Casus Foederis
© 2014 by Walter Reimer
Chapter 3.
Reintief shrugged and crawled toward the pudu. The little antelope crouched a bit at the earth pony’s approach, transferring the knife from his hooves to his mouth. “Hello there,” Reintief whispered affably (747-o). “You might want to be careful with that. You might hurt somebody.”
The pudu whispered around the knife, “Zut! Come closer, Pony, and we shall see, hein?”
“Okay,” and Reintief lunged. His left forehoof swept down as the cervine lunged at him, pinning the blade against the floor while his right forehoof came down hard on the back of the pudu’s head. He had moved so quickly that the clatter of the blade striking the floor could easily have been mistaken for another shard of glass falling from the windows. “See what I mean? You can get hurt playing with knives.”
“Let go of me, pony – urgh . . . “ The diminutive antelope groaned softly as Reintief applied a bit of weight to his right forehoof. “What you want?”
“You might start by telling me what you plan on doing with that knife.” When the pudu hesitated, Reintief applied a bit of pressure.
“What iz ze use,” the pudu said with a sigh. “I am to die anyway, zo go ahead, Pony. My only regret iz zat I will be unable to strike a blow against our oppressors.”
“Oppressors? Details, please.”
“Alors, you Ponies do not know.” The pudu slumped a bit further. “Zis used to be ze pudu’s country. Zenturies ago, ze Kudu came with zeir magic. Ever since, Pudu have been ze slaves. I am here – “
“Shh,” Reintief said, shushing him as a pair of large ungulate hooves appeared. From their relative daintiness, he surmised that they belonged to the Supreme Patriarch’s sister. She must still be grazing around the buffet tables.
The hooves scraped against the floor. “What smell bad?” Itchykitchykoo demanded, sniffing loudly. She abruptly poked her head under the tablecloth. “What this? Stupid pony and stupider pudu?”
“I’m very sorry,” Reintief said. “I dropped a knife and we both went to retrieve it.”
She snorted. “Get out. Me no want to see stupid pony – OR stupider pudu.” Reintief dragged the pudu out from under the table and urged him along to the kitchens at the back of the banqueting hall. Behind them, there was an anguished yelp as the Kudu kicked Mulegan out from under the table.
“Mulegan!” the Ambassador shouted. “What the blazes were you doing under that table?”
“I’m starting to think that Reintief was right . . . “ the Third Secretary muttered as the kitchen doors closed. The doors served to muffle the sounds of Ambassadorial rage directed at the hapless Mulegan.
The kitchen was full of the noise of pots and pans, with several dozen pudu preparing dishes or washing up. A few stared curiously at the two newcomers, and Reintief hustled his companion off to one side by the walk-in refrigerator. “Now, before we get interrupted again, what are you here for?”
The pudu drew himself up to his full height, his head just making it to Reintief’s shoulder. “I am here for ze Puduvanian Liberation Front. I was going to assassinate ze Supreme Patriarch, that poseur, but you caught me.” He sagged again. “Nothing matters now. You will now give me over to ze Kudu, and zey will execute me.”
“Let’s hold that thought for a moment. You say that this was your country?”
“Oui. Maybe two centuries ago, ze Pudu were free, but a zentury ago zose Kudu came. We had no magic, zo we became zeir slaves,” the fellow said with a philosophical shrug.
“And now you plan to rise up?”
The pudu nodded miserably. “Eet will be of no use, though. Ze Kudu, zey have ze magics, and we do not.”
“Have you asked for help?”
“Zat eez eempossible,” the pudu said, his Equestrian marred by his native accent. “Ze Equestrians talk to ze Kudu, not to us.” He cocked his head, looking up at Reintief. “You are ze first Pony to speak to me – other than to give me orders.”
“I have a soft spot in my heart,” Reintief remarked. He leaned in and asked quietly, “I’d like to speak with your leader. Attempts like yours will only harden the Kudu, and the Ambassador is a firm believer in collective action.”
“Ze Ambassador is a friendly sort, hein?”
“Not really. He believes in collective action because it helps him to spread the blame around.” Reintief sat on his haunches and regarded the small knife-wielder. “Can you get me an interview with your leader?”
The little fellow scratched under his chin with one hoof as he thought it over, and finally nodded. “I will have to speak to him. Meet me at ze corner of Antimony and Fifth Streets, zouth of where your ship iz docked, at midnight.”
“Till midnight, then. I’m Reintief.”
“I am called Muerte.” The two parted ways, and Reintief slipped out of the kitchen.
“There you are, Reintief!” Mulegan cried as the earth pony reappeared. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Sorry, Mister Mulegan. I was looking for a bathroom. Anything wrong?”
“Wrong? Wrong! His Excellency is in a towering pet, all directed at you, for consorting with a pudu in front of the Supreme Patriarch and his sister.” The Third Secretary looked around and dropped his voice. “I’ve tried to deflect most of his rage, but he’s ordered you back to the Embassy at once.”
Reintief nodded. “I’d best be going, then. Still convinced we’re in Elysium, Mister Mulegan?”
“Not any longer, Reintief. For a brief moment while Ambassador Cross Purposes was talking, I thought I might be in Tartarus.”
“Here’s hoping you get things sorted out, then,” and Reintief headed for the door. Before he left, however, he was confronted by Colonel Mess Kit.
The pegasus’ wings were fluttering agitatedly as he said, “See here, young fellow! You’d best go straight back to the boat. His Nibs has ordered you belowdecks and confined to quarters until after this mission’s over.”
“Thank you, Colonel. Story of my life,” and with that the earth pony left the banquet hall.
Later that night bells chimed the hour before midnight, and Reintief slipped out of the window of his cabin, hooves clinging precariously to the ledge ten feet above the waters of the harbor. He balanced briefly, then leaped upward, forehooves hooking around a railing and slowly pulling himself up.
“Reintief?” His ears flicked at Mulegan’s hissed voice. “Where are you – Reintief!” The earth pony looked down to see his superior gaping up at him. “What are you doing up there? You’re confined to quarters!”
“I got restless, Mister Mulegan. Cabin fever, you know. My doctor always prescribes a nice long walk for it.”
“Ah, a medical issue, then? Well, I suppose I can – hey!” Reintief looked back down and Mulegan asked, “Where are you going?”
“Not quite sure. I’ll let you know,” and Reintief hauled himself over the railing and onto the deck.
Apart from one uninterested-looking pudu, the deck was deserted. Two kudu guards lounged at the dock end of the gangplank, forelegs casually draped around wicked-looking spears. As the pony’s hooves sounded on the gangplank, the two guards perked up and whirled, spears at the ready. “Here! Where stupid pony go?”
“Not quite sure, but I know where you’re going.” Reintief brought his left forehoof around, knocking one guard’s spear aside so that the point jammed into a plank. He used his momentum to pivot to his right and kicked out with his rear hooves, sending the surprised guard hurtling into the water.
The first guard managed to yank his spear out of the wood and jabbed at Reintief, who let the shaft pass him then caught the middle of the slender shaft in his teeth. A bite down and twist, and the spear broke in half. The guard gaped at his damaged weapon in time to join his compatriot, propelled by a hard kick to the face.
Reintief shook out his mane and stepped onto the wharf. “Pity. Bad weather for a swim.”
Apart from a few taverns, the city was quiet as the earth pony made his way to the appointed corner, arriving at the right intersection just as the bells sounded midnight.
“Psst.”
“Muerte?”
“Ze same, Reintief.” The pudu stepped out of the shadows. “My cell leader has decided to talk with you. Follow me.” He slipped back into the darkness, with Reintief trailing behind him.
A small door, sized for pudu, came into view. “You will have to, how you say, crouch down.”
“No problem. We diplomats are trained to crawl,” and Reintief lowered himself to his belly before following Muerte into the building.
It was a tavern, the air inside redolent with the smells of native cooking and stale spilled liquor. A few pudu at a table lowered their mugs and chorused, “Morty!”
“Zat is Muerte, you drunken Diamond Dogs,” Muerte grumbled. “Here he iz, Boss. Reintief, zis iz Fausti.” He gestured at the bar with a cloven hoof.
At first, Reintief didn’t see anyone. Finally he noticed two dainty hooves on the bar on either side of a small muzzle with two nubby horns. “So, you are the pony who wants to see Fausti,” the fellow said in a quiet, breathy voice.
“Name’s Reintief.”
The pudu’s expression grew crafty. “Perhaps Reintief would like a drink, hein?”
Reintief smiled. “I am a bit thirsty, at that.”
“Give him ze Special, Fausti,” an onlooker called out.
“That sounds tempting,” the earth pony said. “One Special, please.”
Fausti’s head and hooves disappeared behind the bar and for a moment there were sounds of activity. Something was being chopped, other things were being poured, and at one point there was a loud pop! and a cloud of vapor smelling of acetone and pineapple wafted up. After several more moments a pony-sized mug was lifted onto the bar, with Fausti’s dainty little hooves tapping on the countertop. “Ze Special.”
“Thank you.” Reintief pulled the mug toward him and sniffed. The drink smelled of kiwi, lime, and pineapple, and fizzed slightly. He glanced around and saw the rest of the patrons watching him closely.
He raised the mug to Fausti. “To the Revolution’s success,” and drank, first taking a small swallow and sampling the tastes before drinking more deeply. “Hmm. It’s not Griffin aqua ardente, but it’s quite passable.”
“You impress Fausti,” the little antelope said. “We talk, hein? Ponies help pudu, yes?”
“Perhaps. Ponies will not help the pudu if they assassinate the Supreme Patriarch, though.”
“Pfui,” Fausti spat. “We are oppressed minority – “
“The Princesses might bring pressure to bear on the Kudu on your behalf, but only if you avoid violent actions,” Reintief said. “They believe in Harmony, you see.”
“Zo, what iz to be done, Reintief?”
The earth pony briefly outlined a course of action, between sips of his tankard. “So, what do you think?”
A pair of small hooves drummed on the bar. “I will talk to the Zentral Committee.”
“Good.” He slid the tankard back to Fausti. “I’ll have another, please.”
An hour later, Reintief low-crawled out of the bar, straightened up and worked out the kinks in his back and legs before trotting back to the harbor.
Three blocks from the waterfront district he saw something stir in the shadows, and a kudu stepped out to bar his way.
“Vile pony,” he hissed.