//------------------------------// // 8. A Date on the Docks // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// The local City Watch station was a tall, stone building on the corner of Kerel Street, a fifteen minute walk away from the embassies on a good day. Traffic had picked up since Tyria had left her apartment, but she made the trip with little delay. Tyria pushed her way into the building, sidling past a zebra officer on his way out. Inside, a dozen zebras were bustling back and forth, carrying stacks of parchment on their backs. Tyria dodged a few and approached the front desk. She rapped a hoof on the desk to get the secretary’s attention. “Excuse me, I’m here to see Detective Zanaya.” “Oh, Tyria, hello.” The secretary nodded and pointed to the stairs on the right side of the building. “Zanaya’s up in her office. You know the way.” Tyria walked up to the second floor, passing another pair of harried-looking zebras. She reached the top of the stairs and caught Zanaya’s eye from across the room. Tyria smiled and waved, and her friend waved back with a curious expression. She walked up to the zebra, who was clearly buried in paperwork. “Morning, Zanaya.” “Hi, Tyria.” Zanaya leaned back and cracked her legs. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work?” “I’m here on work-related business, I’m afraid.” “Oh, no.” Zanaya dragged a hoof along her face. “Don’t tell me the ambassador’s caused another incident.” “No, no, Milliden’s not involved.” “Thank the gods.” Zanaya rolled her eyes. “I swear, it’s like that stallion wants to piss off the Marquis. Who thought he would make a good ambassador?” Tyria shrugged. “This isn’t about the embassy. It’s about the Vipers.” Zanaya’s levity instantly vanished, replaced with an intent stare. “What happened?” “Two things. I didn’t think the first was worth reporting until last night, but…” Tyria swallowed. “The Gryphan ambassador? Tatius Gableclaw?” “I’m familiar with him.” “He’s in with the Vipers. I don’t know how deeply, but he’s been smuggling something for them.” “Tyria…” Zanaya slowly sucked in breath through her teeth. “That’s quite an accusation to make.” Where’s the proof? went unspoken. “It’s not an accusation, not yet. But I overheard—” Tyria paused, “Er, the ambassador overheard him talking with one of the pirates about a deal.” “The ambassador?” Zanaya raised an eyebrow and frowned. “Tyria, Milliden hates Grypha almost as much as Tatius hates Equestria. That’s not a very reliable source.” “Not Milliden. Rye.” Zanaya gave her a blank look. “Rye Strudel, the new ambassador who just arrived last week. Remember?” “Oh.” Zanaya blinked. “The pegacorn.” Tyria felt a strange jolt of irritation. “Does that made his word invalid?” “Hey, hey, I’ve got nothing against the guy.” Zanaya held up her hooves in supplication. “But Tyria, one overheard conversation isn’t going to hold up in court.” “I don’t expect you to go out and arrest Tatius. I’m just saying you might want to look at him a bit more closely.” Tyria cleared her throat. “Besides, what happened last night is more interesting, anyway.” “Go on, then.” “Rye and I were coming back from a meeting in the government district late last night, and we took a detour through the dock district.” Tyria told Zanaya about the pirates, the chase, and most importantly, the warehouse. “Hmm. We’ve suspected that the Vipers have a storehouse in the city for a long time, now.” Zanaya nibbled a hoof, thinking. “It’ll take me a few days to get a warrant. You said it was by the Dromedarian section?” Tyria nodded. “With a green door.” “Okay. I’ll head upstairs to talk to the commissioner. She’ll want to hear this.” Zanaya sat back, looking bemused. “First that incident on the bay, now griffons and warehouses. What is it with you and pirates?” Tyria shook her head, dismayed. “I don’t go looking for them.” She blinked in surprise. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have to cancel on Friday.” Zanaya shrugged. “Not a problem. I expect I’ll be busy with this warehouse of yours, anyway.” “Thanks. Let’s do lunch on Saturday, okay?” “You got it. Why, out of curiosity?” “Oh, I, uh…” Tyria’s lips felt dry. “I’m going to see a play.” “A play?” Zanaya peered at her, and then the corners of her mouth turned up. “Who is he?” “What?” said Tyria, putting on her best innocent face. “You’re a terrible liar, Tyria. Come on, tell me!” Tyria felt her cheeks reddening. “Ambassador Strudel wanted to see the entertainment district, and he requested my help as a guide—” Zanaya snickered. “Guide, my hoof.” “It’s not—” Tyria scowled. “Quit laughing! He’s… he’s really sweet, and cheerful, and… I just want to get to know him better.” Zanaya gave her a genuine smile. “Well, I’m happy for you. It’s about time you stopped moping around.” Tyria coughed pointedly. “I’d better get back to the embassy before Petalbloom thinks I’ve run off again.” “All right, all right. Stay safe, Tyria. Don’t go chasing any more pirates, okay?” Zanaya grinned. “And… enjoy yourself.” “Thanks.” Tyria smiled nervously, and turned to leave. Behind her, she heard Zanaya laughing softly. * * * For Rye, the week passed with agonizing slowness. The Marquis’s schedule was full until a week and a half from Friday, so there was little for him to do. He grew antsier and antsier, and by the time Friday finally arrived he was bouncing off of the walls so much that Wheatie kicked him out of the room to go burn off energy. Rye took the opportunity to head out to the markets, accompanied by a new ensign that Captain Petalbloom had assigned him. He bought a few more pastries and some souvenirs for his father and Inger, and picked up tickets for that evening's show. When he returned to his room at the embassy, he found Wheatie poring over a gigantic book. Rye tilted his head to read the title. “Trade Goods and Economics in the Golden Isles? Sounds like a real page-turner, Sergeant.” “It really isn't.” Wheatie frowned and tapped a page. “I’m looking for this black sugar of yours. It sounded maddeningly familiar.” Rye shrugged and fell onto his bed, to fidget quietly. The silence did not last long. By the time lunch had passed, Rye’s incessant, nervous babble had driven Wheatie into his bed with both ears flattened and his head under a pillow. He walked back and forth, talking endlessly. “Do you think I should wear these robes, or the triple-layered ones? Or none at all? Is that too informal? It’s a play, not an opera. I shouldn’t need a suit. Is this yellow too bright?” Wheatie, peering out from under his pillow, gave Rye a dry glance. “You look like your mother when you pace like that.” “I get that a lot.” Rye sighed and glanced at the clock. “Ten more minutes.” He reached into his robes and pulled out his two slips of colored paper. He set them down on his bed. “Oh, Sisters, Wheatie, I think I'm going to start hyperventilating.” Wheatie looked up at the ceiling. “It's just a date, Rye.” “I'm not… good at those.” The pegasus placed a hoof to his forehead and gave a long-suffering sigh. “There's no trick to it. Just relax and be yourself.” “Uh, well…” Rye sat on the floor. “That hasn't worked out so well for me in the past.” Wheatie blinked. “Oh.” He sat up, looking concerned. “Is this about the, uh…” “Yeah. I’m a pegacorn.” Rye swallowed. “But she doesn’t seem to care. I… I really hope she doesn’t.” At a loss for words, Wheatie shrugged. “I’d say act natural, but I have the feeling you’re going to act like an idiot anyway. So… just don’t worry about it.” His mouth twisted. “After all, what’s the worst that could happen?” “The worst?” Rye grimaced. “The last time Cranberry pressured me into going courting, I wound up in some bar with a pegasus. Pretty girl. Yellow coat, creamy-white mane. Stared at my forehead through the entire dinner, kept asking if I could do any magic. When she found out I couldn’t, she looked disappointed, but asked if I wanted to go cloud-diving the next day. I told her I couldn’t fly.” Wheatie looked apprehensive. “And?” “She said that her friends had been right, that I was a—” Rye stopped and took a breath. “I mean—she said some unkind things. I don’t remember much of the rest of the night, but the hangover the next day was pretty unforgettable.” “Ah…” Wheatie winced. “Could’ve been worse. At least she finished dinner. That one unicorn…” Rye gave a chipper grin. “But hey, you’re right. How bad can it go? Tyria’s not a pegasus, I doubt she’ll offer to go cloud-diving.” “That’s the spirit,” said Wheatie, with an uneasy smile. “You’d better get going.” “Right.” Rye swallowed, and retrieved the tickets. He tucked them into his robes again, and straightened the collar. With one last, fortifying breath, he left and headed down the stairs. Tyria met him in the foyer. She was dressed in her work khakis, cleanly pressed; not too formal, but not completely casual. Rye was glad he’d gone with the standard robes. “Hello, Ambassador.” Tyria nodded. “Ready to get going?” Rye held the door open. “Let’s.” With a wry smile, Tyria left the embassy, and Rye followed her out. Their hooves clopped softly along the cobblestones. “So,” he said lightly, “I forgot to ask. What’s the Watch doing about that warehouse?” “Oh,” said Tyria, “I haven’t seen Zanaya since I told her. I’ll ask when I see her tomorrow.” They chatted while they walked. Rye found that his numb-tongued awkwardness around members of the opposite sex wasn’t nearly as bad as usual. Talking with her was… easy. Fun. Don’t screw this one up, Rye. Traffic thickened as the sun went down. By the time they reached the edge of the embassy district, it was difficult to move forward. Ahead, the press of Zyrans trying to make it past into the entertainment district and the markets beyond before the stores began closing had grown impassable. “We’re going to be late if we try fighting through there,” said Rye. “Know any shortcuts?” “Shortcuts make long delays,” intoned Tyria, before laughing. “We can cut west through the docks.” “The docks? Again?” Rye rolled his eyes. “Why do we keep ending up there?” “Hey, we can watch the sun set over the bay. If you thought that painting was pretty, wait till you see the real thing.” “All right, then.” Rye beamed. “Lead on.” Tyria took him back into the embassy district, and they made their way through the clearer streets and out onto the docks. They were fairly empty at this hour on a Friday afternoon, only the barest scattering of zebras still milling about the ships. The sun was low in the sky, staining it red and purple. Its reflection glimmered on the water, like a thousand golden coins falling through the air. Rye inhaled. “Wow.” “Yeah.” Tyria looked contemplative. “I’ve been here so long, I barely ever watch this anymore. I guess I take it for granted.” “There’s no water back in Canterlot. Not like this. It’s beautiful.” Rye stood beside her, looking out over the bay. “I… I admit, sometimes I miss Equestria. The Golden Isles are gorgeous, but…” Tyria sighed. “They’re not home.” Rye made an affirming mm. “I know what you mean.” He moved a little closer, resisting the urge to whistle nonchalantly. “I’ve been to half a dozen different nations, but the only place I ever feel like I belong is back in Canterlot.” Tyria nodded absently. “It’s been a long time since I went back to Whitetail. Mother’s probably mad at me.” She snorted. “Well, I—” A sudden gust of wind took Rye’s robes, billowing them around him. One of the tickets came flying out. “Hey!” He chased it down the pier, his robes flapping around him in the wind. “Get back here, you little—” The ticket fluttered to the wood as the wind died. Rye picked it up and tucked it into his robes. He turned around to see Tyria standing at the end of the pier, stifling laughter with a hoof. Rye gave a dignified bow. “Ambassador Strudel; diplomat, cook, chaser of paper. I’ll be here all week.” Clapping her hooves together wryly, Tyria raised her eyebrows. “Very impressive.” Rye heard a cracking sound. He looked down at the rotten wood of the pier beneath him. It was bending dangerously under his weight. “Oh.” The wood splintered and broke. Rye plunged into the warm water. He felt a moment of panic before he hit the bottom, and realized it was only half a meter deep. Scowling, he waded out, soaked from his breast down. Tyria was waiting for him on the shore, a hoof over her mouth. Her eyes were twinkling with suppressed mirth. “Are you okay?” “A little soggy, but unharmed.” Rye pulled the tickets out of his pocket. They were damp, but still intact. “I think we can still make it in time, if we run.” “All right. Let’s get moving, then,” she said, giggling. “You can dry on the way.” Rye was about to reply, when his vision went dark. He felt rough fabric cover his head and pull tight around his neck. Whinnying with surprise, he bucked his hind legs instinctively, and hit something. “Damn!” said somepony unfamiliar. Tyria’s voice yelled, “Hey!” before there was a thwack and silence. Rye felt a hard kick in his side, and he fell to the ground, curling against the pain. “See the robes?” asked a gruff voice. “Yes. Definitely the same two ponies.” Rye raised his head, unable to see anything through the bag. “Whoever you are—” “Shut up.” Another kick silenced him. “It’s been days. They’re bound to have reported the storehouse by now.” “Well, then, it’s a good thing we were already clearing it out, isn’t it?” Rye's eyes flicked uselessly back and forth in the blackness. His ears strained for the sound of Tyria's voice, desperately hoping she was still alive. To Rye’s immense relief, he heard her moan. The rougher voice said, “So what do we do with them now?” “Well, we can’t just kill them. Bodies mean investigations. The captain won’t be happy about investigations.” “All right, then. We’re shipping out tonight, anyway, we’ll take them out to sea and dump their bodies in.” “What about the navy inspection? They won’t take kindly to us shipping corpses.” “Stick ‘em in the brig. The navy won’t care if we have a few mutinous crewmembers locked up.” “Then let’s get moving.” Rye was hauled upright. “Wait—please, whoever you are—” A cloth pressed against his nose and mouth through the bag. He recoiled, his nostrils filled with a scent both sickeningly sweet and musty. For a brief moment, his mind was filled with a horrible memory of dark caves and chittering monsters before his eyes rolled back and his consciousness abandoned him.