//------------------------------// // 21. Breaking and Entering // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// Wheatie pressed the little white coffee mug between his hooves and took a long drink. He narrowed his eyes and smacked his lips as the caffeine began its work. “I think I’m starting to like this.” Across the kitchen table, Zanaya grinned. “Aha! Another convert. It took me months to get Tyria to switch from tea.” She took a sip from her own cup. “Equestrian coffee must taste awful.” “Like mud,” confirmed Wheatie, draining the mug. “Doesn’t matter how much sugar you put in it.” “Well, this brew is from Zherrick’s Repose. It’s a little zebra village off the southern tip of the main archipelago. They grow the best coffee beans in the world.” She sniffed her cup and hummed. “A little expensive, but worth it. The garbage they make in the office is undrinkable.” “Only the best for civil servants, eh?” Wheatie eyed the grounds in the bottom of his emptied mug, his smile fading to a resigned frown. “I suppose we’d better get back to it.” “Seventh time’s the charm?” Zanaya sighed. “Milliden’s been squeaky-clean this week, as far as I can tell. I’ve followed him to dinner parties, bars, and on over a dozen trips to the docks to buy firewood, of all things. Maybe he’s going camping. At any rate, it’s all aboveboard. If he’s been communicating with the pirates, I have no idea how.” “So, either Zedya lied to us, or…” Wheatie’s brow furrowed, “we’re just not looking hard enough.” “We can’t follow him twenty-four hours a day; we need to sleep, too. And if we keep it up then eventually he’s going to catch us tailing him.” Zanaya frowned. “We could keep more eyes on him if we brought the rest of the Watch in…” “No.” Wheatie set the mug down on the table. “Not until we know how compromised the embassy is. I don’t want Equestria facing the backlash from this if it turns out the entire staff has turned traitor. If the Marquis thinks we’ve been supporting the pirates, she could double tariffs on Equestrian goods, or cut off trade altogether. I won’t let one corrupt diplomat ruin my entire country’s economy. We need to make sure that this is all on him before we bring anything forward.” “Well, Tyria’s definitely no traitor.” Zanaya’s frown turned thoughtful. “And Captain Petalbloom has never struck me as someone who’d turn on their country for money.” “How well do you know her?” “Better than I’d like to, unfortunately.” Zanaya grimaced. “Not to insult her, you understand. See, Milliden has a habit of causing minor diplomatic SNAFUs every now and then. He’s got class-one diplomatic immunity, so we can’t touch him for anything short of murder or piracy. He abuses the privilege like no one else I’ve ever met. The Watch gets called in to mollify whoever he’s managed to offend. Most of the times I’ve met Petalbloom have been in that context, both of us trying to clean up one of his messes.” Wheatie tapped his lips with a hoof. “You think we can trust her?” Pensively, Zanaya steepled her hooves. “Maybe. At this point, we need some kind of new lead. At least Petalbloom isn’t likely to blame Equestria as a whole if we tell her about Milliden.” The grandfather clock on the wall behind Wheatie chimed. Both of them jerked up in surprise. “Ten already? Didn’t realize it was that late,” said Wheatie, standing. Zanaya grabbed the cups and dumped them in the sink. “Come on. We can still make it to the embassy if we hurry.” They grabbed their respective uniforms and tugged them on as they raced out of the house. Wheatie eyed Zanaya’s simple silver bracelet enviously, struggling to get his shirt on with his mouth and a hoof while he followed her with an awkward three-legged gait. If Milliden kept to his schedule—and he always kept to his schedule—he’d be leaving the embassy at a quarter to eleven. Fortunately, Zanaya’s home was fairly close to the embassy district, a mere fifteen minute walk if the streets weren’t packed building to building with pedestrians. Of course, this being a Friday morning, they were. They finally emerged from the mass of equinity to stand before the Equestrian embassy. Both of them ducked into the small alleyway on the building’s right side, peering around the corner. “Did we miss him?” whispered Zanaya. “I can ask the secretary,” began Wheatie, but he was interrupted when the doors flew open and the yellow-robed earth pony strode out. Milliden’s head was, as usual, held aloft in barely-contained contempt for his surroundings. Combined with the robes, he wasn’t hard to follow in the crowd of zebras. Zanaya gave Wheatie a quick nod. “Good luck. Talk to Petalbloom.” “I will. Good luck, yourself.” Wheatie winked, and Zanaya gave him a crooked smile before vanishing back into the crowd. Wheatie turned his eyes up along the side of the embassy building. A window on the second floor waited for him. Milliden was in the bad habit of leaving it unlocked; he must be too used to living in a city of flightless zebras. A flap of his wings and a firm yank later, Wheatie stood inside the ambassador’s office. It was a quiet little affair, with a single bookshelf and a desk. The light blue carpeting gave the room a soft touch, far less gaudy than the bright crimson in Tatius Gableclaw’s chambers. Milliden shouldn’t be able to hide anything in a room this sparse. With a heavy sigh, Wheatie resumed the search. He checked under furniture, inside book covers, even under the edges of the carpet. He’d been over every paper in this room, every receipt and state dinner invitation that Milliden had received in the last three years, and still he’d found nothing. The ambassador was meticulous with his paperwork; the entire office was ordered so well it seemed like filing was the pony’s only hobby. Yet despite the vast quantity of potentially incriminating parchment and paper in the room, searching the office from top to bottom every day for a week had brought Wheatie no closer to pinning down Milliden’s pirate connection. After another fruitless hour and a half, he finally admitted defeat. The office was clean as a whistle. If Milliden was keeping any records of his efforts to aid the Vipers, he wasn’t keeping them here. It was time to see if the captain would be an ally in their search. It would not do to seem to magically teleport into the embassy—breaking into an ambassador’s quarters to look for sensitive information was a bit of a no-no—so he left the office through the window and shut it behind him. He alighted on the ground, paused to adjust his uniform, and strode in through the front door. The secretary, Zedara, looked up from some forms as he entered, setting her quill aside. “Hello, Sergeant. I’ve been meaning to speak with you. Are you still staying at the embassy?” Wheatie blinked, puzzled. “Uh, yes?” “I only ask because you haven’t been here for the last six nights. If you’ve found personal lodging in the city, please let us know. We can have your belongings moved to your new place of residence within the day.” Zedara smiled blithely and pulled out a blank sheaf of parchment. “You could give me the address.” Wheatie felt his cheeks warming. “Uh, that won’t be necessary. I’ve just been staying with a friend. It’s not a permanent relocation.” Oh, she’s going to laugh at me when she hears about this. He motioned for Zedara to put away the parchment. “Really.” With a look toward the right hallway and the offices beyond, he cleared his throat. “Is Captain Petalbloom free?” Zedara nodded, turning back down to her work. “She’s got a visitor at the moment, but I don’t expect it will take much longer. Just wait outside her door.” Wheatie made his way down the hall toward Petalbloom’s office, wondering how to phrase his request. Seen the ambassador doing anything illegal, lately? He sighed. Telling Petalbloom that her embassy was home to a potential cabal of traitors was not ideal, but they were running out of time. Whatever those barrels of blackpowder were for, it had to be big and it had to be soon. When he reached the captain’s door, he raised his hoof. Before he could knock, the door cracked open. He heard a mare’s voice say, “Thank you, Captain,” and then the door swung wide to reveal a zebra. Wheatie began to step aside when suddenly he recognized her. “Marquis Zahira!” The Marquis raised an eyebrow and studied his face for a moment. “Ah.” The eyebrow lowered. “Sergeant. A pleasure to meet you again. I shan’t keep you.” She nodded and passed by, heading toward the embassy exit. Wheatie looked over his shoulder after her, fiercely curious, but bit his lip and entered the office. The captain was behind her desk, tapping a hoof on the wood. “Sergeant Specklestraw. Shut the door.” As he closed it behind him, he took a good look at the captain. She had dark circles under her red, bleary eyes, and a scowl so stony it might have belonged to a statue. Wheatie hoped it wasn’t aimed at him. “Captain.” “Sit down, Sergeant.” Petalbloom leaned over and reached beneath her desk. Wheatie heard the sound of something pouring, and then she emerged with a pair of small glasses. She set one on his side of the desk, before taking a long draught from the other. A brief glance revealed that they were filled with nothing more than water. Wheatie took his glass, and sipped it cautiously. “What did the Marquis want?” Petalbloom snarled, though to his relief it seemed to be directed after the Marquis. “Dropping off invitations to her weekend party. One for Ambassador Milliden, one for you, and most pointedly, one for Ambassador Strudel.” “Doesn’t she know he’s missing?” “Of course she does. You think the Marquis makes a habit of personally delivering her mail? She was trying to shake me down for information. Politely, of course.” Wheatie swallowed. “How much does she know?” If she suspects Milliden… “Very little, I gathered, hence the visit. She knows the Vipers are involved, but that’s all I can say for sure. And that’s not the only thing.” Petalbloom pointed to an envelope on the left corner of the desk. “That one’s a letter from Princess Celestia, requesting a status update from Ambassador Strudel. She wants to know what in the world is happening out here.” She set her glass down and her eyes locked on Wheatie’s. “I empathize greatly.” “Um.” Wheatie tugged his collar. “I haven’t gotten a report about the ambassador from you in two weeks. And you’ve barely been in the embassy at all for the last six days.” Her eyes narrowed sharply. “I am not a mushroom, Specklestraw.” To be kept in the dark and fed on horseshit, right. Wheatie gulped. “The Watch and I are still investigating,” he said, trying to keep his expression bland. “And? Where are Strudel and Metrel? Have you found anything?” Wheatie closed his eyes and sighed. “We think Ambassador Milliden may be involved.” Cat’s out of the bag, now. Let’s hope she’s as trustworthy as Zanaya thinks. Petalbloom’s eyes shot wide open and her jaw hung slightly slack. To her credit, she recovered quickly, shutting her mouth and blinking rapidly. “I trust you have a reason to think so.” Hurriedly, Wheatie gave her the brief version of the last two weeks’ events. Her expression grew more and more appalled as he detailed the interview with Tatius, the trip to the brothel, and the last wasted week of pursuing Milliden. When he finished, she was rubbing her forehead. “Leaving aside your… questionable investigative methods, why? Why would Milliden have Strudel kidnapped? Did he think his position was being threatened?” “We don’t know if he ordered them captured, or if he even knew about it until we told him. We won’t get him to answer any questions without some sort of leverage, and Zanaya and I have been hitting a brick wall on that front.” Petalbloom stiffened. “This detective, Zanaya… How much does the Watch know?” “So far, only that a political figure may be involved. She’s been keeping the specifics away from her boss, Commissioner Zireena.” Wheatie felt a tug of guilt. Zanaya would be in hot water if they didn’t wrap this up soon. “Well, that explains why the Marquis has been riding my back for information,” said Petalbloom dryly. She shook her head. “Milliden. I don’t understand why he’d do this.” “What do you know about him?” Petalbloom leaned back in her seat, rubbing her chin. “I first met him around five years ago. He was the ambassador in Grypha before he was reassigned here, about a year before that mess with the griffons started in earnest.” “The Princess didn’t trust him to defuse tensions with the griffons?” Wheatie winced. “I’ll bet he didn’t take that well.” “No, he didn’t, though it may have worked out better for him in the end. I don’t believe his replacement survived the war.” Petalbloom pursed her lips. “I think that’s why he’s always been so prickly with the griffons across the road. Or maybe that’s why he was reassigned in the first place.” She shrugged. “From the moment he got here, I heard nothing but complaints. The embassy was too small, the help was too slow, the food was too spicy, you get the gist. I finally stopped having to listen to it when he moved into that little house in the Serabine district on the north side.” Petalbloom sighed. “But complaining aside, he wasn’t always such a…” Wheatie took another drink of water and raised an eyebrow. “Such a what?” Petalbloom gave a sour grimace. “A jackass. I try not to speak ill of my coworkers, but that stallion’s got a stick up his rear the size of a—” She shook her head. “But as I was saying, he wasn’t always like that. For the first two years he was here, he seemed to get along decently with the Marquis and the other diplomats. He even got some favorable trade agreements hammered out in the postwar compact regarding our new joint shipping efforts with Grypha. But then we started having… incidents.” “Zanaya mentioned something about that.” “It started innocently enough. A few too many drinks at a party, some loud griffons bragging about some battle they’d won in the war, blows in the hallway… Not a sterling representation of our nation, but understandable. Then he started snubbing invitations. I got a personal visit from the Marquis at one point because she thought we hadn’t been delivering them to him.” She scowled again. “Anything else?” “It just escalated. Further snubbing, public disagreements with Zyran policy, and of course, drunken hooffights in bars. Even visits to the whorehouses on the weekends, though to be honest, that’s not unusual amongst most of the ambassadors here.” She looked off into space. “It’s strange. The first two years, he never struck me as much of a drinker. Suddenly he was off having brawls in the city streets. And now that I think about it, that was around the time the Vipers started showing up.” Wheatie pushed his glass from hoof to hoof over the table. “An interesting coincidence.” “Indeed.” Petalbloom frowned suspiciously. “The more I think about it, the worse it sounds.” “Why make a complete fool of himself in public? What does that gain the pirates?” She shrugged again. “I don’t know about the pirates, but there are any number of groups who would benefit from making Equestria look bad. The Gryphans, the Antellucíans, even the Elktic Commonwealth; any of our trade rivals would love for Zyre to place commercial restrictions on us.” “Or worse.” Wheatie felt a drop of sweat on his neck. “The whole reason that Rye and I were sent here was to convince the Marquis to let our military ships into her waters. She’s not very open to the idea.” Oh, no. He looked at the captain, his stomach sinking. “Suppose a group with no national ties began attacking Zyran ships. Suppose this group managed to get their hooves on a weapon powerful enough to sink an entire ship in one blow. And suppose they attacked Zyre itself, using this weapon to even the odds. With Milliden as our envoy, would Zahira accept an offer of aid from Equestria?” He watched Petalbloom’s eyes widen as she came to the same conclusion. She stared down at her glass, turning it around with a hoof, her jaw working as she struggled not to say the obvious answer. “No.” * * * The sunlight was growing dim as Wheatie pushed his way through the crowds toward Zanaya’s house, his thoughts scattered like fallen feathers. He and the captain had spent the last five hours raking Petalbloom’s memories and records for potential clues about Milliden’s involvement or the Viper’s plot, but no specifics had emerged regarding either. What little they’d surmised was still enough to give him nightmares. A well-armed, organized, military group with enough ordinance to destroy a few city blocks in a matter of seconds, possibly backed by some as-yet-unknown enemy of Equestria, their ultimate goals still a mystery, and no more leads to track down… The door to Zanaya’s little house was unlocked when he arrived. Wheatie stumbled through into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. Dumping the Marquis’ invitations on the table, he turned back to the coat rack. As he absently unbuttoned his uniform, he willed the growing feeling of panic in the back of his mind to go away. “Wheatie, is that you?” called Zanaya from the bedroom further inside the house. Oh, Sisters, what if all that blackpowder’s still on the island? We have no idea where they might have stashed it… “Wheatie?” Zanaya wandered into the kitchen, looking concerned. She brightened when she saw him. “Hey, soldier boy, don’t scare me like that. I thought someone was breaking into my house.” She turned her head over her shoulder to look at the small cooking fireplace in the wall. “So for dinner, I was thinking—” Wheatie swallowed. “Zanaya, about Milliden…” “Did you get something?” her eyes lit with excitement. “I didn’t have any luck.” “Nothing solid, but…” he inhaled deeply. “Petalbloom thinks we might have a third party involved. Someone backing Milliden and the pirates.” Zanaya paled beneath her stripes. “So whatever they’re doing is more than just piracy.” “Right.” Wheatie’s mouth felt very dry. “This thing is starting to reek of politics.” Zanaya’s mouth twisted in distaste. “And trust me, that’s never good with Zyre’s oligarchs.” Wheatie wished that Rye were here. The ambassador was a shrewder political mind than he; perhaps the pegacorn could make more sense of what they’d learned. Where did the pirates take them? “Well,” he said slowly, “what next? Has Milliden been talking to any potential Viper backers?” “I… maybe. Maybe not.” Zanaya shook her head, frustrated. “He sees camels, ponies, deer, even griffons on a weekly basis. Any of them could potentially fund a proxy war on Zyre. But is that what he’s talking to them about? I have no way of knowing, without getting close enough to get caught eavesdropping.” “Ten to one odds it’s Grypha,” said Wheatie, scowling. “If they controlled the sugar trade, they could start gearing up for a rematch with Equestria. King Aelianus is as bitter as the southern nobles about the war.” “Then why all the skullduggery with Tatius? Why not just get the blackpowder to the pirates directly, or through staged raids? No, I doubt it’s the griffons. Besides, Milliden hates their guts.” He shook his head. “We’d better figure it out fast. And we need to alert the navy to watch out for those barrels. If they haven’t moved the blackpowder to other containers yet… But we’d have to tell them about Milliden, and then there’s no way we’ll keep Equestria from getting damaged by this… Sisters, what a mess.” Zanaya laid her hoof on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay? Don’t fall to pieces on me.” “Tomorrow might be too late—” She pressed a hoof to his lips. “Shh. Worry about it in the morning. You won’t be any good to anypony if you’re stuck in bed with an ulcer. We’ll deal with it first thing when we wake up, with our heads clear, okay?” Wheatie gave a small smile and gently removed her hoof. “I just…” Zanaya kissed him. “Tomorrow.” Allowing himself to be persuaded, he pressed his mouth against hers. They tumbled toward Zanaya’s spacious bed, eager to forget about the looming disaster for at least a short while. Some time later, as they rested with their heads on the pillows, Wheatie stared up at the ceiling. He followed the grain of the wood, steady and fluid, flowing across the boards of the roof. If only the trail ahead of them were as clear. Beside him, Zanaya snuggled closer. “What’s on your mind?” Wheatie grimaced. “There has to be something more. Something else we can chase down.” Zanaya sighed. “I can’t think of anything.” She pulled the covers up around her neck. “All Milliden did today was buy more wood.” Tensing, Wheatie raised his head from the pillow and looked to his right at her. “You think maybe that merchant is involved? If he’s going to the guy twice a day to buy kindling…” Zanaya shook her head. “The merchant’s a Nordpony. Barely speaks Equestrian, definitely doesn’t speak any Zebrillic. I can’t see him working with the Vipers past that language barrier.” Disappointed, Wheatie relaxed again. “Guess we’re back to square one.” “Yes.” Zanaya’s stomach grumbled, and she laughed. “I believe I was talking about dinner before we got distracted.” She grinned. “Unless you wanted seconds.” Wheatie suddenly realized that he hadn’t had anything but coffee and water all day. “Actually, I’m famished. Dinner sounds good. What’ve you got?” “I picked up some plaintains at the market on the way back from tailing Milliden yesterday. Was thinking about making a good old-fashioned home-cooked Zyran meal—” Wheatie sprang upright on the bed. “Home! You’re a genius, Zanaya.” Zanaya raised an eyebrow and half-smiled. “Yes, yes, true. Uh… why, exactly?” “Milliden’s home! It’s the one place we haven’t searched that he might be hiding things.” Zanaya sat up. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Not a good idea, Wheatie.” “Where else can we look? Come on, there has to be something there.” “Maybe, but I can’t get a warrant without telling Commissioner Zireena about Milliden.” Zanaya crossed her hooves. “And unless you’ve changed your mind, that’s still off the table.” Wheatie felt a new surge of guilt. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been putting you in a lot of difficult positions lately.” Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I’ve enjoyed most of them.” Wheatie snorted. Zanaya lay back down and sighed. “I just don’t know, Wheatie. The embassy is Equestrian property. Anything you bring us from there is fair game, so long as an Equestrian is bringing it forward. But Milliden’s house is on Zyran turf, and we need a warrant for that.” “Only if we’re taking this to a Zyran court. If all goes well, Milliden won’t ever see a jury here. He’ll be coming back to Equestria with me and Rye, Sisters-willing. Our justice system is a little less bureaucratic than yours. Once the Princess finds out what he’s done, he’ll be safely clapped in irons for the rest of his life.” Zanaya rolled her eyes. “Equestria. Still a hundred years behind the rest of the world.” Wheatie grinned, lying back down. “You can thank the griffons and their wars for that. At least with us he isn’t going to get executed.” “This is true,” she admitted. “So,” said Wheatie, turning back to business, “Milliden’s house.” Zanaya’s eyes closed again. “… Okay, Wheatie. I’m going to regret this, but… okay.” “Excellent.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Now… want to show me how you make that Zyran dish?” Eyes still shut, she chuckled. “All right. But don’t blame me if your mouth catches on fire.” * * * Wheatie’s eyes opened slowly, blinking in the light that filtered through the dusty window onto Zanaya’s bed. She was still asleep to his right, breathing softly. He nudged her, and she blinked groggily. “Morning already?” “Sure feels like it.” His neck was a bit stiff from one of last night’s more inventive experiments. “Mmpf.” Zanaya stretched and yawned loudly. “You’re a friend of the sun queen, right? Ever ask her to make the night a couple hours longer?” “Princess. And no, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t let much of anything get in the way of the sun’s schedule.” “What about that day four years ago? I remember the sun got stuck over toward the horizon, and everything got all red like it was twilight. Stayed that way for ages.” Wheatie looked distantly up at the ceiling, staring past it. “Those were… extenuating circumstances.” Zanaya rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry. Bad memories?” “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “But some good ones, too.” Shaking his head to clear it of sleepy fog, he sat up and pulled off the covers. “Well, it’s the weekend, so Milliden’s probably at home. Still, I think we should at least scope the place out.” “Casing houses is generally the sort of behavior I try to prevent, Wheatie.” Zanaya rolled her eyes. “You’re a bad influence.” Wheatie pawed uncomfortably at the sheets. “Well, it’s up to you whether we do this. It’s your job that’s on the line.” “No,” said Zanaya, her eyes narrowing. “It’s Tyria’s life that’s on the line. We’ll go today.” She flung the covers aside and got out of bed. They dressed for the day, Zanaya with a casual violet bandana around her neck and her cobalt-blue earrings, Wheatie in a freshly cleaned sky-blue shirt. As he stood by the door, buttoning his collar, he glanced down at the invitations. At least the investigation gives me a good excuse to miss a formal dinner. The two headed off for the Serabine district, toward the address that Captain Petalbloom had absently revealed to Wheatie during their session poring over Milliden’s activities. It was early on Saturday morning, so the streets were as empty as they ever were in Zyre, but the district lay on the far north side of the city. It was almost three hours before they found the correct road, a paved cobblestone street that curled around the bottom of the north side of the capitol hill. Wheatie could see the Marquis’ manor, high above near the hilltop, past a variety of other huge homes. The ones down on the street were much more modest; but the fact that there were single houses at all rather than apartments suggested the neighborhood was rather wealthy. Milliden’s house was typical of its surroundings. A door with a window on either side, two floors, a small garden broken by the stairs leading up to the entrance. It was flush up against the large stone wall that surrounded the old inner city, back when attacks against the Gryphan colony had not been unusual. Now, the city extended far past the wall, which served as a social and economic barrier more than a physical one. As he took in the pale, beige façade of Milliden’s home, Wheatie raised an eyebrow. “Seems a bit large.” “Houses around here aren’t cheap,” agreed Zanaya. “Any idea what an ambassador’s pay is?” “It’s impolite to ask, of course, but I think Rye makes around sixty thousand bits a year before taxes. It’s not much, really, less than even a captain makes. Most ambassadors are already wealthy nobleponies; the office is supposed to be the compensation, not the salary. I met Rye at his house before we left Canterlot. It was nice enough for a one-pony household, but frankly it was a bit small. One story. Maybe four rooms.” He pointed up at the pipe permitting the aqueduct concealed within the wall to send water into the house. “Definitely no plumbing.” “Well, Zyran taxes are a lot lighter than Equestrian ones.” Zanaya pursed her lips. “But I agree, this seems a bit above Milliden’s pay grade.” “Any idea how to tell if he’s home?” “We could always knock.” Wheatie grinned. “I haven’t played ding-dong-ditch since I was a little colt.” “Well, he’s got a knocker, not a bell,” said Zanaya dryly. “He’ll recognize you, though. Hide between the houses. I’ll pretend I’m selling something if he answers the door.” Once Wheatie had safely vanished around the corner, he heard Zanaya rap the door with the knocker repeatedly. She paused for a while, waiting for any response, but none arrived. After another knock and forty seconds of waiting to be sure, Wheatie came back out to meet her at the door. “Well, seems like he’s not here. Or he’s avoiding visitors.” Zanaya frowned, stroking her chin with a hoof. “How do we get in?” Wheatie rapped the window, and Zanaya scowled. “We are not breaking any windows.” “No, I mean those windows,” he said, pointing upward. “He never locks the ones on the upper floor at the embassy.” He spread his wings and dipped into a half-crouch. “All right,” said Zanaya, smiling, and slid her forelegs over Wheatie’s shoulders. “You know, I think I’m getting used to this.” “Really?” He stood, grunting a bit under the weight. “I could take you on a flight around the island sometime.” She swallowed. “Maybe not that used to it.” “Give it some thought,” he said, grinning. With a hard beat of his wings, he took to the air, ascending to Milliden’s upper windows. The one on the right was locked, but the leftmost one yielded to a couple hard yanks from Zanaya, popping upward and revealing a pair of gossamer white curtains. They slipped inside, and Zanaya slid off Wheatie’s back to alight softly to the brown-carpeted floor. They appeared to be in a study or reading room, lined with bookshelves. A small bronze bust of some pony Wheatie didn’t recognize sat upon a hardwood desk, as austere as Milliden liked to present himself. Various quills and inkpots surrounded it, as well as a large stack of parchment. Zanaya hummed. “The inside’s even richer than the outside.” “Let’s check the whole house for him before we start looking for evidence.” They swept the building. The tour revealed more layers of understated opulence, from minimalist marble statuary to an atrium with an open roof and shallow pool for collecting rainwater. The dining room in particular stood out, with a collection of genuine silverware and china that even Wheatie could tell was valuable. The dining room could at least be excused as a diplomat having the best for important guests; the decadent bedroom with its four-poster bed and pegasus-down mattress was far more damning. Wheatie shook his head. “Where on earth is he getting the money for this?” Zanaya tapped the bed’s headboard. “I’ll bet the answer to that is back in the study.” They returned to the room with the books, and began their search in earnest. Wheatie flipped through the stack of parchment on the desk, finding nothing noteworthy. In the first of the desk’s rightmost drawers, however, he found a folder filled with papers that soon revealed a more interesting story than the ones back at the embassy. “Hey, come look at this,” he said, sitting up on the desk’s seating cushion. Zanaya wandered over from one of the bookshelves. “Ever hear of something called Zen’s Vigor?” “Yes,” said Zanaya, with a tone of curiosity. “It’s a ship, part of one of Zyre’s larger trading fleets. Playing investor with the trade fleets is a popular get-rich-quick scheme, and that fleet is one of the more reliable ones. Is that where he got his money, then?” “No,” said Wheatie, leafing through the papers. “Looks like quite the opposite. According to these spreadsheets, he bought forty-five thousand bits of share in the Vigor’s cargo on a trip three years ago, as well as another twenty-five thousand spread across various other ships in that fleet. On their way to Elefala, a freak storm hit them, and half the fleet was lost. The other half had to dump most of their cargo just to limp back to Zyre. A total disaster; nearly two million bits’ worth of goods lost.” Zanaya whistled. “Over a million Zyran florins. That’s… a lot of money.” “Now, notes from angry creditors start showing up. Let’s see, ten… sixty…” he counted, flipping through the papers. “If he’s saved everything in here, and it looks like he has, they wanted twenty-one thousand florins from him. What’s the conversion?” “That’s about forty thousand bits.” Zanaya frowned. “So where’d the extra initial thirty thousand come from? And if he’s that deeply in debt, how is he buying all this stuff?” “It gets stranger. Four months after that disaster, suddenly he puts down another hundred and twenty thousand on a different trading fleet. Then three months after that, an additional fifty thousand. Both of those returned much better dividends than the total loss. But not enough to account for the next investments—they just climb from there, getting higher and higher. From the looks of it, Milliden’s become Zyre’s quietest millionaire.” Zanaya shook her head slowly. “It doesn’t make sense. No individual Zyran oligarch has enough capital lying around to spend on these kind of bribes without some definite, immediate return for it. But Milliden hasn’t done anything political to warrant such a payoff.” “I’m hard pressed to think of many nations that would, either.” Wheatie shut the drawer with a clink. “We can definitely rule out Grypha, at least.” Zanaya frowned. “Did you hear that?” “Hm?” She pulled the drawer out again, and slammed it shut. There was a definite clinking of metal on metal. “Those are coins, or I’m black with white stripes.” “Aren’t you?” Wheatie grinned. She punched him in the shoulder. Opening the drawer again, they quickly began removing papers. Once the drawer was empty, a few rattles and a couple hard knocks swiftly revealed that it had a false bottom. Inside were three small pouches, all filled to the brim with silver and gold coinage. Wheatie scowled. “And there we go. Let’s see what currency Milliden makes his real paycheck in.” He poured out the coins from the first pouch. They were silver, with the mohawked head of a zebra on one face and two canes of sugar on the other. Zanaya shrugged. “High-denomination florins. As close to a trade currency as any; they could be anyone’s.” The second pouch revealed more florins. Wheatie carelessly scooped them to the side of the desk, untying the third pouch. He upended it, dumping a cascade of golden coins onto the desk top. They both stared for a few moments, and then Wheatie inhaled. “So.” The face of an ancient, long-dead pharaoh faced sideways toward the left and the rising sun, the camel’s short beard the only distinguishing feature about his face. On the tail side of the coins, an obelisk partially covered a winding river. “Dromedaria.” Wheatie blinked. “What is Milliden doing with the Dromedarians?” “They’re the third-greatest naval power in the Ceracen right now,” said Zanaya, swallowing. “But I don’t know what they think they’re doing if they’re supporting the Vipers. If they’re trying to bleed us dry of money, it’s going to take a lot more than one pirate group to shut down trade. And if they want a military takeover, they simply don’t have the numbers for it. Even if every one of those blackpowder barrels sinks a Zyran ship, they’d still find it nearly impossible to besiege the city. Our defenses are as strong as they were in the old empire.” “Then what—” Wheatie bit his lip, baffled. “Are there any political figures who would benefit from a change in management from the Marquis to the camels?” “Sure. But they’d never get the city to surrender without unanimous support for such a thing. And while our politicians might be many things, I’ve never heard them described as unanimous.” Wheatie began rifling through the papers in the other desk drawer. “We have to find something. Some communication, some hint of their plan, and Milliden’s role in it. Maybe a base, or a hiding place, somewhere they could have taken Rye and Tyria.” Zanaya nodded, and began dealing with a stack of papers nestled between bookends on one of the shelves. Several minutes passed, eventually becoming hours, as the two silently read over bank notes, spreadsheets, vapid diplomatic missives, even receipts. There was nothing illuminating; it appeared Milliden did not keep a journal or any other personal record that might elucidate on his treason. Wheatie only looked up when the twilight sunlight reflected off the window pane directly into his eyes. “Oh, blast. Zanaya, it’s nearly dark out. Wherever he went, he’ll be back soon.” “Shoot.” Zanaya immediately began shoving papers back into place. “Clean up the money. I’ll get the spreadsheets. We were never here.” Wheatie nodded, hastily scooping hooffulls of coins into the pouches, ignoring the foolish voice in the back of his mind that was urging him to take a few. When the pouches were heavy once more and all the coins gone from the desk, he shoved them back into the drawer and replaced the false bottom. Zanaya shoved the papers back into the drawer, and they began quickly closing up the study. After fifteen minutes of frantic filing, they had nearly restored order to the room. Zanaya paused as they neared completion, holding a set of opened, empty envelopes. She raised an eyebrow and looked toward the wastebin under the desk, which was filled with a few crumpled papers. “I’m taking those. We can check them at home, and hopefully he won’t miss his trash.” Then they heard a door opening downstairs. “Crap,” hissed Wheatie. He jerked his hoof, and Zanaya nearly leaped onto his back. He shoved open the window and poked his head out to look for Milliden. The ambassador was down below, holding the door open with one foreleg, and precariously balancing a pile of firewood in the other. Thankfully, he did not look up. Wheatie pulled his head back in, feeling sweat gather on the back of his neck. “This is going to be tight.” “Quickly, then.” Zanaya’s face was pale. The door closed below them. Checking to ensure Milliden was inside the house, Wheatie flared his wings in preparation to jump. He raced toward the window, his hooves thudding on the carpet. His left wing clipped the bust on the desk. As he leaped through the window, the bust went crashing down onto the floor, muffled only slightly by the carpet. Wheatie felt the air rush across his face as he flapped mightily, taking himself and Zanaya higher and away from the house. They swiftly left Milliden’s home behind. “Hey!” came the shout from behind them, and Wheatie half-turned to see Milliden standing at the open window, staring after them. “Thieves! Thieves!” He flapped harder, and soon the house shrank beyond detail, joining the others around it in a homogeneous mass. “He saw us,” said Zanaya, tight-lipped. Wheatie nodded, still sweating. “Think he got a good look at our faces?” “No,” she said, apprehensive, “but he definitely saw a pegasus and a zebra. That’s not a super-unusual pairing in the city, but he’s bound to be suspicious next time he sees us.” “We’ll deal with that when we come to it,” said Wheatie, eyeing the approaching residential district where Zanaya’s house lay. The three-hour walk was only a five-minute flight, and soon they were touching back onto the ground. Zanaya opened her door, hurriedly stepping inside and dumping all the stolen trash mail on the tabletop to join the invitations. Wheatie closed the door behind him as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Let’s hope there’s something more than bills in there.” She wasted no time in checking over the papers. Wheatie joined her as she flattened out the crumpled letters, scanning over the words. “Water bill…” “Advertisements…” Zanaya carelessly flicked the cheap paper back to the table, picking up another. “Well, what’s this?” Wheatie peered over at it. The page was nearly blank, with a single line of script in the middle. Meet our emissary at Zahira’s event on Sunday to discuss timing. He and Zanaya glanced at each other with arched eyebrows. “Zahira’s event, hm?” asked Zanaya. Wheatie looked down at the invitation on the table. “I am permitted to bring one guest.” He let out a small whine. “I hate formal dinners.” “Well, look on the bright side,” said Zanaya, carefully rolling up the parchment. “If all goes well, we might be ending the night with an arrest.” She set the letter down on the table. “Time to go break out my evening wear.” Wheatie thought of his own stuffy dress uniform and gritted his teeth. “Maybe I should change jobs to ambassador. At least those robes breathe…”