Skagra tilted the glass of water up, higher and higher. He gulped and gargled the full contents of the container down his throat. The stallion's one good eye remained trained on his guest from across the office.
Keris stood in cold silence, holding his helmet at his side as he gazed back at the top dredger.
Nixkit, Digiff, and several other stallions stood nervously along the edges of the Skag Hole, shifting uncomfortably.
At last, Skagra finished his drink. He exhaled... stared at Keris... then motioned towards a dredger.
The random stallion shuffled over with a tray. Skagra picked a pitcher of water off of it, poured more liquid into the container, and then took another full-minute drink.
Keris exhaled calmly, his tail coiling down by his feline limbs.
Nixkit and Digiff exchanged silent glances.
After a veritable eternity, Skagra stopped sipping... gulping... ingesting. He held the empty glass up, letting it lean back and forth atop the edge of his hoof. “... ... ...” He smiled. “You want a sip, birdie?”
“No thank you, sir,” Keris said. “And you may call me 'Lieutenant Keris.'”
“I don't blame you one bit, birdie,” Skagra said, standing up and pacing across the room. He placed the container down on the stallion's tray. “Shit goes through a crazy-ass mess of filtration pipes before the muck-tap becomes anywhere near drinkable. With your super-sensitive, privileged continentalist tummy—one sip of this and you'd be pissing rocks.” He spun about, grinning wide. “Ironically, I drink excess amounts of it to keep from pissing rocks. Kidney stones that form out here in the seven seas are so deathicidal that they come with built-in release pins. Hell, they don't even need much of an excuse to explode as it is.”
“I am... most sorry for your unfortunate health problems.”
“Pffft! 'Sorry?' Feeling pain makes me know that I'm alive. And being alive only reminds me that I'm in charge.” Skagra stood in dead silence. Rather spontaneously, he slapped the glass container with his hoof. It shattered into a hundred pieces on the floor. Nopony in the room flinched. Grinning, Skagra looked triumphantly at Keris and pointed. “You see that?”
“See what?”
“Exactly.” Skagra shuffled over. “I like you, birdie. You catch on.” He cleared his throat and leaned closer to the griffon. “Now... would you kindly tell me why you've caught on to my ass hairs?”
“It's like I said when I first arrived,” Keris spoke in a tranquil tone. “I am in pursuit of the Rainbow Rogue. Surely you have heard of her by now.”
“These are the seven seas, precious,” Skagra said. “You looking for a rainbow? Just fly out there in a random cardinal direction and start swinging a dead cat. You'll find yourself a peacock-handler real damn quick.” He winked, grinning. “I hear some of Rust's finest can even teach a crowning rooster like you how to lay an egg in reverse, if you know what I mean.”
Two or three dredgers chuckled at that.
Keris smiled back. “It must feel absolutely ecstatic to possess a title so exclusive that you can be joker and king all at once.”
The dredgers stopped chuckling.
Skagra's grin faded. “...what's that supposed to mean?”
“Simply that the time you spend delaying the real purpose of this conversation can instead be used in answering my rather simple questions,” Keris said. “I don't expect you to have any respect for me, Mr. Skagra. My visit here is profitable only in the abstract sense. Help me, and I just might be able to extend the lives of you and your fellow laborers by protecting them from a growing, magically-imbued threat. Even if I were to catch the Rainbow Rogue, it'll still leave you in a grimy state of impoverished destitution. However... if you are willing to assist me, then I assure you it will open the door for future visits from the Council of Verlaxion.”
“And just why in the blue Hell would we want that, birdie?”
“Survival, Mr. Skagra,” Keris said. “There's a great void in the seas, now that the Syndicate is gone. That opens the doorway for countless miscreants of questionable power to attempt conquering the waves in the Northern and Southern Hooves' stead.” He cocked his feathery head to the side. “It would be a shame for Red Barge to fall victim to such... malevolent intrigue. And you do care about the hard-working ponies on board your welded array of dinghies, yes?”
Nixkit glanced aside at Skagra.
The top dredger brushed his bangs to the left, only for them to fall back. “Yes. And... as a matter of fact... I'm the only one in this room with the authority to exercise such concern.”
Keris spoke: “The Council of Verlaxion extends the merciful hoof of the Goddess as alwa—”
“The Council of Verlaxion and all their hoity-toity tutu twirling tit-slappers need to remind themselves of the constraints of nautical law,” Skagra grumbled. “And once they've done their homework, they can re-teach their butter-knife wielding birdies how to sing.”
“I am simply here on an investigative mission to find—”
“You are here by my sexy grace and my sexy grace alone,” Skagra spoke firmly. “And if I felt like kicking you out of the bird bath, you'll find that you have no political authority to shove your tail-feathers right back in.” His good eye narrowed. “This is a barge, my good griffon, not an island. We move from shelf to shelf, harvesting dredge coal. We are neither continentalist nor colonialists. What we are, however, is useful.” He pointed. “More useful to the growing, shivering population of Rohbredden than the entirety of the Right Talon of Verlaxion. Not only does the warmth of a Rohbredden household depend on our product, but the goddess-forsaken economy that warms its hooves in front of it. And if you and your holy council tried to play favorites with any of the barges, it'll buck up the system and blow up in your face. And you know it.”
“The issue of the Rainbow Rogue is a continentalist concern,” Keris calmly explained. “And if she were to cross paths with you, then every surface of this barge that the monster touches becomes grounds for Rohbredden-mandated investigation.”
“Walrus balls.”
Keris took a calm breath. “And if I was... oh, I dunno... to discover that this industrial marvel of yours was in a position to compromise explicit property of Rohbredden and its citizens, then I would have the full right to conduct a thorough sweep of the structure—including an investigation of those housed on board.”
“Are you for real?” Skagra chuckled, then glanced aside at his dredgers. “Get a load of this turkey vulture! Do you see all the whale shit clinging to his feathers?”
Digiff cleared his throat. “No, boss, I see tons of razor-sharp, flesh-slicing plates of silver armor—”
“Shut up, Digiff.” Skagra strolled back towards Keris. “My good beakster, I think you've made the terrible mistake of coming to the Skag hole with your nostrils open.” He waved a hoof. “Buzz off before I get the hose.”
“Just what is this barge doing so far south, Mr. Skagra?”
“Jee. I dunno. It was winter and we wanted to do some rounds of golf. The Hell do you care?”
“I happen to have in my posession a very thorough, up-to-date oceanographic survey map of this area,” Keris said with a calm smile. “And it states quite clearly that the dredge coal shelves beneath these coordinates have been thoroughly harvested over the past thirty years. Why... drift any further below this latitude and you'd risk encroaching upon South Barge waters.” Keris twirled his helmet around, pretending to examine his reflection in it. “I just... can't fathom for the life of me why you would want to station yourself in the dead drifts.”
“The... dead drifts...?”
“Mmmm... yes. Even the most surly pirates avoid these currents. Perhaps it's superstition... or even a time-honored reverence. Either way...” He stared up, magenta eyes firm. “...most ponies go out of their way to steer clear of the procession of the water-borne coffins from Rohbredden. After all, there's nothing to profit from the dearly departed of Verlaxion's blessed continent, now is there?”
Skagra blinked.
Nixkit and Digiff clenched their teeth.
“Ermmm... euughhh...” Skagra's lower jaw protruded as he fidgeted.
“Need more water, top dredger?” Keris calmly asked. “I fear the stones might be coming out the wrong end.”
Skagra stared at him, blinking.
Keris stared back... and he grinned. “Hmmm-hmmm-hmmm...”
“Heheheheheh...” Skagra laughed, sweated. Sweated and laughed. “Like I said before, Lieutenant...” He shuffled back to his corner of the room and slumped down in a reclining chair. “Eeuuughhh... I like you. Granted, I'd like you even better if you weren't perched on my dick. Sooooooooo... let's address your concerns so you can take them far... far away from here.”
“That depends on wether or not such a flight is necessary,” Keris remarked.
“Hrmmmm...” Skagra scratched his chin, staring up at the ceiling. “Rainbow Rogue... Rainbow Rogue...” He took a deep breath. “...I don't suppose he's named after the poopsmears he leaves behind?”
“It's a she, actually,” Keris said. “And just in case random dollops of gossip from across the seas have marred your perspective, allow me to give a personal account of my own fact finding.”
“Oh. Pffft. Please. Do go on.” Skagra waved, stifling a yawn. “I was born for this shit.”
Keris unscrolled a series of notes he had taken. “Ahem... according to the tragic denizens of the Quade, the suspect in question is a young-adult female pegasus with a sky-blue coat and a pair of red eyes. Her most striking feature is a scrappy mane consisting of every colorful shade of the rainbow. She also has a flashy tail to match her mane—just above the cutie mark of a white thundercloud shooting forth a colorful lightning bolt.”
“Jee. I think I'm in love.”
“On top of displaying a violent, reckless, and altogether self-serving personality, she has in her possession a striking gold pendant with a lightning bolt crafted out of some magical ruby, presumably enchanted by a strange magic that may very well have originated from west of the Blight.”
Nixkit leaned forward, curious.
Keris looked up from his scroll. “The mare goes by the name of 'Rainbow Dash,' which—as ironic as it sounds—could be an alias. She was last seen sailing east-northeast from the Quade with an injured left wing and—most likely—a fresh scar above her left eye. The closest place of landing that such a path could possibly lead her to is right here... in the Red Barge.” Keris folded the scroll. Taking a deep breath, he added: “Also... though they may no longer be close companions to her... this 'Rainbow Dash' has been known to associate with two curious strangers. A pegasus stallion guitarist by the name of Bard and a griffon called Wildcard who wears goggles and utilizes a metal prosthetic.”
“Now that's a description and a half,” Skagra said, stifling a yawn. “If I had seen any single one of those three yahoos, I'd have known it in a second.”
“And have any of them stumbled by here?”
“No.”
Keris' eyes narrowed. “Could it be possible that they've shown up and you're just now aware of it?”
Skagra sat up, frowning slightly. “Tell me. When you flew in to land at Red Barge, what did your tweety eyes see?” He pointed out one of the brightly-lit portholes. “All that's out there is muck and misery. A lone flankhole in a raft would much rather throw herself to the sharks then have to deal with any of that floaty shit.”
“So you deny that it's feasible to clear such polluted lengths in a single, small craft?”
“Uhm...”
“Eyewitness accounts all maintain that this rogue—although deviant—is quite formidable in both will and spirit,” Keris said. “And if there's a possibility that this nebulously threatening pendant of hers is a force to be reckoned with, then there's no telling just what she might be able to accomplish.”
“Are you suggesting that I'd let my guard down around my own dredge coal harvesting home?”
“I'm suggesting that if this creature is far too elusive for the likes of me, then she probably is for you too, top dredger.”
“I haven't seen her, alright?” Skagra said with a shrug. “She's not here. I mean... you're the one flying around on silver plates of fart-fear. You probably zoomed past her!”
“You believe so?”
“Hell, for all we know, birdie, she hasn't even arrived here yet!”
“I see...” Keris' vision swam from Skagra to Nixkit... Digiff... and the other dredgers. Half the stallions hung their heads to avoid the Lieutenant's stare. At last, he turned back to Skagra, then smiled. “Then I suppose the only logical course of action is for me to stay here and wait for her.”
Skagra blinked. “What.”
“I thank you most kindly for your hospitality, top dredger,” Keris said with a slight bow. “You've been most helpful.” He turned to head towards the door. “And I suspect you'll continue to be so in the near future.”
“Whoah whoah whoah... hold the mayo...” Skagra sat up, waving a hoof. “I didn't say you could take off so soon.”
“I elected to notice that,” Keris said in a dull tone.
“This is no government beach house, buddy,” Skagra said. “If you wish to settle your tail-feathers on our real estate, then you'll be expected to pay up.”
“You mean like rent?”
“Mmmm... I was thinking something more imposing and back-breaking, but sure.” Skagra smirked.
“I see.” Keris nodded. “Then I suppose I'll just gather some of the smog from over the Barge and settle myself a cloud overnight.”
“Uhhhh...” Skagra blinked.
“Oh, it'll be quite alright. I won't have my beak sticking in anypony's business,” Keris added with a smile. “And the lofty vantage point should make it optimal in spotting the Rainbow Rogue upon her arrival.”
Nixkit's jaw hung agape.
“Griffons...” Digiff gulped. “They can do that?” Nixkit punched him in the arm and he winced.
“I'm telling you, Lieutenant,” Skagra spoke icily, his left eye flaring across the scarred half of his face. “All of this hooplah is far from necessary.”
“I suspect you're right,” Keris said. “After all, you and your fellow dredges could assist me in performing a scan of the waters west of here.” A smile. “It'd make uncovering the suspect a great deal easier.”
Every stallion in the room was silent.
“But... I understand that your laborers are busily dredging coal from the ocean floor, which—in this part of the seven seas—is already a risky venture at best. So... I'll leave it to you and your proper wisdom.” Keris said with a slight bow. “Far be it from the interests of the Council of Verlaxion to interfere.”
“And what if it's not in my interests?” Skagra remarked, his nostrils snorting. “What if I don't even approve of you bird-pooping all over this part of the ocean?”
Keris stared at him... then at the others. Without saying a word, he shuffled across the room, touched his talon to the pitcher of water, and knocked it off the tray. Crash! Every stallion winced as the glass spread across the carpet.
And yet no stallion rushed forward. Everyone stayed anchored in place.
“You might want to switch to canteens, top dredger,” Keris said. “If nothing else, it would get you an excuse to come out of the office more often.” He placed his helmet on and trudged out the door. “Oh... and by the way...” He extended a length of razor-sharp wingblades. “It's not exactly 'silver,' but a silver-plated titanium alloy. Strong enough to rip through the scales of a leviathan. Don't ask me how I know first-hoof.”
Swissssssh! He flew out into the gold sunlight.
Digiff ran out to the doorframe, peering at the griffon's flight. “Rrrggh... there he goes, alright... gathering up smog, the mucking bastard.” He turned towards Skagra. “Boss, are you just gonna let him shit all over us like that?!”
“His presence throws everything into the cesspool, Skagra!” Nixkit hissed. “If we allow him to roost above us for even a day, he'll figure out our connections to Monket... Chandler... to everything! Hell, he might even realize we've got the dayum Rogue in our hold—”
“Rrrnnngh!” Skagra stood up, spun, and flung his easy chair across the room.
Nixkit, Digiff, and several other dredgers flinched as the furniture smashed to bits against the wall.
“You pisstaking dolphin humps!” Skagra cackled. “He already knows the Rainbow Rogue's in our hold! Don't you get it?!” He pointed out the nearest porthole. “But the bastard's got his beak stuck in the political gears of Rohbredden! For all his bark, he's still just a stupid puppy—and I aim to drown him.”
“Just let me get the boys on the harpoons!” Digiff said, marching out the exit. “We'll have him skewered in a jiff—”
“Step on your own dick!” Skagra growled, pointing, making Digiff freeze in place. “The Right Talon is all one unit! Five grasping digits, and each one clawed to high-hell! If they sent just one of their buzzards out this far, they didn't do it without a backup plan! That bastard's got an invisible life-line to birds who are bigger and bloodier than him. We melt off his head... then we sever the entire line of communication, and the rest of the flock will come rushing in to have our pancreases for dessert!”
Nixkit and Digiff exchanged grimacing expressions.
“Then... th-then what do we do?!” Digiff's voice cracked.
“Keep playing dumb. Then... play dumber.” Skagra's good-and-bad eyes both narrowed. “We make him feel comfortable. Like he's in control. Meanwhile, we play off Monket's return like it's business as normal. We'll put the squeeze on Chandler under the talon's nose. With the right amount of exploitation, Chandler will come wading across the shit sea to Red Barge's front steps. We let him see the Right Talon of Verlaxion snooping around, and if all of Monket's threads don't paint his jaded robes yellow by then, then Lieutenant Birdy surely will. Chandler will realize he's in it too deep to possibly make his rise to power. Instead, he'll pay out his ass both to make us happy and to hoist the Rainbow Rogue off our hooves. Then—when it's time for the Talon's hammer to fall—it'll be on the fat cat's chubby head, not ours. Got it?”
“It's... a little crazy, boss,” Nixkit said. “But with Chandler in the mix, I think I can see how we can make this fall straight back in the Council's lap.”
“Damn straight,” Skagra said, nodding. “I eat crazy for breakfast and shit out genius for lunch.” He pointed. “And we're gonna make that fat cat eat it for dinner! MEANWHILE.” Huffing, he paced across the Skag Hole. “I don't trust that canary any deeper than I can choke him. I want the guards watching him at all times. Nixxy... go get that one try-hard to keep a close eye on the Lieutenant. What's his name? Straxon... Braxon...”
“Saxon?”
“Whatever. Put him on a leash and let him smell griffon blood. If for some reason birdy gets a bit too nosy for his own good, I want him suffering for it. Not us.”
“Got it.”
“You'd better.” Skagra grumbled, trotting over the broken glass on the floor instead of cleaning it up. “And—if there's actually a Goddess in this world—let us simply hope Monket's having more friggin' luck than we are.”
Whips cracked in the humid air.
Stallions and mares wept, being forced to trudge over volcanic rocks and shoals as they lugged huge crates of cargo down into a series of chiseled burrows lined with grim-faced overseers.
All above, the atmosphere of Mudtop was an impermeable mess of smoggy black miasma. Clay chimneys pumped endless fumes into the air from hidden factories nestled deep in the gnarled obsidian that made up the bulk of the hellish island. A series of wooden platforms housed tiny, torch-lit shacks adjoined to one another like splintery tumors.
Out from one such shack, Monket and a hoofful of crew members hobbled. Two of his servants carried fresh bags of tools and bits.
“Mrmmmff... Skagra, you're a dirty rotten shit-eater... but a smart one.” Monket shook his bit bag, delighting in the cold jingle of gold. He reached into another bag, took yet another sip of a tall bottle of whiskey, then exhaled. “Even have enough to grow on. Those trinkets did the trick.”
“Does... does that mean that the debtors will be off our back, master?” asked one of the servants.
“If they know what's good for them,” Monket remarked. His pale red eyes settled on his two steamships moored towards the jagged docks along the eastern shoals of Mudtop. “I've lost too many of my investments at this point. I need to play this intelligently... arm my ships to the teeth in case of an attack.”
“Our ships are Rohbredden in design,” another servant remarked. “You think any privateer would actually bother attacking us?”
“For a piece of the Rainbow Rogue...” Monket took another sip, followed by a deep breath. “...coral huffers out here would attack the sun.” He adjusted the weight of his satchel and marched forward, dreads flouncing. “Come along.” A stifled belch. “Keeping Skagra waiting is one thing... but I wanna get as much time into making Chandler choke as possible.”
“Sure thing, master.”
The servants motioned to one another. “Quick. And don't drop a single bit of equipment!”
The group shuffled tightly together, making for a series of supply depots situated next to the docks.
As Monket and his lackeys left...
One stallion shuffled out of a dark cleft of rocks...
Followed by another...
And yet another...
At last, no less than a dozen ponies—a motley crew of sunbaked stallions stood, gazing from the slave paths towards the barnacle'd slopes of Mudtop towards the east.
“Hrmmmff... did you hear that, mates?” one stallion hissed towards another. He rubbed his chin. “Our cheeky slaver of the waves has got himself a Rainbow Rogue.”
“What? You mean right here in Mud Top?!”
“Naaah... don't be daft,” another character grunted. “Though he's almost smug enough to do it.”
“I hear Monket's been dealing with velvety flanks. Someone in the continent's finally bought his soul, eh?”
“Pfft. Hardly. There's still some craftiness left in that stallion. Bet he's gonna bite back that hoof that feeds him.”
“Did anypony else hear the name 'Chandler?'”
“Aye. Consortium rot. You know what that means?”
“Monket's making friends with a barge. Dredge coal huffers have got themselves a Rainbow Rogue.”
“Oh?”
“And I think I just know who...” The scarred stallion in question huffed. “...half-headed bastard.” He turned to smile at the others with grimy teeth. “Round up the skiffs, boys. There's blood to be sprinkled on the muck yet.”
“Heheheheh...”