28 November, Y.C. 969
Canterlot
From up here, you could see most of Canterlot. In the streets, ponies of all shapes and sizes went about their daily lives, buying and selling, singing and dancing. There were a surprisingly large number of tourists, just there to see what was happening. Most of them were sitting at sidewalk cafés, ponywatching; for each tourist there was a matching socialite, walking around those cafés just to be seen.
Though you couldn’t see down into the streets, not by a long shot, you could just make out Ponyville in the distance, with the foothills of the Unicorn Range to its north. Farther yet, you could almost see Cloudsdale, though generally you needed a perfectly sunny day for that; even with only very good weather you could still make out its cheery rainbow glows.
Off to the south, a little blue shimmer marked Saddle Lake, the traditional boundary between Ponyville and Blackacre. On a day like today, it seemed perfectly peaceful, a boundless forest, trees of all shapes and sizes forming a patchwork tableau in shades of green. Restful, inviting, not a care in the world, and so close to Canterlot to boot? It seemed perfect, the sort of place you might go for a day, a weekend, a long vacation.
Princess Celestia knew better.
Shifting slightly on her hindquarters she stared off at Blackacre. Nopony there could possibly see her, of course; at worst, some of the ponies in the streets below might glance up and catch a glimpse of their ruler. They would assume she was simply overseeing things, as one might do from a tower. That was perfectly normal, wasn’t it? What else was a princess to do?
Of those few who bothered to look up, none would realize that she wasn’t in her usual tower. The castle at Canterlot had three main towers, and though all three certainly towered, appropriately enough, over the rest of the city, they were built at different times for different purposes. Idly, Celestia wondered how many ponies knew even the names of Canterlot’s three most prominent features. Certainly they had gone out of the common knowledge hundreds of years ago — but she remembered. She was there.
Celestia’s own quarters were in the highest tower, of course; aside from that, there was the largely-abandoned Moon Tower, and then the Castle Tower, where she stood now. It wasn’t the tallest, but it was the farthest west; as a result, it did have the best view. Not that that made these council meetings any better, but it was some small consolation during the breaks.
The original architect of the place, Bran Stone, had wanted to place the council chambers in the main tower, behind the throne room. Though she was touched, she had struck down the notion at the time, requesting that the chambers be relocated to the Castle Tower. It wouldn’t do, she had explained so many years ago, for the council’s chambers to be in the same tower as the princess’. She would only need to walk downstairs, while the rest of the councilors would need to climb up, and that wasn’t going to work out: if they were going to have a relationship approximating that of peers, they all needed to be on the same level. The Castle Tower was more neutral, and thus a perfect ground.
A frown tugged at her face. Oh, the naïveté of youth. All moving the chambers did was ensure that, no matter which direction she went, she’d have to climb at least one flight of stairs. And over nine hundred plus years in power, that was a lot of stairs.
It was too late to change it, of course, far too late. Not only was Bran long dead — she doubted he would even be named in the history books — but he had a certain flair, a spark that came along only once in a very long while. She rather liked the nooks and crannies and special tricks he had built into Canterlot Castle, and any renovation would undoubtedly destroy them. For better or worse, the council chambers were in the Castle Tower to stay.
Not that the act of putting the chambers on neutral ground actually made a difference, of course. Oh no; any benefit that touching gesture had bought was lost to the ages, and now the council simply expected the chambers to be where they were. There was no goodwill to be bought by something the councillors and their predecessors had all accepted and expected for hundreds of years. Still, she trusted them.
Mostly.
“Princess,” came a voice from just inside the balcony archway. It wasn’t particularly deferential, nor insistent for that matter. It just stated a fact, just as it had a hundred times before at these meetings.
“The council is ready to reconvene?” asked Celestia, her eye still fixed on Blackacre off to the south.
“It is.”
“Thank you, Aspia.” She gave Blackacre one last glare, then turned back towards the chambers inside the tower. “Let us continue.”
Once inside, she took her customary place at the head of the table, ‘head’ being a relative term at a circular table. A half dozen ponies stood around it; though they usually didn’t stand much on formality, they waited until the princess was seated before taking their own places.
“Where were we?” she prompted, more for their benefit than for hers. The council generally took one or two recesses per session; though she certainly didn’t need them — one didn’t rule a kingdom as long as she did without a fine mastery of meetings — some of the older councilmembers appreciated the pause to collect their thoughts or evacuate their bowels as appropriate.
She always nominated young ponies for the council, ponies full of drive and ambition, but in a blink of an eye they were grey-maned and suggesting successors. How did that keep happening?
“Secrepony O’Commerce had just finished briefing us on the fourth quarter impacts of the Blackacre negotiations, along with a spread of first quarter projections,” said the same calm voice that had summoned her from the balcony.
Celestia glanced at the speaker, indicating that she should go on. Aspia McNamare was the closest thing to a right-hoof pony she had, and generally took on the task of keeping everyone else corralled on the same train of thought.
“Which brings us to Blackacre proper,” finished McNamare. “I believe Secrepony Hay had a few words on that matter.”
“I do,” said John Hay, his horn glowing briefly as the notes in front of him reshuffled. Though Blackacre wasn’t a foreign state proper, and thus didn’t technically fall under the Secrepony of State’s jurisdiction, Secrepony O’Commerce had been more than happy to step aside and let him deal with the mess.
“Let me be blunt: negotiations aren’t going anywhere.”
Celestia suppressed a sigh; that much was obvious. Had been for weeks, no thanks to the Herald’s exposé a few weeks ago. Brook and Shield were quite capable commentators, each respected in his own right, but not for the first time she just wished they would keep quiet. The more publicity Blackacre got, the stronger their bargaining position, and the last thing she needed was rational debate to drum up sympathy for the… well. For the Blackacreans. She still had to figure out what to call her.
“Blackacre has demanded that the previous agreements be scrapped entirely, rather than simply amended. We’ve put forward several proposals, and though they haven’t been rejected, their negotiators have simply taken no action.” Hay shook his head. “They haven’t even told us why they’re taking no action. Everything is simply ‘under consideration.’”
“Have they told us what they want?” asked Celestia, well aware that it was a slightly silly question; it was nevertheless one that needed asking. She realized a pencil had crept its way into her hoof and fought back the urge to twirl it around; this was no place for an idle display of boredom, no matter how reflexive — or how warranted.
“Not in so many terms, no,” said Hay. “As far as we can tell, they want to replace the graduated tariff scheme with a flat across-the-board rate on all ground shipment.”
The corners of her mouth twitched down. “That would imply a readjustment of the current scheme.”
“It does,” he said, and paused for a moment. “We also think they want the railroad.”
“Excuse me?” interjected Stream O’Commerce, her horn sparking slightly in shock.
“It’s unconfirmed, of course,” he corrected hastily, “but as best we can tell, that’s what they want. Given what our sources say about their target revenue from these negotiations, taxing the railway is the only way they can make their goal.”
“Impossible,” she declared abruptly, moving her hoof in a chopping motion. “Absolutely impossible. The O’Commerces have been in the Department of the Interior for hundreds of years, our forefathers the O’Connors for hundreds before, and I can tell you right now that at no point in Equestria’s history did Blackacre extend any farther west than Froggy Bottom Bogg!”
O’Commerce shook her head again. “The railroad is Ponyville’s up to Ghastly Gorge and Appleloosa’s after, with shared jurisdiction over the Gorge Bridge!”
“Calm down, Stream,” said McNamare gently. “If I’m understanding Secrepony Hay correctly, that’s just speculation. They haven’t released demands yet.”
“Correct,” said Hay, thankful that someone else was on his side. “All speculation. But for now, they’re spending a lot of time in long meetings to say nothing.”
“You can’t just drop something like that on me,” said O’Commerce, still shaken. “Can’t just idly propose that we literally redraw the regions and then back out of it!”
“I’m sure Secrepony Hay is doing all that he can to confirm or deny these suspicions,” said Celestia, her voice inflected so as to be the final word on the matter, and an eyebrow raised at O’Commerce just to make sure the point got through. “But for now, that’s all they are: suspicions. Until we know what Blackacre wants, we must not take any rash action.”
Hay nodded. “Just suspicions.”
A pause. Clearly, nopony was willing to risk setting O’Commerce off again.
“While you have the floor,” started Celestia, turning back to Hay, “what word from the dragons?”
Hay licked his lips; clearly, this wasn’t going to be a batch of good news either.
“So far, they’ve yet to release any official comment. The Blackacre negotiations are an internal matter, and it’s official draconic policy to not comment until a matter is either external or finalized.”
“Official policy,” pointed out McNamare with a slight downward twitch of her lip. There was no love lost between her and dragonkind, a sentiment particularly common among the senior staff of the Royal Guard — such as herself — who had served in the Dragon Skirmishes.
“Unofficially, they’ve said very little,” said Hay. “They’re watching and waiting to see how this develops. They have no stake in the matter, and it doesn’t make sense for them to back one side or the other at this point.
“But,” he continued, “if there’s enough internal turmoil that they find there might be an advantage, there is a chance they might press it.”
“What kind of turmoil are we talking about?” asked McNamare. “Two percent growth instead of four?”
O’Commerce snorted. “That’s a ridiculous number. I’ve looked over Brook’s data, and I can guarantee —”
“Any percent,” said McNamare quickly. “What’s their red line?”
Hay thought about it for a moment.
“I wouldn’t say there’s a red line when it comes to draconic relations,” he said slowly, “not per se. It’s more a question of the various thresholds of the internal clans and lair-groups….”
And with that he was off; Celestia quickly tuned him out. He started with a hedge; that alone should have been a sign. Maybe she was getting careless in her old age, maybe not. One thing was certain, though: overzealous secreponies were better than apathetic ones, and she would gladly sit through ten speeches to have someone competent in the job.
Maybe the next time around she would look for a strong silent type.
Here, though, it didn’t take any sort of intermediary to present the truth; the draconic position was clear enough to her. The Dragon Skirmishes had hurt Equestria, but they had hurt the dragons as well, and they weren’t going to intervene again unless they had a firm advantage. The loss of life in the Skirmishes was, of course, regrettable, but in the grand scheme of things it didn’t matter much; the Equestrian birthrate had already made up the difference.
In the long run, she was going to have to work on population control schemes. If this Blackacre matter could be settled, she had a few ideas for a settlement policy sufficient to drown out local opposition with transplanted loyalists. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to resort to selective sterilization, like six hundred years back. Not that anyone had complained — only a few on the council at the time had even known about it, and over the course of the fifty years it took to implement no one had paid much attention to the birth rate — but that much magical energy took a lot out of her. There was something to be said about a good knock-down drag-out war to lop off a respectable chunk of the most fertile of the population.
Not that she would ever say such things to the common pony, or even most of her council; though they might understand, few would appreciate and respect the long view that she took. Even though it was the same long view that had held the kingdom together for centuries.
No, the most immediate and important outcome of the Skirmishes had been the revocation of the draconic claim to the Macintosh Hills, claims that had been in dispute despite hundreds of years of continuous settlement and habitation. The Dodge Accords theoretically ended that dispute once and for all. Ponies — especially those living in the rebuilt Appleloosa, where long-overdue rains had finally washed away the last of the scorch marks — might consider it a done deal, but she knew better. Blackacre was only a distraction, a clawhold for the real threat that none of them were capable of truly apprehending. Dragons took the long view, just like she did; if the Blackacre situation raised tensions high enough, red wings would fly, and the South would burn once again.
But enough of that; what was McNamare saying?
“…mobilize the Fourth Wing to the Hayseed Swamps, perhaps under the guise of training flights. Since they’re downwind, our spotters should be able to keep regular tabs on the columns of smoke in the Badlands, and therefore track dragon force movements.”
“Horseshoe Bay’s patrols are already well-suited to the task. Why not mobilize the Fourth to North Hayseed, near Dodge?”
“Impractical, according to General Batchall. The Dodge barracks are relics; it would take at least two months to fully restock them. Not to mention the construction costs, plus the overages for keeping the operation covert….”
Celestia tuned out again; paying attention had been a bad idea. Her mind drifted back to Blackacre. They had to force a settlement — any settlement — and fast, lest the menace to the far south take advantage of the situation. Even the appearance of progress was crucial. They had three weeks until the solstice, and every day between now and then needed a hint of progress, some positive spin; needed something.
“Gentlecolts, please!” she said, with the air of someone who had been paying perfect attention and had made a careful and rational decision that the conversation needed redirection.
O’Commerce and Hay, who had conveniently been arguing somewhat vociferously, both paused, clearly not expecting royal interruption.
“It seems to me that this conversation is one that would do better outside the council’s chambers,” she said gently, giving them both a friendly look. “Perhaps supported with documentation in addition to the speculation?”
“Of course, Princess,” said O’Commerce after a moment. “Our apologies.”
“None needed,” she said with an air of magnanimity. “The council’s purpose is to discuss such matters, but after a certain point we all need to get back to work.”
Nods around the table. Most of them had participated in the argument, but only a few were actually qualified to do so. What could the Secrepony of Education contribute to analysis of draconic troop movements?
“Unless there’s anything else that needs open discussion?” she prompted, looking around the room. All of the ponies present met her gaze; none of them had more to add. A willingness to speak one’s mind was a prerequisite for the job; if they had anything to say, then they would have said it.
“In that case, I think we should adjourn. Thank you all for coming.”
Around the table her councilors gave various appreciative remarks, interspersed with the sound of notes and material being packed up.
“If any of you wish to meet with me, my door is always open when the good of Equestria is at stake.”
With the council fully adjourned, the various ponies started trickling out. Usually, Celestia would stick around to meet with whomever required it; today, though, she had other business to attend to. The meeting had run late, and it would soon be time to switch out the sun for the moon.
Later tonight, she would send an exhortation to John Hay demanding that he release something, anything, to the news services. His PR team could spin their way out of a granite box; they had to find something, paint a picture of progress to hold off the dragons, at least until they could make some real headway. And, of course, he had to figure out what was going on with Blackacrean claims to the railway. Rumors were vicious things, and she wanted them confirmed or denied as appropriate, but in either case clamped down.
If the red dragons took wing, a railway would be the least of their concerns.