//------------------------------// // (9) Raiding the Kitchen // Story: The Ballad of Echo the Diamond Dog // by Rust //------------------------------// CHAPTER THE NINTH RAIDING THE KITCHEN I wearily rubbed my face with my paws, feeling anxious and oddly complacent at the same time. The room I had been given was bare and ugly, with no window and a small, flat cot resting on the ground. Aside from that, it was sparsely furnished, nothing else in the room besides a dingy cabinet, a clock, and a mirror, probably used by the guards to examine themselves before presenting to a superior officer. It was the cot that I sat on now, my mind racing at full speed despite the need for sleep. I checked the time. 4:57. My quarters were inside the newest building in Wethoof; the barracks. In times past, this town had had no need of such an occupation, much less the place to house those of its pursuit. All that had changed however, with the recent problems with the hydras. "How many are there?" I had asked Captain Tythus as we walked through the village a few hours ago, now sleeping somewhat peacefully in the murky gloom of the night. "Over a hundred. A whole nest, in fact." His replies were always carefully worded and well thought out, despite the fact that he always responded instantly. "All fully grown?" "No. Only a few big ones. It's the babies you want to watch out for, though. They are small enough to get through that hole in the gate, but large enough to take on several of my ponies at once. Doesn't help that they've all got more than one head." Delightful. At least that explained why he was so worried about the hole. I tried to push the guilt out of my head as I sat on the cot. I'd been given the room at the end of the dormitory, which was actually quite unfilled. Wethoof had had little time to train a proper amount of guards, and as such, there were a good number of other rooms of this kind sitting vacant. Tythus, and surprisingly, Ginger Snap, were in charge of recruitment, and while many had volunteered, few were actually capable of handling the harsh life of a guardspony. From what I had observed so far, there were roughly thirty to thirty-five functional ponies capable of defending the town under the command of the captain. That wasn't even a quarter of the number required. I distracted myself with a gear check. It gave me something to do, at least. My backpack was now officially retired. My run through the jungle had torn several gashes in the tough canvas, and the shoulder straps were on the verge of snapping. There was little use for it now besides scavenging the material for some other form of clothing. My belt had also been torn, almost completely though, and I regretted using a simple rolled-up t-shirt for the material, as it wasn't very durable at all. My sleeveless sweatshirt was in dire need of a seamstress, and one of the holes my ears poked through had been expanded down to the neck by some dangling thorn-bush. And, to top it off, everything was covered in a generous coating of plant guts, charred wood chips, and mud. I hadn't fared much better, either. Numerous small slashes covered my arms and legs from crashing through dense undergrowth at high speed. A particularly nasty cut had actually torn a deep gash in my ear. I now sported a deep, V-shaped gap in my right ear that made me look somewhat feral, if my scruffy appearance wasn't enough to influence that. I checked the time again. 4:58. Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The silence was overbearing, and I could stand it no longer. Anxious to do something, anything, I decided to at least try and make the effort of looking presentable for tomorrow. I had to make a good impression on the villagers, and while I was here, I'd rather them not regard me with such hostility. The hallway was quiet and dark, and as I silently crept out of my room, I almost felt like a naughty child sneaking downstairs after their parent fall asleep to feast on some leftover dessert. My paws padded softly on the hardwood as I made my way into the central room of the barracks. This building had been clearly built for military use. Only the basics had been included. The large, open chamber I walked into now made up the assembly hall as well as the dining hall, and I suspected served as a rec room as well for off-duty guards. The south wing, where I had just come from, was only a simple hallway lined with doors leading into the rooms. There was no north wing. Instead, there was only a double door leading outside. The western wing contained the kitchens, while the eastern wing, my destination, held the bathroom and other facilities. I brought my sweatshirt, or what was left of it, with me into the communal showers. I found it somewhat strange that there was only one room for such a task, and that stallions and mares often used it at the same time. Then again, ponies didn't usually wear clothes, so I attributed my un-Equestrian immodesty to my past life. I honestly shouldn't have been bothered by this. After all, I had spent all my time here without any pants on (really enjoyed the breezes, by the way) and hadn't felt self conscious about it. At least the water is hot. Scalding, almost, but I liked it that way. I lathered myself up with suds from a dispenser and set to work giving myself a good clean. It was the first real one I'd had since I got here, and I sorely needed it. The scent of wet dog flooded the room, but was soon replaced by that warm, soapy smell so commonly attributed to bath-time. It took me a surprisingly long time to clean myself, due to all of my fur. I now held a healthy respect for all the long-haired women I'd known back on earth. Having a luscious coat is somewhat annoying. Weirdly enough, I thought I heard my mother, yelling at me to get behind the ears. I obliged the imaginary voice, and suddenly felt homesick. The sweatshirt got a bath, too. It was the only piece of clothing I owned that was still wearable, and I washed out as much of the dirt and plant stains as I could, before hanging it up to dry from an unused shower head. Now I had to dry off as well. Sadly, I had forgotten to find a towel of some sort. Almost as soon as I turned the water off, my body was seized with an uncontrollable urge to move. Helpless to resist, I found myself on all fours, shaking myself off just like an earth dog. Water flew from my coat, which now shone a deep, bronze-brown, streaked with red, while the creamy fur on my chest and neck was spotlessly gleaming. Ha! Doing that never gets old. I wrung out my sweatshirt and whipped it a few times to get rid of the remaining water. Surprisingly, it completely dried off. I assumed this was just another quirk to the cartoon-like physics of this world. I resolved to investigate it later. In the meantime, I needed something to eat. As I made my way back across the central hall, my pawsteps resounded weirdly off the walls. It feels very, very strange to be completely alone in such an open space that is so commonly filled up with bodies. The western wing's kitchen was surprisingly well stocked. A variety of foods could be found in the pantry, and from this, my knowledge of Equestrian culture was expanded greatly. It seems that while ponies are not carnivorous, they do use some animal products, such as milk and cheese, in their foods. I found eggs as well, although I doubted they were fertilized ones. Oat-based products are apparently a staple of their diet, right up there with fruits and vegetables. I also discovered that they eat a large amount of grass and hay, as well. Ponies eating grass. Didn't see that one coming. A bag of peanuts and several large cubes of salt told me that they got all the protein and salts they needed from other sources. I, however, was not a pony. I had sharp teeth, with only a few molars in the back. That meant I was technically an omnivore, although I could consume gems as well. However, the enticing aromas from the kitchen pressured me to consume some real food, for once. And to boot, my gems had fallen out of a hole torn in my backpack. I needed a high energy diet to sustain myself, so I set about making some omelets. I took down a wide skillet and a spatula from the hanging rack in the center of the kitchen and started up the stove. It was a large, flat top one, and seemed to be powered by electricity, somehow. I made a mental note to find out where villages get their power from, because I had seen no power lines, above or under the ground, when I was outside. A slap of butter from a nearby stick soon began to soften and melt as the pan heated up. Satisfied with that, I began to whistle softly as I got out some ingredients from a nearby fridge. Eggs? Check. Oh, peppers! Checkarooni. Some tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, a little bit of cheese... check, check, check, and a little bit of check. A few leaves of basil were added to my list of ingredients, as well. I gotta hand (or paw, if you will) it to the Italians, fresh leaves of basil really make a dish perfect. They know how to cook. Some crumbled-up bacon would probably make this delicious as well, but that was out of the question, so I'd just go heavy on the salt to make up for it. I was feeling rather hungry, and the skillet was quite wide, so I proceeded to crack a half dozen eggs into a small bowl, before whipping the yolks open with the spatula. The yellow goop made a soft sizzling sound as it was poured out into the pan. I quickly began sprinkling the ingredients onto the top, giving an artful pinch of this here, or a dusting of that over there. On Earth, I had lived rather meagerly. Not enough for much discomfort, but enough to know what it feels like to go hungry every once and a while. Chef Boyardee was a good friend of mine, as well as a dreaded dinner guest. As such, whenever I was given the chance to eat well, I took it with gusto. This also applied to cooking. When the opportunity presented itself to create something marvelously delicious that wasn't prepacked in plastic, I put on an imaginary chef hat and set to work. And an imaginary monocle, too. Can't go wrong with those, and it makes me feel damn sophisticated. A second pan soon joined the skillet on the stove, and I set about hunting for something else to cook. In a cabinet, I found some good-sized potatoes. Hash browns, perhaps? I got out some salt and pepper and washed off the potatoes. I was unable to find something suitable to cut them with, so I washed my paws as well, before simply tossing all four spuds in the air and swiping them with my sharp claws, catching the tattered remains of the potatoes neatly in the pan. I threw some onions and the pepper, and some more basil in for good measure. Then, carefully tapping the salt into the browns with one paw, I tended to my omelet with the other. By this time I was whistling a jaunty tune that really had no rhyme or reason to it. I patted down the browns with the spatula and turned around, eager for something else to do. I hunted through the cabinets again, this time happening upon a bag of flour. I set it on the counter an rummaged about the fridge for the umpteenth time. A carton of milk soon joined the flour, along with some sugar and fruits. Crepes sounded pretty good right about now. Quick as a flash, I returned to the stove and made my adjustments to the omelet and the browns. I had actually begun a silly little jig at this point to the whimsical tune of my whistling. I was simply happy to be doing something, rather than moping about. I danced back to the counter and put the flour, along with some eggs, into a mixing bowl and began stirring. I slowly added a little bit of milk and then some water to thin out the batter, and tossed in some butter to thicken it out again when I put in a little too much water. Once the batter was smooth, I took yet another pan off the rack and tossed it onto the stove. I did a quick spin, followed by a few random dance steps, almost dropping the bowl I held in one paw. Another round of tending to the other foods was accomplished simultaneously as I poured out the mix into the third pan, tilting it around in a circle to coat the bottom evenly. Crepes cooked fast, and if I'd gotten my timing right, everything would finish at the same time. Seized by a sudden giddiness, I abruptly did another spin and slid across the kitchen floor on my knees, whipping my arm around as I strummed an air guitar. My whistling abruptly changed to a funky blues-rock beat, and I furiously kept pace on my invisible instrument. I jammed my way back across the kitchen, playing my guitar behind my head. I opened a higher cabinet with my nose and found some plates, which I grabbed in my mouth, unwilling to interrupt the massive riff I'd just launched into. The salt and pepper shaker became my screaming fans, jumping around in joy as I worked my magical claws up and down the fretboard. For the grand finale, I did another spin, and positioned the plates carefully on the counter. Gotta time this right. I did a superb moonwalk back to the stove, and whipped around, slamming my meaty paws down onto the handles of the three skillets in quick succession. The food in each plate was launched high into the air along with the peak of my music. The crowd was going absolutely nuts. I had this gig in the bag. The browns, omelet, and crepe, all perfectly cooked, flew across the kitchen, arcing so high that the crepe just barely scraped the ceiling. I gave a final power chord and held one paw in the air, a single glowing claw pointing to the heavens in a stoic salute to the gods of rock'n'roll. The food landed perfectly on the plates I'd set up, and the hash browns somehow arranged themselves in an artful pile. Perfect. By Odin's chest hair, I'm just the best! I slid across the floor again, arms wide and head tilted back as my two fans brought the house down. Oh thank you, thank you. No, you're too kind! What? An encore? Why, I suppo- "What in Celestia's pearly flanks is going on in here?" Shit. Twenty Minutes Later... "...So then I said, 'Oatmeal? Are you crazy!?'" "Bwa-hahahahahaaa!" The jolly stallion, who called himself Coconut, whom had walked in on the ending of my epic solo slapped the counter with a hoof, doubled over in laughter. He was a big fellow, an earth pony, and built like a brick wall. His chocolate-brown coat contrasted with his mane, a surprisingly bright blonde, cropped short enough to stand up like a zebra's mohawk. The mark on his flank, a smiley face, whisk, and a rolling pin, set over each other like a skull-and-crossbones, symbolized his talent for cooking... as well as his knack for making a friend. "Hee-hee, oh, my ribs!" Coconut wiped a tear of laughter from his eyes. "By the sun and the moon, Echo! I'd never have thought that one day I'd be making a breakfast fit for the princesses alongside a mute Diamond Dog who can cook as well as I can! And he has a sense of humor! Ha-ha! My boy, you've made my day- no, my month! C'mere, you!" He promptly wrapped a forelimb around my neck and gave me a pony version of a noogie. I vainly struggled to release myself from his iron grip, but dammit, earth ponies are strong! "Air... need. To. Breathe!" I managed to scrawl. "Whoops! Sorry, mate! Gotta little carried away, there, don'tcha know!." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just this doesn't exactly happen very often, savvy?" His odd accent (a combination of what seemed to be British, American South, and Swedish) made him irresistibly forgivable, and I obliged him with a gentle pat on the head... ...Before wrapping him in a headlock of my own and going to town on his skull. Revenge! Reveeeeeeeenge! Admittedly, he'd been rather skeptical of me at first. A Diamond Dog who can write, read, cook, and play a mean air guitar? Such a thing he'd found very hard to believe. Eager to make a friend, I'd offered him some of my breakfast. He'd eaten the first few bites tentatively, gingerly, as if he thought I'd put something in them. Then, his pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, and he'd completely abandoned his silverware in his haste to consume. Man, can this guy eat! Great googly-mooglies, Batman, can he ever! He'd literally inhaled my entire breakfast in one breath. It was gone, just like that. "Er... sorry about that. Don't rightly know wot came ova me," he'd mumbled through a mouthful of my breakfast. After swallowing, we'd gotten to know each other better, and I soon learned that he was the cook here at the barracks. He'd gotten up to make the rest of the guards breakfast, which by now he was behind schedule on. Being the gentleman that I am, I volunteered my services most generously - which were surprisingly accepted. "Anypony who can cook like that is all right in my book," he'd firmly sated. "Don't care if ya got wings and scales, either. We've been understaffed in the kitchen lately, so clear off those pans and let's get cookin'!" And so, we'd cooked a meal fit for the halls of Asgard itself. Great, heaping piles of lightly seasoned scrambled eggs! Towers of flapjacks, twenty cakes high! Claw-cut fruit salad that even had those silly little ornamental umbrellas! Mountains of scrumptious pasties, tarts, rolls, donuts, bites, and things I had no name for! As Princess Luna might say; "'TWAS A GLORIOUS FEAST!" Coconut deftly pried himself from my lock and staggered away, heartily laughing. "Och, ya rascal. Knock that off, we've got grub ta serve." "Knock that off, we've got grub ta serve." Breakfast was served promptly at 6:30, and we had little time left to do so. We lugged the enormous trays of food onto carts and wheeled them out into the central hall. Coconut retrieved some folding tables from a closet, and we commenced in setting up a cafeteria-like layout. No two tables were alike, and all in varying states of disrepair. I assumed that most of the furniture for the barracks was donated from the town itself, as the building had not yet existed long enough to order it's own. Several early risers, driven from their rooms by the smell of the smorgasbord sitting on the carts, coolly observed us a we worked. They made no offer to assist whatsoever, but at least they didn't give me any dirty looks. Instead, we simply regarded each other from across the hall, both sides regarding their counterpart with a detached interest. "Don't mind them, Fluffy. They've never seen a Diamond Dog like you before." Coconut gave me a reassuring slap on the shoulder as I bodily lifted four tables at once, two in each claw. Unable to respond, I merely nodded and gave a small shrug. If my reception was cold now, it had been sub-zero last night. That much I was grateful for. Once all the tables had been set up, my new friend alerted the rest of the guards to the meal simply by banging two pots together as loudly as he could. "COME 'N GET IT, YA LAZY BLIGHTERS!" The ponies already in the room efficiently formed a line by the cart and began piling on the food. A steady stream of guards spilled out from the southern wing, talking and joking amiably. The level of their volume diminished when they noticed me leaning against a pillar by the food carts alongside Coconut. I could hear a great deal of their conversations, surprisingly. My ears were quite sensitive, and in this somewhat bare hall, the noise carried well. "...So that's him, huh? Doesn't look that tough..." "...Right through the gate, I heard. Big enough to fit two carts across..." "...Tythus must be off his rocker, letting him get away with it so easily..." "...Repairs are going to begin ASAP, and the Captain wants to address us..." "...Apparently he can't speak. Talks with his claws, or something like that..." "...There's been a sighting. This morning, actually. I hope that hole gets patched up quick..." "...Why's he got that hood? I can barely see his face..." From what I could gather, none of them here held much against me aside from the destruction of the gate. All were interested in me, though, and once they had sat down at their chosen tables, they often shot a curious glance in my direction. Something struck me as odd, though. They weren't eating anything. Maybe it was some kind of formality, or a custom I hadn't heard of? "Good morning, everypony." That stern, yet soft voice sounded eerily clearly in my ears. I looked away from the tables to see Captain Tythus striding across the hall from the dormitory, outfitted in a silver, battered version of the Royal Unicorn Guard regalia. Ginger Snap trotted gamely by his side, outfitted in light chain-mail and another variant of the guard armor, minus a helmet. Her head was held low, but her face wasgrim. This was the first time I could see her clearly, as last night she'd been shrouded in darkness and muck. The mare was a unicorn, with a dusky cinnamon coat and deep, dark red mane that reminded me of the color of a red velvet curtain one finds in large theater stages. She had piercing emerald eyes, and to my surprise, a several thin slashes running up the side of her neck to her jaw. The mark on her flank was of a bright orange mote of fire, which I assumed had something to do with her abrasive personality, or the fact that she acted like a total hothead. Her eyes met mine briefly, before she scowled and looked away, her head held a fraction of an inch lower. Captain Tythus, however, did not notice this, or chose to ignore it. The silence was thick as the veteran soldier made his way to the carts and piled on a truly enormous load of food, inhaling deeply from the steaming vapors they emitted. "Ahhhhh... Coconut, you've outdone yourself," he stated as he picked a place to sit at an empty table. His horn sparked to life - a golden hue that reminded me of the setting sun. Silverware magically levitated up to spear a chunk of fruit. He held it up to his eye, as if inspecting a freshly forged weapon. Still, nopony in the room spoke, much less made any movement. Ginger Snap tossed a few things onto a plate held between her teeth and sat down across from him. "Actually, sir, I had some help today," Coconut said nonchalantly. Captain Tythus lowered the morsel from his vision and cocked an eyebrow. "Do tell." Coconut merely jerked his head in my direction, to where I was still leaning against the pillar, arms folded in front of me. Everypony in the room immediately gave me a quick look before disbelievingly examining their plates. Ginger looked as if the food was about to grow teeth and attack her. I met Tythus' gaze evenly, and was immensely glad that my hood was up. It threw my upper face into shadows, where my eyes and eyebrows were tense with worry. There was a terrible pause as he studied me, experienced eyes reading me like a book. The officer finally gave a soft grunt and popped the bite into his mouth. His eyes widened in surprise. "It's good," was all he said. The effect was immediate. The others quickly followed the example of their captain, and similar expressions of astonishment and culinary satisfaction lit up the room like a Christmas tree. Only the cinnamon mare at his table denied the meal, instead choosing to examine the others' reactions first, as though she thought I'd poisoned the food somehow. It was as if someone had suddenly flicked a switch; conversations and chatter sprang up once again. Apparently I had passed through the gauntlet unscathed. I felt a hoof pat me on the shoulder. "You going to eat, or just pose there all day?" Relief suddenly flooded my system and I followed Coconut to the carts, filling up my own plate. He led me to sit at Tythus' table and I sat as close as I could to captain without appearing clingy. It wasn't because I liked him, it was because of the noticeable hostility at the other end of the table. "So. You can cook," was all Tythus said. I nodded as I ate, suddenly grateful for no longer having to speak with my mouth. I could use one paw to eat while the other maintained a full level of conversation. "I take it that's rather unheard of for my kind." "Most Diamond Dogs tend to eat their meals raw. Preferably still moving," Ginger stated evenly, not looking up from where she was still sizing up her breakfast. "I'm not most Diamond Dogs, am I?" I silently retorted. Those brilliant green eyes flashed, but she said nothing in reply. Coconut quickly picked up on the awkward pause. "So, captain, what's on the schedule for today? Are we goin' ta be marchin' up an down the square like usual, or do ye have something interestin' for the lads ta do fer once? And just wonderin', but what are ye gonna do with our furry friend here?" "I've got something in mind." For some reason, I didn't like the almost chipper tone of his voice. From my experience, when a superior officer answers a question like that, it usually involves lots of pain and suffering for his underlings. And as luck would have it, I now fell under that category. Whoop-dee-freakin'-doo. Breakfast finished swiftly. All the guards were ravenous, and ate with a ferocity I had seen only when I lived in South Africa and witnessed a pride of lions tear into a gazelle. It was a bloodless bloodbath of breakfast! A great genocide of good grub! A mammoth massacre of a magnanimous morning meal! Holy shit those are hard to do! After the carnage ended and the plates had been cleared away by a few ponies on slop duty, the captain stood at the front of the hall to address us. The guards fell silent instantly, and I was more than impressed. Tythus had only been with them for a few weeks, and yet they had more discipline than I would have ever expected. The grizzled unicorn politely coughed into a hoof before speaking, even though everypony had already fallen silent. "Right. We've got a lot of work to do today. Gate repairs are underway as I speak, however, progress is slow. Baritone, take your squad there and assist in any way the carpenters see fit. I don't care if they ask you to stand there and look pretty - just do it. "Cloud Nine, you are to split the pegasi in half. One group takes the northwest patrol, the other takes the southwest. I trust you'll pick a competent leader for the second group. After you finish your route, gather three clicks past the nest and proceed back to town due east. I want a solid report on how many eggs have hatched. If you have to get close, do it. This knowledge could save lives. "Sparky! Sparky, where are- ah, hiding in the back again? You're to take another squad down to the depot today. I need you to stockpile all the fireworks for the Summer Sun Festival here in the hall. Put up a barricade so nopony ends up blowing the place up. "Anypony that I haven't mentioned or isn't picked by the squad leaders is to spend the day on rampart patrol. Keep an eye out for the little ones, they've started coating themselves in mud for camouflage. Ginger Snap and Echo, remain here. That is all. Hop to it, ponies." Coconut gave me a reassuring glance as he rose form the table, galloping off with the rest of the guards back into the dormitory wing. I assumed they were going to get their gear on and then move out with all due haste. That just left me, the captain, and... Ginger. "Now then," began the officer. "I've got a plan that may be able to take care of the hydras once and for all. The only problem is, it requires two ponies to pull off correctly. And the only two here capable for the job are you two." Ginger Snap visibly stiffened, and I could see her jaw clamp down, hard. What did she have against me? Nopony else I had seen this far treated me with such dislike and hostility. "We've been fighting the hydras the wrong way, Echo. For weeks, we've been singling them out, picking them off. It isn't working. But now that you're here, we can finally change our approach." Ginger stifled a grimace before speaking up. "What would you have us do, sir?" "It's not what you'll be doing that's so important. It's what you'll be." I frowned under my hood. This didn't sound very good for me. "And what exactly are we to become?" He smiled. "Bait."