go help his father in the kitchen. The two Strudels removed the baked goods from the ovens, placing them on the counters. Rye’s stomach grumbled as he sniffed the indelible aromas of roasted alfalfa seeds, banana bread, and chocolate cake. His father busied himself with the food, shooing him off into the foyer. Rye wandered out just in time to hear the familiar creak of somepony walking down the bakery stairs. He turned to see a blue pegasus descending with a broad smile on her face. “Rye!” He returned the smile. “Happy birthday!” Windstreak Strudel raced down the stairs as fast as she could, and met him with an embrace. “I’m glad you made it. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t get back from Dromedaria in time.” Rye shrugged. “That last trip took longer than I expected.” He pulled away, looking at his mother. Windstreak was a pegasus almost as unusual as her son. Her wingbones were slightly crooked near the joints, and her gait was stiffer than age could account for. The left side of her face was a darker blue than the rest, almost black, but the old burn scar had long ceased to draw attention. Her most striking feature was her fiery red mane, streaked with strands of gray. It fell artfully over her shoulder, longer than it had ever been during her career in the Firewings. “Did you see Inger up at the castle, today?” Rye nodded. “The Sugars will be here. Inkpot’s not going to make it, though, she’s foalsitting for them.” Windstreak smiled. “That’s fine. I’ll go say hello sometime this week.” The door jingled. They turned to see Inger and a golden-maned, bright pink mare with a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose entering the bakery. The mare’s face lit up as soon as she saw them. “Windstreak! Rye!” She came to meet them, positively glowing. “It’s been forever!” She hugged Windstreak while Rye grinned. “Evening, Professor.” Cranberry rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, stop that.” She shook his hoof, smiling. “I see the princess still has you wearing that gaudy thing.” Rye, wounded, touched a hoof to the bright yellow robes covering his chest. “Hey, I think they look good.” “You never did have any taste.” Cranberry smirked. She looked at Windstreak and jolted. “Inger, honey, did I forget the—” Her husband put up a hoof. “Don’t worry, dear, I brought it.” He had a satchel slung over his back. Inger looked around the bakery storefront. “We should come down here more often. I can’t remember the last time I had a plain old blueberry muffin.” Apricot’s head poked out from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready!” He gestured to them all. The ponies entered the dining room and sat down around the table. Apricot whisked in and out, setting platters of food down. The platters began making rounds as the ponies served themselves. All of them were familiar with Apricot’s culinary expertise, and the conversation was set aside until the first course had been completed. As Rye finished off a slice of banana bread, his mother asked, “So, Cranberry, how are things at the university?” Cranberry fiddled with her half-moon spectacles. Rye still wasn’t used to seeing her with them, but that was probably his fault for being gone so much. He swallowed his bread. “Things have settled down for the summer. Now that the term’s over I can get back to doing research, and spend some more time with Strawberry and Apricot.” Rye’s father grinned. He’d been tickled pink when the Sugars had named their second child after him. Windstreak smiled. “Ah, foals. One colt was tough enough, I don’t know how you manage two.” She sighed wistfully. “I’d love grandchildren, though.” Rye restrained himself from looking at the ceiling and groaning by taking another bite of alfalfa. Here we go again. Cranberry looked at him teasingly. “You know, Rye, I figured after saving the kingdom from that invasion and becoming a big, important ambassador, you’d be drowning in girlfriends.” He grimaced and stabbed at his dinner with a fork. “One would think.” Humorlessly, he swallowed a bite of food. “I've got too much work on my plate to waste time with... personal matters.” Her face fell. “Rye… it’s not healthy to spend all your time at work. You need to get out of the office a bit.” To find a mate, you mean. Goddess, even his non-relatives were starting, now. It wasn’t like he could go to the store and buy a wife, though he was starting to wish he could, simply to shut up his parents. Besides, who in their right mind would want to spend their life with a stunted mutant? His lack of a significant other wasn’t entirely due to non-effort on his part. He felt a twinge of old, familiar pain. “Well, it’ll have to wait until after my next assignment.” Cranberry gave him a disappointed look. “You’re leaving already?” “The princess is sending me out to the Golden Isles.” Finally diverted, Cranberry’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Zebra country. We went out that way on our honeymoon.” She flashed her husband a sunny smile, which he returned. Rye adjusted his robes as he explained, “The sugar shipping industry’s being harassed by pirates. I’m supposed to put an end to it.” Apricot coughed, spluttering. “Well, if you don’t, I’m going to start charging you to eat here.” Rye grinned. “Relax, O Maker of Sweets. I just have to convince the Marquis to let us send our own escorts with the merchants. How hard can it be?” Cranberry’s brows furrowed. “Just make sure to send postcards, this time!” Windstreak frowned in agreement. “I get worried when you don’t write.” Mares, honestly. “Okay, okay, I promise. I’ll send a letter back every month.” Satisfied, his mother nodded. Beside her, Apricot stood. “I believe it’s time for dessert. Why don’t you open your gifts, sweetheart? I’ll get the cake.” Windstreak, with a bemused smile, reached forward and pulled Rye’s parcel toward her. She unwrapped it carefully, revealing a pot filled with beautiful pink flowers. Her face lit up. “Hollyhocks! Oh, thank you, Rye! I’ll transplant them to my window garden tomorrow morning.” She set them respectfully to the left of her plate, sniffing the petals. Rye smiled, pleased that he’d chosen well. On the other side of the table, Inger pulled out his satchel, and removed a thin package. He handed it to his wife. Cranberry laid it on the table and pushed it to Windstreak. “From me and Inkpot.” The package opened to reveal a book, titled The War of Whitetail. Windstreak’s eyes rose. Cranberry grinned. “The first publishing run just came in last week. There’s a few whole chapters dedicated to a certain pegasus we thought you might be interested in.” Windstreak touched the book’s cover, smiling faintly. “Thank you, Cranberry.” Inger pulled out another, slimmer package. He set it down before her, then folded his legs back. Windstreak unwrapped it and her breath caught. She held up the gift, a decorative blue star, the kind that might adorn gilded armor. On it were scrawled dozens of signatures in tiny black ink. “Signed by every active member of the Firewings. That big one in the middle is Wheatie’s.” Inger smiled wryly. “Happy birthday, Captain.” Windstreak held it to her chest and smiled with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Inger.” She set it down tenderly on the book. “This means… a lot, to me.” Just then, Apricot re-entered, carrying a giant chocolate cake with him. Rye’s eyebrows rose. The cake looked amazing, as always, wreathed in white frosting and sprinkled with coconut shavings. Strawberries in nests of icing ringed the top, interspaced with candles. Apricot carried it around the table and set it down beside his wife. Windstreak clapped her hooves in delight. “Oh, it’s coconut!” Apricot pecked her on the cheek. “My first gift of the evening.” They rubbed noses with knowing smiles. Cranberry and Inger snickered. Rye felt the urge to gag. He’d rather not think about his parents—eurgh. Inger balanced his wineglass on a hoof and raised it. “To the twentieth birthday of the best soldier I've ever known.” They all clinked a toast together, and Inger smiled. “May she have twenty more.” They drained their glasses. Dessert passed too quickly, and soon the cake had been reduced to a bare few slices. Apricot packaged them up for the Sugars to take home, and they all bid each other good night. As Rye left the bakery, he breathed in deeply. The cool night air of Canterlot was too familiar, almost stale. With a grin, he started off toward his house, daydreaming about the coming weeks. He was headed for a nice, easy assignment in the tropics, practically a paid vacation. He was looking forward to it.