Morning dawned warm and humid in Zyre. Wheatie woke to find his sheets stuck to his fur, and his head clouded by the muggy air. He fought free of the sheets and his stupor, willing himself to wakefulness.
With a yawn, he rolled out of bed and began his morning exercise routine. A few sets of pushups, a few wing stretches, just enough to get the last sleepy slowness out of his system. In this heat, though, even the lightest exertions soon left him with a faint sheen of sweat on his coat. Really, couldn’t the embassy have given them a room with a window?
Wiping his brow with his towel, he gave Rye’s empty bed a frown. He’d hoped the ambassador’s date would go well. There was something about the little pegacorn that made you want to root for him. But frankly, he hadn’t expected it to go that well.
A night at a lovely young mare’s place was one thing, but three of them in a row? It just didn’t fit with his impression of Rye. As the weekend passed and the ambassador failed to reappear, an uneasy feeling began to grow in the back of Wheatie’s mind. By Monday morning, unease was blossoming into concern.
Telling himself not to overreact, Wheatie picked up his latest book on Gryphan trade goods. He was now absolutely certain that he’d run across that mysterious black sugar Rye had mentioned, but its identity continued to elude him.
He was growing annoyed at himself for wasting all his free time in the embassy instead of exploring the city. Zyre was bound to have some interesting night life. Wheatie had been thrilled with the assignment when Inger gave it to him.
“You’re headed to the Carriagibbean, Wheatie. Sun, sand, margaritas, and mares. Enjoy yourself, but make sure you give the ambassador whatever help he asks for. He’s an old friend.”
A paid vacation, or so he’d thought, but strange things had been happening ever since their arrival. Wheatie was beginning to wish he’d kept a closer eye on the ambassador.
He slammed the book shut. “That’s it,” he muttered to himself, “I’m going after him.” Wheatie tossed the book to his bed, and started getting dressed.
The uniform was comfortably snug. Privately, Wheatie thought it made him look rather stuffy; but looks could be deceiving. Beneath his benign, slightly airy exterior was a veteran of the War of Whitetail, one of the ponies who had helped defend the bridge of Trellow, kill a dragon, and defeat the leader of the Gryphan armies in personal combat. He’d earned every one of the service ribbons that adorned his chest.
Straightening his collar, he went over his plan of action. He’d find some pretext to ask Captain Petalbloom where Tyria lived—she’d lent him a book or something—then he’d head over to her house, and bang on the door until they opened it. Once he’d made sure that Rye was there, he’d think of some way to extricate himself without embarrassing the ambassador any more than necessary.
Wheatie opened the door, left the room, and immediately crashed into a yellow-robed pony. Parchment flew everywhere as the other stallion fell on his rear. It took Wheatie a brief moment to realize that the pony wasn’t Rye.
“Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” Ambassador Milliden scowled and began pulling his paperwork toward him across the floor.
“My apologies, Ambassador.” Wheatie bent to help him, but the ambassador waved a hoof in dismissal.
“Get out of my mane. I have an urgent meeting in ten minutes, and now I’m going to be late.” He glared at Wheatie. “Go on, shoo!”
Wheatie held up a placating hoof and retreated down the stairs, shaking his head. He certainly puts the ‘ass’ in ambassador. How on Earth did he get this job?
If he remembered correctly, the captain’s office was to the left of the bottom of the stairs. But when he reached the lobby, he found an unexpected new arrival; a zebra with a silver bracelet just above her right hoof was talking to the embassy secretary. Wheatie raised an eyebrow. If he wasn’t mistaken, the silver band on her leg meant she was with the City Watch. What was a cop doing at the embassy?
She was still speaking with a bland smile when he arrived on the lobby floor. “Yes, well, she didn’t show up for lunch on Saturday. I wasn’t terribly worried, but when I checked her home yesterday she wasn’t there, either.”
The secretary shrugged. “I’m sorry, Detective, but we haven’t seen Tyria yet today. She’s an hour late, actually.”
Wheatie’s eyes narrowed. He walked up to the desk and gave the two zebra mares a disarming smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” The zebra’s eyes briefly scanned his medals, and one of her eyebrows rose, but she turned back to the secretary. “Well, when she comes in, tell her to come see me after work.”
“All right, Detective.” The secretary gave a well-practiced smile. “Have a nice day.”
Wheatie cleared his throat. “Ah, Detective…”
“Hm?” The zebra looked mildly irritated.
He smiled again. “You’re looking for Tyria Metrel? Me too.”
The detective’s eyes sharpened. She flashed a glance at the secretary, then tipped her head toward the door. “Outside, please.”
Wheatie followed her out into the street. Immediately she turned and led him down the wall. When they were a fair distance from the door, she whirled and gave him a hard look. “All right, soldier boy. Why are you looking for Tyria?”
“Not her, exactly. She and my friend, Ambassador Strudel, went out together on Friday night—”
“Right, the play.” The detective’s brow furrowed. “And he’s missing too?”
“Yes.” Wheatie frowned. “I was just about to go looking for him at Metrel’s place.”
“They aren’t there.” The zebra put a hoof to her mouth and nibbled on it. “I’m starting to get worried.”
“Ah, sorry, but who are you?”
“Detective Zanaya, with the Zyre City Watch.” She extended a hoof.
Wheatie shook it. “Staff Sergeant Wheatie Specklestraw, Equestrian Air Forces.”
“Ah, so you’re the Firewing.” Zanaya gave him a dry smile. “Tyria mentioned you.” The smile vanished. “Look, Tyria’s a good friend. She’s on thin ice already with that captain at the embassy. If she and your ambassador have gone AWOL, or something equally stupid… Until we know for sure, I’d like to keep the fact that she’s missing hidden from Petalbloom.”
“I see.” Wheatie sighed. “If she doesn’t show up for work, the captain’s going to find out anyway.”
“She’s taking a sick day.” Zanaya waved a hoof. “Look, we can make up the excuses after we figure out what happened to them.”
“Uh, aren’t you on duty? What about your boss?”
“I’m PTV; Petty Theft and Vandalism. The crimes we work on don’t need a lot of oversight. I’ve got a very loose leash.” Zanaya frowned. “I’d rather not involve my partner in this, though. If it goes south, the commissioner won’t be happy about me wasting department time.” She looked at Wheatie appraisingly. “But I’m not going to be able to do it alone.”
Wheatie nodded. “You want my help?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll help me find Rye?”
“If you help me find Tyria without Petalbloom catching wind of it.” She offered him her hoof again. “Deal?”
“Deal.” He shook it. “Where do we start?”
Zanaya started walking off into the street, and Wheatie fell in behind her. “Tyria’s got a few hangouts she frequents,” said Zanaya over her shoulder. “We’ll start with the ones closest to the theater district and move southwest from there.”
Wheatie voiced his growing fears. “What if something’s happened to them?”
Zanaya grimaced. “Then we report them to Missing Persons, and hope for the best.”
“How often do ponies go missing in Zyre?”
“Often enough.” She bit her lip. “We find bodies in the waterfront, every now and then.”
Wheatie swallowed. “Then let’s hurry.”
* * *
They searched throughout the morning, checking restaurants, bookstores, and art shops. As lunchtime approached, Zanaya led Wheatie to a tiny park on the edge of the political district. He was surprised to find temperate climate trees growing there. The sight of trees from his homeland was a pleasant one.
“Why does Tyria come here?” he asked.
Zanaya looked around, scanning the area. “She likes painting the trees.”
“Painting…” Wheatie rubbed his chin. “Rye mentioned her paintings. He told me about a specific piece, said it was a picture of the docks at twilight.”
“The docks, eh?” Zanaya pursed her lips. “I know the place. Come on, let’s go.”
As they left, Wheatie looked around and smiled. “This is quite the city.”
“Really?” Zanaya gave him an amused glance. “In my experience, most Equestrians find Zyre too crowded.”
“I grew up in Canterlot. I’m used to the noise and the crowds.” Wheatie scratched his neck.
She smiled faintly. “Have you ever been to a zebra port before?”
“No.” He tilted his head. “Is there something special about them?”
“They tend to be a little more… adventurous than Equestrian ports.” She flicked her tail. “Hang around long enough, soldier boy, and you’ll find out.” She turned down a side street. Wheatie raised an eyebrow and followed.
They made it to the docks shortly after noon, fighting their way through the constant press of sailors. The noise of the dockworkers threatened to drown out their conversation. Zanaya pointed to the far end of a nearby pier, and yelled over the din, “Over there!”
Wheatie met her on the edge of the pier. He looked over the edge, and watched his reflection dance in the crystal-clear blue water of the shallows. “No sign of them.”
“Well, we can widen the search a bit.” Zanaya looked back and forth. “Hang on a minute. Do you see that?” She pointed to the nearest pier on their left.
“Hm?” Wheatie craned his neck. “See what?”
“There’s a hole in the wood over there.” Zanaya looked at him, her mouth twisting with worry. “They’re usually pretty good about keeping these piers repaired. That has to be new.”
“You think it was them?”
“I think it bears investigating.”
Wheatie shrugged. “You’re the detective.”
She sighed. “We’ll have to fight through the mob again.”
“No, we won’t.” Wheatie grinned. “Hop on.” He flapped his wings.
Zanaya gave him a wary look. “Um… I’ve never flown before.”
“It’s fun. You’ll like it.” He bent a leg. “Hop on.”
“You sure you can lift me?”
“Sure. Zebras are lighter than ponies.” With a charming smile, he extended his wings. “Shall we?”
Clenching her teeth, Zanaya slid over his back. “I’m going to regret this.”
He took off, enjoying the rush of air past his face. Between the walk from Canterlot, the boat trip to Zyre, and his research at the embassy, he hadn’t been getting to fly nearly as often as he liked. He soared up into the sky, feeling Zanaya’s legs wrap tightly around his neck. He grinned.
“Is this—do we really need to go this high?” Her voice sounded higher-pitched than normal.
“Scared of heights?” he called over his shoulder.
“I didn’t think so…” She squeezed tighter. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“All right.” He circled, descending toward the pier. They touched down lightly with a clunk as his hooves hit the wood. Wheatie knelt with one leg and let her off.
“Well.” Zanaya had gone slightly pale. “Now I know why zebras aren’t born with wings.”
Wheatie inspected the hole in the pier. “Rotten planks. Doesn’t look like intentional damage, the wood just broke.”
Zanaya leaned down and began eyeing the splinters. “Maybe.” She slowly circled the hole.
“Well, I don’t see anything to suggest it was them.” Wheatie looked back at the city, and sighed in frustration. “Blast it.”
“Wheatie.” Zanaya pointed to the opposite side of the hole.
He leaned in to take a closer look. Wheatie inhaled sharply when he saw what she was pointing to. Hanging from the edge, caught in the splintered wood, was an unmistakable canary-yellow clothing fiber.
“He fell in.” Zanaya started walking down the pier. “He’d have swum back out, taking the shortest path…” Her pace quickened as she made her way to the stairs that led down to the beach itself. Wheatie followed.
They walked down onto the sand. Zanaya looked around, frowning. “If this happened on Friday, there won’t be much of a trail left thanks to the wind, but…” She bent over some marks in the sand. “They’re distorted, but these have to be hoofprints. Lots of them. There were more than two ponies here.”
As Zanaya leaned down to study the marks, Wheatie blinked. “Any idea what happened?”
She followed the sand with her hoof. “Somebody was lying here. I’d guess a zebra, from the size of the mark. And another over here, but this one’s a pony.”
Wheatie’s heart rate spiked. “Rye’s pretty short. He’s about the size of an average zebra. A little smaller, even.”
“These skid marks in the sand… they were dragged a short distance, then the marks vanish. Looks like whoever made the hoofprints hauled them off.”
“Damn. Muggers wouldn’t take them prisoner.”
“No.” Zanaya shook her head. She looked up at him. “Did they tell you about the warehouse?”
“Yes.” Wheatie sat over the marks in the sand. “He said the pirates got good looks at them. If they were down here on the docks and the Vipers showed up…”
Zanaya swore. “They’ve been missing for three days, then.” Her face fell in dismay. “The Pit Vipers don’t usually take prisoners. I don’t think Missing Persons will be able to help us.”
“The warehouse.” Wheatie stood. “We need to see that warehouse.”
“I don’t have a warrant, yet.” She scowled. “My boss is having trouble convincing the judge that there’s reasonable suspicion of illegal activity in there.”
Wheatie made a throw-away motion with his hoof. “Forget the warrant.”
Zanaya looked scandalized. “We can’t just break into it! It’s private property!”
“We need to find our friends. That warehouse is the only lead we have.” Wheatie started for the stairs. “Come on.”
She rushed to catch up with him. “This is a terrible idea.”
“If you think of a better one that doesn’t involve waiting for Rye and Tyria to wash up on a beach sometime next month, by all means.”
Zanaya sighed in defeat. “It’s down by the Dromedarian section.”
They walked along the waterfront, making their way north past the Equestrian and Gryphan docks. Soon Wheatie could see the flag of Dromedaria, a trio of pyramid structures and a rising sun, hanging from the masts of the ships.
“This is the place.” Zanaya pointed to one of the buildings. They walked up to the entrance. “What are you going to do, break a window?”
Wheatie pushed on the door, and it slid easily open. He smirked, and Zanaya rolled her eyes. She pushed past him into the warehouse. Wheatie was about to follow when he saw a flash of yellow in the reflection of one of the warehouse windows.
He turned over his shoulder to see a yellow-robed pony descending from one of the ships. Squinting, he could make out the distinctive lack of a horn or wings.
“What the hell…?” Why is Milliden on a Dromedarian ship? Must’ve been that important meeting he mentioned. But… what was it about?
Wheatie filed it away to mull over later, and went into the warehouse. As his eyes adjusted to the darker interior of the building, he stopped dead and blinked in surprise.
Zanaya gave a sigh of disgust. “This is what happens when the warrants come too slow.” She looked around and shook her head.
The warehouse was completely bare. It was clear that it had been emptied a while ago; there was a thin layer of dust on the floor. The door on the far side of the warehouse was unblocked by any barrels or crates. Whatever had been in here was long gone.
“Look around. We might find something.” Zanaya sighed. “Maybe.”
They swept the floor, looking for more yellow fibers or strands of brown that would signify a pony’s mane. It wasn’t until Wheatie reached the far side of the building that he discovered something. Fine black grains were mixed in with the thin layer of dust. His eyes lit with excitement. Wheatie scraped a small pile of the black dust together, and leaned down. He inhaled slowly, and his eyes shot open. Oh, no.
“Zanaya! We’ve got a problem.” He stood and beckoned her over. When she reached him, he pointed down to the little black pile. “Smell it.”
She raised an eyebrow, but complied. Her nose wrinkled. “Smells like something burnt. Doesn’t look like ash, though.”
Wheatie felt his heart pounding in his chest. “That’s blackpowder.”
She gave him a dry look. “Very astute.”
He scrunched his mouth up. “No, blackpowder. It’s a Gryphan alchemical compound. They use it to make firebombs. They’re like mage fireballs that non-unicorns can use.” He looked distantly into space. “I’ve run into them before. At Trellow. I’ll never forget the smell.”
“What, you mean this stuff burns?” Zanaya lifted a bit of it with her hoof.
“It doesn’t burn. It explodes.” Wheatie felt sweat on his neck.
She lifted her head. “How powerful is it?”
He pointed to the little pile. “That could take your eyes out. About a hoof-full is enough to kill a pony outright.”
Zanaya slowly let the powder fall to the floor. “I wonder what they’re going to use it for?”
Wheatie’s collar was growing damp. “Zanaya, Rye said they had over sixty barrels of this stuff.”
She went very pale. “Then they could blow up any building in the city.”
“The Marquis’s estate?”
“Maybe.” Zanaya’s eyes narrowed. “I think it’s time we had a talk with Tatius Gableclaw.”