//------------------------------// // 9. Captured // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// The fuzzy edges of reality slowly returned. With his eyes still shut, Rye gradually became aware of the creaking of wood, the smell of saltwater, and the gentle rocking of the floor. He groaned, trying to get his bearings. Cracking his eyes open, he tried to make sense of the blurred shapes around him. As his vision began to clear, he saw that he was surrounded by crossed iron bars. The cell was surprisingly spacious, large enough to hold half a dozen ponies. Right now, however, it held only two. Tyria was leaning against the bars on the far side of the cell. Rye lifted his head and winced as his forehead throbbed. Tyria jerked upright. “You’re awake!” He sat up unsteadily, blinking. “Unfortunately.” His head felt like somepony had taken a hammer to it. Tyria breathed a sigh of relief. “You were out for hours. I was starting to worry.” “I’ll live.” Rye held his head, willing the room to stop swaying back and forth. “Where are we?” Tyria looked over her shoulder through the bars. A lantern swung from a support that ran from floor to ceiling. Barrels and crates surrounded them, blocking off a better view of their surroundings. A small hole in the ceiling permitted a ray of sunlight to shine through, letting them know that it was still late afternoon. “I believe we’re on a ship.” “That’s what I was afraid of.” Oh, Goddess, more sea travel. Rye rubbed his eye. “What happened?” “We got jumped. I don’t know how many there were, but they drugged us with something and I lost consciousness. Next thing I knew, I woke up here, with you. You’ve been lying there since I got up.” Tyria's face was pale. “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” Rye massaged his temples with a hoof, relieved that the pain was already beginning to subside. “Whatever they hit us with, they used too much. I’m just a little pony.” His memory was beginning to return. His eyes snapped open in alarm. “Oh, Sisters, they said—” “That they were going to kill us? I remember.” Tyria swallowed. “But it’s been hours since we were captured, and they haven’t thrown us overboard yet.” The creak of wood bending under hooves alerted them to somepony’s approach. A zebra mare with a green bandana tied around her forehead appeared from behind the barrels stacked to the right of the cell. Rye’s breath caught in his throat. Was this to be their executioner? The mare spared the two of them a glance, snorted, and walked past to vanish deeper into the hold. Rye exhaled slowly. “How long before anypony notices we’re gone?” Tyria shook her head. She looked ruffled. Her mane was matted from lying on the floor, and her uniform’s collar was crumpled. Rye was sure he looked equally disheveled. He hoped he hadn’t drooled on himself while comatose. She fiddled with her hooves aimlessly. “I’m supposed to have lunch with Zanaya tomorrow, but she won’t be worried if I don’t show up. Nopony’s going to figure out I’m really missing until I don’t report in for work on Monday. What about you?” “No better.” Rye slumped against a wooden support beam that stood inside the cell. “The Sergeant’s the only one who’ll notice I’m missing, and uh… I don’t think he’ll raise an alarm for a few days, at least.” Frowning, Tyria asked, “Why not?” Rye cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks turn rosy. “Erm, well, he just doesn’t, uh, seem like the type to panic.” Sisters, Wheatie’s going to think we’re—hell, I wish. But perhaps the Sergeant would realize something was wrong. I can dream, anyway. “So, it’s going to be at least three days until anypony figures out something bad has happened to us.” Tyria bit her lip. “By which time we’ll be getting intimately acquainted with the seafloor.” Rye stood, trying to get blood flowing back through his stiff muscles. “We have to get out of here.” “How?” Tyria stared listlessly at the swinging lantern. “We’re locked in. I have no idea where the key is.” Rye began pacing. “We can call a guard in and jump him.” “They’re not idiots, they’re bound to have at least two zebras on hoof any time they open the cell. I can’t take two of them at once.” Tyria winced. She must have a headache as bad as his. “Frankly, I doubt I could take even one of them right now.” “Work the door hinges free?” “With what? I don’t see any crowbars lying around.” His hooves thudded nervously on the wood. “Well, we can’t just sit here.” Tyria shook her head. “I don’t see what else we can do.” Suddenly she slammed a hoof against the bars. “Dammit. This is all my fault.” “What? No it’s not.” Rye gave her a reassuring look. “Tyria, you said it yourself; there were too many of them. There wasn’t anything you could have done.” “I’m supposed to keep you safe! I’ve done a terrible job of it so far.” Tyria hung her head. “If we ever get out of here, Petalbloom will have me discharged.” This wasn’t good. If they were going to get out of this alive, Rye needed her to be proactive, alert, and focused, not drowning in guilt. And… he didn’t like seeing her upset. He walked across the little cell and sat beside her. “Hey, don’t hog all the blame. I’m the idiot who wanted to look at that warehouse in the first place.” “I should’ve heard them coming, or seen them, or—” To his dismay, she bent her head as if to hide tears. “Just another in a long list of failures.” Rye touched her shoulder. “Tyria…” “Dammit.” She shook her head, pulling a hoof across her eyes. “I’ve never been good at this. Dad wanted me to be a perfect little officer, just like him. I went along with it, middling along like the mediocre pony I am. I’ve been stuck in this dead-end posting for nearly a quarter of my life already.” She gave a strangled laugh. “And now I’m going to die, still middling along.” Rye looked down quietly. “So, your father forced you into a military career?” “Not forced.” Tyria sniffed. “But Carina and Breslik both joined as soon as they were old enough, and with my siblings and father all in the same service branch, what was I supposed to do? Become a painter? Hah.” She turned her head away. “Mom might not have minded, but Dad… he wouldn’t say anything, you understand. But every time we ate dinner or got together for some stupid nobility social function, he’d show his disapproval in all these little ways. He’d introduce me as the non-military daughter. I’d have to sit through all those speeches about the service…” “He does sound a bit… overbearing.” “Sisters, I don’t know why I’m even telling you this.” Tyria buried her head in the crook of her leg. “You’re not a therapist.” Rye felt a dry smile on his lips. “No, I’m not. But I do have a war hero for a mother.” At last, she looked at him, her eyes red. “Was she like this?” “No. But she did want me to follow in her hoofsteps.” Rye stared distantly. “From the time I was three until I turned seven, my only goal was getting into the army and proving I could do it. I just wanted to make her proud.” “Is she proud of what you do now?” “Very.” Rye smiled. “Military or not, in the end she just wanted me to be successful.” He turned his smile to her. “And I’d bet my robes your father feels the same.” Tyria smiled faintly. “You think?” “Not a doubt.” Rye grinned at her. I have no idea. I’ve never met Jerric Metrel. But I can’t let her get caught in that trap of doubt. Doubt was the death of action, and they needed action. He reached into his robes and removed a handkerchief. With a smile, he proffered it to her. “So come on, think positive. Let’s work on getting out of here, and leave the blame game for later.” “I…” She took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and nodded. “Okay.” Rye put a hoof to his chin. “We don’t have a crowbar, but we might be able to use a plank of wood if we can pry one loose.” “I don’t think we’ll be able to… but we could try—” Tyria stopped short as the sound of hooves told them that the zebra from before was returning. The green-clad pirate walked past, hauling a barrel on her back. They watched her disappear to the right. Rye heard a door creak open and slide shut. His eyes narrowed. “I bet the stairs to the top deck are that way.” He nodded slowly as a plan began to form. “We can wait until nightfall, then head up and steal a lifeboat. Once we’re off the ship, we can sail for the nearest landmass and try to get our bearings.” “Are you sure we’re anywhere near land?” “It’s the Carriagibbean, there are islands everywhere.” Rye sighed. “Still, I wish I had a head-compass.” Tyria rubbed the back of her neck. “If we’re going to steal a boat, we’ll have to get out of this cell first. Any idea where the keys might be?” “I’m sure whoever’s in charge of the brig has them. Now, getting them, that could be tricky.” Rye felt a sudden lurch as the ship crested a small wave. His stomach swam. Tyria tilted her head. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little green.” “Mm,” he mumbled. “That gives me an idea.” Willing his lunch to stay down, he stood and approached the cell door. He banged a hoof on it, raising a clamor of ringing metal. Soon, a large, well-muscled zebra appeared, wearing a green scarf and looking irritated. The pirate stood on the other side of the door and glared at Rye. “Quit it, prisoner, unless you want to go swimming.” Rye gave a theatrical moan. “I refuse to suffer this barbaric treatment any longer. I have a delicate constitution. I demand a proper bed and food. And some ginger, to prevent illness from the rocking of the boat.” The pirate’s eyes narrowed, and he grinned. “Feeling seasick, Ambassador? I’ve got just the thing.” He walked around one of the stacks of crates, and came back holding a bucket in his mouth. Shoving it through one of the square gaps in the bars, he dropped it to the deck. “There you go.” Laughing, he turned and walked away. Rye frowned. “Blast. I was hoping he’d go get the keys, at least.” Tyria’s mouth twisted. “You sounded like Milliden for a second.” “Well, I’ve spent enough time among pompous dignitaries to get the act down.” Rye eyed the gap in the bars, appraising it. “Hmm… if this bucket can fit through there…” “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.” Tyria raised an eyebrow. “That space is barely a quarter of a meter wide.” “Like I said, I’m a small pony. If I take my robes off, I bet I can fit through.” “And then what?” “We’ll wait for it to get dark out. Night can’t be more than an hour away.” Rye looked up at the hole in the ceiling, where the beam of sunlight was rapidly fading. “I’ll squeeze out through the hole, sneak into the crew’s quarters, find the key, steal it, get you out, and then we steal a boat and get off the ship.” Tyria shrugged. “Better than sitting here, waiting to die.” She nodded. “Let’s do it.” The minutes passed slowly. The rocking of the boat intensified and calmed repeatedly, making Rye’s stomach do somersaults. He stared intently at the hole in the ceiling, their only indication of time. Eventually, he saw blackness beyond, signaling nightfall. They waited another two hours to make sure the majority of the crew would be asleep. “Okay, Rye, if we’re going to do this we’d better do it now.” “Right.” Rye shucked off his robes. He felt naked without them—well, he was naked, but it was a strange feeling nonetheless. With a deep breath, he bent down to the lowest gap in the cell bars. He stuck his forelegs through first. When he tried to push his head in after them, he found there was not enough room. Pulling one of his legs out, he cleared enough space to awkwardly fit his head through like a puzzle piece, the tip of his horn scraping against the metal. “I’m going to need some help.” “This is insane,” Tyria muttered as she came to aid him. Rye pretended not to hear. “All right, push.” With Tyria’s help, he managed to squeeze his head and part of his upper body through the gap, wincing as the metal dug into his sides. About halfway through the bars, he felt a sudden jerk and his progress stopped. “Uh-oh.” Rye swallowed. “Uh, push harder.” He heard Tyria grunt and shove, squashing his hindquarters and back legs painfully up against the cell. “I am.” “Um.” Rye blinked. “I think I’m stuck.” He couldn’t actually see Tyria rolling her eyes, but he could picture it vividly. “Great.” “Look, check my robes. Maybe there’s something in there we can use for lubricant—ink, maybe.” He heard rustling behind him as she dug through his clothing. “How many pockets are there in this thing?” “Never enough,” he sighed regretfully. “Hurry up, before somepony—” Clip clop clip THUD. Rye looked up in alarm. “Did you hear that?” Clip THUD clip clop clip clop THUD clip clop. A bead of sweat dripped down Rye’s forehead. Hoofsteps. We’re dead. Clip clop clip THUD clip clop clip THUD. What in the blazes was that sound? A peg leg? How droll. Two zebras emerged from the shadowy hold. The smaller one was the bucket-giver, but the larger was one Rye had not seen before. He was the size of a pony, with his eyes narrowed and his head covered by a large tricorn hat. A green strip of cloth ran around the hat and off the side. As they walked into the light of the lantern, the source of the strange noise became clear. The captain—for so he must be—was wearing a hoof-mace on his right hoof. Rye swallowed. I’d have preferred the peg leg. “Well, well.” The smaller zebra grinned. “Looks like we got a prison break in progress, Captain.” “Aye, it seem that way.” The captain raised an eyebrow. “I be curious, where exactly be ye planning to go once ye’re free?” His voice was slightly accented, but not as strongly as some others Rye had heard in the port. “We be in the middle of open water fer leagues around, and we’ll not be pulling in to port 'til we reach our destination. If ye were planning on hiding in the cargo hold until then, well, you’re insulting me crew’s searching ability.” Rye smiled blandly. “Just thought I’d get out and stretch my legs a bit. It’s cramped in here.” “If ye be eager to spread yer wings, I can oblige.” The captain favored him with an unfriendly smile. “Water’s lovely this time ’o year.” Tyria snarled. “So why haven’t you gotten it over with and killed us already?” Rye kicked her with one of his back legs. “Shh!” The captain leaned his head back. “We don’t make a habit of keeping prisoners alive, true. But ye match the description of a pony known to us.” “Oh?” Rye’s eyes narrowed. “And what description would that be?” “Well, ye’re the first half-breed unipeg I’ve ever seen.” “The term is pegacorn.” Rye bit back harsher words; no need to push his luck. “Pegacorn, then,” said the captain with a leering grin. “And wearing yellow robes to boot. That makes ye an ambassador, don’t it?” The other zebra, wearing the same grin, nodded. “I believe it does, Captain.” “A pegacorn ambassador.” The captain eyed him up and down. “Oh, yes. Viridian’ll want to see ye in person.” “Viridian?” Rye’s stomach, already swirling, dropped. “You’re taking us to Viridian?” “Aye. I’m sure he’ll have plenty to talk to ye about. Old times, and all that.” The captain leaned in closer. “Course, he can’t have a conversation with a dead body, can he? So we’ll be keeping ye alive. For now.” Rye’s mind whirled. Old times? What the hell? Do I know Viridian? He couldn’t remember ever meeting a pirate before this little misadventure. The captain leaned back. “I just wanted to make sure meself that ye were what they said ye was. Me curiosity’s been satisfied, so ye can get back in yer cell now.” “As much as I’d love to, I’m a little tied up at the moment.” Rye bared his teeth in something resembling a smile. With a shrug, the captain raised his hoof-mace. Rye had a split second to think Oh, damn, before the captain smashed it into his face and pushed him back through the bars onto the floor. He fell to the deck, curling up against the pain in his forehead. The blow had been with the flat of the hoof-mace, not the edge, but it was still extremely painful. The captain laughed. “Enjoy yer stay aboard the Nightingale. Try to escape again, and I’ll kill ye meself, Viridian or no Viridian.” He and his crony disappeared back into the depths of the ship, his hoof-mace thudding on the wood. Tyria leaned down over Rye, gently nudging him. “Hey, you okay?” “I’ve had worse. I think.” Rye winced, rubbing his face. He was going to have a giant bruise there come morning. “What he said… you know Viridian?” Rye shook his head blankly. “If I do, I don’t know who he is.” Tyria sighed. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” With a grunt, Rye dragged himself over to his robes. He struggled to put them on, still twitching with pain. Groaning, he leaned back against the hull of the ship. “You don’t look so good. Can I help?” Tyria frowned with concern. “Yeah.” Rye gave her a look of queasy anticipation. “Bring the bucket over.”