Rye was dying.
He’d been close to death before; he knew what it felt like. He’d nearly lost his life a dozen times over on a mission to Sleipnord four and a half years ago, but this, he knew with certainty, was the end.
A moan escaped him as he bent double over the railing. The water below churned as the ship sailed on, breaking smoothly through the waves as it crossed the ocean. Rye clutched his stomach, and waited for the sweet release of death.
He heard the sound of hooves on the deck beside him. A light, youthful voice said, “Morning, Ambassador.”
“Please,” Rye mumbled, “Help me, Sergeant.”
Wheatie Specklestraw laughed. “Not sure what I can do, Ambassador.”
“Kill me, if you have to. Just make it sto—” Rye felt his stomach heave again. He bent over the railing to bid farewell to breakfast.
The Firewing watched with amusement and sympathy. “A lot of ponies get seasick. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Rye spat over the side of the ship, trying to get the foul taste out of his mouth. “Goddess. Every trip. This is worse than the last time. I need to stop taking assignments that require sea travel.” He turned his head up away from the waves. “How long until we’re on dry land again?”
Wheatie glanced up at the giant white sails of the merchant vessel, billowing in the wind. “The captain said we should reach Karran Island sometime today.”
“I must admit, I’ve always wanted to see Zyre.” Rye looked off into their direction of travel, scanning the horizon. “They say it’s the largest port in the entire Ceracen Ocean.”
“Hm.” Wheatie raised his eyebrows skeptically. “I doubt it’s larger than Cairoan, back in the Delta.”
“We’ll see soon enough, I suppose.” Rye pulled away from the railing, grateful he’d managed to avoid staining his robes. He eyed the water below with loathing. “I’m going to speak to the captain. My briefing material’s been woefully inadequate on a few key points. I’ll talk to you later, Sergeant.”
He left Wheatie and headed toward the stern. The aft section of the ship was raised above the deck like most other ships he’d seen. The captain of the Sugar Queen could often be found at the helm. He seemed to prefer steering the ship himself.
Rye climbed the stairs to reach the wheel. Sure enough, Captain Sembarolla was there, guiding his vessel through the warm waters of the Carrigibbean. Rye cleared his throat, and the captain nodded to acknowledge his presence. “Can I help you, Ambassador?”
“I’ve got a few questions. I’ve been reading through my material for a week and a half now, but there are some things my books don’t cover.”
“Certainly.” The captain rested an easy hoof on the wheel and half-turned to face him.
Rye looked around at the ocean. “These pirates, the… Pit Vipers, they’re called?” The captain gave a nod. “There’s nothing in my notes about them.”
Captain Sembarolla frowned. “There wouldn’t be. They’re a recent development.” He cast a dark glance at the horizon. “There have always been pirates around here, of course. The sugar trade is too tempting a target to pass up. But lately, they’ve started banding together under the flag of somepony called ‘Viridian.’ She—or he, nopony’s quite sure—has organized the pirates into a little fleet. There are about thirteen captains under Viridian’s command at the moment. More than enough to attack and pillage any single merchant ship and her escort.”
Rye raised an eyebrow. “A thirteen-way cargo split? That can’t be profitable.”
The captain shrugged. “They’re also in deep with the smuggling business in Zyre. Rum, molasses, ethanol, raw sugarcane, as well as more general things like gold and wheat. I’ve run into some of them before.”
Rye nearly asked when and how, but restrained himself. He wasn’t a law enforcement agent; it wasn’t his job to poke his nose into the captain’s business dealings, no matter how much he wanted to. Still, fantasies of uncovering a vast smuggling ring began playing in the back of his mind. Anything to liven up his boring life for a while.
“Captain!”
Rye and the captain looked up to the crow’s nest. The sailor inside was pointing to the fore, waving his other hoof. “Land in sight, Captain!”
Sembarolla smiled. “We’ve made good time. This voyage usually takes another two days, but the wind’s been with us the whole trip.”
With relief, Rye peered into the distance to catch a glimpse of the island. It was a thin black line on the horizon. “Excellent. I’ll head down and get my things ready.”
It took them the better part of an hour to reach the island. As they approached, Rye stared at it in wonder. Karran Island and her sister, Serran Island, were two of the largest in the Carrigibbean Sea. Karran was the child of an ancient volcano that rose from the waters on the island’s southern tip, whose peak could still be seen to glow at night. The sides of the volcano were covered with verdant jungle that extended north and covered most of the island, but the most striking feature was the giant arm of land that encircled the island’s bay, lined with watchtowers to protect the city and the ships beyond.
There was a narrow passage permitting entrance, and as they drew closer Rye spotted a pair of warships stationed on either side. The ships moved to meet them, presumably for the inspection the captain had warned him about. Rye breathed in the salty air and smiled. Soon he’d be back on land, and his work could begin.
* * *
The docks were buzzing with activity, as always. Tyria fiddled with her uniform’s collar nervously. She hoped the ship would arrive soon. Her dress whites were not nearly as comfortable as her service khakis, and they didn’t match her paintbrush cutie mark nearly as well. She wanted to be out of them as soon as possible. Of course, she thought with dismay, the captain might make her wear them for the duration of the new ambassador's stay.
Captain Petalbloom had been furious, as she’d expected. Leaving the ambassador on his own to go chasing pirates through the city streets had been a big mistake, and she’d been terrified for a minute that her boss was going to have her court-martialed for dereliction of duty. But Petalbloom had always had a soft spot for those under her command, underneath all the bluster. So after a long lecture about the stupidity of ‘playing cowpony,’ instead of formal disciplinary action she’d assigned Tyria the tedious duty of receiving the princess’s new agent and escorting him back to the embassy safely.
That, she could handle. She was used to babysitting pompous nobles by now. Somehow she doubted this was what her father had in mind when he’d pushed her into a Navy career, but if she was honest with herself she’d rather be here, tending to the whims of the ambassador, than back home fighting griffon invaders or wild monsters.
One of the hundreds of ships on the bay caught her eye. It was flying Equestrian colours, but also the less-common flag that signified a ship under the princess’s personal command. Tyria headed down to greet it as it pulled into the dock.
The boarding ramp hit the wood as she arrived. Sailors, mostly earth ponies, rushed down off of the ship and began tying ropes to the pier to keep their vessel from straying. Tyria waited patiently, watching for the canary-yellow robes of an Equestrian ambassador. But the first pony to catch her attention was something else altogether. Her eyebrows rose.
He was a white and brown-speckled pegasus in military uniform. His cover was white, like her own, and his uniform the same with gold embroidery. The periwinkle star of the Firewings on his shoulder was unmistakable. He walked down the ramp, hauling a large pair of suitcases with him.
Tyria snapped an involuntary salute. “Hello, sir.” It was a trifle formal, considering she technically outranked him, but this was no ordinary sergeant.
The Firewing smiled and returned the salute. “Staff Sergeant Specklestraw, at your service. And you are?”
“Ensign Metrel.” Tyria tried to covertly scan the Firewing’s large collection of medals and her eyes widened even more.
Specklestraw laughed. “A bit much, aren’t they? I don’t normally wear them all at once. The ambassador thought it might make a good first impression on the Marquis when we go to see her.”
Tyria nodded, astonished. That white and gold medallion around his neck was the Medal of Valor, the deceptively-simple sounding award that signified extreme courage, dedication, and sacrifice in the line of duty. She’d never heard of somepony receiving it non-posthumously. Of course, the Firewings were no ordinary ponies.
“I didn’t realize this was so important,” she said, looking back up to his face. “If the princess is sending the Firewings…”
He shook his head. “I’m not here in a military capacity, to be honest. I mostly fly a desk these days, anyway. The ambassador just wanted an assistant.”
“A goat to haul my luggage, more like,” called a voice from above. Tyria looked up as the wooden plank creaked, getting her first glimpse of the ambassador. He was short and unassuming, with bushy brown hair and a broad grin. Tyria felt a jolt of surprise as she caught sight of his horn… and his wings.
The ambassador reached the bottom of the ramp and stepped off onto the pier, sighing. “Back on land at last. So to speak.” He turned to her and smiled. “Ambassador Rye Strudel. A pleasure.” He raised a hoof.
Tyria shook it, politely not-looking at his horn or wings. “Ensign Tyria Metrel. I’m here to escort you to the embassy.”
The ambassador’s face brightened. “An escort! The last embassy made me find it on my own.” He grinned again. “I might enjoy this after all.”
Saying nothing of Captain Petalbloom or her unofficial punishment detail, Tyria simply nodded. Ambassador Strudel turned to his aide, the Firewing. “Did we get everything?”
“I think so. My armor’s packed away with your spare robes, and the books are in the other suitcase.”
“Excellent.” The ambassador turned back to Tyria. “Shall we—”
He caught her staring at his wings. The ambassador’s face closed off like a slamming door.
Tyria’s cheeks flushed red. The ambassador cleared his throat. “Shall we head off, then?” he asked quietly. Burning with shame, Tyria nodded and set off down the pier.
A pegacorn. She certainly hadn’t expected this. Tyria had heard of them before, of course, but she’d never thought to see one herself. She was fiercely curious. How had a magic- and flight-crippled hybrid unicorn-pegasus ended up as a royal ambassador?
Probably through a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. And you just insulted him. She winced. She’d seen stranger things in Zyre—a city this large and diverse had at least two of everything—so she had no excuse to make the ambassador uncomfortable. She desperately hoped she might retreat back to the security offices once they reached the embassy, and avoid him and any further awkwardness for the rest of his stay.
Still, he didn’t seem like most diplomats she’d met. None of them would have called somepony as decorated as Staff Sergeant Specklestraw a goat, for instance. She supposed it might be his upbringing. His last name was Strudel, he must not be of noble birth.
She jerked to a halt. “Strudel?” She turned in surprise. “Wait a minute, isn’t that the name of the Firewings’ captain?”
The two ponies behind her shot each other knowing looks. Ambassador Strudel shook his head. “Former. She’s retired, now.”
Tyria blinked. Maybe that was how a pegacorn had risen so high in the royal court. “I didn’t know she had a son.”
“I get that a lot.” The ambassador's mouth twisted wryly.
She’d better get moving before she stuck her hoof any deeper in her mouth. Tyria started walking again, leading them into the city.
Behind her, she heard the ambassador clear his throat. “So, Sergeant, is it bigger than you expected?”
“Much.” The Firewing sounded impressed. “You were right, this city is larger than Cairoan.”
“We’ll have to buy a street map. Don’t want to get lost on our way to see the Marquis. Which reminds me, we need to set up a new appointment; we got in a few days sooner than expected.”
“Have you figured out how you're going to convince her yet?”
“These people are all the same. Power, money, fame, love, lust—you just have to figure out what makes them tick and play to their desires.” The ambassador sounded confident. “Marquis Zahira’s been in power for a long time, though. She should be an interesting opponent.”
Tyria looked back over her shoulder, puzzled. “Opponent? I thought Zyre and Equestria were allies.”
Ambassador Strudel grinned at her. “The key to politics, officer Metrel, is that everypony is an opponent. Doesn’t mean you have to be unfriendly, though.” He looked around as they passed through the dock district. “Have you ever met the Marquis?”
“No.” Tyria turned back to watch where she was going. “Ambassador Milliden speaks with her on occasion, though. You could ask him.”
“I will, Ensign, thank you.” The ambassador yawned. “I hope the embassy has better beds than that ship did. I can never get the hang of hammocks.”
Tyria wondered if he was making a pun or not. She blinked uncomfortably. The ambassador was so… informal. She wasn’t quite sure how to react.
At last, they left the docks behind and entered the embassy district. Most major cities had at least a few embassies, but Zyre had so many that an entire section of the city had been appropriated for their use. Tyria felt obliged to point out some of the more important ones as they passed.
“There’s the Dromedary embassy, over there.” She pointed a hoof. “And there’s the one from Zeropia, and Zema, and there’s the Zerusian embassy. Actually, most nations from Zebrica are represented here.”
“That’s a lot of Zs,” said the ambassador with amusement. “The zebras never were fond of variety.”
Tyria felt an involuntary smile rising and quashed it. “And there’s the Gryphan embassy, just across the street from ours.”
“Grypha?” Sergeant Specklestraw sounded faintly alarmed.
Tyria paused and turned around. “Of course. This is the most important trading port in the western hemisphere. They’d be crazy not to have a hoof—er, claw—in it.”
Specklestraw frowned. Ambassador Strudel lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “What about the whole ex-Gryphan slave colony thing?”
Tyria shrugged. “That was centuries ago. Zyre’s been an independent city-state since the old Empire fell. The griffons certainly don’t have the resources to retake it, even if they wanted to.” She frowned. “Especially after the last war.”
Sergeant Specklestraw’s face darkened. “I hope not.”
She looked at him with interest. “Were you part of the battle in Canterlot, Sergeant?”
“As well as Whitewall. And Trellow.” Specklestraw grimaced. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Of course. My apologies.” Tyria looked to her side and gestured at the little white building. “Well, here we are.”
She and the Firewing doffed their covers, and the three of them pushed inside. Tyria was greeted by the familiar striped face of Zedara, the embassy’s secretary. There weren’t enough Equestrians on station to fully staff the facility, so they’d hired out to locals for the less sensitive jobs.
“Greetings, Ensign.” Zedara bowed her head to the two newcomers. “Ambassador Strudel. Sergeant Specklestraw. Welcome to Zyre. We’ve been expecting you.”
The ambassador nodded. “Thank you. Which way to the beds?”
“We’ve set aside a room for the both of you, up the stairs and to the left.” Zedara pointed helpfully.
“All right. Need any help with the luggage, Sergeant?”
Specklestraw shook his head, but Tyria, eager to make up for her earlier faux pas, said, “Oh, I can take one of the bags.”
The Firewing shrugged. He sat one of the suitcases upright, and she slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”
She led them up the stairs, and into the little two-pony bedroom reserved for important dignitaries. It was smaller than the four-person room down the hall, but having only two beds made it appear roomier. She set the suitcase down beside one of them and nodded to the other two ponies. “If you need anything, talk to Zedara downstairs. Enjoy your stay in Zyre.”
“Thank you, Officer Metrel.” The ambassador gave her a warm smile. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”
“You too.” Tyria blushed again, and hurried out of the room.
Goddess, she’d sounded like an idiot. She sighed in embarrassment as she descended the stairs. Hopefully she would be able to stay out of the pegacorn ambassador’s way for the next week or two, and avoid any more awkward social missteps.
* * *
As the day ended, Tyria undressed and hung her uniform back up neatly in her locker. She checked the clock and swore. Bidding her fellow security officers a hasty goodbye, she threw on her saddlebags and rushed from the building out into the streets.
She was always late for dinner with Zanaya. Her friend was patient, but Tyria felt guilty every time she made the poor mare wait. Luckily, the restaurant wasn’t far from the embassies, and she made it there only five minutes past seven.
Tyria entered the little diner, flushed from the run. The usual dinner rush had started to end by now, so there was no line. The front counter was tended by a bored-looking zebra, who gave Tyria an apathetic glance. “Welcome to Vera’s,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I’ll show you to your table. Will this be herbivore or non?”
“Ah, actually, I’m meeting somepony.” Tyria looked over the zebra’s shoulder and caught sight of her striped friend, sitting far in the back. “There she is. If you’ll excuse me…”
She made her way over to Zanaya’s booth and scooted in on the other side of the table. The zebra’s smile was dry. “Hey there, soldier girl. Another long day at work, huh? You look stressed.”
“Very.” Tyria rubbed her temples.
Zanaya shook her head. “You need to take some time off. Work out a bit of that tension. When’s the last time you went out and had yourself a roll in the hay with someone, hmm?”
“Zanaya!” Tyria blushed. She and Zanaya had become very good friends over the years, but her sex life—or lack thereof—was none of Zanaya’s business. “Honestly.”
The zebra grinned. “Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “So what’s the trouble at work?”
“There’s a new ambassador in town for a few weeks.” Tyria sighed. “I got stuck escorting him this afternoon.”
“Blech.” Zanaya rolled her eyes. “Politicians.”
“He didn’t seem so bad.” Tyria winced, remembering their awkward dock meeting. “I don’t think I made a good first impression, though.”
“Oh?”
“He’s a pegacorn. He, uh, caught me staring a bit.”
“Really.” Zanaya’s eyes narrowed with interest. She was intensely curious about everything, something Tyria supposed was part of her job. “I’ve never actually seen a pegacorn before. I've heard they usually die young or go mad. How crazy was he?”
Tyria shrugged. “He seemed normal enough to me.”
“Hm. How’d one end up becoming an ambassador?”
“His mother's Windstreak Strudel, the old royal guard captain.”
“Aha.” Zanaya looked satisfied with that explanation.
Their waiter approached, a youthful looking zebra stallion, and cleared his throat. “Welcome to Vera’s, ladies. Here are your menus.” He passed them each a strip of parchment, pressed and sealed to keep them clean. “What can I get you to drink?”
Tyria’s eyes scanned her menu. “I’ll have a Sparkling Ruby.”
“Just water, for me.” Zanaya didn’t bother to look at her options. She always got the same thing, anyway. Tyria smiled, remembering Ambassador Strudel's crack about zebras not liking variety. Maybe it was some ingrained herd instinct.
As the waiter left to get their drinks, Tyria looked up. “So how was your day at work? Any more luck than last week?”
“None,” sighed Zanaya. “The City Watch is overloaded this month. We’ve been dealing with the usual summer crime spree on top of the Pit Vipers. The only two zebras available for my investigation are me and Zed, and he's already swamped with the Ricolo case.”
“I’d have thought that blowing up a ship in the middle of the harbor would cause more of a stir.”
“It’s been ruled ‘accidental destruction of property.’ That wouldn't be my read of the situation, but the commissioner knows best.” Zanaya's mouth scrunched unhappily. “Thanks to you, we know the Vipers were likely involved, but it doesn’t seem like premeditated sabotage—meaning that instead of Trade Crimes, it got assigned to Petty Theft and Vandalism. We poor PTV detectives are stuck trying to find information on this mysterious pirate of yours with no additional department resources and no leads.”
Tyria frowned. “I wish I could give you more. I didn’t get a very good look at him.”
Zanaya smirked. “Most ponies can’t tell one zebra apart from another, anyway.”
“It’s the stripes,” said Tyria with a grin. “We get dizzy.”
Their waiter returned with their beverages, and took their orders. As he left again, Tyria sipped her red fruit drink. “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”
“Thanks.” Zanaya took a drink of water. “Got any weekend plans?”
“I was thinking of heading out to the market tomorrow. Looking for a gift for Captain Petalbloom’s birthday in a month.”
“A bribe, you mean,” said Zanaya with another smirk. “She’s not still mad at you, is she?”
Tyria buried her head in her hooves. “Oof. Milliden's still upset about that incident on the docks, so he's making her life miserable. Which means she's making mine miserable. Feels like there's been a new punishment detail every other day. I’m lucky she hasn’t got me digging latrines.”
“I didn’t think they did that to officers.”
“Only if you really foul up.” Tyria took another swig of Sparkling Ruby. “Not that I’m very high on the totem pole to start with.”
Zanaya softened. “Hey, now, we've been over this. Being an ensign is perfectly respectable.”
“My father got promoted after his first year.” Tyria nudged her glass glumly.
Her friend frowned sympathetically. Zanaya knew all about the admiral. Tyria had let a lot more slip about him than she’d intended to over the years. She sighed. “I’ve got another two months to go before my required service period is up.”
“Are you planning on resigning your commission?”
“I don’t know.” Tyria fiddled with her drinking straw. “It’s paying the bills. Not sure what kind of job I could find back home in Equestria, anyway.”
Zanaya smiled encouragingly. “What about painting? I bet you'd make a good living off of that.”
Tyria shook her head. “I don’t—my work's not good enough to sell.”
“Listen, soldier girl. Humility's a virtue, but so is honesty. You're good at painting. Really good. ”
“Maybe.” Tyria swallowed. “Dad would… not be happy with me.”
“You’re a twelve-year old mare, Tyria. I think you’re capable of making your own life choices.”
She sighed. “I know, I know. Maybe you’re right.”
“You know I am. You smile when you paint. I never see that when you're talking about the embassy.” The zebra gave her a worried but friendly look. “Just something to think about.”
The waiter returned with their meals, and the two of them dug in. Zebra food was good, if spicy, but Tyria found herself missing more traditional Equestrian meals. She’d been searching for an Equestrian-style restaurant around Zyre for ages, but she’d had no luck yet.
The conversation turned to less stressful topics. Zanaya talked about her last trip out to the sugarcane fields on Serran Island and the investigation she’d been running on some thieves at the docks there. Tyria listened with interest, munching on her rice.
As they finished their dinner, Tyria sat back and pushed her empty plate forward with a hum of satisfaction. “Same time next week?”
“Sure. Good night, Tyria.” Zanaya stood up and began rummaging through her satchel. She pulled out a silver coin and dropped the tip on the table. Tyria left a half-bit of her own. Few restaurants in the area took Equestrian money, but the trade city had a currency exchange on practically every street corner, so most of the service zebras didn’t mind.
Night had fallen by the time she made it back to her apartment. The building was relatively tall for Zyran architecture, rising about five stories above the ground. She opened the door with her key and started climbing the creaky wooden stairs.
She entered her little home on the third floor, sliding the door shut and locking it behind her. With a yawn, she dumped her saddlebag beside the door and made her way into the bedroom, stepping gingerly through the disaster area she called a living room. Sketches and charcoal pencils lay everywhere. Her paints were kept much more carefully, in a small cabinet tucked into the corner of the room. The canvases themselves were stored in a series of large racks behind her couch. A two-room apartment was fairly luxurious in a city this crowded, but she needed the space for all her paintings.
Tyria fell onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Zanaya was right, as usual. The thought of painting for a living was a fantasy she barely dared to entertain. She hated her job at the embassy, but the thought of facing her father’s disapproving glare made her squirm.
She sighed, turning over on her pillow. That wasn't the only thing her friend was right about. Though she'd never admit it, Zanaya's rather crass jab about rolling in the hay had hit home. Tyria was lonely in this foreign land. After three long years stationed here, the pressures of her dead-end job and suffocating life in the city were starting to wear on her. She felt like a spring being compressed and coiled, worn out beyond repair. A poor girl’s hoof could only relieve so much of that tension by itself. Tyria groaned into her pillow in frustration. Maybe when she went to the market tomorrow, she’d buy herself some chocolate. She needed something sweet.