Casus Foederis

by Walt2012

Dinner and a Show

Casus Foederis
© 2014 by Walter Reimer

Chapter 2.

“I don’t like it, Reintief.” Mulegan declared.

“It could be a trifle sweeter,” Reintief concurred, looking into the depths of his mug.

“I don’t mean the cider!” the Third Secretary said peevishly. “And I don’t mean the stuffy air, either.” He looked around the Patriarch’s dining hall at the mixture of kudu and ponies that circulated, making small talk and keeping a diplomatic ear open for any indiscreet comments. Despite the heat and the odors in the room, none of the windows were open. Much smaller pudu scurried about underhoof, making sure that drinks were topped off and plates remained full. “Can’t you feel the tension in the air?”

“You mean the way that the Camel Ambassador has been snubbed by the Patriarch?”

“Well, yes, and – “

“And the way that the Griffin Charges d’Affaires has been insulted twice by offering him salad instead of his favorite sizzling weasel on a stick?”

“Er, yes – “

“And the armed guards – in civilian dress, watching the doors?”

“Um – “

“And then there’s Ambassador Gaster.”

“Exactly – er, that is,” and Mulegan looked around. “You’re right. Where is the confounded fellow? He’d better not be transformed. It’s a horrible breach of protocol.”

“The Changelings never take much stock in protocol,” Reintief pointed out. “But I don’t think the Ambassador’s here.”

“Why not?”

“Changelings recharge their mana reserves by consuming love and other positive emotions,” Reintief reminded his superior of the briefings everyone in government had received. He gestured at the diplomatic reception as one attaché gave a rather forced Diplomatic Laugh (9-s). “Any Changeling in here would starve immediately.”

“I suppose you’re right – but that proves my point!” Mulegan cried. “Despite the possibility of starvation, Gaster’s supposed to be here.” He gave a theatrical shudder. “Much as I hate those sticky-hooved Changelings, they’re still one of the Maker’s creatures – no matter how disgusting they might be.” He shuddered again and twitched his formal early-early-evening cape back into line. His ears perked as another atonal trumpet blast echoed through the room. “Blast! What is it now?”

From a side entrance came a female kudu bedecked in even more jewelry than the Patriarch. Her cape was trimmed in silver. The CDE ponies and the kudu in the room all bowed, with the exception of the Patriarch.

The woman strode up to Yimbombollabu and slapped him hard across the face with her right hoof. To the gasps of the ponies she bellowed, “Why you not tell me you having dinner?”

The Patriarch rubbed his face with his hoof. “You were asleep,” he snorted.

“Your Supremacy, who is this impertinent female?” Cross Purposes said indignantly. “What right does she have to intrude on this formal occasion? She looks like a low, common sort with her tatty cape and dreadful costume jewelry.”

Yimbombollabu raised one eyebrow. “She my sister, Itchykitchyku.”

“And her royalty shines out of her like a beacon,” the unicorn said smoothly. “I am pleased to meet you, Madam.”

“Madam! MADAM!? You think I run a joy house in the souks?”

“What, what? Of course not!” he sputtered.

“And why not?” she said, pawing the floor. “I am known for good business sense!” Her hoof struck sparks against the stone tiles, and Reintief noticed a few of the guards in mufti falling back.

“Mr. Mulegan?”

“Yes, Reintief?”

“You may want to come around to this side of the punchbowl.”

The Third Secretary knitted his brow. “Why?”

“As you’re no doubt aware from our briefing, the Kudu cannot do magic.”

“And quite so,” Mulegan said. “The Patriarch’s little, ahem, display earlier was probably a party trick he does to impress.”

Reintief nodded. “So while it may be a simple party trick, you may want to have something between you and the Patriarch’s sister – to avoid getting hit by any flying debris, you understand.”

The earth pony blinked at his subordinate before glancing back at the center of attention. The kudu femme kept pawing the floor, raising scarlet sparks.

Sparks that were starting to fly and circle around her, faster and faster until they resembled a faintly red dome of light.

“Er . . . say! The canapes on that side of the table look quite tasty, Reintief. Move over a bit so I can try a sample.” The larger earth pony obligingly made way for his superior, with both of them keeping at least one eye on things. Mulegan seized a morsel at the end of a toothpick and popped it into his mouth. “I was right,” he said after he had swallowed. “Very tasty.”

The spell increased in brightness until Yimbombollabu’s sister activated it by stamping her hoof.

The dome of light expanded, growing at an appallingly fast rate, causing the Ambassador and his retinue to fall to the floor, hooves over heads, in an effort to avoid the spell. Interestingly, the light passed over them soundlessly, without ruffling a hair on anyone’s mane.

What the spell did do, however, was shatter every window in the place.

“There! That better!” Itchykitchyku said happily amid the tinkling sound of falling glass shards. “Room needed fresh air.”

“Idiot!” the Patriarch bellowed. “Those windows cost money! That coming out of your allowance!”

She gave her brother a gesture with obscure biological implications, stuck out her tongue and blew him a raspberry. “You not boss of me. Tell it to pudu – or to stupid ponies.” She then put her nose in the air and went to one of the buffet tables and proceeded to start piling snacks onto a plate.

“You don’t see that every day,” Reintief remarked, then realized that he was talking to empty air. “Mister Mulegan?”

The only trace of the sallow-coated Third Secretary was the tip of his tail and the silhouette of his hindquarters as it quivered against the overhang of the tablecloth.

Underneath, Mulegan had his forehooves firmly over his head, his teeth chattering like a cheap maraca. He flinched as Reintief eased in beside him under the table, and flinched again when the larger earth pony poked him with a hoof. “Mister Mulegan.”

“Is she gone? Are we dead, Reintief?” Mulegan mumbled. “I always expected to go to Elysium – purity of heart, you know – but I didn’t think you’d be here, Reintief. You like strong drink and the delights of the demi-monde too much.”

“Guilty on all counts,” Reintief said cheerfully. “But I regret to say that we’re not dead.”

“You’re being delusional, Reintief,” the Third Secretary scoffed. “We’re surely dead. You saw that spell the Patriarch’s sister unleashed. I think it happened so fast that we went across the Divide without even knowing it. Once you get used to it, being dead – “ he looked up “ – not all that different, really.”

“Mister Mulegan?”

“Yes, Reintief?”

“It’s said that ponies in Elysium cannot lie and, in fact, are incapable of falsehood.”

“Very true, Reintief.”

“Then believe me when I tell you that we’re not dead.” He paused to peer out from under the tablecloth. “Although we might be shortly.”

“How d’you mean?”

“The pudu we’re currently sharing space with.”

“Wonderfully egalitarian place, Elysium. So long as there aren’t any Changelings.”

“The pudu,” Reintief said patiently, “has a large and rather sharp-looking knife in his hooves.”

“What would someone in Elysium need with a knife?”

“That further buttresses my argument that we’re not in Elysium, Mister Mulegan. I suppose I should ask him.”

“Please do, Reintief. I’ll be right here.” Mulegan hunkered down further, his front hooves more firmly over his eyes.