Defying Gravity and Cavities
The THS Nonesuch was a gorgeous work of craftsmareship as far as Sour Grapes was concerned. The interior was decorated with rich bluenut wood paneling with gold scrollwork. Floors bore golden mahogany tiles (in at least the public areas) and Saddle Arabian rugs in private rooms. She noted that while tables in the dining room were exquisitely carved from oak, they were discretely bolted to the floors in case of turbulence. Yes, as bad as falling from the sky and crashing could be, she had to confess that having several tons of wooden tables falling on you would only make the situation worse.
She did note that there were paintings fastened on the walls that looked like ones she was certain were only shown in museums. When asked about them, the porter proudly asserted that while they were indeed fakes they were created by the greatest forger in all of Equestria, Faux Bristles. This infamous stallion, after being caught and jailed, now made a legitimate and comfortable living creating top tier art for the collectors that could afford his paintbrush.
“Funny thing about it, Miss,” the porter said putting her luggage into her room. “He was arrested on the belief he was selling Equestrian National Treasures, the kind of stuff that could get a pony arrested for treason. He had to paint a fresh forgery in front of witnesses to prove his innocence of the accusation. He spent one year in prison and was released.”
“And now he’s a ‘legitimate’ forger. Or is the proper term ‘reproduction artist’?” Grapes deadpanned. “Every so often, crime actually does pay. Better than banishment, or do they still send traitors to the knackers?”
“Knackers?!” Sirocco said with a gasp. “Why would you send him to a place where they make undergarments?”
“...Sirocco, you’re thinking of knickers. Which can mean ‘undergarments’, or knee-length loose-fitting pants,” Grapes explained. “Knackers are…” she started, then looked at Earshot, sighed hugely, and decided to be honest, even if he was a kid. “They’re, in essence, executioners. They aren’t used often these days, but the office exists. Unfortunately, there are ponies in the world whose special talent happens to be killing other ponies. Some go into the military, some become private assassins, some become depraved individuals that prey on others and some become knackers.”
“That’s a strange talent to have,” Earshot observed, his brow furrowing in thought. “But I guess it has to happen somewhere. I’ve seen sigils… I mean cutiemarks for nearly everything out here.”
“Thank the stars it’s ‘nearly’ everything,” Grapes observed. “There ARE special talents that fall under Standard Answer Number One.”
“I wish I could afford Mister Faux Bristle,” Queenie said admiring the picture of ‘Jester and Child’ that graced the wall. “There are a number of pictures in the Manse gallery I would hope to have a spare made of… you know… in case of tourism.”
“You mean like that ‘Rodeo’ witch and her, ahem, hips?” Grapes asked, with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh yes. Her. Definitely,” Queenie said with a low growl. “Should I see her out here, where she will no doubt not recognise me out of uniform… I would sorely be tempted to reset her jaw for her.”
Grapes smirked, sidling up to Queenie and murmured quietly: “Just push her off the deck, with no witnesses. You won’t have to deal with an assault charge, and you’d be improving the gene pool of Earth Ponies by removing a large quantity of ‘stupid’.”
“I would do the same to her cohort Roman were it not for the fear that his impact would leave a charred crater where he detonated,” the blonde pegasus snorted. “What kind of madness makes one don fireworks?”
“The kind that’s usually prefaced by the phrase: ‘Hold my cold-one and watch this’,” Grapes quipped with a smirk, going into a slightly slurred sounding accent that was close to her cousin’s but not quite.
“Now THAT phrase I understand!” Earshot said proudly.
“... I wish you didn’t, Earshot, I really do. Please, enlighten me as to where you heard that before?” Grapes asked.
“Well… every once in awhile we go to a storm and while we’re trying to do our job there is almost always ONE pony who does something dumb. Sometimes it can be blamed on alcohol. Other times… they're just dumb,” Earshot explained.
“Ah. Good. At least you know that’s the phrase of the dangerously stupid. Whenever somepony says that, you know to retreat far far away,” Grapes said nodding.
“I remember this one mare who had made a giant kite made of tin foil, a lot of copper wire and a hyooooge copper kettle of popping corn. She was flying it in this hurricane and…”
“Oh sweet Celestia on a pogo stick…” Grapes uttered, face hoofing.
“Hey, look, Miss Grapes!” Earshot said, losing his train of thought upon finding a cozy closet. “They even got a place for me, here.”
The porter glanced sideways at Grapes for a moment, a rather suspicious expression flickering across his face before it was replaced by his previous “pleasant” one.
“Earshot, you’re sharing a stateroom with Stormy. You’re not going to be stuck in some random closet,” Grapes said with a sigh. “I’m sure you could use the closet in the stateroom for a sleeping nook if you wanted to, but you’re not being stuck in a supplies closet in the hallway. You’d probably startle the cleaning staff.”
“Yes, Miss Grapes.”
“Come along, Earshot,” Stormfront said with a chuckle. “Somepony paid for perfectly good beds for us, I think it would only be polite of us to make use of them. I think we’re across the room from Grapes.”
“I could have shared with Sirocco, and Queenie, but no I’m stuck in a room by myself,” Grapes uttered. “Rank having privileges, and all that. Oh well. Maybe we’ll have a common room, over here, and we can play cards, when we’re really bored. I’ll have to see if this ship has a sweets shop.”
“Oh, yes, Miss, we do,” the porter clarified. “You can purchase them from the gift shop in the common room or while in the dining area.”
“As long as the common room, or the dining area doesn’t have panoramic windows, I should be fine,” Grapes said with a sigh. She then turned to the porter and smiled, offering him ten bits for a tip. “You’ve been a good sport, my good stallion. I’m sure you’ve had your share of eccentrics on board. Uhm… I don’t suppose the rooms are equipped to handle airsickness and/or panic attacks?”
“Beside most chairs there is a small pocket with a little paper bag for sudden bouts of nausea and/or a requirement to breathe repeatedly into one. We also have a licensed doctor on staff should things get too rough.”
“Oh. Good. Apparently I’m not the only pony afraid of heights who’s been aboard,” Grapes observed with a nod. “Thank you again for all your help, and putting up with this merry band of misfits.”
“That’s all right, Miss. I better get the rest of them squared away. You have a nice flight now.”
Grapes closed her door and pulled out her stationery set, filling the fountain pen and making sure it was writing well with no blotches or streaks. She then sat down at the desk in her stateroom, pulling out a piece of stationery, and setting it into the special holder for those ponies who did not have magic (or in Grapes’ case not as much magic as most unicorns).
To: Personal Assistant to the Crowned Thrones of Equestria, Chief Correspondent, and Mistress of Waiting Chamber Discipline: Impertinence,
As of this letter, the Storm Riders and I have made it to the THS Nonesuch safe and sound. I thought you would appreciate this little update as to our travel status, and be relieved in knowing that we are well on our way to do the job for which we were recruited. We have been watching our buckles on the way here, which I’m sure will come as a surprise. I know Guaranty was kind enough to send me an expense account, nevermind the emergency fund you so generously supplied. However, I do not see having the money to be extravagant as a reason to be extravagant. Maybe the occasional treat, here and there, but I know at the end of the day I’m still just a farmer from Ponyville. I’m not some Canterlot Noble who has to be pampered every mile of the way to the Griffon Empire.
You knew this, too, and yet I still got a room by myself, instead of sharing with the two female members of the Storm Riders. This could have saved some on the royal budget, but I digress.
All in all the trip was relatively smooth, with no real problems to hinder our progress. Thanks to the documentation you were so kind to procure for me, I am sure the border crossing will prove no problem. If there is a problem, that is what the emergency scrolls are for, aren’t they?
Please give my regards to Guaranty. I know that will be the highlight of your day. Have fun scaring the plebs. I’ll write again, soon.
Sincerely:
Sour Grapes;
Royal Winemaker to the Dual Thrones of Equestria.
After re-reading her letter and making sure there were no serious errors or smudges, she pulled out an envelope. She addressed the envelope, and after making sure the ink was dry, folded the letter and put it in. The envelope was sealed with her new signant, and Grapes got up and put it into the correspondence basket beside her door. The postage would be billed to her stateroom, and paid at the border crossing.
The porter came out of the room across the hall from her own looking positively wrung out. Grapes sighed, rummaging in her bit bag before calling out to the poor stallion.
“Hey, there,” she said, hefting a five bit piece in her hoof. Once she was sure he was paying attention she tossed it to him. “Catch.”
“What’s this for?” the porter asked.
“Putting up with a ten-year-old colt’s questions,” Grapes replied.
“Oh… Thank you, Miss,” the porter said, then trotted over to the letter basket. “I’ll take care of that, too, since I’m on my way out.” He looked at the address, an eyebrow raising at it going to Canterlot Castle. Then he turned it over, and noticed the seal. When he saw that, he took off like a shot.
“Who put a burr in his saddle?” Grapes mused as she watched the rapidly retreating stallion.
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Sour Grapes later in the day, found herself in the dining area of the airship. She stayed in the middle of the dining room, as far away from the row of windows at the far end of the room as possible. Guaranty had a point that modern airships were stable enough that you would barely notice you were up in the air. However that only helped as long as you could forget the fact you were thousands of feet above the landscape, and that was like becoming aware of your tongue. The more you try to forget it, the more it becomes obvious to you. And being half earth pony, the loss of the physical connection with the earth was quite unnerving, too.
She had no idea how her relatives from Applejack’s side managed to fly their own airships. Maybe after each trip they all had a good roll in the dirt. Perhaps she should try that, after this trip was over, and on a leyline, too...
The others had gone topside to enjoy the novelty of flying without having to do any work, and she was more than happy to let them. No sense in her nervous mood spoiling the journey for them all. She sighed and poked at her meal, the waiter had assured her that the light peppermint-flavoured mousse that stood in a small pink peak in her bowl was excellent for calming “nervous stomachs”. She had yet to take a spoonful, and really should. The crew was so understanding. No doubt they had seen this from ponies a thousand times before and would a thousand times after her. She toyed with her spoon a little more when she became aware of a shape looming over her.
“Pardon me, young miss, may an old soldier have a seat to rest his weary bones?”
She instantly looked up to the familiar, ancient-sounding voice and smiled at the elderly griffon standing beside her table, smiling oh-so pleasantly.
“Robin? Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” Grapes said gesturing to the free seat.
“I wish I could say the same, however, after Discord’s newest attack I chose to check up on my favorite little pony and discovered you were being sent on a mission to the Griffon Empire. Naturally I just HAD to come and join your adventuring party. As they used to say in my day… It’s dangerous to go alone. Take this... my hand in friendship of course.” Robin chortled, slowly lowering himself into the chair across from her. “My goodness, we got off lightly this time, didn’t we? Discord must have been busy playing with somepony to have not put his full attention on the world at large.”
“That would probably be Twilight Sparkle and her friends,” Grapes observed. “The new Bearers of Harmony, so naturally he’d wish to toy with them.”
“Ah, yes. That would explain it then. Still, there’s always a mess to clean up. Say what you will about chaos but it’s a terrible houseguest.”
“Never mind blind to the jokes being flat,” Grapes observed with a roll of her eyes.
“Indeed. I see that whomever in the palace hierarchy saw fit to send you this way certainly wasn’t tight-fisted with a bit. Oh, sorry. I mean tight-reined.”
“I get your meaning. Some of turns of phrase have crossed the borders,” Grapes observed.
“Oh yes. That is true. I remember how many new words and phrases crossed our borders when pony and griffon were at one another’s throats. Dark days indeed, but a curious sort of cross-culture exchange happened during and afterwards.” He chuckled and nodded gratefully to the waiter that placed a steaming bowl of red broth before him. “Thank you, Armonde. We have some time before we arrive, a few days really. I must say that normally it’s difficult to be allowed into the ‘Inner City’ grounds where the Palace is situated. Some wind up having to make appointments years in advance to get through the bureaucracy.”
“It may be the ‘royal’ in the nomenclature,” Grapes observed. “Bureaucracy loves their adjectives.”
“All too true. Fortunately you having a griffonic national hero in your employ is more than enough to cut a great deal of red tape. It’s one reason many griffons go out of their way to be ‘good friends’ with famous personalities. Nothing greases the wheels of government than a little of the good old ‘It’s not who you are, it’s who you know’.”
“Ah. That would be you, hm?” Grapes asked, finally tasting the mousse.
“Oh, as much as working for you would no doubt be a pip, I wasn’t speaking about myself. I was merely reminding you how big Summer Squall is in griffon circles. His presence will open many doors for you.”
“Summer Squall? Huh. I did not know that. But then again, I don’t pry,” Grapes said with a nod. “It’s better for somepony to tell their story of their own accord, rather than to pry it out of him.”
“Believe me, it’s a good one… but it is deeply personal for him as well. It’s why he’s an Immortal now.”
“An immortal? As far as I know the only immortals are the Princesses,” Grapes observed. “Unless you’re talking about another form?”
“Oh! Sorry. I should clarify. To a pony, immortality is a matter of eternal youth or possessing a life span that extends across the centuries, or rarely, being unkillable. To griffons, immortality is something very different.” He had a few mouthfulls of soup before continuing. “Perhaps in it’s simplest of definitions, immortality is achieving a certain level of fame… for good or for ill. So much that your very name enters the language becoming a word unto itself.”
“Really? That’s actually pretty interesting,” Grapes uttered.
“Yes, yes. For example, during our original unification wars, where our first Emperor was trying to unify our war-torn land by conquering all the city-states, King Pyrrhus was a long-time holdout. Unfortunately, that came at a great price. He had lost a good deal of his army in the process and most of his leaders and friends. In short, his ‘victory’ was almost as bad as a defeat. Hence his name transformed into the term…”
“...‘Pyrrhic victory’. So that’s where that expression originated.” Grapes said carefully raised her eyebrows, tilting her head. “Well, well, well. I just learned something new.”
“New knowledge should always be welcomed. Keeps our lives interesting.”
“Well I didn’t say that was a bad thing, to learn something new,” Grapes said with a smirk.
“Just remember while visiting that for good or for bad, your name can live forever as a word in the language.” He noticed the expression she was giving him and he shrugged in a surprisingly bashful way. “Ah. My name never quite reached ‘Immortal’ status. I’m historically famous for not getting killed but I never had that... singular thing to be famous for.”
“Are griffons known for century-spanning lifespans?” Grapes asked, casually.
“Uh… Actually… no. No we are not,” he said rubbing the back of his neck. “I know what the books on magic say about curses not being ‘real’ but to be honest I have no other word to describe an act of direct magical malice that has caused me to outlive generation after generation. And it was direct, make no bones about it.”
“A curse?” Grapes asked. “Do you know who cursed you?”
“OF COURSE! Definitely and without a doubt. How can I put this to make it very… clear? Back at the end of the war, once a peace had been decided upon by those who ruled, we discovered very quickly that as bad as war was, in some ways the clean-up afterwards was even worse.” Robin sighed and leaned back in his chair in a manner that made him look every bit as old as he was. “War does things to us. Sometimes you find depths of strength in you that surprise even yourself. The same goes with our flaws. Imagine it. Some… one that you’ve known in civilian life, who is pleasant, well-adjusted and butter wouldn’t melt in their mouth… suddenly is doing things like putting the torch to buildings full of non-combatants, or using blatant torture on prisoners who obviously have no tactical information. When all was said and done, there was a lot of politically embarrassing clean-up that involved finding these souls and bringing them to justice. No matter whether they had beaks… or hooves”
“Ah… I see. Latent sociopathic tendencies,” Grapes observed thoughtfully.
“Exactly. Fortunately I was one of the ones that did the cleaning-up. I’d have truly hated to have been one of those who gave our world the term ‘War Criminal’,” He sighed and prodded his soup with his spoon. “The ones that were desperate to explain their actions were easy. All you really had to do was get them to understand that the trial would be fair and balanced, taking all things into consideration… The OTHERS on the other hand… They interpreted the term ‘Dead or Alive’ as them being alive and their hunters being dead.”
“Ah. That sounds typical of a sociopath,” Grapes observed.
“Very true. One of the last ones we found was hard to bring in, but he wasn’t suicidal. When we cornered him, he gave up and let us bring him to trial. Glad he didn’t make it too big of a fight… that giant had a reputation that actually made you DREAD facing him..”
“Wonder who he was?” Grapes mused, thoughtfully.
“A rather imposing figure known to all by the name, ‘Poison Apple’.”
Sour Grapes sputtered. She was related to the Apple clan and while having the word “Apple” as part of your name was no guarantee that you were family, it was a bit dumbfounding to even have the passing thought that one of them had been a war criminal.
“‘Poison Apple’? Earth pony, by any chance?” Grapes asked then looked a touch troubled. “Wearing a black cloak and top hat?”
“Why, yes. Yes he was very fond of dressing every part the gentlepony. His cutiemark should have been a red flag, though, looked like a skull-shaped apple. He had a mastery of earth-based magic that was truly disturbing. Imagine your regiment marching through a forest at night, the wind moaning through the trees… then as the sun rose you realised that the moaning wasn’t the wind but that there were griffons in the trees.” he paused a moment, eyes narrowing. “Not hanging from the branches, oh no. When I say in the trees, I mean IN the trees. Nearly completely enveloped inside the living wood and left there.”
“That’s scary… And reminds me of Big Macintosh’s go-to Nightmare Night costume… Always said it was a pony of the clan who was more of a black sheep…” Grapes uttered.
“Really? Is he related to Twilight Sparkle’s friend, Applejack?”
“Yeah. Mac is AJ’s big brother,” Grapes replied.
“I wonder if that would count as some part of the universe trying to balance itself out? The descendant of Poison Apple becoming an Element of Harmony. Ah, I’m becoming sidetracked. Must be getting old in my old age. Where was I?”
“Talking about Poison Apple being taken in for war crimes,” Grapes reminded him.
“Right. At the trials he accepted all the accusations, often correcting them when facts where they got a detail wrong. He was cordial and polite while up on the stand, and chillingly open with what he did. He never made any apologies for his crimes, he was as close to pure evil as I have ever seen in a pony. When they passed sentence on him he got this look in his eyes, like it was a personal affront. I was the only Hunter present when he was taken to the gallows. He looked me square in the eye and said that I would live to see all I held dear crumble to dust before my eyes.” Robin closed his eyes and sagged in his seat. “At the time I felt something pass through me, something... cold but I dismissed it as just nerves. Now… now I’m not so certain.”
“Considering how long ago the Pony-Griffon War was, I believe that could have been the curse. He cursed you with long life. And you’ve probably have seen everything you hold dear crumble before your eyes. From extreme old age.”
“I won’t complain that I haven’t had made the best of it. I have always tried to observe that the greatest revenge of all... is living well. And so, to spite that... bad apple, I keep moving, keep meeting new souls and seeing as much of this world as I can. Even after almost a full TWO thousand years, I find myself still being surprised by what this big old world tosses in my path.”
“I hate to interrupt your conversation, sir and miss, but something has come up,” said the steward, who had quietly slipped in close while they were speaking. “You wouldn’t happen to be the keeper of a little gray colt with a purple mane, wearing a blue jacket, straw hat and goggles, miss?”
“Yes, sir. What happened?” Grapes said with a tone of resignation.
“Well, he’s not really doing anything… WRONG. I wish to be clear on that point. He’s just… drawing a crowd.” Grapes could tell that the steward was doing his best to explain a strange situation without offending a child’s guardian. “We are no strangers to pegasi feeling cooped up on board, and often going topside for a short flight. In fact we have special pegasus tethers so that they do not accidentally get ‘left behind’. We are however… unused to ponies of any tribe going out for a walk.”
“You’re saying that Earshot went out for a walk,” Grapes stated frowning.
“Yes Miss. A walk. He’s walking around the hull of the ship. Sideways and at times upside-down, examining it. I understand a colt’s fascination with how an airship is put together, but we are a little out of our depth with one that can stride on the keel like a spider up a wall. Now we are not angry or upset, just a little scared he may… trip and take a very long tumble. Would you be so kind as to convince him to wear a pegasus tether if he should decide to continue this excursion, or repeat it?”
“I will as soon as he comes back on board. I have a rather severe aversion to heights.”
“Thank you very much, Miss.”
The steward returned to his duties and Grapes turned to see a rather amused griffon looking at her from across the table.
“You’re traveling with a colt? You and Mister Stormfront work fast, don’t you?”
Grapes simply gave the old griffon a flat look.
“Oh come now. Old folk are allowed to tease the young about such things… Although considering my age I could get away with teasing Celestia and Luna,” he chuckled before taking another spoonful of soup and continuing. “Anyways, What’s the fledgling’s name? He must have quite a lot of magical potential to cast a cliff-scaler spell like that. I didn’t think any unicorns knew that old griffon trick.”
“His name is Earshot. He’s not so much a unicorn as he is a night pony,” Grapes replied. “He’s also part of the Storm Riders.”
Robin the Red-breasted stared at Sour Grapes a moment with the most incredulous look on his face.
“A Night Pony? Really?”
“Yes, really. I may not bear the Element of Honesty, but I don’t lie,” Grapes quipped.
“You wouldn’t be pulling my leg, would you?”
“And risk getting clawed?” Grapes asked with a raised eyebrow.
“With bat-wings and everything?”
“No, he had magical alteration to have them changed to feathers. Of course with bat wings and everything.”
“My goodness. My WORD! My, my, my…”
“Are you going to get to the point, or are we going to continue this rather snarky dance?” Grapes asked.
“Oh, I am so sorry. It’s not really that. It’s just that I haven’t seen a single night pony in nigh onto a thousand years!” He frowned and gave a helpless shrug. “Well, to be honest I always thought they had been wiped out during the great razing of Nocturnia.”
“‘Nocturnia’? What’s Nocturnia?” the chocolate colored unicorn asked tilting her head.
“You know. Nocturnia? The night pony capital. The city of shade, the Black Opal in Equestria’s crown. Night-Weather Central… Wait… You don’t know, do you?”
“No, but then again Earshot did say that the ‘Daylighters’ were quite eager to eradicate any trace of his culture,” Grapes observed.
“My word, the erasures were far more thorough than we thought.”
“Well obviously. How do you know about it?” Grapes asked.
“Honestly? We griffons saw it happening across the border, it was something we took great interest in. The three tribes all united in a great and very quiet movement of ‘this never happened’. Our scholars believe that after the initial need to let all that impotent rage loose after Nightmare Moon was vanquished, there came a collective shame that they had wiped an entire race off the face of Equestria. And so before Celestia could recover from her battle and find out what they did, they systematically removed and destroyed every mention of the night ponies from their culture.”
“Not everything. There were the old stories about Nightmare Moon’s minions,” Grapes said with a sigh.
“Well, yes. I guess the old mares’ tales and the legends and myths were part of the effort. Turning a real group into something later ponies could laugh off as being merely fiction. Then again, they could have been history’s way of keeping them from burying the truth completely.”
“Possibly. The night ponies themselves didn’t get to take much of their history with them when they fled. They’re recovering bits and pieces, but they don’t know everything. Probably won’t know everything. Maybe you could help him with what you know?” Grapes asked.
“It’s a terrible thing when we don’t know where we came from. Well, I was far from an expert but I would be very happy to give him SOME clarity. I owe history that much for it putting up with my presence for so long.” Robin smiled gently and turned his attention back to his soup. “Besides, how can I possibly refuse the first chance to meet a night pony in a thousand years?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. Actually you could do me a favor and go out and persuade him to use the pegasus tether,” Grapes observed.
“OH! Yes, I can certainly do that for you. It gives me an opportunity to meet this young Buckshot.”
“Earshot,” Grapes corrected. “His name is Earshot.”
“Thank you. It would be best to get that right and be thought a friend than not and have him suspicious of a stranger coming up to him on a ship and asking him to wear a funny restraint.” He gave her a gravely chortle. “That could prove rather disastrous, couldn’t it?”
“Only mildly, yes. But then considering that village close to his homeland… Let’s just say they’ve done a lot to halt, hinder, and destroy any possibility of Daylighter/Nightpony cooperation.”
“So I see,” the elderly griffon said as he lifted the bowl to his beak and drained half the contents. “Do they do it out of spite or are they actually getting something out of the bargain? ...The villagers I mean, not the Night Ponies.”
“Well, they believe they are keeping the ancient minions of Nightmare Moon and/or possibly vamponies at bay. They do get pest control from the Night Ponies, though,” Grapes observed with a sigh, finally taking a bite of her mousse.
“Pest control? There’s a story there waiting to be told,” Robin said with a raised eyebrow before finishing off his soup with another long draught. “All right. You sit tight here where it’s warm and comfortable and I’ll go and coax a little pony off of the hull.”
“Good luck with that,” Grapes said, as Robin departed, waving to him as he went.
It felt sort of nice to have somepony… or someONE else deal with the little bit of strangeness in her life for a change. She had to admit, ever since the last Summer Sun Festival her life had become rather… weird. Normally that kind of strangeness was something she had usually attributed to other ponies, but now.... now she was getting used to getting at least a little oddness sprinkled on her oat-flakes in the morning. Pegasai working on a half-earth pony’s farm, along with a night pony. Her cousin becoming an “Element of Harmony”... she really needed to find out more about what that entailed one day. She felt like there really had to be more than just rainbow-blasting baddies into submission. She heard Applejack mention that they found a reference guide for that in the town library. Maybe she should check that out sometime. That was a thought for when she got back to Ponyville. In the meantime, she had mousse to eat, and porters to pester about there possibly being a library on board this vessel. Trade negotiations should not be entered into blind.
It took a shorter time that she expected for Robin to return with Earshot in tow. The appearance reminded her of an excitable grandchild with his patiently amused grandfather.
“So the armor you’re wearing is over a thousand years old, Mister Robin?”
“Oh, somewhat older than that, Earshot. Call me a softie but I wore this breastplate through so many adventures that I could never just… toss it aside. Many places I’ve been, many sights I’ve seen, many souls I have met.”
“He even met Night Ponies, during some of them,” Grapes mentioned casually as she pulled the remains of her “Starrless Courier” package from her satchel to investigate.
“REALLY?” Earshot cried before remembering to use his indoor voice. “I mean... really?”
“Yes, Earshot, I have,” the griffon unstopped his ear for a moment. “Not recently, of course, but a long time ago they were common enough that I could identify them on sight.”
Grapes smiled to herself, knowing that Robin was soon to be pelted by Earshot’s questions, leaving Grapes herself free to reread her instructions. While Earshot and Robin spoke of everything under the sun (or under the moon, from the night pony’s perspective) she went through the contents piece by piece. There was the letter, the seal, the scrolls… everything was pretty straightforward. She examined the letter, looking closely at both sides, then the box it came in, carefully searching for something as dramatic as a false bottom. She then took a look at the black wrapping paper it came in, and while it was interesting and very nice it didn’t give up any clues either. Grapes clopped her hoof on the table and gave a huge sigh. She then reread the letter… and counted the scrolls, just in case.
Yep. All eleven combustionite scrolls were there just like before… she then paused and recounted them.
Eleven scrolls.
She reread the letter then facehoofed. There were only supposed to be ten combustionite scrolls. The odd one out must be her instructions. She felt positively remedial right now but kept it to herself as she looked over the scrolls for the one that didn’t match the others, and upon finding it, she unrolled it and found the missing missive. She immediately recognised the elegant flowing script of the Royal Vizier Guaranty.
Dear Sour Grapes, Royal Winemaker to the princesses, so on and so forth…
By now you’re no doubt on your way to the Griffon Empire with your merry motley crew in tow. How delightful. I expect to see many pictures from you and the others. It’s been a dog’s age since my own last journey. While this is fairly serious, there is no reason why you can’t enjoy yourself out there. So please enjoy yourself on this vacat… I mean, important diplomatic mission.
Now down to brass tacks, as it were. As of late, the Griffon Empire has been buying more and more grain from Equestria’s farmers and well… I think the farmers are starting to get a little greedy. I have been bribed been able to convince them to agree on the necessity of one straightforward universal price rather than Griffon merchants having to barter with anypony with a silo. Your job will be to speak to the current leader, Emperor Farsight, to discuss this action and then use your hard-won bartering skills to nail the claws of the Griffonian Merchant’s Guild to the floor on a good, and above all FAIR price that lets the grainmongers think they are getting a great deal while we are not threatening to beggar our well-armed and proudly militant neighbors.
I hope Impertinence has supplied you with everything you will be needing outside of what you could obtain on your own. I can always count on her to be able to pick up the slack on events like these.
So try to enjoy yourself, see the sights, press hooves, chat up the locals, buy souvenirs and just soak up a culture you have yet to enjoy… oh and if anyone calls you ‘bisashi’, no they are not mistaking you for my Brute Squad, yes it is an insult and I recommend you laugh it off and inform them that you have your name for a reason.
TTFN
Guaranty: Royal Vizier to Princess Celestia the Undimmed
“Okay then. Now to see if there’s a library, or at least a newspaper on board, so I can check commodities prices… I’ll still need the library to get a general idea of the current economy of Griffonia,” Grapes mused, as she got up, and went searching for a steward.
“Excuse me,” she said, when she finally found one, “where could I find the most current newspaper? And is there a library on board? I’m sure you’ve had trade dignitaries traveling on board, before, and probably keep the current economic news of Equestria and the surrounding kingdoms on hoof for research purposes, correct?”
“Oh yes. Yes, we have a number of current periodicals on board for those who like to peruse the news. As for a library, well, we’re a large ship but not truly a titanic one. Our ‘library’ is more of a few bookshelves in the common area. You may have dismissed them as they have doors on them to keep books from falling out should turbulance happen,” the steward admitted.
“Am I remiss in presuming that they are mostly light fiction, fit for a vacationer’s reading list, but not for anypony wanting to check into the current economic status of the Griffon Empire?” Grapes asked with a huge sigh.
“Actually, you may be surprised. Our reading materials are surprisingly diverse, thanks to ponies who leave books behind while on their way to parts unknown. You just may find what you’re looking for.”
“Here’s hoping,” Grapes said cheerfully. “Now I’ll take that current newspaper, if you’d be so kind?”
Newspaper in saddlebag, Grapes proceeded to the common room, and started checking through the shelves, hoping for something current to work with. Then, quite to her surprise, she found Financial Friendships: Penny Pincher's Guide to Equestrian Economies and How They Affect Its Closest Allies. Grapes put the book into her saddlebag, with the current newspapers for both Equestria and an Equish translation of the Griffonian Times. Hopefully these will give her a base from which to launch negotiations. She fully intended to find a happy medium, and not cause some manner of diplomatic incident. If nothing else, it will be something to keep her occupied until the reach the border crossing. She fully intended to do a proper job of this, even if it will be the one and only time she would act as some manner of trade envoy.
The book was surprisingly interesting reading considering its apparently dull topic. Penny Pincher was, astonishingly enough, a very funny pony who not only opened with a little joke but also used many appropriate quotes and events to punctuate his observations. Sour Grapes spent a pleasant few hours going through the book and newspapers before taking a break just before bed. She chose to join in on the fresh poker game that broke out between the Storm Riders and Robin the red-breasted, who was more than willing to risk his secret stash of humbugs against their own confectionaries.
It was high noon the next day when the THS Nonesuch came in at the border crossing station that bridged Equestria and Griffonia. Passengers disembarked and stood in queue, the line being long enough for Sour Grapes to take in the station. From the outside it was rather unimpressive, large gray box-shaped buildings made up the terminal and offices while several more similar boxes acted as hotels, restaurants and duty-free shops for those who had a few hours (or days) to spare. Looking at it on approach made it look like a very uninspired little town.
Once disembarked and sending their luggage to be “processed” (re: searched for contraband) Sour Grapes and the others were able to see the inside was a little more interesting. The Equestria side had the familiar armor-clad royal guards as well as many banners bearing both the white and gold of Celestia’s rule and the recently added blue and purple of Luna’s. The Griffonian side of the room was painted a pale bluish gray with a gold and black border circumventing the room. She saw the griffon guards were surprisingly NOT in armor like their pony counterparts, but rather comparatively comfortable golden yellow uniforms with ebony highlights. Of course, from the way they stood at attention with those polearms, Sour Grapes could see that they had no need to play up their militaristic skill with heavy metal.
She had been smart enough to bring her book on the economy for this part, in fact ALL the Storm Riders had brought books. She made a mental note to thank Twilight Sparkle for her recommendations, because they were all significantly distracted enough that the passage of time was easily forgotten. Stepping up to the clerk at the booth she noted that he, too, wore the same uniform that all the other “official” guards did. He adjusted the nez-pince glasses on his beak and spoke in a monotone.
"Merchant, citizen, pilgrim, or...?”
“Royal envoy, I suppose. My name is Sour Grapes, winemaker to Princess Celestia, accompanied by the Royal Rogue Storm Emergency Response Team.”
He seemed to brighten up a little, his bored expression just a little more alert while he quickly scribbled things down with an ebony and gold fountain pen.
“I see. We don’t see too many envoys from the Equestrian Court coming through here. Only one or two each year on routine business. May I see your passport and the passports of your companions as well as your credentials?”
Grapes hoofed over her passport and credentials, privately glad that she had thought to get them together beforehoof. She turned to the others.
“Passports, front and center, everypony,” she said with authority.
Each pony in turn stepped up to the counter, pushing their passports under the window. Grapes had to smile at the clerk’s reaction to the wide variety of booklets. The clerk to his credit examined her credentials first, asking questions like “Anything to declare?” and “Length of visit?”. Such things were expected but she was asked to walk through a strange archway that buzzed the moment she stepped through. A pair of rather dour-faced griffon guards came over with a small tray.
“Kindly place any metal and/or magical items into the tray and try the arch again, Miss.”
She didn’t really have much in the way of magical items, so in went her keys, her bit-bag, her glasses and lastly her royal seal. She stepped back through the portal again and this time it was silent. They returned her items to her and the clerk handed back her passport and papers.
“Sorry about the security measures. Somegriff thought we should be doing more than just standing around picking our tailfeathers. Next.”
One by one they were questioned and stepped through the arch. Those with metal items like Friendly Fire’s jacket having brass buttons or the clasp on Sirocco’s traveling cloak were offered up to the tray BEFORE they went through. Earshot was given a little extra grilling because he was dressed so strangely and hesitant to surrender his brass goggles. It was only with Sour Grapes and Summer Squall’s urgings did he consent to remove his hat, goggles and jacket, letting them see the oddity beneath. Their shocked expressions gave Grapes a touch of schadenfreude but fortunately the clerk recovered quickly and handed over Earshot’s freshly stamped passport.
“Oh! So THAT’S what they meant by ‘Night Pony’. Well, paperwork’s in order… let him pass.”
With Earshot done, the rest went through rather quickly… until Summer Squall.
His mariner’s coat was filed with all manner of odd items. Bits, fishing hooks and line, a lockspike knife, hurricane matches, compass, a belaying pin, a bosun’s whistle, a collapsable nautical telescope, A small sextant and… oh Celestia forgive her for not punching out that mariner for carrying a pair of brass hooves around with him.
“Pardon me sir…” the clerk began before Squall interrupted.
“...Ur, Captain, if you will lad.”
“I see. Captain, then. Would you kindly explain what all of these items are for?”
“Oh, well, lad, I thought you working a border with ships comin’ and goin’, even those of the flying variety, would recognise the tools of a mariner’s life.”
“I’m afraid we don’t get to really look hard at the boats themselves in here,” the clerk said stepping out from his desk to sort through the astonishing items in the tray. “Still, my father was in our navy for a while. I know enough to recognise a lot of this. Just why were you, as a passenger, carrying them?”
“Mostly habit. I’m a former naval stallion meself and feel somewhat naked without at least a few familiar items. Truth be told maybe I overdid it but still…”
“I understand. My father, to this day still can’t go outside without his saber so I can let most of this pass. But these…” he reached out and picked up one of the gleaming brass hooves, turning it over in his claws. “These are concealed weapons sir. If you really wanted to bring them along you really should have locked them in your luggage below.”
“Aye. I see yer point. Guess I was takin’ my role as Miss Grapes’ honor guard a mite too seriously.”
“Brass hooves are not quite honorable weapons, Captain. I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate these.”
“Ah… I see. Any chance I can have those back on the return trip then? They have a touch of sentimental value to this old sailor.”
“Sentimental? Really?” The clerk stared blankly at Squall for a moment before sighing in surrender. “Fine. Seeing as you are part of a diplomatic envoy I will make an exception. Your easily concealable weapons will be temporarily confiscated with a note indicating that they are to be returned to your Equestrian place of origin. When you return to Equestria from your trip they should be waiting for you in your mailbox.”
“Yer too kind, sir.”
“I know,” the clerk muttered, picking up his pen and dabbing it against his tongue prepared to write. “We will need your address.”
“Grapevine Hills Winery, Bunkhouse 2, Ponyville, Equestria.”
“Right. And you would be Captain…?”
“Captain Summer Squall of Celestia’s Royal Equestrian Solar Navy.”
The pen slipped from the clerk’s hands, and the two guards beside Squall seemed to suddenly lose a full peg’s worth of swagger.
“I… I… wh...what was your name again… sir?”
“Summer Squall. I know it sounds feminine to some but…”
“It’s… it’s not that, sir. It’s… Just a moment.” The clerk stammered as he reached across his desk to where Summer Squall’s unopened passport lay.
It was an ancient thing that was thick as a diary, patched with travel stamps and held together with rubber bands. He turned it over curiously in his claws, examining the exterior before removing the rubber bands and flipping through page after page of information on the impressive myriad of locations that the mariner had come from and gone to. He made many notations of this on one of the forms before flipping back to the front where Summer Squall’s original youthful face stood side by side with his current one. His talon trailed down to where his personal information lay and suddenly the clerk’s face went ashen.
“Blood and thunder… it’s you. It really IS you.” He glanced up at Squall then back at the passport before quickly stamping it and handing it and all of Summer Squall’s personals back. “Pleasecontinuedownthehallwaytotheleftandoutthedoubledoorstothelandingplatformsevenfourseven.Thankyouandhaveaniceday.”
“What was that all about?” Grapes asked, as they proceeded.
“Ah… that would probably be me, lass.” Squall said, quietly. “I may not have been here in a while but it’s not me first time here, neither. I kind-of...sort-of...made an impression last time.”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it when you’re ready,” Grapes observed, as they made their way to the platform.
“Aye… I just may do that,” he admitted.
The platform was already beginning to fill with ponies, griffons and even a few dog-like creatures that Sour Grapes believed might be diamond dogs. She knew the ship was no doubt being gone over with a fine-tooth comb by the border guards of both countries.
“I wonder if those canine creatures are diamond dogs.” Grapes mused, as they waited.
“Those ones, over there? Yes, you would be correct in your guess that those are ‘diamond dogs’, Sour Grapes.” Sirocco said with a smile. “Some are good dogs and some are bad dogs but all share a great appreciation for gemstones of all kinds. Back home nearly every merchant caravan has a diamond dog among them to handle the purchasing and selling of gems and jewelry. I could never afford their wares but they seemed to take great delight in impressing me with their craft. Laying each item out on a great roll of black velvet… so beautiful.”
“Oh… Right. I’ve heard of diamond dogs… Rarity encountered a tribe of them, and they tried to make her dig up gemstones for them,” Grape observed, as they made their way to the conveyance. “Guess those canines were kind of outcasts, since they were trying to enslave a pony.”
“I should hope so. They would never get any trust in this world if they were all bad dogs. Am I a bad pony for feeling as if I would pay good bits to see Rarity digging in the dirt like that?” asked Sirocco.
“From what I heard, she didn’t do any actual digging,” Grapes replied. “She whined at the dogs until they started working for her, and treating her like a queen… The worst she got was a slap in the rump.”
“I would have paid to see THAT…” chorused Sirocco and Firestormer. They then took a moment to laugh at the coincidental harmony of their thoughts.
“STINKS! You owe me a soda, Firestormer.”
“The word is ‘jinx’, and yes… yes I do, Sirocco.”
One of the diamond dogs glanced up and gave them a pleasant enough smile, though the carnivore teeth made a few of them a bit nervous..
“We hear of the diamond dogs you speak of, Miss Pony,” he said, adjusting his luggage straps. “Bad news, bad dogs, sorry it happened to the white pony. But makes funny story too. Greedy bandit dogs brought low by white pony’s whining. They are now laughingstock of diamond dog society. Not many punishments bigger than everydog laughing at you like hyenas.”
“Ah, that is good to hear,” Sirocco agreed with the diamond dog. “In the end the greatest deterrent to the unjust is humiliation. Laughter is the bitterest medicine!”
“It can also be the best medicine, when you’re laughing with someone, and not at someone,” Grapes observed casually.
“Wise words, ponies. Wise words. Pardon me… HEY! Fido! Get that out of your mouth! You don’t know where it’s been!” The diamond dog agreed before becoming distracted by the shenanigans of his compatriots. It was around this time that Robin the Red-breasted finally caught up.
“Oh, good. I didn’t miss the boat,” the griffon said, finding a bench to rest on. “While some of my most interesting stories begin with me missing my travel arrangements, it is always good to actually have things go as planned.”
“Glad you could make it, Robin,” Grapes said with a smile.
“I always get a little extra attention from the border guards these days. They refer to me as something they call a ‘security risk’. Some manner of malarky that involves me being a possible target for enemies. Such nonsense,” he said waving his claw in a dismissive manner. “The vast majority of anyone who would wish me harm are… well I pretty much outlived the lot of them.”
“Your curse can be a blessing at times,” Grapes observed wryly.
“Tell me about it,” Robin agreed checking his pocket watch. “We’re actually doing fairly good for time. Something must really have motivated the border guards today.”
“Well, I guess we should move in,” Grapes said as the queue moved.
The second leg of the journey was smoother than the first, at least as far as Sour Grapes was concerned. She was starting to get used to the idea of air travel. At least on something as big and stable as an airship. At Summer Squall’s request, she and the good captain took a tour of the ship’s workings and the bridge. Although she kept from looking too hard out of any windows, she appreciated all of the ship’s many safety features as the steward pointed them out. Apparently there was a great deal more to an airship than a boat with a large gas-bag attached.
During the next three days, it became a regular occurrence for the Riders and Grapes to finish their day with one of their candy-centric poker games. Each night they found more and more players from the passengers and even the crew (the ones who were off-duty, of course) were joining in or forming small poker games of their own at neighboring tables. Grapes noticed that the use of candy and other treats as a currency seemed to take a lot of the adversarial nature out of the games. The individual players appeared to leave their “serious” natures behind, fully aware you would look like a fool if you “dominated” others over a big pile of sugar.
Grapes was privately sure that there was one individual in all of Equestria who wouldn't care if she looked like a fool if she dominated others over a big pile of sugar. But then, Pinkie Pie still went trick-or-treating every Nightmare Night.
On the final approach to the capital Sour Grapes took a deep breath, and risking vertigo and air-sickness, forced herself to look out the dining room’s bow window. What lay before her took away any kind of “high anxiety”, replacing it with pure awe. Laid out below, stretching out for far wider than Manehatten, was the capital city of Griffonia. The vast array of buildings that were both ornate and practical spread out like a great wheel and were surrounded by a mighty wall as tall as Canterlot’s royal palace. This cemented in her mind just why this city had the nickname name “The Gilded Cage”.
“Wow… And we ponies think we can build cities…”
The airship captain’s voice came on over the ornate brass speakers in the walls in a ship-wide public address.
“Next stop, The Griffonia Capital City. I repeat. Capital City. All passengers for Capital City please gather your carry-on luggage and have your personal papers ready for processing. Landing in ten minutes. Once again. We will be landing in Capital City in TEN minutes. Thank you for flying the THS Nonesuch and have a wonderful stay.”
“Well… All of the sudden I’m nervous. Here I am, a not-so-simple farmer from Equestria… representing the country. This may be a disaster,” Grapes uttered, looking queasy.
“Now, lass, let's not put the cart before us, eh?” Squall said, giving her a reassuring pat on the back. “You’ve handled some pretty big things in the past, you’ll do jest fine here.”
“Thanks for the reassurance,” Grapes said as she set her jaw and squared her shoulders. “Right! Now let’s see what trouble we can get into, shall we?”
Summer Squall smiled and gave her a casual salute before letting her descend the stairs to the main areas of the ship where they could gather their personals for the upcoming adventure.