//------------------------------// // 26. Dinner at Zahira's // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// The faint sounds of string instruments wafted through the evening air. Wheatie looked up to the top of the hill, taking in the large mansions that dotted the path as he and Zanaya began the climb toward the Marquis’ house. He gave a cough. “You know, we could just fly up there.” Zanaya shook her head. “Wouldn’t be polite. When in Zyre, do as the zebras do, yes? Besides, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.” “Fair enough,” Wheatie admitted. He glanced over at Zanaya, once again admiring her choice of evening wear. She had on a long black dress, accented by a blue coral necklace and some cobalt earrings. The little splash of blue somehow made her stripes pop more than usual, making it terribly easy to get lost in her face. Combined with the curls she’d tamed her mane into, the effect was nothing short of stunning. Of course, Wheatie wasn’t looking too shabby himself. He’d never brag aloud—especially not where Captain Inger could hear him—but the stuffy Firewings mess kit was the most flattering uniform in the Equestrian military. A black body with a dark blue vest and light cerulean striping along the lapels, it could make anypony look positively dashing. If only the thing was more comfortable to wear. Wheatie tugged carefully at his bow tie, careful not to undo the knot it had taken him the better part of an hour to get right. They passed other couples in fine formal wear on their way up to Marquis Zahira’s residence. Wheatie kept an eye out for yellow robes, but they saw no sign of Ambassador Milliden before they reached the door to the mansion. A line of zebras, ponies, griffons, camels, and more stood before the entrance. They were being admitted by the butler Wheatie remembered from his last visit. He and Zanaya took their places at the end of the line. “Remember,” Zanaya said in a low voice, “if you see him, don’t head in alone. We have to eavesdrop on this meeting of his without being seen, and we’ll need to work together for that.” “Don’t worry. I’ve been on recon duty before.” Wheatie grinned and adjusted his lapels. Zanaya rolled her eyes. “Just keep a low profile.” After a few minutes, they reached the front of the line. The butler greeted them as Wheatie produced his invitation-plus-one, and they were waved inside. Past the door, the cavernous entrance hall to Zahira’s estate was filled with zebras and foreign dignitaries, all mingling together with glasses of champagne or pinot noir. Under the relaxing sound of a string quartet from the back was a steady undercurrent of murmured dialogue and the clinking of glasses. Wheatie and Zanaya made their way through the loosely packed crowd and further into the lower floor of the estate. The back rooms were filled with more zebras and ponies, most standing in small groups as they admired the priceless art hanging from the walls or on stands in the middle of the rooms. A service zebra in a white shirt with a black vest passed them with a tray full of champagne glasses, and Wheatie stopped him to snag one for each of them. One glass wouldn’t be enough to get drunk, and they needed to keep up appearances, after all. Enjoying the fizz of the wine on his tongue, Wheatie scanned the groups of ponies standing around in the rooms they passed. Milliden wouldn’t be hard to spot in those eye-searingly yellow robes, but there had been no sign of him yet. Eventually, they found themselves in a large ballroom. The lights were turned down low, bare flickers in the lanterns on the walls. On a stage at the far side of the room, a small string quartet was playing. Wheatie vaguely recognized the song, a famous number from an Antellucían composer. Zanaya whistled quietly. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the first violin from the Sugarheart Islands Symphony. The rest are probably part of the same group; Zahira’s really going all out.” Dining tables covered the ballroom floor. Many were filled, but it was still early enough in the evening that plenty of spaces remained. Wheatie cast a quick glance across the room, looking for yellow, when he heard somepony call his name. “Sergeant Specklestraw! I was hoping I would run into you tonight.” Wheatie turned in surprise to see Marquis Zahira herself, striding toward them. The Marquis was wearing a floor-length violet dress, with a simple yet elegant dragon design snaking up from the train around her flank. The colored beads in her mane nearly distracted from her bright green eyes, both of which were focused intently on Wheatie. “Good evening, Marquis Zahira,” he said, holding out a hoof. Zanaya edged off to the side, frowning. Wheatie forced himself to smile instead, hoping the Marquis didn’t plan to hang on him all night. Zahira shook his hoof. “I’m glad you were able to make it. Ambassador Milliden arrived some time ago. Yet, if I’m not mistaken, there’s still someone missing from the Equestrian delegation.” Oh, gods, she’s going to spend the whole evening trying to shake me down for information about Rye. Wheatie’s eyes turned glassy. “I’m sure Ambassador Strudel would be here if he could.” “And where is Ambassador Strudel?” Zahira’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve heard troubling reports from the Watch. They tell me that there’s an investigation going on. Did he fall afoul of the Vipers?” “I’m sorry, Marquis, but I’m not at liberty to disclose information about an ongoing investigation. If you want to know more, you’d have to talk to Captain Petalbloom.” Ah, the joys of military bureaucracy. When you have a problem, kick it up the chain of command. “I’ve already been to see the captain. She was tight-lipped.” Zahira’s smile grew strained. “I don’t like being left in the dark on my own island, Sergeant.” Wheatie shrugged apologetically, taking a sip from his champagne flute. “We’re working as fast as we can to find him. As soon as we do, I’m sure he’ll want to see you to resume negotiations.” “Forget the negotiations.” Zahira’s friendly façade slipped, revealing a look of intense near-panic. “If Princess Celestia’s personal ambassador dies in my territory, we’re going to have a lot more problems than shipping rights and trade fleet escorts. I need Strudel back, Specklestraw.” “I assure you, we’re working on the problem.” Wheatie refrained from adding as we speak, not wanting to jeopardize his and Zanaya’s operation tonight. “Was there anything else?” “Yes. We’re not done here, Sergeant. I want a straight answer from someone, and from everything I’ve heard from the Watch Commissioner, you’re right in the middle of all this.” Zanaya swept in. “Ah, Marquis Zahira! What a pleasant surprise, I hadn’t expected to see you tonight.” Zahira blinked. “And you are?” “Detective Zanaya, City Watch. PTV Department.” She held out a hoof. As the Marquis shook it, Zanaya beamed. “This is a wonderful event you’re hosting. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?” “I’m in the middle of something, I’m afraid—” “Oh, don’t worry, it won’t take long. When Commissioner Zireena heard that I was going to be at this party, she asked me to talk to you about our upcoming budget review. Would you mind explaining what happened to our emergency fire fund? The commissioner was very surprised to see that it had been cut in the last review—” Zahira, alarmed, backed away. “Ah, pardon me, but I need to greet some important guests at the front door.” She bowed her head to Wheatie. “Good night, Sergeant. We’ll talk later.” She vanished into the crowd. “Nice,” said Wheatie mildly. Zanaya grinned. “The commissioner’s been hounding her about that budget change for over a year. Whenever they meet at City Watch dinner events, they end up bogged down in fiscal discussions for hours.” “Spotted Milliden yet?” “I think so.” Zanaya pointed across the ballroom. “There, in that shadowy back corner, see him?” The yellow robes were unmistakable, even from this distance and in lighting this poor. Wheatie nodded. “Looks like he’s still alone. We might not have missed the meeting.” “We need to figure out how to listen in without getting spotted.” Wheatie’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a figure moving toward Milliden’s table. A camel dressed in a slick black suit seated himself beside the Equestrian ambassador. “Who’s that?” Zanaya stared for a few moments, biting her lip. “I think it’s Menes Akhanehet. He’s an assistant to the Dromedarian ambassador.” “Ten to one odds says he’s Milliden’s contact. We’ve got to get over there.” “We could get a table next to them…” Wheatie shook his head. “Too obvious. They’d just move somewhere more private.” A waitress pushing a cart with a selection of food on it brushed past him. Wheatie watched her pull up beside a nearby table and begin plating the food for the guests. He turned his head to Zanaya and raised an eyebrow. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” * * * “This is a terrible plan,” whispered Zanaya. She was wearing a server’s white dress shirt and a black vest, her evening dress safely hidden below in the commandeered food cart. Wheatie crouched on the bottom platform of the cart, hidden from view by a white cloth draped over the entire cart. “Well, it’s too late to un-bribe the waitress, so we’ll just have to run with it.” Wheatie poked his head out from under the cloth, looking around. Thankfully, no one had noticed their little transaction and Zanaya’s rapid change of clothing in a back room. “You should be the table server, not me. I don’t know anything about the service industry, mister lives-in-a-castle.” “If there was a zebra waiter in this mansion with a uniform that fit me, I would. But we’re going with what we’ve got.” Wheatie pulled his head back inside the cart. “Now let’s hurry, before we miss that meeting.” Still grumbling, Zanaya rolled the cart into the ballroom. Wheatie listened to the clinking plates and wine bottles above him, trying to stay still. After a minute or two, the cart slowed to a stop. “Hello, Ambassador,” said Zanaya’s voice. “Welcome again to Marquis Zahira’s home. I believe these are your orders?” Wheatie inhaled deeply, and peeked through the cloth. Zanaya had rolled him up flush against the table, with just enough space between him and the two seated dignitaries to move under the table unseen. As Zanaya lifted a plate of something off the cart, he darted out with hooves padded by cloth napkins. He made it under the table, and waited with bated breath for the pony or the camel to say something, but a few moments passed without incident and he released it quietly. Suddenly, Milliden snorted angrily. “What is this? Salmon filet?” The annoyance in his voice was clear even through the table. “Are you daft? Ponies can’t even digest fish properly. I ordered cream of mushroom soup.” A new voice, deep and soft, spoke. “I believe you have the wrong table.” That had to be the Dromedarian. Wheatie could see his hooves under the tablecloth. Milliden gave a little whinny of disgust. “This is obviously meant for the Gryphan delegation, over there. Get this out of my face.” Zanaya’s voice was full of contrition. “My apologies, Ambassador. I’ll get this sorted out.” Wheatie heard the cart wheels squeak as she pulled it away. “Hold on.” Milliden’s angry tone was now tinged with curiosity. “Do I know you?” “Oh, sir, I highly doubt it. No offense, but most ponies have trouble telling us apart. Have a nice night.” The cart squealed as Zanaya beat a hasty retreat. Wheatie blinked, alarmed. Could Milliden have recognized her? They hadn’t interacted in any capacity Wheatie knew about. Might she have been spotted while following him? It was a good thing Wheatie himself hadn’t tried to play the waiter, or they’d have been found out for sure. “Honestly,” muttered Milliden. “Zahira’s help is usually of higher quality than that.” “This is a large event,” said Menes quietly. “Perhaps her regular waitstaff is overtasked.” “I swear I’ve seen that zebra before.” Milliden rapped the table. “I just can’t place her.” “Regardless,” said the camel evenly, “she’s well out of earshot. It’s time we discussed things, Arcturus.” “Very well. Care to explain that cryptic note?” “It’s best to be cautious. Especially this close to the end.” The table creaked as Milliden leaned forward. “The end? Is it nearly time, then?” “Yes. But first, we have some matters to clear up.” The camel, Menes, tapped a cloven hoof on the floor beneath the table. “I won’t dance around the issue, Arcturus. My masters are not happy with this situation regarding your missing compatriot.” “Strudel. Listen, I had nothing to do with that. He was stupid enough to go snooping around the docks at night. Some of Viridian’s boys grabbed him and that useless ensign. I haven’t heard anything about them since.” “Your level of involvement doesn’t matter. His disappearance has brought a lot of unwanted attention down on the docks. Our operations are difficult enough as it is without the City Watch breathing down our necks.” “It’ll blow over. Give it another week or two, and Strudel will just be another midnight Zyran casualty. Once Viridian returns him, we’ll make it look like a mugging gone bad, dump the body in the waterfront or a back alley somewhere. Problem solved.” “We may not have a week.” Menes paused. “Have you heard from Viridian?” “Not since I sent him a message through our channels in the Zyran navy. I demanded Strudel back, along with an updated manifest of all the goods he’s captured, but I haven’t received a reply yet.” Wheatie held down a hiss of surprise. Channels in the Zyran navy? The plot thickened once again. He wished it would stop; conspiracies seemed to be springing up like weeds. Menes gave an unhappy hmm. “He hasn’t contacted us for weeks, either. My masters and I are beginning to doubt his reliability. Given the amount of money we’ve shifted to place his pirates in Zahira’s fleets, you can understand our… disappointment.” “Now, hold on. You know as well as I do how difficult it can be to get a message across the Carriagibbean. There’s all sorts of reasons we might not have heard from one he sent. Reefs, storms… pirates.” Both of them chuckled at that, but Menes’ levity disappeared quickly. “We’ve never had problems communicating with him until now. And the timing is… suspicious.” “The timing? Just how close are we?” “We sent a missive to Viridian last week, to affirm that all the preparations are in place. He was supposed to send you the message you’ve been waiting months for.” Milliden inhaled sharply. “I’ve heard nothing.” “Indeed. Some of my masters are beginning to wonder if Viridian has decided to simply take his loot and run.” “No.” Milliden’s right leg was jumping nervously under the table. “Trust me, the Nordpony is on the level. He doesn’t want money, he wants the reward you promised him.” “Are you certain? When you put us in contact with him, you yourself warned us that he wasn’t entirely… stable.” “Look, I’ve been in contact with him for two years now. He’s never let me down before. The stallion might be a little… twitchy, but he’s plenty competent enough to run your little puppet state for you.” “It’s not his competence in doubt, it’s his motivations. I have to ask again, why won’t you take the position? You’ve been a good ally to us for the past four years, I’m sure you could get the job if you asked.” Menes sounded legitimately curious. “I don’t want to rule a city-state. I just want to buy an island and retire to a giant mansion with a dozen mares tending to my every need.” “I can’t argue with that.” There was a clink of wineglasses. “But if this coup of ours is going to work, we need to act soon. Very soon.” Milliden’s voice was hesitant. “How long do I have?” “We had a backup plan in case our arrangement with Viridian fell through. Three dozen Dromedarian warships are standing by off the Isle of Teeth, hidden from Zyran eyes by the rock pillars. In two days, they make for Zyre. The original plan would be preferable, of course. We don’t want to lose our finest scouting fleet. But even without the pirates to soften them up, I’ve been assured that Zyre will be ours. So long as your signal works.” “It will. But please, give it another few days. Viridian will come through. He always does.” Menes sighed. “Very well. I can delay them till the end of the week, but no longer. We’ll be relying on your signal to begin the attack. Don’t be late.” “I won’t be.” “Are you still determined to do this yourself? It would be safer if we sent some of our people.” Milliden’s leg had stopped tapping. “Frankly, I want an excuse to be out of the city. I trust your soldiers not to make a mess of things. The pirates, on the other hand… well, they’re not known for being gentle.” “And yet you still want us to rely on them.” “Look at it from an international perspective. If you sail in and lay waste to Zyre, you’re a belligerent nation annexing another country against its will. If the pirates do your dirty work for you, you become the saviors of Zyre instead, helping a country get back on its hooves after a reprehensible attack.” “All right, Arcturus,” said Menes with a tone of exasperation. “We’ll do it your way. But if Viridian’s confirmation message doesn’t arrive by the end of the week, we’re moving ahead with the backup plan.” “Captain Zevan is overdue, but he should be here within the next two days. Viridian and his fleet won’t be far behind. I’ll give the signal, the pirates will attack, Zyre’s navy will be destroyed, and you can sweep in to pick up the pieces.” “One last thing. The Equestrians. Celestia’s obviously keeping a close eye on the situation here, if she’s sent her personal ambassador. We’ve become concerned about the possibility of a military intervention.” Milliden snorted. “She wouldn’t dare. I’ve soured relations with Zahira enough that nothing bigger than an Equestrian frigate is allowed in Zyran waters, and not many of them at a time, either. The nearest fleet, if you can call it that, is a small flotilla escorting some trade vessels on the way in from Cairoan. They’ll be turned back near the Isle of Lyze, as usual, where Zyran ships will take over escort duty.” “Very well.” Menes stood up. “We’ll be in touch.” The sound of cart wheels caught Wheatie’s attention. Zanaya’s voice spoke. “Good evening again, gentlecolts. I’ve brought your dinner.” Milliden scoffed. “Somehow I doubt that.” “I was just leaving, actually,” said Menes, and his hoofsteps steadily faded into the bustle of the ballroom. Wheatie crept slowly backward, out from under the table on the opposite side from Milliden. Zanaya was making a fuss about plating the food, giving him plenty of distraction. “Oh, no!” she cried, and a plate crashed to the floor. “Damn!” shouted Milliden, standing up and knocking the table. Wheatie hastily ducked behind another one nearby. “You idiot, look what you’ve done to my robes! These are worth more than you are, you worthless—” “I’m terribly sorry, sir, I’ll get someone to clean this up right away.” Zanaya raced away, her hooves thudding on the floor. Wheatie peeked around the corner, watching Milliden for an avenue of escape. The ambassador’s chest was covered with cream of mushroom soup, and he was wiping it off his robes with disgust. Wheatie took the chance and stood up, walking calmly away from the table and melding into the background of the ballroom. He waited by the entrance for a few minutes before Zanaya reappeared, once again dressed in her evening wear. She glanced around. “Well, did you get anything?” “Yes.” Wheatie’s jaw was set. “We need to leave. Now.” “That bad, huh?” “We have to talk to Petalbloom. And then your boss. Milliden has to be taken into custody, immediately.” Zanaya frowned. “Care to elaborate?” “On the way. Let’s go.” He led her out through the manor, into the entrance hall. Ambassador Milliden’s voice called out, “Sergeant Specklestraw!” Wheatie cursed, whirling around. “Hello, Ambassador.” Milliden was approaching them from the ballroom, his robes still stained with soup. “Good evening, Sergeant.” He reached the pair, clearing his throat. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here. I wanted to ask you about Ambassador Strudel. Have we heard any news?” “Nothing new, my apologies.” Wheatie began edging away. “A shame. I’d like to—” Milliden noticed Zanaya and froze. Seconds passed, loaded with tension. Zanaya extended a hoof. “Hi,” she said in a breathy, high-pitched voice completely unlike the one she’d used in her waitress getup. “I’m Zanaya. Isn’t this party just wonderful?” Milliden stared at her face, ignoring the hoof. His eyes flicked over to Wheatie’s wings. Wheatie felt himself break out into a sweat. A zebra and a pegasus. Just how good a look did he get at us the other night? The ambassador slowly turned his eyes up to Wheatie’s face. “Sergeant,” he said quietly. “I recently acquired some information I think might help your case. I’m not as familiar with such matters as you are, of course. Could you meet with me in my office later tonight? I’ll be back by midnight at the latest.” His face rigid, Wheatie gave a terse nod. “I’ll be there.” “Good.” Milliden gave Zanaya another look. “I’ll see you later.” Milliden turned abruptly and returned to the ballroom. Wheatie and Zanaya stood motionless for a moment, then left the manor into the twilight. “What the hell was that?” asked Zanaya. Wheatie’s jaw worked. “Covering his ass, maybe. He knows we’ve been getting close to him. But that doesn’t matter now. We’re about to nail him to the wall.” As they made their way down the hill, he explained all that he’d heard to her. Zanaya’s face grew grimmer and grimmer as he went, until he reached the part about Milliden sending some sort of signal. “A signal for what, exactly?” “To start the attack, no doubt.” Zanaya shook her head. “It’s got to be more than that.” Her eyes shot wide open. “The blackpowder.” Wheatie pulled up short at the bottom of the hill. “Oh, no.” “If they set off all of that at once, who knows what they could destroy.” “And they’ve got people inside the navy working for them. Weeding out all the traitors is going to take a lot longer than a week.” Zanaya stomped a hoof. “If we put Milliden away before he sends that signal, we’ll have all the time we need to clean house.” “Then let’s get to the embassy.” * * * They arrived just after sunset. The Equestrian embassy was dark and empty, except for the secretary zebra locking the doors. Wheatie raised a hoof and called to her. She turned surprised, and stood back from the door, adjusting her knapsack. “Hello, Sergeant,” she said as Wheatie and Zanaya reached her. “Can I help you?” “We need to speak to the captain immediately.” The secretary frowned apologetically. “She’s already left for the day. She’ll be in tomorrow morning, though.” Wheatie and Zanaya turned to each other. Zanaya bit her lip. “Well?” “Get to the commissioner. Tell her everything. We’ll deal with the political fallout later.” Wheatie grimaced. “You sure?” “Better we lose some trade rights than the entire city.” Zanaya nodded. “Okay. What about you?” “I’m going to find Petalbloom, and then we’re coming back here for Milliden’s little meeting. When he shows up, we’ll clap him in irons. He’s not getting out of this one.” “Be careful, Wheatie,” said Zanaya, her brow softening. “The Dromedarians aren’t fooling around. And they’re serious soldiers, not a bunch of rabble like the pirates.” “I will. You watch yourself too, okay?” They shook hooves, and parted. Zanaya ran off into the city, vanishing into an alleyway. Wheatie turned back to the secretary. “Where is Petalbloom’s house?” The zebra looked very concerned. “I can give you the address and a map. What’s going on with Ambassador Milliden?” “Nothing you need to worry about right now. Trust me, the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She nodded, swallowing. “Okay. Let me write down the address for you.” She pulled a sheet of paper out of her knapsack and began scribbling on it with a piece of charcoal. Wheatie grabbed it as soon as she was done, muttered a quick “Thanks,” and took off into the air. As his wings beat mightily toward Captain Petalbloom’s residence, he inhaled the nighttime air. It was thick and humid, but with a cut of tension he’d only sensed a few times before. He stared ahead, contemplating just how much the feeling in his stomach reminded him of his last talk with his old mentor, Bergeron. There was still time to stop this situation from exploding out of control. Everything depended on the timing, now. And Wheatie was determined not to let this city fall into the hooves of her enemies.