20 December, Y.C. 969
Blackacre
“What did you just say?”
Beatrix took a few steps towards the earth pony standing wearily in the center of the room. He was slight of build, all the better to ride a timberwolf; judging by the way the leather harnesses that bound rider to beast had left long red marks in the pony’s flank, he had ridden hard and long.
“You heard me,” he panted. “Everything. Pretty much… everything.”
“And you’re sure.”
“LeFleur… LeFleur herself,” he said, knees shaky. He offered a letter, sealed with the black and green symbol of Blackacre. Beatrix herself had adopted it for her campaign, and it had caught on; the former mark was supposed to be Castle Blackacre, but it hadn’t looked like that in hundreds of years. The green and black was new, it was different — it was a thorn in Equestria’s side, and that sat well with most of them.
With a single clean motion Beatrix snatched the letter out of his hoof and ripped it open.
She scanned down it, muttering a few words. For a long time she was silent, then re-read it. And a third time.
After it became clear that she wasn’t going to say anything, at least not in the immediate future, Taylor took a few steps over and relieved her of the letter. He read it once, then twice; before he could gape a third time, Gaston reached over him and plucked it. Upon his reading, though, he frowned.
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sure it does,” said Beatrix absently.
Taylor blinked rapidly. “We got everything we wanted.”
“Not quite,” said Gaston. “Their maintenance terms on the railroad mean we’re losing bits off the top.”
“But we’re still making more bits than we lose,” said Beatrix, turning to face him. “We get the railroad. And tariffs. And….” She shook her head. “It’s better than I could have ever imagined.”
“It’s a gift,” said Gaston warily.
“Yeah,” agreed Taylor, rolling his eyes. “It’s a first date, and you’re checking her teeth!”
“Because every time I’m at the dentist’s, she’s there!” He stopped for a moment. “Bad analogy. Look, according to LeFleur, six days ago they suddenly caved. Started asking for terms, being real honest about everything. Which is weird, because their lead negotiator — Hammersold? Whatever his name was —”
“Hammer,” said Beatrix absently.
“Hammer, then,” he said with a nod. “I’ve heard of him; they say he’s a good pony, but I don’t trust him. He folded like a deck of cards, and all LeFleur needed to do was give her terms. And now, we get them.” Gaston shook the letter at her. “Something’s wrong here.”
“No,” said Beatrix slowly. “What’s wrong here is you don’t believe.” She turned up towards him. “All we wanted was the chance to do better for ourselves, the possibility of making a better Blackacre for our colts, for our fillies. We weren’t asking for much — just to be treated like everyone else.”
“And when they kept us down, didn’t even give us the dignity of being treated like everyone else….” She took another step towards him, her face wreathed in the twilight coming in through the hall’s high windows. “We dared to stand up against Canterlot, against the Princess. We refused to bend the knee, fall in line, because that means falling right back in the mud where they want to keep us.”
She balled a hoof into a fist. “They’re scared of us now, scared because we’re right. They’re scared not because of what we are but because of what we represent — freedom. Freedom to be treated the same as anypony else, freedom to rise or fall on our own merits. Freedom to live the way we want to — freedom from her.”
Beatrix smiled, radiant in the evening sun. “The only thing that changed is they finally realized it.”
For a moment, she glowed in the shimmering light of the sunset — and then the moment passed, and she was a regular pony. One very happy pony at that, but nothing more than anypony else… and no less than the Princess, or so it seemed.
The courier coughed slightly.
“Go rest up,” she said in a soft tone. “Cloudy Quartz is probably still closing up the kitchens; she’ll take care of you.”
The courier nodded weary thanks and left the hall. The moment he was gone, Gaston’s neutral expression shifted right back to a frown.
“Surely you —”
“Equestrian troop movements are common knowledge by now,” said Beatrix dismissively. “I would think you knew that.”
“I’m your marshal,” he shot back, flustered. “Of course I know —”
“Then you already know where they’re going,” she said with an arched eyebrow. “Army divisions are on site in Baltimare and Las Pegasus, but neither is deploying. Air Patrol is setting up a containment zone around the Badlands.”
“Dragons,” said Taylor, eyes wide.
“Yes,” she said with a curt nod. “Canterlot’s worried about dragons. It can’t afford to present a divided front, and it certainly can’t afford to have the public distracted by a messy little domestic dispute. Everyone remembers the photos from Appleloosa the last time around, and you can bet the Princess will have those shots back in the papers and milk them to the last drop of public sympathy. We’re a distraction, but one she can’t afford.”
“The concessions are just to get rid of us, then.”
“Yes,” said Beatrix simply.
“Doesn’t that… bother you?”
“Not at all,” she smiled. “What’s minor for her means the world to us. I don’t care how we get our deal, as long as we get it.”
“And what do we do once we get what we want?” asked Taylor, nearly tripping over the words. “Roll over for another Canterlot draft?”
“Hah! No, we just go back to doing exactly what we were doing.” She smiled broadly. “Living our lives.”
“But… dragons.”
“Aren’t a threat to us,” she said. “Between the forest and the cave systems, I’d say we’re pretty well covered. Besides, they wouldn’t stop here; there’s nothing of value.”
“That’s true,” nodded Gaston. “We’re not much use to dragons except as overflight country to Ponyville and Canterlot itself.”
“Canterlot can stage out of here, for all I care,” said Beatrix with a shrug. “The castle and bunker tunnels are a good, defensible position, especially from the air, but we’re not on the way to anywhere. Nowhere in Blackacre is.”
She smiled, moving over to the cabinet under one of the windows. “Bringing Blackacre back into the fold doesn’t help Canterlot any. But leaving us to openly challenge the Princess… well, they can’t afford that.”
Extracting an amber bottle, she twisted the cap off with a flourish. They didn’t have the space for grain fields like up in Fillydelphia or in the Unicorn Range, but they could eke out a few acres for sugarcane in the warm summer months. There wasn’t much of it, but that suited them just fine; they didn’t have the refining capacity for too much more.
Besides, all that meant was that the few refined products that did come out of Blackacre were just that much stronger. Filling a tumbler, she took a deep sniff, swirled it around a bit, and took the tiniest of sips. Oh yes, this was worth savoring. Taylor joined her, but Gaston did not.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
He frowned, re-reading the letter.
“You’re supposed to be there in person to sign the settlement.”
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Tomorrow’s the winter solstice.” She shrugged. “Not quite the party that the summer solstice usually is, but holding the celebrations in Ponyville gives her a convenient cover to spin the settlement in her favor. Sure, they’re getting the short end of the stick, but the photos will be full of happy ponies. Happy at the solstice, not the deal, but nopony needs to know that little detail.”
“Right. But you’re there in person.”
“I am.” She put the tumbler down with the slightest clink of glass. “Is this a problem?”
“It’s risky,” he said with a shrug. “You and your staff, all in one place….” He drifted off meaningfully.
“No,” declared Beatrix with a shake of her head. “That’s not Celestia’s style. Too obvious. Besides, she let the Times scoop the settlement terms.”
“As a cover for her troop deployments.”
“Sure, but it brought attention to it, when she could have squashed it instead. She’s moved the winter solstice celebrations, for crying out loud. Starting right now, all of Equestria is paying attention to the negotiators, to Ponyville, to you and me. If something happens to us, it’s just too damned convenient. She’d never get us — well, whoever’s left — back under her hoof.”
“She can’t do it in public,” she said, lifting the tumbler slightly, “and she’s the one who brought all the publicity. No, we’re safe.”
Besides, she added to herself, if the Princess wanted to take us out, she could do it at night. Just like she always does.
“Fair enough,” said Gaston with a nod, putting the letter down. “Then it looks like we’ve got some celebrating to do.”
“Go for it,” said Beatrix, passing the bottle over with a glow of her horn. “Don’t celebrate too much, though — save that for tomorrow!”