When the knock on the door came, ‘Roses in December’ had long wilted and faded into obscurity. In the roses’ place, an entire orchestra had sprung to life. The story these instruments told was much sweeter than that of the cello. It spoke of birds chirping as they surfed clear blue skies and of babbling brooks cutting through a countryside lush with apple trees and juniper berries. This was the story of winter's end and the coming of spring. More importantly, however, the story was the end of tears and heartache for one battered old bird.
The mercenary was swaying and humming along to the music when the rap of hoof against wood snipped through the veil of melody. Quill’s head snapped to full attention, his eyes narrowing into sharp pinpricks. Whatever cheer there had been on the griffin’s features was snuffed out, and at a moment’s notice. Replacing it was that familiar stoicism. The look of a predator, so it was.
The music died with a prompt *click* and Quill rose from the bed a second later. Though he jumped down from the bed’s edge, his feet --neither talon nor paw-- made not so much as a sound as they met hardwood. He opened his beak to speak, but closed it before he could do so. Patience, damn you. You must be patient. Isn’t this what we’ve practically browbeaten into our little tulip?
In that brief span of waiting, every noise seemed to shriek out to Quill with deafening volume. From the whispering sighs of the floorboards to the muffled chattering rising from the tavern below, Quill felt his nerves twitch at every sound, no matter how minute.
A second later the knock came again, but this time it was accompanied by a voice. “Sir Quill, are you in there? Please, sir, I am here on the behalf of their majesties, Prince Shining Armor and Princess Cadance. I wish greatly to have a word with you.”
Quill’s head cocked to the side, mimicking the question he dared not speak aloud. Who the hell is this? This evening caller’s voice was not one Quill recognized. It certainly didn’t belong to that hardcase of a captain who had come for a visit the other day, nor to any of the guard-ponies lagging behind him. Whoever this was, they were younger.
The pony outside spoke again, this time timidly. “I’m not an idiot, sir, I know you're in there. I heard the record player, and I sure as heck heard it switch off too.”
Quill considered the mysterious visitor for only a moment longer before nodding reluctantly to himself. He was sure that this pony wasn’t lying, but decades on an ever shifting battlefield demanded that he not take this pony lightly. Or any pony for that matter. Was he just being paranoid? The answer was probably ‘yes’. But an even better question, how many times had that same paranoia saved him and Speira too from a sticky, gruesome end? Too many times to count...
There was no time to don his leather armor, but he settled for something that eased his worry just the same. He lowered himself to the floor and reached into the murky crevice beneath the bed. A second later he produced his crossbow. Though seemed to weigh little more than his pillow, Quill found comfort in having the killing machine in his claw. Leveling it to the door, Quill finally spoke.
“State your name and state your rank, if you have one,” Quill said in high, clear tone. “Although, if you’re here on behalf of the crown, than I assume you do.” There was the shuffling of hooves outside his door. I’m guessing they're a soldier. Heavy hoofsteps could mean he’s wearing armor. These ponies do have quite the love for such paper weights.
“Speckled Band, sir. C-corporal of the Royal Guard.”
That didn’t quite surprise Quill, and not just because he’s come to expect anything and everything. Only Shining Armor and few of his subordinates knew where he and his ‘pitched their tent’. Still… I didn’t get this far in life by being careless.
“Alright then soldier, the door’s unlocked, but open it slowly. Molasses like.”
Quill felt his grip tighten on the crossbow. The door swung open on its hinges with an exasperated groan, revealing just what Quill had expected to see: a pony clad in gilded armor. However, what the mercenary hadn’t expected was the youth of his caller. Sure, I knew he wasn’t some salted cogger, but the bugger can’t be any older than nineteen. Perhaps the thought may have been a bit hypocritical. Quill himself was little more than a hatchling when he began his time in the armored flock. But this, by pony standard, was highly unusual.
Tough times, Quill reminded himself. You said it yourself, you old bird. And you know when the tough gets going, the young get thrown to the meatgrinder. Quill hoped these was pure cynicism, but one could never be sure.
Quill lowered the crossbow and set it atop his bed. “Well, are you going to enter, soldier, or just keep loitering in my doorway.”
The Corporal glanced warily at the discarded crossbow, his sooty colored eyes wide as dinner plates, then he gave Quill a weak smile. “Just waiting for the invitation, sir. You only said open the door, but nothing about entering. And I sure wasn’t about to run headlong at that thing.” He nodded to the crossbow.
Quill had a hunch that he might just like this pony. The Corporal didn’t seem as humorless as the other guards Shining Armor sent Quill’s way. This did not, however, permit Quill to lower his guard.
“Then you have it. Come in and let us speak.” The stallion nodded and did as he was bade.
Besides the youth of Corporal Speckled Band, there was something else rather strange about the pony. Mainly it was his appearance. His coat was a dark blue, as dark as dying sky in fact, but it was stained with white spots. Quill guessed from the few places on the pony’s body that weren’t covered in armor that the mottled mess must have covered his entire length. Though some were either lopsided, small, or, they all managed to keep a generally circular shape. The most noticeable spot of all was the one that covered his right eye. It looked just like an ivory eyepatch.
Speckled. How cute. These ponies and their tendencies for irony never cease to amaze me.
Speckled Band now stood at the center of the dusty room, his head pivoting slowly as he scanned around. How out of place the guards-pony looked in this ramshackled old room. The meager state of the tavern’s rooms seemed to be downright offensive when compared to the immaculate condition of the Corporal's armor. Judging from the reflection I see of myself in that helm of his, I bet the lad polishes that armor every night.
“So, Corporal Band, what do I owe this most unexpected pleasure?”
Instead of answering right away, the Corporal glanced around once more before raising an eyebrow to Quill. “Wasn’t there another with you? A filly?”
“Yes, my protege,” Quill sighed wistfully. “Never you mind about her for the moment, though. Now, your business, sir. I’d very much like to hear it.”
“Well, you’re my buisness.”
Quill stared at him a moment longer, blinking quizzically, before arching an eyebrow. At this, Corporal Band elaborated. “Prince Shining Armor requests your presence at the castle at once… or, as soon as you can, sir...”
Quill clicked his beak a few times, as he always did when in thought. He barely noticed how the Corporal winced at the irritating sound.
“Another job I suppose? More nobles in need of company for their long and boring carriage rides through the countryside?”
“Er… I’m not quite sure. He didn’t disclose all the details of the request to me, just that he needed me to stress how urgent it was that you come to castle post haste. Although, he might have mentioned a thing or two about your… most recent venture.” The way Corporal Brand tiptoed over his words told Quill more than enough.
He wants to talk about those bandits, then, and hear the entire affair from my side, more than likely. The mercenary shrugged internally. Honestly, he shouldn't have expected anything less. You could only rely so much on hearsay, and Quill doubted that Prince Shining Armor could rely much on what he heard from the caption that debriefed him. I hadn’t seen a creature with such an explosive temper since my days back in basic training.
“Soon as possible?” Quill echoed back the Corporal's words with a hint of amusement. “I’m assuming you were hoping to leave right away then, correct?”
“Yes, sir, that was indeed that plan. Prince Shining Armor needs to speak with the both of you immediately.”
This time Quill allowed his smile to shine through. “Well, Corporal, how is his highness suppose to speak with ‘the both of us’ when you only have ‘the half of us’?” For a moment, Speckled Band only studied Quill with dull confusion.
“Pardon me saying, sir, but I don’t follow.”
“Well, you see, my better half has taken a brief leave of absence. Gone off to see all the sights your pretty city has to offer, so she has.”
That ‘dear in the headlights’ look returned to Speckled Band’s face. It was an expression that Quill had always acquainted with prey. There wasn’t enough plate armor or chain mail in Equestria that could make this stallion appear threatening to Quill now. That petrified look on the Corporal’s face had laid him naked and bare before Quill’s talons.
“By Celestia!” he moaned, his exasperation punctuated with a metallic *clunk* as he smacked himself upside his head. “Are you serious? I promised the Prince that I’d have you back within the hour! Tell me, sir, when will your partner by back?” Though he seemed regain composure over himself, Speckled Band’s voice was still jagged with hint of desperation.
Whatever response he had been hoping for, the shrug Quill gave him must not have been it. The Corporal’s expression fell like a leaded weight.
“Can’t say, lad, shouldn’t be too long though. An hour and a half at the latest. I can assure you she won’t be too much longer.”
“Great.” Corporal Band’s rump dropped to the floor. His ears drooped lazily to the sides of his face as those flaked eyes of his stared down at his forehooves shamefully. “Prince Shining Armor isn’t going to be happy about this. Not happy one bit.”
“Maybe so,” Quill said genially, which didn’t help Speckled’s mood in the slightest, “But Shining Armor has always struck me as a reasonable and understanding kind of fellow.” Quill took his place back on his bed once more and added, “If he takes issue, I’m sure we can clear it up easily enough.”
Speckled Band seemed to brighten at that, but not by much. “That’s very generous of you, sir, but I’m not worried so about disappointing him. It’s more…” The words tapered off, and the Corporal couldn’t quite manage to will them back. When Quill twirled one of his talons in circular motion, a gesture meant to urge the Corporal on, Speckled Band just shook his head.
“Forget it, sir, I beg you. My tongue escapes me sometimes.”
That’s not a very desirable quirk for a soldier, is it? Especially one tasked with serving royalty. Quill tabled that thought for the time being.
The two sat in restless quiet for a second after that, both sizing up the other. Quill organized all the questions flittering around his head into a neat cluster, choosing only those he deemed relevant and fairly answerable. And you better believe Quill had questions. In fact he had many. He relished the idea of spending this dreadful wait for Speira focused on something other than the record player. If only Speckled Band felt that same way.
The Corporal had heard more than a few stories about the mercenaries (more had been told about the killer filly that shadowed the old bird, but enough was said about Quill that Speckled Band couldn’t help but feel on edge around him). His heart stuttered and tripped over itself in those moments they sat face to face. He knew very well what was coming. The questions. Speckled Band knew this because he too had many questions of his own, though he dared not ask them. Curiosity was just as much a weakness as it was a strength, and he wanted to show no weakness around this bird of prey.
Fine job you’re doing of that, you damned dolt, he thought scoldingly. Blathering on like a colt struck head over hooves for a cute filly.
“So…” The word, shattering silence like a stone through stained glass, giving Speckled Band a start. Quill smiled apologetically.
“Apologies, lad, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Completely fine, sir,” the Corporal said, flashing a smile of his own. Damn it, you fool! “What were you saying?”
“I was just hoping that since we’ll be here for a spell, you might be kind of enough to chat with me for a bit, at least until my protege returns. I don’t get a chance to converse much with anyone other than my Spiera, as you must guess. It would certainly help pass the time.”
“Certainly, I don’t see why not.” Actually, the Corporal could see a dozen and a half reason not to speak at any length with this mercenary, and at the top of that list would be those icy, predator eyes. How they cut into his hide. “What would you like to talk about?”
Quill shrugged again, but Speckled Band didn’t buy into the coy gesture. “I’d like to know more about what Shining Armor would like us for. I know you said that your knowledge of the matter is limited, but you must know something. Has something happened that would prompt such an urgent meeting?”
Speckled Band frowned. “Sorry, sir, but I’m not the pony to talk to about that. I’m just the go between.” Quill had his doubts about that. There was something, intuition maybe, that made the mercenary suspect that this soldier was a bit more than just an errand boy. Could be paranoia again.
Some ponies didn’t take kindly to being called a liar, no matter how gently you insinuated it. Quill had no desire to learn if Corporal Speckled Band was the kind of pony to go off like a powder keg. It was rather rare to find a Royal Guard who wasn’t primed and ready to crawl down an outsider’s throat, and he rather liked seeing his visitor so amiable.
“Fair enough. Then perhaps you could tell me something about the Prince.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“I’m just curious how he’s been as of late. We haven’t had the chance to speak much lately, not since before my visit to Las Pegasus. When we did though, he made mention that passions were rather high amid the Equestrian Guard. That has to be rather trying for a pony. Soldiers have always been a steely sort, and steel tends to get hot rather easily.”
“What are you getting at, sir?”
“All I’m ‘getting at’ is that it can’t be easy managing such a group during these trying times, especially if you ponies decided to jump ship.”
The desertions… he’s talking about all of the damned desertions. How could he possibly know that? No one in the Royal Guard would ever talk to an outsider about such a thing! Then, a frightening thought occurred to him.
That’s because he doesn’t know... at least, he doesn’t know about it from any of our ranks. He’s a predator. He always has an ear open, always listening to whatever tones or stories might be carried off by the wind… And if that’s the case, then he’s heard about the desertions through hearsay… Oh Celestia, that not’s good. Not good at all! Speckled Band, who had spent the early years of his child among the cracked, poverty stricken streets of the Manehattan, knew very well the kind of stories ponies spread amongst themselve. Sure, it was common for one to think that gossiping was a habit practiced more so by those smalltown ponies in the south, but Speckled Band knew better. Gossip lay everywhere and in every city and town of Equestria.
“The Prince is fine,” Speckled Band replied at last, almost shortly. “He bears the burdens of his office with more grace and level headedness than any of us could ask from anypony. Any talk of ‘high passions’ is simply mistaken, I assure you.”
That hawkish gaze, which had echoed the joviality of Quill’s smile only a moment ago, seemed to waver. He knew quite well that the Corporal was lying. Speckled Band tried his best not to flinch against that look. Bastard sees through me, he thought, wrangling his nerves back in place. I could sit here and spin tales till my face runs blue and the sun plummets from the sky, but he’ll know the truth simply by looking at my face.
“That’s good to hear, Corporal, very good indeed.”
Perspiration was already beginning to pimple along the back of Speckled Band’s neck. Suddenly he felt hot and claustrophobic in the armor he had worn with such grace, as if he was really in an oven. It was going to be a long wait for the poor soldier.
Quill clicked his beak once more, grinned, and said, “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering a few more things for me, Corporal.”
Princess Celestia, if you were ever going to bring the sun down on us all, let it be now.