Coups d'etat

by Desavlos

Madness, Sans Power

Author's Note:

Too much Monty Python and Terry Pratchett seems to have sloshed around in my head and caused some irreparable damage to my thought processes: I can't decide if this needs an "alternative universe" tag or if the fact that there's never any sign that it isn't standard universe means that it can be done without. Tagged for now, may change later under pressure.

Without too much further abuse of the author's notes system, I thank you for your attention to my mad-hattery and bid you a pleasant read.

Fancy Pants tipped his chair back and gazed up lovingly at the document in his hoof: it'd taken him years to obtain. The stallion could still barely believe that it was real, but Princess Celestia's signature was as clear as her day, and the bearer's, "Right to repair the magical wards of The Royal Palace of Canterlot" was even clearer.

The hoops they made me jump through... Fancy Pants had promised to make them pay for them: every meaningless party, every petty comment, every torturous moment of inane chatter that he'd had to endure; once the Princesses were out of the way the nobles were definitely next.

He sipped his tea, and grimaced.

Well. After his cook, but honestly, who could blame him?

He'd truly expected Shining Armor to be more cautious than this; it'd take an Arcanum mage to read the Palace's ward runes, and no guard would notice a tiny change in the pattern; a ward to keep things out could so easily become a trap to keep things in.

He wasn't a criminal, certainly not; criminals skulked around in dark alleys doing devious and villainous things under cover of night. He was serving The Public Interest. To anypony else, the capital letters would've been a sure sign of insanity.

Fancy Pants permitted himself a smile and placed the contract gently on his desk, as if afraid that it might evaporate at a moment's notice. A bell chord was pulled; a clerk stepped into the office.

"Fetch Cut Glass would you? I've got a little job for him."

"Yes, Mr Pants."

The clerk left with haste, and Fancy Pants's eyes wandered the room impatiently. It was an impressive room, and Fancy was proud of it: a single ancient desk, mahogany or something similar, dominated one end of the room. The three grand windows that looked out over Canterlot on one side and the fireplace on the other gave the whole office the air of a mansion's study rather than a place of business, but it was a place of business and, as always, Cut Glass's presence reminded Fancy that even the most unpleasant business needed doing.

The bulky stallion let himself into the office through a cloud of clerical protests. Fancy Pants watched him.

It'd all be worth it, eventually.

----<<<<>>>>----

It is at this stage that some distinctions should be made: Nobles coup; it suits their purposes better. Moving the top of the ladder out of the way as quietly as possible makes room for everypony else (or at least everypony else that the nobles care about) to slide upwards by one rung. Commoners, on the other hoof, hold not coups but Revolutions, which are fully deserving of the capital letter. Revolutions, unlike coups, are anything but quiet; the more anarchy, the better the odds are of the Revolutionaries winding up on the top of the massive pile-up that society becomes. The problem with Revolutions is that they tend to be rather self perpetuating; they come around again, as the name suggests. Nevertheless, the age-old goal of an end to oppression (or at least and end to the oppression of the Revolutionaries) has led generations of ponies to cast off the shackles of law, order, and common sense in favour of beating their social superiors with blunt objects.

The presence of Celestia and Luna had done away with the vast majority of unrest for hundreds of years, but as always there can be found some ponies willing to take up arms against the "tyrants", whoever they might be. They tend to be found at the bottom of the popcorn bag of society; hard, hateful, and with very little to lose.

Devious plotting aside, Fancy Pants could be considered to set a bad example: any self respecting conspirator just wouldn't feel at home outside of a cellar, hooded robes are a must, anonymity essential. That being said, the professional touch can be hard to achieve: some cellars are simply too dark.

"Grey? Grey, are you there?" Willow Leaves felt about blindly in the darkness for any signs of her friends.

An irritated voice emerged from the gloom. "For buck's sake, Sister Leaves; you have to call me "Lord Chancellor" while we're here; what's the point in doing this if you wont take it seriously?"

"Er, sorry Gr- Lord Chancellor."

"Brother Marble even found us proper robes to use, good cloth too. Where'd you get them?"

"Shop on Guard's Avenue, Lord Chancellor." The third voice in the murk made Willow jump; she realised that she had no idea how many ponies were crammed into the tavern's cellar. "Twelve bits each they cost me. Twelve each! That's oppression that is."

"Fear not, Brother Marble. All oppression will be ended with the coming of The Revolution!" As with Fancy Pants, the capital letters slotted audibly into place.

"Lord Chancellor?" Brother Marble's voice was hesitant.

"Yes, Brother Marble?"

"I don't want to seem ungrateful, I mean, I know meeting in a cellar's important and all, but maybe a candle would-"

"No!" The self styled Lord Chancellor interrupted him. "We must rely on our own to provide; The Revolution is only as strong as every brother and sister. Sister Starlight, would you light the room for us; that we might be about our righteous business?"

There was silence. Eventually, the Lord Chancellor coughed, politely.

"Sister Leaves?"

"Yes, Lord Chancellor?"

"Where is Sister Starlight?"

"She has a bit of a cold, Lord Chancellor. I took her some soup yesterday; she'll be up and about soon."

The darkness of the cellar did nothing to hide the sound of a forehead being rubbed, nor did it mask the "Lord Chancellor's" exasperated sigh. "A cold?"

"Sort of a cold, Lord Chancellor. She's very sorry that she couldn't make it."

"Oh she's sorry is she? Oh well that's all fine and dandy then! Never mind that we're going to overthrow the bucking monarchs! I'll just put all our plans on hold until she gets better, how about that?"

Marble's near terminal inability to recognise sarcasm kicked in on queue. "We could just recruit some more uni-"

"Oh just... shut up or something will you." Even in the darkness, both subordinates could visualize their leader rubbing at his forehead. "Fine" He said at length. "Fine, I can work with this. Everypony present, raise one hoof."

There was silence.

"Scratch that. Roll call: Sister Leaves?"

"Here, Lord Chancellor."

"Sister Skydust."

"She couldn't get off work, Lord Chancellor. Apparently there's some big storm due; all the weather ponies are on overtime trying to-"

"Thank you, Sister Leaves. Brother Tome?"

"He's stuck in his library, Lord Chancellor."

"What do you mean "stuck"?" Asked the Lord Chancellor, automatically.

"Well. Apparently-"

"No, forget I asked. Are there any other brothers or sisters missing tonight, Sister Leaves?"

"Umm... That would be Bark, Heart, Glaze, Link, Rabbit and Tea."

The Lord Chancellor crossed off the names mentally and read through the remaining list.

It was a very short list.

"So that leaves me, you, and Brother Marble?"

"A perfect summation, Lord Chancellor." Replied Willow Leaves. She was feeling rather guilty about the whole thing and had resorted to being extra deferential in an effort to placate Grey Streak. Skydust really did have a cold, but she knew that ever since Grey had started insisting on cellars, robes and magelight Dusty Tome had had an uncanny knack for locking himself in his library and losing the key. The other six conspirators had also developed cases of acute situational incompetence which had kept them from regular meetings, and Rabbit had had to dart off half way through last week when Starlight had "accidentally" set fire to her mane with an incorrect light spell.

It was just as well that she'd brought that bucket of water with her in the first place, really.

Willow Leaves was not stupid. She just didn't like the idea of anypony being deliberately untruthful. Her friend from Ponyville, Fluttershy, had once posted her a Stetson; she'd never found out why.

The Lord Chancellor considered his options. "Three out of eleven. Right. I suppose, that in the circumstances, a candle would be acceptable." A match was struck; Willow could just make out Grey feeling about in a set of crates for a candle and muttering under his breath. An vaguely approving sound passed Grey's lips as his hoof closed around a candle, followed immediately by a yelp, and a clatter, as the match burned his hoof and he dropped the stick of wax. "Blast it. Brother Marble, find the candle would you?"

After much scrabbling in the dark the candle was found, lit, and secured in a candlestick on a central table. Grey beckoned the other two over to the table, and placed both of his forehooves on it. The candlelight cast eerie shadows on his features as he spoke.

"They bled us white, the traitors; they've taken everything we had! And not just from us, but from our parents, and from our parent's parents! And what have the Sisters ever given us in return?"

Willow and Marble listened to the Lord Chancellor's tirade from the other end of the table. Neither were quite sure what he meant, but unlike Brother Marble, Willow had seen the salmon of rhetoric in his river of thought. Her eyes widened as her fellow under-conspirator replied.

"Well what about the seasons, Lord Chancellor?"

River of thought temporarily dammed, the Lord Chancellor looked at the other stallion in confusion.

"What?"

"The seasons, Lord Chancellor; I mean, they do keep the sun and the moon in order and everything."

"Oh. Oh yes, I suppose they did do that yes."

If the Lord Chancellor's thoughts were a stream, then Brother Marble's were an avalanche: they picked up speed as they moved, and rarely changed direction. Willow Leaves looked on; she didn't dare to move.

"And the tides, Lord Chancellor."

"Well yes, I'll grant you, the seasons and the tides are two things The Sisters have done for us."

"What about the order? After all, they did defeat Discord and everything."

"Well obviously the order, I mean the order goes without saying d-"

"Education?"

"Well-"

"Equality?"

"I supp-"

"Freedom?"

"Look! Just... Do you want to overthrow the Sisters or not?"

Marble seemed to ponder this for a while. Willow, still standing perfectly still, fancied that she could hear the thoughts ticking about in his head. At length, he answered.

"No."

A muscle twitched on Grey Streak's face. "Brother Marble... Why are you here?"

"My mam always said that every good house should have a conspiracy."

Willow's mouth moved as she worked this one out. "Is it possible that she meant conservatory?"

Marble turned to look at her. "What's that?"

"It's sort of a room, made of glass. They sell them at the West Street Market."

"Oh."

Thoughts ticking over slowly in his head, Marble looked up at the Lord Chancellor and smiled. "Sorry to have bothered you."

And with that, he climbed the steps into the alley behind the tavern, and out of the lives of the remaining conspirators.

Grey Streak sunk his head into his hooves and sniffled quietly. Willow walked around the table and patted him on the shoulder.

"There there." She offered. It felt like the right thing to do.

----<<<<>>>>----

In the military wing of the Royal Palace there is a tower. Its various uses serve as a great help to the Palace Guard; every lee and archway becoming shelter in a storm, shade from the sun, or cover in a fight. But one room has always, by tradition, been the captain's office. Shining Armor reflected on the stupidity of this as the night wind blew in through the room's window and scattered the papers on his desk. Private Tome's report had just come in and he'd seemed rather frantic. Ignoring the errant paperwork, at least for the time-being, Shining began to read through the stallion's archaically punctuated message.

Half way through, he stopped. He moved up the page and re-read it. Towards the end, the shadow of a smile began to form on his lips.

His job didn't provide many opportunities for laughter.

This might even be fun.

Comments

[Safhell]

me gusta

[Aotrs Commander]

Well, this is a promising start!

[Desavlos]

4699355 I'm glad?

4699619 I couldn't resist I'm afraid: it was more or less what prompted this whole mess in the first place...

4699685 I'm pleased to hear that you like it sir! More chapters will be forthcoming within the next few days.

[Safhell]

4699724 the story = me gusta

[Stainless Steel Fox]

Definitely feeling the Pythionian and Pratchettian influences.