Saxon sat in his guard tower, squinting down the length of a spyglass. He aimed the device at the east horizon, spotting two steamships churning west towards the Barge.
“Is that him?” Dredger Nixkit asked.
“Look at them burn over the muck!” Saxon exhaled. He smiled crookedly while squinting, spying. “That shit must be chock-full of burning coal!”
“Dammit, Saxon, answer the Dredger!” Digiff grumbled, standing with Nixkit beneath the cylindrical tower. “Is it him or isn't it?”
“Oh, it's him, alright.” Saxon lowered the spyglass. “The hull may be pristine Rohbredden metal, but I know Monket's hoofwork when I see it. The Slaver of the Waves likes to fuel his steam furnaces just so.”
“Well, he certainly got here in a hurry,” Nixkit grumbled, his pale nostrils flaring. “Must be paid well to make that kind of speed.”
“Are you gonna tell the boss or am I going to?” Digiff remarked.
“Hrmmmfff... I'll tell him,” Nixkit said, trotting off. “Goddess knows if you give him one more bit of bad news, Digiff, he'll have your kidneys for a necklace.”
“Heeheehee...” Saxon leaned back in his tower with a slimy grin. “Shiny... shiny stones.”
Digiff clenched his jaw, gazing once more at the incoming ships. “I hope he trips and falls into a cesspool the moment he trots on board.”
Swab stumbled into bright sunlight, squinting. All around him, orphans were being ushered out from their lower hold. Every healthy filly and colt strolled onto the eastern struts under the grunting breaths and trained eyes of adult dredgers.
“I don't get it...” One foal stammered. “What's this all about?”
“Feels like a steamshow,” another said.
“This early in the day?”
“Hey, if Top Dredger Skagra wants to make an example... he does so.”
“Hey! Look!” A filly pointed east.
Several foals gasped and cooed at the sight of the incoming steamships. The adults gathering further along the Barge were likewise curious, intrigued. All eyes of Red Barge's occupants fell on the miniature armada.
“Slavers,” Coche's voice droned.
Swab spun to glance at the frail filly from several bodies away. He blinked, then glanced at the east horizon again.
“She's right,” another filly remarked. “Look at how the smokestacks fume. They're loading the furnaces in shoveling pairs.”
“Must be the Slaver of the Waves,” said Whony, sneering slightly. “Nasty Mister Monket. I hear he makes his property sleep in filth and eats their brains after they've died. Total misery on the seven seas.”
“Yeah.” Coche's sunken eyes blinked. “Think we can join his crew?”
The foals all collectively laughed.
“Quiet!” Quint snarled. “All of you sacks of sea foam!” He pointed at the top platform. “Behold! He comes out of the Skag Hole!”
“So it is a steam show!”
“Why else would the Top Dredger show his half-face?”
“Shhh!” Quint narrowed his eyes. “This is different somehow... nopony step out of line or you're mucking bloat.”
Swab's right ear twitched as he gazed up at the topmost platform.
Nixkit was the first of several grim-faced stallions to march out of Skagra's lofty office.
At around this point, Monket's two ships were rolling in to port along the eastern strut of Red Barge, under the watch of guards armed with harpoons. As one of the steam vessels attached a ramp to the Barge's hull, a stallion with a yellow coat could be seen disembarking. The wind kicked at his green dreads as he and several bodyguards made their way to the center of the floating structure.
“Well?” Echoed a voice from inside the office. “Is it him?”
Nixkit nodded, squinting. “I could recognize those dreads from across the blight.”
“Perfect.” A pasty brown stallion with a mottled, patchwork coat limped out of the office. A swoop of hot red mane hair dangled silkily over the right side of his muzzle. Skagra gazed out across the lengths of Red Barge. “Hmmmmm... be my nose, Nixkit. What's the Barge smell like this morning?”
“Erm...”
“Be honest. You're pretty when you're honest.”
“It smells like shit, boss,” Nixkit grumbled.
“Uhuh.” Skagra nodded. “And how do I smell?”
“... ... ...like even dirtier shit.”
“Good.” Skagra turned towards his henchstallions, revealing a left side to his face that was scalded red from an age-old burn. His left eye permanently squinted under a haggard half-skull that lacked hair or even a functioning ear. “I wanna stand out.” He casually whispered towards the dredgers below. “Hey! Princesses! Why are you standing around with your tongues up each other's plots?! Yank the worm out of his hole and bring him to the vent already!”
“Yes, Skagra!”
“Mmmmm...” Skagra inhaled the sea air, shuffling down the steps from the uppermost platform. “Siren farts, it's a beautiful day to be a dick.”
“Uhm... Boss...” Nixkit stumbled after Skagra.
“What, Nixxy? Lemme guess. You want to get the first kick in.”
“I'm just curious. You really want to do a steamshow now?”
“I'm not out here to pick wildflowers, Nixxy.”
“But Monket's here to talk business—”
“Precisely.” Skagra's right nostril flared. He swept his red bangs to the left... only for them to fall right again. “I want him to see this.” His good eye rested on a metal sweat box situated half-a-strut away. “Nasty Mister Slaver of the seven seas needs to know what Red Barge wakes up to every morning.”
Creaaaaak!
A rusted door swung open, revealing a haggard stallion practically cooking in his own juices. Sweating and heaving, the sweat-covered pony stared out of the sweatbox. “Oh Goddess, please—”
WHAM! Nixkit's hoof slammed into his nuzzle.
“Grkkk!” The prisoner flailed. Nixkit and another henchstallion dragged his limp body out of the box and mercilessly across a series of welded boat decks. After passing an assembled crowd of Red Barge onlookers, they unceremoniously dumped him into the middle of a rectangular array of steam pipes. The emaciated prisoner wheezed, whimpered, and coughed up blood.
Meanwhile, Skagra trotted a few paces away from him, limping in a wide circle around a series of vertical steam vents—with a large grated one situated in the very center. Fumbling through the pockets of his vest, Skagra finally produced a cigarette. He propped it in his mouth, leaned up to a hissing steampipe, and lit the end of the cancer stick with the heat from the scalding metal. He took a drag, then exhaled into the air.
The entire time, the prisoner rolled across the floor, coughing and sputtering nonstop. All around him, the residents of Red Barge were forced to watch. Workers, guardsponies, families, mothers and fathers with their foals—and countless sea foam orphans. Most watched in an emotionless glaze. Then there were some—like Saxon and Whony—who awaited the inevitable with stupid, drooling grins on their muzzles.
“Mrmmff... please... oh pl-please... Top Dredger...” The prisoner rolled over. He tried to stand up on wobbling hooves, but there wasn't enough meat on his bones to support the motion. He slumped back onto his chest, wincing. “Grnnngh... I'm s-sorry... I'm so sorry for everything.” He gulped. “Please... p-put me to the harvest chambers. Let m-me fish in the churning currents. I... I-I can still be useful! I don't even h-have to have nibbles everyday. I can be good meat... good... good meat... please...”
Skagra pivoted around. He took another drag of his cigarette, then gazed past the prisoner's body.
From a distance, Monket's muscular body strolled closer and closer. Skagra could see the pale red of the slaver's eyes by now.
“... ... ...” The right half of Skagra's face grinned. He gave his head a jerk, flinging the silky red hair out from before his good eye. On bouncy hooves, he strolled a zig-zagged path towards the prisoner.
“I... I-I didn't mean to steal from the other dredgers... honest...” The stallion looked up, choking on a sob. “I thought... I-I thought they were my nibbles. Truly. I-I had worked so hard on welding the southern strut that wh-when I saw the basket of rice I figured—”
Skagra reached him—and promptly flicked his cigarette inside the prisoner's mouth. Before the frail stalion could even gasp, Skagra squatted down and clamped his quivering jaw shut.
“Mrrrmmfnnghhhh!” The stallion hissed as his tongue and mouth burned from the inside out. Smoke billowed out his nostrils as his eyes turned red.
Skagra hissed in his face: “Let me share a few of the things... that are bad for you.” He threw the stallion down against the bulkhead and stood one rear leg atop his head, forcing the prisoner's jaws further shut. The prisoner's body thrashed and writhed in torture while the Top Dredger turned to snarl at the ponies assembled. “For all of you!”
Swab and a few other orphans shivered. Quint stood dead still, as did many adult dredgers and workers watching the scene unfold.
“That's right, Red Barge! School's now in session! So pay close attention, kiddies!” Skagra slapped one hoof down on top of another. “Disobeying Dredger rules?! Bad! Lying to your overseer?! Bad! Lying to me? Ballsy... but still bad!”
The Top Dredger finally stepped off of the stallion. The prisoner rolled over, wheezing and vomiting up burnt bits of tongue and gums.
“But stealing?! Outright grabbing a piece of honey from Red Barge's pot?!” Skagra whipped his crooked neck around, red strands flailing. “The worst! Absolutely the worst!” His right nostril flared while his left eye squinted at the stonefaced residents. “I know that this is no pleasure crew, ponies, but... come on!” He shrugged his forelimbs. “Come the buck on!” He pointed at the mouth-bleeding stallion. “All of this for a basket of rice?! I mean... hell... if it was a piece of Dredge Coal and he used it to blow himself up and a piece of the strut along with him, at least I'd give him points for poetry! But this?! This is just lame! And stupid! And on Red Barge, you can't afford to be either!”
“Mrmmffnngh... scrkllltt...” The prisoner wept, gargling his own blood as he crawled pitifully across the decks.
Monket came to a stop, watching coldly from afar with narrow eyes.
Skagra caught the slaver in his peripheral vision. He strolled around, approaching the prisoner once again. “You know, once upon a time, I was taught something very important. Whoops! Missed a spot!” He ran up and bucked the prisoner hard in the ribs, forcing him to roll into one of the steam pipes. “Anyways, like I was saying.” Skagra resumed pacing. “I crawled out of the sea foam like so many of you, and when I arrived here on Red Barge, the Top Dredger taught me something. I learned from early on that we are the lifeblood of Rohbredden. That while there might be a golden heart in that continent, lying someplace squeaky clean and holy in some frozen mountain far away, it doesn't change the fact that the entire damn kingdom sucks on the tit of shit. And you know what that means, everypony?”
Silence—save for the prisoner's sputtering.
Skagra cracked his neck joints, fumed, and spun around to kick the stallion repeatedly. “Don't—” Wham! “Spoil—” Whack! “—the milk!” Thwack!
“Aaaa-haaaaugh!” The prisoner rolled over, only for Skagra to hoist him up by his mane.
Skagra sneered into the stallion's face. “You could have earned your nibbles. You could have risen clean and crystal out of the sea foam. But, instead, you chose the coward's way. You chose to go the way of your cutie mark.” He spat. “So, prima donna, you ready for a show...?”
“Grnnngh... no... no, pl-please, Top Dredger...” The stallion sobbed, bled. “No show. N-no steam show, please...”
“Hmmmf... silly pony...” Skagra caressed his scalded chin and lips. “Lucky you, this isn't a show at all. It's an audition.” His good eye glinted viciously. “A chance to become the new Top Dredger. Like I was given!”
“What?! No! Oh Goddess, please no!”
It was too late. Skagra dragged the stallion by his mane. He led him past the pipework, and towards the vertical vents. At last, he flung the stallion down—chest first—across the largest, centermost vent. The prisoner tried crawling away, but Skagra forced his weight down on him, grinding his cheek against the metal grate at the top of the round cylinder.
“Grnnngh... please... pleeeeeeeease, Skagra!” the prisoner begged.
“Shhhh...” Skagra zipped his lips. “Shiny... shiny dolphins...” Eyes twitching, he glanced over at Nixkit and Digiff. He gave a nod.
The two dredgers nodded back. The crowd watched as they approached an array of valves and twisted a large handle in the center.
Hot vapors wafted out of the vent. Instantly, the prisoner's surviving hairs began curling. He shrieked and fumbled to crawl away.
But Skagra shoved his hoof down into the small of his back. “This is it! This is your moment!” Skagra hollered down at the writhing figure. “Are you going to rise up, sea foam?! Or are you going to sink?!”
“Rnnngh! No! NO! Don't—”
Nixkit and Digiff finished rotating the valve.
The lower heat tanks of Red Barge emptied, and a burning hot spray of steam roared up the pipes and directly into the prisoner's screaming face. Blistering fog covered his skull and upper body.
“Smile!” Skagra hissed, drawing a curved line across the burnt half of his own face. “Spotlight's on you, muckolicious!”
The stallion squirmed and writhed until his body moved no more. The hot steam turned red briefly, then dissipated.
Swab looked away, gritting his teeth. Whony snickered while Quint and Croche were silent.
Skagra leaned back, taking a deep... deep breath. At last, he gave the high sign to Nixkit and Digiff.
The two dredges swung the valve back.
The steam dissipated. The hot fog cleared, revealing the prisoner's body, the prisoner's scalded shoulders, and the prisoner's naked skull—dripping with scrappy remnants of muscle and brain.
“Hmmmff...” Skagra's muzzle twisted. “Tch... friggin' featherweight. Maybe you shoulda tried stealing some meat loaf instead.” He shoved the meaty remains of the corpse down onto the main deck. “Take him!” He threw his hoof in the direction of his henchstallions. “Our lucky contestant has won a lifetime stay in the cesspool! I even threw in a brand new manecut for free!”
Saxon chuckled breathily as he and another stallion carried the prisoner's corpse away. They took him to be dumped in a slime pit situated a strut away.
Meanwhile, Skagra shuffled quietly towards the observing crowd. Nixkit shuffled up with a rag, and Skagra used it to dab the sweat and moisture off his scarred skull. The Top Dredger took his sweet time, even being dainty about it. Then, with a spontaneous snarl, he flung the rag towards the observing ponies. A pair of families gasped audibly while the entire crowd flinched—
“What's wrong with everypony?!” Skagra growled. “Haven't I laid out the rules clear as day?! Even a baby can get it! I mean really! I'll prove it! Where's a baby?” He spun about. “No, seriously, somepony throw me a baby.”
Whony snuck forward and shoved Swab in the flank.
The little colt gasped, stumbling out into the pipework. He spun with a frown—only to feel Digiff kicking him harshly over towards Skagra. “Augh!” Whump! Swab rolled up against Skagra's leg.
“Whoah-hoho... seriously?” Skagra pointed at Swab while looking at Digiff. “This is a baby?” Digiff shrugged. “Looks more like a jacked-up canteloupe with herpes. Eh, what the Hell.” He hoisted the gasping colt up by his tail and pointed. “Tell 'em, ya scampy drop of sea foam! What are the rules?!”
“Uhhhh... uhhhhh...” Swab gulped, fighting the urge to whimper. His eyes locked on the streaks of blood left over by the deceased prisoner below. “Obey your overseer. Respect the dredgers! Earn your nibbles!”
“See?!” Skagra swung his other hoof, gawking at the crowd. “Simple as shit, and only half as smelly!” He pointed with a frown. “If this little ball of fur can get it, then so can you! Serve the Barge, and Rohredden lives on! Do your work, and you get fed! Keep your eyes open and look straight. What's more, be strong about it! Don't do shit the cowardly way! Or else you might end up in the spotlight! And believe you me... not everypony's good enough to earn themselves an encore! Any questions?! Huh?!”
The crowd fidgeted in silence.
“Good. Now...” Skagra dropped Swab with a grunt and smiled out the right side of his muzzle. “...what do we saaaaaaaay?”
“Thank you, Top Dredger.” The crowd orated.
“Eugh... Goddess...” Skagra rubbed his good ear. “One of these days, I gotta get Nixxy to hijack some sea-sailing minstrels.” He clapped his hooves together. “Alright! Show's over! Back to work! The Coal ain't gonna harvest itself from the ocean floor, y'know!”
Gradually, in dull, depressed droves, the crowd dissipated.
Swab writhed on the floor, fighting with aching muscles to stand up.
In the meantime, Nixkit strolled over. “A little more dramatic than usual, Skagra, but I think it had a good effect.”
“Ha HA! Nixxy, I love you like a phantom hoof in the morning, but do shut the buck up.” Still grinning, Skagra spun around once and trotted the rest of the way towards the Red Barge's leering guest. “Well! If it isn't Nasty Mister Macguffin come to upchuck his Muffins!” He scuffled to a stop in front of Monket and his guards. “Is that an octopus of baby shit on your head or are you ambivalent to see me?”
“I didn't come here to be impressed by your bloodsport, Skagra,” Monket said in his icy tone. “Chandler needs me to fetch something, and this is the closest thing there is to a launching port.”
“Ah! So you chatted with the fat cat himself!” Skagra clapped his hooves together. “How's the jade bastard fairing these days? Choking on his own mucus? No? Well... heheh... we can't have everything in life!”
“Beneath your burns and your bullhockey, you're still a stallion of business, Skagra,” Monket said. “You've got a reputation to maintain. And if you want to have any sort of an edge over White Barge or South Barge, then you'll be quick to pay Chandler back for what you owe him.”
Skagra blinked with mock surprise. “Hey... Nixxy...” He leaned back, eyes still plastered on Monket and his dreads. “...did this walking sea urchin from Mudtop really try intimidating me with honorable rhetoric?”
Nixkit shuffled up. “Sounds like it to me, boss. He's been talking with Chandler alright.”
“Indeed.” Skagra nodded. “Digiff, any thoughts?”
Digiff cleared his throat. “Well, Skagra, if you ask me—”
“Shut up, Digiff.” Smiling, Skagra approached Monket. “Come onnnnnn, now, Waver of the Slavers...” The right side of his muzzle scrunched. “Is that what the kiddies are calling you these days? Anyhow... let's not set off on the wrong tentacle. I'm a reasonable flankhole, after all. What you saw just now? It's just seafoam business! You remember what it's like to conduct business, seafoam to seafoam, don't you?” He cleared his throat, and his green eyes took on an icy glint. “Or did you trade your spine for icicles out in Rohbredden, like you sell out all your friends?”
Monket's red eyes briefly flared. “Skagra... I have not... and will never sell out Red Barge.”
“Of course not!” Skagra grinned. “I'm not your friend!” He produced a wheezing laugh, then hoisted his hoof over Monket's shoulder, leading him towards the centermost platform. Monket's guards flinched—but they relented under the glare of the surrounding dredgers. “Let's go to the Hole and talk bits. I mean... Chandler did know this would come down to bits at one point or another, didn't he?”
“I'm quite certain it occurred to him.”
“Mayhaps you'll tell me what fool's errand he has you on now?”
“Not... out in the open,” Monket exhaled.
“Right. Right right right. In the hole it'll be. We'll even serve you refreshments! Nixxy, we've got refreshments up there, right?”
“No, boss.”
“Goddessdayummothermucker—” Skagra cleared his throat, then grinned at Monket. “I know! I'll fetch refreshments! I'll just sick... uhm...” He looked around, clicking his tongue. “You there! Canteloupe!”
Swab stood dizzily on his hooves. “H-huh?” He blinked up, his good ear twitching. “Top Dredger?”
“Go to the mess and grab something fruity. Preferably not yourself. Bring it up to the Skag Hole faster than farts! Chop chop!”
“Uhhhhhh...” Swab stood, blinking.
“You heard the Top Dredger!” Digiff growled, giving the foal a swift kick to the scarred flank. “Hop to it!”
“R-right! Yes, Dredger! Right away!” Swab scampered off while Skagra and Nixkit led Monket towards the topmost platform.
All of this was observed by several orphans along the sidelines.
“You hear that? Monket and Skagra are going to have a meeting!”
“About what?” Whony asked. “This could affect all of Red Barge!”
“Only one way to find out.” Quint stuck his hoof out. With perfect timing, he tripped Swab so that the colt fell flat on his chest.
“Ooof!” Swab winced. Before he could get up, Quint leaned over and snarled into his good ear.
“You're going to tell us every dayum thing you hear while you're up there, serving food! Got it, sea foam?!”
“Or else we'll fill your bed with teeth and blood tonight!” Whony added, shaking a hoof.
“Rnnngh...” Swab stood back up, frowning. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Smartest thing you said all week.” Quint gave him a final shove. “Now go!”
Swab scampered off.
Quint leaned back with a sigh.
“Wow, Quint!” Whony grinned. “You're so tough! I bet—one day, when you're older—you'll survive a steam show!”
“Hey Whony.”
“Yeah?”
“What's that on your muzzle?”
“Huh?” Whony went crosseyed, staring at his nose. “My muzzle—?”
WHAM! Quint's hoof creamed him. “... ... ...muckwipe.”
It took Swab three minutes to pony-parkour his way to the mess hall on the western struts... two minutes to convince the food preparers there that he was actually sent by Top Dredger Skagra... another two minutes to procure the fruit... a half-minute to examine them and make sure they were truly clean... and a final three minutes to gallop back to the central platform, all the while balancing the tray of juicy food on his scarred flank.
When he arrived at the Skag Hole, a henchstallion welcomed him in with an indifferent grunt. Swab's nostrils tickled with something strange and foreign: the smell of neatness. Skagra's office was the cleanest spot in all of Red Barge, even cleaner than the mess hall. The metal floor was covered with thick carpets, and several odd trinkets lined the shelves along the edges of the main foyer, sparkling in an eerily pleasing lustre.
Swab's yellow eyes instantly darted to the left, for there he saw Monket and Skagra seated across from one another in metal chairs. Both powerful stallions were flanked by muscular, grim-faced bodyguards. Monket looked the utter definition of deadpan, while Skagra spoke and chattered with a constant grin hanging off half of his face. Swab couldn't hear a single word they were saying. So, when he wandered past Nixkit and started placing the fruit out onto a table, the little colt stealthily pivoted his body so that his right ear caught word of the conversation.
Skagra was talking: “...plan to do once you've nabbed the monster? Slit its throat and kill it?”
“No,” Monket said, his tone icy and plain. “Chandler wants her brought back to Rohbredden alive.”
“So it's a 'she' now!” Skagra took a sip from his canteen and leaned back. “Live and learn! I always figured 'rainbows' to be dudes, y'know? Not enough blood red in them to be chicks.”
“This is basically the largest bounty that has ever been bagged in the history of Rohbredden,” Monket said. “Or the seven seas, for that matter.”
“Now I know why you won't be mooring at Mudtop,” Skagra said. “Everypony will be wanting a piece of that pie.”
“It's far too risky,” Monket said. “Even for a pony like me who's done so much business there.”
“Mmmm... and so... instead...” Skagra chuckled dryly. “You're bringing all of the heat... to me.”
Monket merely stared back.
“I knew that the fat cat wanted a favor,” Skagra said. “I didn't know he wanted my scrotum hanging off a flagpole.”
“We won't be stationed here for long,” Monket said. “Just until we bag the beast.”
“But you know what this means for Red Barge, right?” Skagra's eyes narrowed. All of the laughter and levity in his breath was gone. “Every piss-poor pirate and privateer with a tongue for bits and a stomach for blood will be drawn to this place like a moth to burning farts.” He waved a hoof. “As soon as they hear that you're planning to bag this 'Rainbow Rogue'—”
“I plan to perform my operation in total secrecy,” Monket said. “If word gets across the waves of the bounty, then you won't have any member of my crew to blame. You'd better start wagging a hoof at the sea foam staining your own struts.”
“But that's not the heart of the issue, is it, Mr. Nasty?” Skagra stroked his red bangs to the left... only for them to dangle right again. “The fact of the matter is that you'll be long gone right after you bag anything... if you bag anything.” He coughed and shifted in his seat. “Hard to throw a net over pure rumor. Ghost ship gossip.”
“The Rainbow Rogue is very real,” Monket murmured.
“Is that your bit bag talking or your balls?”
Monket's pale red eyes narrowed. “I personally transported six of the ravaged monks to Rohbredden. They were there in the Quade when it all happened. Everything they worshipped... everything that was once whole was burned to shreds.”
“Lemme guess... you've bought into this nonsense about the Rainbow Rogue being a demon monster too.”
Swab blinked, trembling slightly as he pretended to not be listening.
“She could be a windigo for all I care,” Monket grumbled. “All that matters is that I tag her... bag her... and hoist her living meat back to Rohbredden.”
“And for what? Hmmm?” Skagra leaned his chin on his forelimb. “Ever thought of that golden nugget?” He swallowed. “'Just what does Chandler have in store for me?' What... is he going to give you heaps of gold? A share in his Consortium's wealth? Pffft... Oh please, squidhead, there's no honest-to-goddess square inch of frost in all of Rohbredden where you could possibly... feasibly live a long life in peace.” He shook his head. “Not with all the carcasses you've funneled down the black market's pike.”
“Chandler can give me a priceless boost to my operations,” Monket said.
“Oh really?”
“He's already given me outrageous funds and access to multiple steamships.” Monket breathed. “At this rate, I can already rid Mudtop of over half of my rivals.”
“Hah!” Skagra grinned slimily. “But you won't actually own Mudtop, will you?”
“If I pull in this bounty—”
“The fat cat's using you, ya pisstain,” Skagra droned. “You're just so dayum blinded by the opportunity that you can't even see it.”
“Watch your tongue...” Monket leaned forward, hissing through his teeth. “You wanna talk about opportunity, Skagra? I'm out there on the seven seas, doing actual... hard work... while you're holed up in here like some old used napkin, absorbing muckwater—”
Skagra smiled. Casually, he reached forward, grabbed a leg of Monket's chair, and slowwwwwly dragged him closer.
Monket blinked. His guards fidgeted, but did nothing. The room grew deathly still in the ensuing seconds.
Swab turned fully to look. His muzzle hung open as he looked past Nixkit's tense figure.
Skagra cleared his throat. He leaned forward, his scarred face lingering so close to Monket that the stallions could smell each other's breaths. “Tell me something... Slaver of the Waves...” Skagra spoke in a calm, candid tone. He rubbed his hooves together and rested them against his own chin. “... ... ...why haven't your henchstallions killed me yet?”
“... ... ...” Monket sat dead still.
Skagra shrugged. “I just touched your chair. I moved your body. I mean... what's stopping them!” He gestured. “Here I am. There they are. A loogey's launch, and wham. My skull could cave in from their bucking legs. Boom. Done. Dead. But no. So... why is that?” Skagra cocked his head to the side. “Why aren't your precious... valuable property giving their lives to protect your personal space like they rightfully should?”
Monket's eyes darted to the floor. He clenched and unclenched his jaw.
“Look at me.”
Monket sat still.
Skagra's good eye flared. “I said...” His voice rolled. “Look. At. Me.”
Monket's vision finally lifted.
Skagra breathed. “I own these seas. I own the floor beneath it and the smoke above.” He pointed straight down. “This stuff... this Dredge Coal? The shit we're all scraping over?” He waved his hoof back and forth. “I'm the one who funnels that back and forth. White Barge might think they have a big hoof in it. South Barge might dream of being as useful someday. But, fact of the matter is, it's my product that all of Rohbredden—colonialists and continentalists alike—run on. Even when those dizzy loverboys—Revan and Jeryn—were around... they couldn't get their shit rolling without me. And your friend and mine? The fat cat? Chandler?”
Skagra leaned back, folding his forelimbs with a deep breath. Eventually, he grinned.
“Oh, sure, he has a mighty consortium. He's rolling in the bits because of it! So many bits, that he's just about bought himself a new bullshit prefecture over the shallow waters of the western shorelines. He's even got a magistrate seat on the council thrown in as a complimentary prize. And yet, for all of his marvels, for all of his stupid jaded coats and his stupid polished mansions, he still wouldn't be anywhere without my surplus. Yes, he's living the high life while we're down in the mucks... but that's the way it should be. Because that's the way we control him... and every other arse-faced high-and-mighty snowplough like him.”
“He has connections to the Council,” Monket eventually rasped. “And, as of now, the Right Talon of Verlaxion.” Monket gulped. “They've even sent a Lieutenant to the Quade.”
“And you think that means anything to me?” Skagra shrugged. “Yes, the fat cat has connections, but I've got him by the umbilical cord.” He frowned, flexing his forelimb in the air. “And the moment he trespasses the boundaries that I have so quietly set, I will choke him and all of his bastard brothers and sisters of the stuff that makes Rohbredden tick. And he can't touch me. Nopony can touch me. Why should they? We're godless... forsaken sea foam, flung out from Verlaxion's grace. And I tell you what... when you're damned, you see the world from the muck up. It's not pretty, but it all makes sense. And Chandler is as senseless as it gets.”
Skagra leaned forward again, gesturing.
“He promises you money? For more slaves? Could you possibly make yourself any weaker?” Skagra rubbed his hooves together. “There's an inherent problem here, Monket. I'm sorry you've been stuck in 'badflank mode' for so long that you've neglected to see it. You gotta understand: the reason why slaves don't work is because they have a name to 'em. You throw on the 's' word like it somehow marks them for soullessness... that it brands them like all of your hot irons do. But in reality, that word hangs in their ears... turns rotten... germs in their brain. Sprinkle a little bit of desperation on it, and that word mutates. It becomes 'self,' which is something to fight for. That's when you know when you're boned. Chandler is aware of this. He's twenty chess moves ahead of you in that regard, setting you up for a future that'll collapse in on you from all sides, when your perfect prize will have become a perfect poison. But that won't happen here... not in my kingdom. No...”
Skagra sighed through a tired smile.
“The best kinds of slaves are those who don't know what they are. All you give them is a past... a past where all things are pristine. Then you take it away and make them think that they are constantly earning it back. And the ones who get uppity—well—you make sure they melt for it, so that the others who are paying attention see the blood and the steam and they know... they learn... that hope is as real as the future... in that it only exists in the mind. And you don't earn nibbles by using your mind.”
Swab bit his lip. Trembling, he turned back towards the fruit. They had all grown into strangely colored shapes in the depths of a brand new fog.
“Chandler's going to turn on you in a blink,” Skagra said. “When you find your monster... if you do... you gotta get yourself prepared.”
“And somehow you're the stallion to help me?” Monket muttered.
“Well, I'd settle for your manedresser, but I don't think those dreads would look good on only one side of your putrid skull.” Skagra spat: “We'll sit down and we'll talk about how to properly share the fortune.”
“What fortune?”
“Why...” Skagra blinked. “...the one they'll give us in ransom for their precious 'Rainbow Rogue.' And it'll be a fortune paid for in something more powerful than bits.”
“Which is...?”
“Distance,” Skagra grunted. “The Blight's down and the Syndicate is gone. I'm no fool. I know exactly what the fat cat is thinking. Chandler is crazy enough to think he can become the new... I dunno... East Hoof or something, now that Revan and Jeryn are kaput. The only hoof he needs the worry about is the one up his ass.” Skagra pointed. “These seas are the quietest they've been in a long... long time, and I aim to keep it that way.”
“All for your muck-stained Dredge Coal empire?” Monket snorted. “If all you plan to do is sit on this grimy throne and call yourself king of all filth, then you can have all the 'fortune' to yourself.”
“A real king doesn't need wealth to be powerful,” Skagra said. “He only needs to be honest.”
“Hah...”
“True to himself.” Skagra gestured. “He can lie through his teeth to everypony else, but to himself?” Skagra shook his head. “The only thing that survives out here is that which is real. You see... Chandler and the Council?” He brushed aside his bangs in futility once more. “They're all up in a tizzy over this 'Rainbow Rogue.' And why? What did the monster ever do? Trash a bunch of monks who were worried about burying their sin in the Quade? Pffft... and now all of Rohbredden is obsessed with burying her... as if drowning the monster will drown the pain and horror by proxy. Well, that's not how it works, pal. Out here, in the seven seas? There ain't no drowning your sin. Like shit, it floats, and out here amidst the muck and filth, I've built myself an empire on top of all that misery. And I'll bet you my last rotten tooth that Red Barge will stay on top long... long after Chandler and all the copycat hypocrites alongside him had drowned and bloated. Rohbredden can throw all the snowballs it wants at that, but it won't make a difference.”
Monket blinked. He rubbed his chin in thought.
“So then...” Skagra held his hoof out. “Will you make the smart move? And consider floating alongside me?”
“I think...” Monket shifted in his seat. “...I'll have some of your delicious fruit... and think about it.”
“Hah!” Skagra grinned crookedly. “Ha ha! Most honest thing you've said since you got here! I like it!”
“Truly?”
“No. Get your stinkin' dreads out of my Skag Hole and go grab yourself a rainbow already.” Skagra stood up. “And then, once you're back, we can calmly... and professionally talk about the death of all 'friends.'”