Tyria was woken by a spray of water in her face. Far to the west, the horizon had taken its first bite from the setting sun. Ahead of them, she could see a landmass larger than any they’d yet been to in the archipelago.
“Nearly there?” she mumbled.
Meri lifted her head and briefly slowed her swimming pace. “Yes. Zendruga is on the northern side of that island. We should reach it by nightfall.”
To their right, Rye shifted on Vina’s back. “Perhaps we should make our landing away from the port. With things so unstable, I’d rather not draw attention to our entrance if we can avoid it.”
“Right,” said Tyria. “If Zendruga is anything like Zyre, then it’ll have a wall between the town perimeter and the jungle. We can head in through a gate and enter the town from the back.”
“As you wish,” said Meri. “Hold tight, we’re going to speed up.”
They cut through the water with surpassing swiftness. Despite the rapid pace, they did not reach the island before the sun had completely vanished beyond the horizon. The fading light made it difficult to find their way through the shallows, splashing through the water up to the beach.
Meri followed them up, lying on her stomach in the sand, tail curled out of the water. “Will you two be all right on your own from here on out?”
“Yes,” said Tyria, extending a hoof. “Thank you again, Meri. For everything.”
“From both of us,” added Rye, his neck bowed under the weight of the coin sack.
Meri shook Tyria’s hoof with a tired smile. “You deserved it. A favor for a favor.”
“You’ve done more than just a favor,” said Tyria, pulling her mane back.
“As did you,” Meri countered. “If you were strong enough to go into the Black and save my people, how could I fail to aid you in turn?”
Meri was braver than she let on. Maybe Rye was right about her. She’s certainly got more verve than Keron does. “What will you do when you go back?”
“I suppose that depends on uncle Keron,” said Meri, her face clouding with thought. “I’ll try to make him see reason. And if I can’t…”
Rye blinked, remaining silent in what Tyria had grown to recognize as careful, diplomatic blankness. Apparently he’d decided to let his seed sprout without any more interference.
Meri sighed. “If I can’t, then it might be time for us to choose a new leader.”
Tyria gave her a single nod. “We’ll need all the help we can get in Zyre after this mess. If you get things sorted out in Phoenixia, and we don’t all end up dead by the end of the week… I’d like to see you again.”
The seapony’s face perked up. “I’d like that, too.” She pushed off from the shore, into the breakers. “But if that’s going to happen, I need to get moving.”
Rye bowed. “May the sun guard your days, and the moon guide your steps at night. Farewell, Meri of Phoenixia.”
Meri bowed her head hesitantly in return. “And swift currents to you, surfacers. If you ever find yourselves in need of aid, call upon us and we will answer.” She blew out a breath, readying herself for the next leg of her long journey. “Good luck, to both of you.”
“To you as well,” said Tyria, waving goodbye. Meri returned the wave, and dove into the water, vanishing with a few splashes into the dark waves.
The two ponies stood quietly for a moment. Tyria gave a melancholy sigh. “Seaponies. I still can’t quite believe it. So graceful…”
Rye shifted the money pouch with a clink. “She’ll do well. She’s got what it takes to drag the seaponies into the future. I think they’ll be stronger for it.”
Tyria smiled. “You do seem to fill ponies with drive, Rye.”
“I don’t create it,” said Rye, sounding almost bashful. “I just find what’s there already.”
“I know,” she said, clapping his shoulder with a hoof. “But sometimes we all need a little push.” She tilted her head toward the jungle. “Now come on, we’re burning moonlight. Let’s get to the port.”
They followed the shoreline, not heading directly into the jungle. It was not long before the dim shapes of buildings emerged in the distance, peeking out around the treeline. There were no lights that Tyria could see, rather unusual for such a busy port.
The short walk came to an end as they reached a two-meter high palisade. Tyria looked up at it, putting a hoof to her chin. “Hmm. Let’s head down the wall and find the gate.”
“What if they don’t let us in?”
“I’m sure you can talk us through,” she said lightly. “Give that jaw a workout.”
“It’s a bit tired after this morning,” he said mischievously, trotting off ahead of her.
Tyria grinned, following. It was going to be more difficult to embarrass him now that her innuendos had become reality. She’d just have to try harder.
The gate was given away by the hinges visible in the palisade. The two stopped before it, squinting in the moonlight. Tyria raised a hoof and knocked.
They waited for a few seconds, expecting a watchzebra to hail them, but no voice answered the knock. Frowning, Tyria tapped the door harder, and it drifted ajar. She stared at the gap between gate and wall.
“That’s… not a good sign,” said Rye.
“No, it’s not.” Tyria pushed the gate lightly, and it slid quietly open. “Stick close to me.” They entered the city, newly cautious.
Up close, the city was just as dark as it had been from the beach. No oil lamps stood in windows, no street lanterns flickered in the night. A door slammed shut as they passed, startling both ponies, but no further surprises followed.
Tyria could faintly hear the rumble of distant revelry. It sounded like it was coming from deeper in the port, blocked by rows and rows of buildings. She swallowed nervously. Best to avoid that, I think…
The docks were directly north, Meri had said. Hopefully they’d find a captain in the port who was willing to leave tonight. Tyria had the sinking feeling that whatever was wrong in this city was related to that distant ruckus, and if they weren’t careful it would swallow them both up. The noise was not between them and the piers, thankfully.
Their hoofsteps echoed eerily on the cobblestones of the empty streets. Tyria’s eyes flicked back and forth between the darkened alleyways, alert for any movement. This ghost town was enough to drive anyone paranoid, let alone a semi-professional bodyguard.
At last, they exited the street to see a bay spread out before them. It was not as large as Zyre’s docks, nor so full, but there were still plenty of ships present; at least forty by Tyria’s quick count.
“So, see any that look fast?” asked Rye.
“Hard to tell in the dark, but…” Tyria favored one of the vessels with an evaluating eye. “That one looks good. Three masts, square rig, a classic little clipper. Ought to get us to Zyre in two days or less, if the winds are fair. I can’t quite make out the name on the side… Looks like… Adder’s Bite?”
“Well, let’s get up there and ask the capta… the cap…” Rye’s voice trailed off.
“Hmm?”
Rye pointed wordlessly up. Tyria followed his hoof up to the top of the mast and sucked in a breath. Though drooping in the lack of a breeze, the ship’s colors were clearly green, even in the dim moonlight. The faint outline of a serpent reared on the flag’s folds. “They’re here? How?”
“This must be their last stop before they head for Zyre…” Rye swallowed. “I guess we know why no one is outside tonight.”
Tyria’s eyes swept the ships, seeing the same flag hanging from dozens of masts. Over half the ships in the port belonged to the Pit Vipers. “Nothing’s on fire, at least. Maybe the pirates are just drinking the city dry and flirting with the barmaids.” Tyria cringed. “Although things can get ugly when sailors get drunk.”
“We should tread carefully, of course,” said Rye, “but I think we might still have a shot at finding a ship. I’m sure every captain stuck in the port is dying to get out. The trick is finding them.”
“They’d have left already if they could. I’m sure the pirates are holding them here while they relieve them of their goods. The Vipers must have the bay blocked off. Or guarded, at the very least.” Tyria eyed the nearest pirate ship. A swaying lantern on the deck revealed one zebra, apparently passed out against the mast. “But if their security is as lax as it was back on the island, we could pull this off.”
“Well, then,” said Rye with false cheer, “If your ship was impounded, and you’d been robbed blind, what would you do first?”
Tyria groaned. “Get a drink?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Care to bet what direction the taverns are in?”
Buried in the noise from deeper in the city, they could hear voices singing a shanty.
“No bet.” Tyria stamped a hoof. “Hell. So much for avoiding the pirates.”
Rye unclasped his robes. “Too bad I haven’t got that disguise anymore…” He folded the distinctive, canary-yellow cloth carefully, setting the garment on a nearby barrel. “We’ll come back for that once we’ve got a captain.”
“I’m not sure losing the robe will be enough. The wings and horn stand out, especially among zebras.” Tyria swallowed as her eyes fell on his shoulder, and the white skull branded there. “And then there’s that.”
He paused. They were both quiet for a moment. “Tyria, it’s—”
“I know. I know you’re going to tell me not to feel guilty, but I do.” She took a shuddering breath. “When I did that, I… it felt like something died inside me.” She shook her head. “I know that’s ridiculous, but… every time I see that mark…”
Rye met her eyes, a curious look on his face. “Maybe it was for the best.”
“What?”
“Think about it. Would the Ensign Metrel I met on that Zyran pier a month ago have snuck out of a pirate camp, faced down the pirates’ leader, and piloted a ship through the Serpent’s Maw?” Rye rubbed the mark. “If part of you died on that island, then it was holding you back anyway.”
Tyria blinked, considering this perspective. “I…”
Rye reached up and began mussing his mane. “Anyway, don’t worry about the horn,” he said, mercifully changing the subject. “I used to do this all the time when I was younger. If my mane’s long enough, then…” he pulled his hooves away, and Tyria was surprised to see that his horn was completely hidden in the brown bird’s nest of his hair. “There we go.”
“Why’d you do it when you were younger?”
He gave a regretful half-laugh. “I wasn’t very confident back then. I figured if I could pretend not to be a pegacorn, then ponies would respect me.” Rye shrugged, smiling. “Better to earn the respect in spite of the horn, though, eh?”
“Hm.” Tyria breathed deeply, bracing herself. “Okay. If we’re going to do this, let’s get it done quickly.”
They set off into the city, heading toward the general hubbub in the area of the taverns. Soon, they saw the first street occupants that they’d spotted thus far in the city, a pair of zebras with green neckerchiefs staggering drunkenly down the road. Tyria and Rye passed them warily, but the pirates were too far gone to notice them.
Lanterns broke the darkness at last as they turned a corner. Orange light from street lamps mingled with interior illumination spilling from the windows of a number of bars that lined the street. Open windows carried the sounds of singing, breaking glass, and laughter out into the air. The noise was loud enough that they had to raise their voices to talk to each other.
“Which one first?” asked Tyria.
“They all look the same to me,” said Rye, shrugging. “I supposed we should start with the nearest one. There, what’s it called, Rommelen’s Pub.”
The tavern was on the right side of the street. The sign hanging above the door had the place’s name in thick, bold paint, with a pictogram of a cheerful griffon holding a mug of beer. Suddenly, the door slammed open, sending the sign swinging wildly, and the volume of the revelry within rose dramatically.
Out stormed a gray pony with a curly black mane and alarmingly blue eyes, his face contorted in fury. Rye and Tyria both froze like deer at the sight of Viridian. Fortunately, they were hidden from sight in a slice of shadow cast by the tavern.
“Out of the street,” hissed Rye, and they both dove for the alleyway between them and the bar.
Oh, gods, thought Tyria, peering around the corner to stare, wide-eyed, at Viridian. That was far too close.
The nordpony had not seen them, apparently distracted. It quickly became apparent by what as a pair of zebras followed him out into the street. Tyria felt her stomach take up vicinity somewhere above her heart as she recognized Zevan and his first mate Zab.
Zevan’s face was purple with rage. “Don’t ye walk away from me, ye two-faced, lying snake. We had a deal.”
Viridian lifted his head, closed his eyes, and took a dangerously silky breath. “I agreed to replace your ship should it be lost in enemy action, Captain Zevan.” He opened his eyes, the cold anger behind them funneled down the street. Tyria pulled back slightly, afraid that those violently azure irises would pierce the dark and spot her.
The chief pirate exhaled slowly. “I did not promise to replace one lost due to your own arrogance and stupidity.”
“It weren’t arrogance, ye fool, it were survival.” Zevan had his hoof mace equipped, and it made a loud metallic clank as he stamped it on the cobblestones. “If we hadn’t sailed through that storm, the antelopes would’ve killed us all. And then where would ye be? Still out yer cargo, with a whole crew lost to boot.” He growled. “And the only reason we were in that situation was yer damn insistence that we take the Metrel girl aboard.”
“I needed her to root out Strudel,” said Viridian, his jaw twitching. He was still looking down the street, his back turned to the captain.
“And now they’re both feeding the sharks at the bottom o’ the sea. Masterful plan, Cap’n,” said Zevan, his anger bleeding through the sarcasm.
“AYE,” roared Viridian, whirling around. Zevan and Zab recoiled instinctively. “Dead, out of my reach, all because you were too stupid to keep an eye on her. You shouldn’t have bothered building that raft and sailing back to the island, Zevan. If you’d gone and followed Strudel down to the depths, at least you could have died with dignity.” He spat at Zevan’s hooves. “It’s not too late, Captain. Go back in that bar and drown yourself in a horn of ale.”
Zevan huffed and puffed. “If ye think me or me crew’ll stand fer this—”
“I pay your crew. They’ll stand for whatever I fucking command them to.” Viridian spun around again, storming away from the zebras towards Tyria and Rye’s alleyway. “I’ll hear no more of your begging. Don’t speak to me again until we set sail tomorrow morning, or I swear I’ll pull that tongue out of your mouth with hot tongs.”
Tyria held her breath as Viridian approached them, but he passed without even slowing.
Zevan gave an angry, wordless shout at the sky, before heading back into the bar and slamming the door behind him so hard it bounced back open. Zab, with a dark look, followed him inside.
After a minute had passed, Tyria let herself breathe again. “Well, I see Zevan survived…”
“Most spectacularly,” said Rye, in a conspiratorial tone that filled Tyria with apprehension. “And he seems quite upset with Breyr…”
“Rye, no,” she said. “This isn’t like the antelopes. If you’re thinking of suborning Zevan, think again.”
“Why not? This is a golden opportunity.” Rye rubbed his hooves. He adjusted the coin pouch around his neck. “For more than one reason.”
“But if you’re wrong, we die,” she said, quietly. “There have to be at least sixty pirates in that building. We’re not making a daring escape if Zevan calls them down on us.”
Rye grimaced. “Yes. You’re right.” He sighed. “It’s your call, Tyria. We can go in there and take our chances with Zevan, or check one of the other bars for a non-pirate captain and try sneaking out tonight.” He swallowed. “But whatever we do, we do it tonight. You heard Breyr, they’re leaving tomorrow morning. If we hope to beat them to Zyre, it has to be now.”
Tyria looked at the white skull on his shoulder. Caution, or boldness? When does boldness become stupidity? She looked into his eyes. He hadn’t let her down so far. “Just tell me, Rye, can you talk your way through this one? Truly?”
He nodded slowly, more to himself than to her. “Yes.” His eyes narrowed and he gave a catlike smile. “I’ve got leverage.”
“Then we’ll do it your way.” She jerked her head to the right. “But I suggest we go in through the back.”
As she’d hoped, there was a door on the other side of the building. An unconscious zebra cradling a bottle of rum was the only guard.
They pushed inside, finding themselves in the back of a huge room. The bar’s second floor was only half as wide as the first, giving plenty of room for a high ceiling and a swinging chandelier above the main barroom. Dozens of zebras sat at the tables, playing cards and getting uproariously drunk. A brawl had broken out between a pair of pirates in the far corner, and their companions were shoving furniture aside to make room. One was calling out for bets.
The bar itself was full, stretching across the whole left side of the room, with zebras in varying states of inebriation occupying every seat. A griffon, likely the Rommelen whom the pub was named for, was racing back and forth with bottles to refill his customers’—assuming they were bothering to pay—mugs. He looked angry and fearful, but not outright terrified. Tyria hoped that meant that the pirates had merely been rowdy, and not killed anyone yet.
A quick scan of the room was enough to tell that Zevan was not there. He must be on the upper floor, accessible by a set of stairs on the wall opposite the bar. Rye and Tyria threaded their way through the zebras, alert for any who might recognize them. None of the zebras looked at them twice, though Tyria got a couple of whistles as she passed. Drunk idiots, she thought, annoyed.
As they walked past a table with several barely-upright zebras, Tyria spotted a knife stuck in the wood. Smoothly swooping down and grabbing the hilt in her mouth, she yanked it up and took it with her. The zebra who owned the knife briefly raised his head and mumbled in protest, before his head thudded back to the table.
They ascended the stairs to the more sparsely-populated top floor. There were several private booths by the windows, separated from the open tables by thick red curtains. Some were lit from within by oil lamps.
“He’s got to be in one of those,” said Tyria around her knife.
The nearest booth was occupied by at least one mare and a stallion who were both having a very good time by the sounds of things, and the next one was empty, but the third had two shadows behind the curtain.
“Ready?” whispered Tyria.
A voice from the booth said, “Three in a row, high-hoof.” Zevan’s voice grumbled in response.
Rye nodded to Tyria, and threw open the curtain.
The seats of the booth were a circle that went around the round table, and the zebras were seated toward the far side. Zevan himself was in the leftmost seat, with a very large mug of rum. Cards and a few coins were scattered over the table, but the dour looks on both zebras’ faces suggested that the game was doing a poor job of distracting them.
Rye slid into the seat on the right, dropping the bag of money on the table with a loud clank that made the wood shake. “Deal us in,” he said.
“Who the devil—” began Zevan, before Tyria slid up beside him and held the knife to his throat. The zebras stiffened.
“Not the devil,” said Rye, pulling the deck of cards toward himself and idly beginning to shuffle it. “Just a ghost.”
“You...” Zevan’s eyes bulged. He started to lunge forward, but the blade of Tyria’s knife dug into his neck right over the jugular.
“Nnh-nnh,” she growled. “Sit.”
Zevan relented, easing back into the seat as he glanced between the two ponies without turning his head. “Ye’re both mad, coming here. Viridian’ll be happy to see ye, boy…”
“Not as happy as I am to see you, Zevan.” Rye shuffled the cards again, and finally looked up to meet the captain’s eyes. “But I didn’t crawl out of a watery grave to exchange pleasantries.”
Zab, rigid with tension but restrained by the knife to his captain’s throat, leaned forward as much as he dared. “How did you survive?” he asked, genuine amazement creeping into his voice. “The Nightingale fell to pieces.”
“Seaponies,” said Tyria calmly. Zab tilted his head, eyebrow raised.
Zevan snorted. “What do ye want, unipeg?”
A cross look flittered across Rye’s face. “I told you, the proper term is pega—“
Zevan laughed. Rye paused, before grinning faintly. “Ah, Captain, you’re too subtle to be a pirate.” He set the deck of cards down. “As for what I want, let’s start with information. What’s Breyr’s plan for Zyre?”
The zebra lifted an eyebrow. “Who?”
“I thought you’d been with him long enough to know his real name.” Rye shrugged. “Viridian, then.”
“Why should I tell ye anything?”
Rye put the tip of his hoof on a card and began flicking it in a circle with his other hoof. “We know most of the plan already. You’re going to attack the island, and then the Dromedarians show up to help you hold the city…”
“Dromedarians?” Zevan couldn’t hide his surprise. “How’d ye learn about them?”
“A little bird told me.” Rye flicked the card again. “Come on, Captain, we haven’t got much time.”
“Ye might not have much time, but I do,” said Zevan, with a wide grin. “Ye’ve got us flat-hoofed here, but ye’re not making it out ‘o this building. Ye must realize that.”
“You really think he’ll give you a ship if you turn me in?” Rye slid the card toward Zevan. Tyria glanced down at it. A joker. “I believe this is your card, Captain.”
“Why wouldn’t he reward me? He jumps fer ye, pegacorn, like nothing else I’ve ever seen.”
“Suppose he does give you what you want. A new command, even asks you to sail with him to Zyre, ransack the city.” Rye looked Zevan in the eye. “You won’t live long enough to enjoy it.”
“That a threat, pegacorn?” Zevan sneered.
“No, just an observation.” Rye blinked calmly. “You’re the fall pony, Zevan.”
“What?”
“Oh, you’re perfect.” Rye nodded sagely. “A seasoned pirate, respected by the rest of the group, a long history behind you… easily identifiable by numerous merchants, I’m sure. In fact, I’ll bet he digs some up for your sham of a trial.”
“Trial?” Zevan’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “The hell are ye talking about, Strudel?”
“Well, when they execute ‘Viridian’, it’s got to look convincing.”
Zevan was silent, baffled disbelief on his face. He wasn’t feigning it, either, Tyria could feel his muscles go slack with puzzlement.
“He’ll need to pin the blame for the Pit Vipers and their attempted ransacking of the city on someone. You’re the ideal scapegoat, Zevan. Don’t you see it? He’s been grooming you for this. Fattening you for the slaughter.”
The captain scowled. “Why should I believe you?”
“Very well,” Rye said, “here’s what I think his plan is: Breyr’s going to attack the city with the pirates, burn some buildings, loot a few banks, all the things you and your fellows are good at. Breyr himself is going to hang back, waiting. Not showing himself yet, which is key. After all, no one knows what ‘Viridian’ looks like. While you’re busy pillaging and having a merry time, Breyr’s friends from Dromedaria will sail into the bay behind you and close it off. Then, they’ll land a few ships, come marching up behind your rabble, and attack.”
Zab scoffed, but the way he was leaning into the table belied his dismissal. “The camels are coming to help us, you idio—”
“Quiet,” said Zevan. His eyes were locked on Rye’s. “Keep talking, pegacorn.”
“Your crews will turn to the camels with open hooves and be greeted with long knives in return. You don’t really think Breyr expects a bunch of freebooters and outlaws to hold a city, do you? He needs professional military troops.” Rye cocked his head. “How many camel ships are you expecting?”
“Ten,” said Zevan quietly. That manic edge he’d shown when they first entered the booth had left him completely.
“Interesting.” Rye rubbed his chin. “That little bird I mentioned told me there were about six times that many ships. Put half of those down to exaggeration and we’ve still got a good thirty camel cruisers. They’re coming for a permanent occupation, and they don’t need your help.” He frowned. “Here’s the thing. It’s hard to occupy a city, especially one as independent and big as Zyre. It’s much easier to keep the population under control if they see their masters as protecting heroes. That’s how the entire feudal system works.”
“I suppose ye’d know all about that, Equestrian,” muttered Zevan. “Damn ponies, a hundred years behind the rest o’ the world…”
Tyria tried not to smile around her knife. Zanaya made the same complaint at least once a month. Apparently the captain had an egalitarian streak about him. Not surprising for a free-spirited pirate, she supposed.
“So, Zevan, how close am I?” Rye pursed his lips.
Zevan’s scowl deepened. “Closer than ye have a right to be.”
“Once he’s taken the island and been put in charge, he’s going to turn you over to the nobles as the infamous Viridian. You’ll be crucified.” Rye’s eyebrows lifted. “Maybe literally. He’s got a penchant for foreign torture methods.” He paused for a moment. “Tyria, would you kindly give our friend some breathing room?”
Tyria’s eyes narrowed, but she obliged the request and removed the knife from Zevan’s throat. Both zebras imperceptibly relaxed. Neither made to jump the ponies. Well, Rye, it’s working. Don’t stop now.
Stabbing the knife into the table, she sat back. “Where do the Zyrans fit in?” she asked.
“Eh?” said Zevan, turning his head.
“The navy. Surely they aren’t just going to sit back and let you raid the city. And if the camels were planning to fight through them, they wouldn’t need you at all.”
Rye steepled his hooves. “Yes, that is the trillion-florin question, isn’t it. How are you planning to remove the Zyran military, Zevan?”
The zebra captain was clearly weighing Rye’s words, deciding whether he believed any of the scenario the ambassador had painted.
Tyria stared past him out of the window. “Viridian owes you a ship, Captain,” she said mildly. “What do you owe him?”
Zevan eyed both of them in turn, his jaw slowly working. “Well…” his lips curled upward. “When ye put it like that… the plan be to set off a signal just before the attack. When green smoke rises off the mountain, every Viper planted on a Zyran vessel is to detonate a barrel or two o' hidden griffon blackpowder in the hold of the ship they be on. The whole navy, sunk in an instant.”
Intensity was etched into every muscle in Rye’s face. “Tell me how Breyr infiltrated the Zyran government.”
“Yer little bird tell ye that too?” Zevan snorted. “I suppose it be obvious, once ye know the rest.”
Tyria lifted her head in agreement. “You have been slipping through the bay guards too often for anything else.”
“It were money, ‘o course. Bribes and favors, to officers, nobles, all ye fancy types.” Zevan placed his hooves on the table, tapping one as he listed traitors. “A few ‘o the Marquis’ less happy supporters. Some merchant captains in the port. The most important were the navy recruiting office staff. They be how we put the old crews in place on all the Zyran ships.” Zevan smiled broadly. “And, ‘o course, yer Ambassador Milliden.”
Tyria blew out a breath. “So it’s true.” How could I not have seen it? I was with him almost every day. She stared at the joker beside Zevan’s hoof, grimacing. I suppose I was too busy drowning in misery to notice a bit of treason under my nose. Well, at least she’d get the pleasure of seeing him stand trial.
Rye shook his head, disgusted. “Do you know why Milliden joined Breyr?”
Zevan looked a bit disappointed at their lack of shock. “He were in debt. A fair bit ‘o it, by the sound ‘o things. Same story with the commissioner.”
At that, Tyria sat up. “What?”
“Aye, Commissioner Zireena ‘o the City Watch.”
Rye whistled. “That must’ve been quite the coup.”
Zevan nodded. “Aye, having her on our side be the best tool we’ve had. Early notice about raids, quick an’ easy trials with reduced charges fer any o’ our boys that got caught…”
Tyria hissed. “The previous commissioner died three years ago of a heart attack. Or so we were told.”
The captain shrugged. Rye chewed his lip, and said, “It wouldn’t be the first time Breyr’s poisoned someone to get ahead. He did the same thing to the old Thane of Hoofnjord.”
A chill traveled down Tyria’s spine. Does Zanaya know? Is she part of this? She trusted her closest friend, but if Milliden had been in league with the pirates without her knowledge, how sound was her own judgement? Have faith in her, even if you can’t trust yourself, she thought, swallowing.
“Well,” said Rye, nodding slowly, “that was the last piece of the puzzle I needed.”
“And here I thought ye knew the entire thing,” said Zevan, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Tyria tapped a hoof on the table. “I thought you said Breyr didn’t want to be under the camels’ hooves.”
Rye chuckled to himself. “Oh, he doesn’t. He’s going to stab them in the back.”
They all stared at him blankly. “Pardon?” said Tyria. “He needs them to take the city.”
“No, he needs them to light the city on fire, just like the pirates. And then get pushed out by the Zyrans themselves, led by a mysterious new military commander with bright blue eyes…”
Seeing their confused stares, Rye shook his head. “It’s a pattern with him. He did the same thing in Sleipnord four years ago. He creates a crisis, then inserts himself as a stabilizing presence, the only one with the chops to handle the dire situation. Disguised as a soldier, maybe, he'll grab command from the Zyrans in the confusion of the attack; by the time anyone figures out what happened, he'll already have control of the entire city.”
Zevan made an outraged noise from the back of his throat.
Rye just grinned. “Oh, yes. I’d bet my robes he’s planning to sneak in after the fighting is well under way and rally the Zyrans by pretending to be one of them. The uniforms aren’t hard to come by, if you’ve got the recruiters on your payroll, and at this point a good number of the sailors are already loyal ex-Vipers anyway. Why do you think he sent virtually all his experienced crew into Zyre, leaving the fresh recruits to do the pirating? And then there’s the fact that he's going to sink the ships, not kill the crews.”
He gave an admiring shake of his head. “They can even retrieve and repair any ships that go down inside the bay itself, the water's not that deep. The navy will be functional again in a month or two. He wants to own it all, not destroy it.”
Tyria blinked, taken aback. “You mean he’s going to betray everyone?”
“It’s kind of beautiful, if it works. He’ll force out the Dromedarians, then his allies in the oligarchy will declare him effective dictator of a military junta. He can lock the city down, citing martial law in a time of crisis. Zevan, you’ll get thrown in prison as ‘Viridian’, and never see a soul who’s not complicit in the coup until your hanging. Then Breyr and his coterie in the government can hunt down ‘pirate infiltrators’ and purge any resistance to the new regime.”
He gave a low whistle. “It’s a hell of a gamble, though. Anything with so many moving pieces could go wrong in a hundred different ways. If he can’t get the Zyrans on his side, he won’t make it past the harbor. Or the camels could turn on him before he does on them. But Breyr’s never been afraid of big bets when the stakes are this high.”
Zevan had gone slack-jawed. “Ye’re mad, Strudel. That be the most insane plan I’ve ever heard.”
Rye gave him a wry look. “Have you met Breyr?”
Tyria felt a bemused smile play on her lips. “Let’s hope you never decide to try taking over a country, love. I’m not sure we could stop you.”
“Ah, but you’d have nothing to worry about, my queen,” said Rye, his eyes twinkling.
Stifling a snort, Tyria twisted the knife into the table surface. “So, now what?”
“Now, we get to Zyre before the attack begins, and expose this entire plot to Zahira. We’ll stop a war between three nations and save the sugar trade in one move. But we need your help, Zevan.”
Zevan frowned. “If ye’re right about all this…”
“I am. Maybe not all the details, but the important parts.” Rye reached up to habitually fiddle with the clasp of his robe, pausing with brief surprise as his hoof hit his bare chest. “We need passage to Zyre, Captain.”
“And why would I do that?” Zevan sat back. “Sounds to me like me best bet is stealing a ship and heading as far away from Zyre as I can get.”
“Three reasons,” said Rye, placing his hooves out to the sides of the table. “One: Breyr wants you dead. I’m sure you can appreciate a good bowl of revenge served hot.”
“Hmm.” Zevan’s eyebrows jumped noncommittally.
“Two: I can get you amnesty.”
“Bollocks.” Zevan flicked the joker card back toward Rye.
“I can,” Rye insisted. He leaned on a hoof, lifting the other in placation. “Marquis Zahira will be extremely grateful to you for helping foil this plot to seize her realm. Especially if you can give her a list of the traitors in her inner circle.”
Zevan was hooked by the idea, even Tyria could see it. But he bared his teeth and said, “Zahira be fond of revenge too, ye know.”
“True enough.” Rye made a touché gesture with his hoof. “I’ll make you this guarantee, then. If Zahira doesn’t let you off, I’ll declare you a Royal Witness for Equestria. My diplomatic immunity will apply to you and your crew, as long as you cooperate with our government. The zebras can’t touch you.”
“They managed to touch yer ambassador, I hear,” said Zevan, arching his brow.
Rye shrugged. “Well, then, three: after you get us to Zyre then this,” he nudged the bag of gold on the table with a clink, “is yours. No questions asked. If you want to take a ship and sail off to the south pole instead of chancing Zahira’s mercy, be my guest.”
Zab coughed, trying and failing to keep the greed out of his eyes. The first mate prodded the bag. “Just how much is in there?”
Tyria reached out to the sack and upended it. Gold coins spilled out over the table, beyond a simple counting. The pirates’ eyes lit up. Zevan licked his lips, pulling one of the coins toward himself. “This be a Phoenixian ingot. A very old currency… Where did ye find it?”
“It was a reward,” said Tyria, eyeing the zebras, whose expressions had turned hungry. “For services rendered.”
“We be in need of a ship, methinks,” said Zevan, almost breathless.
Rye nodded. “There was one in the harbor. The Adder’s Bite.”
Zevan chuckled. Zab joined him, and soon both were laughing loudly, their shoulders shaking. Rye and Tyria shared a confused look.
“Ye realize, that be Viridian’s flagship,” said Zevan, wiping his eyes. “He likes his ships fast.”
“Should we choose another, then?” asked Tyria.
“Nay,” said Zevan, beginning to scoop the coins back into the bag. “Ye were right, pegacorn. I do like the taste ‘o revenge.”