4. How's Your Backyard Barbecue Going, Fancy Pants
I slept my first night on the Summer Breeze in a cabin near the stern of the ship, lulled off by the whump-whump of the propellers. Instant coffee and half an orange for breakfast. We’d spent last night planning, and we spent the morning drilling our plans. Just before noon, the team met in the command center for the final run-over.
Trixie stood in front of the whiteboard, waving her pointer like a magic wand. “The Cherryblossom Ball will be held tonight at the country manor of Fancy Pants as a sort-of diplomatic-meet-up-slash-moot. Most of Equestria’s demesne-holders will be in attendance, or at least have agents present. They will be making alliances, spying on enemies, and establishing rules of engagement before outright hostilities begin.
“We have three goals. The first, information gathering. We want to monitor every conversation that occurs during the party, and thanks to the work of Tinker and our royal benefactor, we have the magical means to do this. The second, targeted intelligence. Charmer, Caster and I will blend into the party and directly elicit information from guests. The third, sabotage and opportunistic attacks. We will spread disinformation, attempt to disrupt major alliances, and if possible, extract high-value targets.
“We will operate in three teams. Charmer, Caster and I are Martini Team. We will enter the grounds as Charmer’s coterie, and activate magical disguises once inside. Tinker and Soldier are Party Favors Team. They will work from a mobile base outside the premises, coordinating the teams, providing equipment, and staying on-call for emergency escape or extraction of high-value targets. Prowler is Icepick Team. Her role is to create holes in security, distribute surveillance bugs before the guests arrive, and scout for traps.
“The party begins at seven p.m. sharp. We will return to our designated extraction points by nine the following morning. Any questions?”
I stuck a claw up. “Yeah, when you say ‘extract high-value targets,’ you mean alive, right?”
She nodded. “Yes. Assassination is strictly off limits unless expressly ordered by the princess. If we cause any negligent deaths, this operation will be disbanded.”
Lightning Dust chuckled. “What’s the big deal, Gilda, I thought griffons were cold killers?”
“Yeah, ponies do think that,” I said. “Guess what part of town gets firebombed if there’s ever a suspicious pony death. “
“The donkeys, usually.”
“Yeah, well, after them. I might fight and steal, but anybird dumb enough to kill a pony doesn’t last long, especially when the community leaders in Little Pinionsburg are happy to hand over a griffon corpse if it’ll stop them from being run out of town.”
“Regardless,” said Trixie, shutting our tangent down, “there will be no killing, and we will only extract targets if a safe opportunity presents itself. Any more questions? No? Excellent.”
She cast a spell and the whiteboard rippled and shifted with metallic grey blobs, darkening until the entire thing was a black mirror. “Twilight Sparkle, are you there?” asked Trixie.
The black mirror rippled again, and a purple alicorn appeared on the screen. She was in a big crystal room, surrounded by books. “Good morning, Trixie.”
“We are ready to begin,” said Trixie. “We merely await your resources and your go-ahead.”
Twilight beamed. “You have them both. My friends in Canterlot have acquired a sky-wagon to your specifications. There is a valet ticket for it at the Cloutsworth Hotel desk, where I have booked rooms for all of you through a third party. There are additional disguises and equipment waiting in your rooms.”
I looked closer at the room around the princess. She was sitting next to literal piles of books. Like, five-hundred books easy. Maybe more. Trixie must have noticed them too, since she asked, “Are you reading up on ghost stories, Sparkle?”
The Princess’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked at the books around her. “Oh! No, medicine, actually. In a manner of speaking. Oh, and before I forget, my friends at Oxfjord made some modifications to the surveillance bugs. I’ve included one for each of you, follow the instructions and you’ll be able to use them as concealed walkie-talkies. They do tingle, though. Anything else?”
“That will be all, Princess,” said Trixie. The alicorn waved goodbye, and the screen rippled black again. Trixie turned back to look at the assembled team. “Stallions and gentlemares,” she said, “we have our mission. Soldier is coordinating our actions from hereon in, we will take our orders from her until she says otherwise. Good luck.”
* * *
I found my gear in an attache case under the bed in my room at the Cloutsworth Hotel. The case was enchanted with four compartments, two held various disguises and false documents, and the other two held a variety of toys. Coded vials of strange liquids, zip-ties, bypass markers, a jar of wriggling surveillance bugs, and best of all, a set of cracking tools. The tools came with a note that read:
’Caster and Tinker said you might find these useful. I had them made to their specs.’
I took a look and whistled. Best kit I’d seen in a few years. I’d have to hang on to these.
Last, there was the earpiece. It looked kinda like the rest of the surveillance bugs—like a shrimp made from crystals and jelly—but smaller. The guide was simple enough. I held it by the tail, and dangled it into my right ear.
I stopped flopping around on the floor a minute later and got back to my paws. Zephyr, that thing tingled.
“Soldier,” I mumbled, “this is Prowler, can you hear me?”
Lightning Dust spoke words directly into my mind. “Loud and clear, Prowler. Party Favor Team is ready with the Party Wagon. Are you ready to move out?”
“I’m ready. Hey, can I talk to the others through this?”
“‘Fraid not, this model is two-way only. Don’t worry, me and Tinker will keep everypony in the loop. Good luck.”
I changed into gardeners coveralls and left the hotel. The manor was two miles south at the edge of one of Canterlot’s satellite towns. I circled around to the west of the manor and flew up to a cloud for some recon, lying in the cool fluff with the afternoon sun on my back.
The front yard was the size of a hoofball pitch, and I’m pretty sure the back gardens were measured in hectares. I could see the areas cordoned off for the party, an area about as large as the manor itself. I could also see a lot of guards.Two kinds of guards in the manor and in the gardens, a small set of muscular unicorns in floral-print shirts, and a larger force of ponies in dark suits and dark glasses. The former were likely bodyguards for this Fancy Pants dude, and the latter bouncers hired for the party.
That was just on the grounds, though. On the fields outside of the gardens, there were two-dozen barrack-sized tents pitched on the grass, each with a detachment of troops. They all wore subtly different uniforms. Insurance, in case the diplomatic summit wasn’t diplomatic enough.
Getting into the grounds wouldn’t be a problem. There were enough holes in the patrols to sneak in over a hedge, and once I was on the grounds I could pass as a gardener. The first problem was cracking the wards. The two biggies were the magic shield and the dispelling matrix. The shield surrounded the walls of the house and formed a dome over the party area in the garden, and would stop anything unapproved from passing through. The dispelling matrix was set up over the front door. It cast a spell on everypony who walked under it that would nullify any illusions or magical disguises, even if they were applied after they entered the manor.
I slipped onto the grounds and headed for the front of the manor. The suited bouncers didn’t look twice at me, and I stayed out of sight of the bodyguards. I took a thaum-meter out from my cracking tools. The dispelling matrix would have a control center, close to the door. The meter would pick it up.
It led me to the gravel outside a ground-floor study, two windows down from the front door. I peered inside. Two bodyguards lounging back in their chairs, tables around the room covered in crystals and chalk circles, monitoring portals, and a film reel projector. They were both watching a slapstick comedy. Perfect.
I took a thin tube from the cracking kit and aimed at the projector. The tube fizzed under my claws when I pressed the button. Nothing happened for about ten seconds, before the film turned to a mess of grey static.
“The reel’s bust!” cried one of the guards.
“Aw, crabsnacks,” said the other. “C’mon, let’s grab another reel before the party starts. If I have nothing to stare at for six hours but dumb nobles and your dumb face, I’ll go stir-crazy.”
Both guards got up and left the room, locking the door behind them. I cut a hole through the glass of the window, opened it, and climbed inside. This bit requires finesse. You need to have the right kit, and you need to be smarter than the average bird.
See, you can’t just disable the dispelling matrix wholesale, or even just nullify the spell. Even if you fuss with the arcane circles well enough that the guards don’t realise it’s turned off, they only have to do a simple test to discover your meddling: try to cast an illusion spell inside the building. If they’re super-sloppy they might not do that, but if they’re that sloppy, they wouldn’t have a dispelling matrix in the first place.
Instead, you gotta find which ritual circle controls the dispelling matrix, and find which crystal controls the sensors. That crystal picks up a signal from the door frame, tells the matrix that a pony is walking under it, and the matrix then casts the spell. Now, you take a second crystal, one you brought yourself and preferably had a powerful mage prepare for you. This crystal has already been split into several parts, one part for each member of your team. You take one sliver and graft it to the sensor crystal, and this tells the sensor crystal that anything carrying a similar crystal shard is not a pony and should not be treated any differently than say, a gust of wind.
It took longer than I’d wanted, but it seemed to take. I hoped that Trixie and company would have the good sense to test a spell or two to make sure it took before they tried any real magecraft. Adding the exception to the magic shield was simpler. The shield was powered by actual unicorns, but routed through this room so that several could maintain a shield at once. I could have managed it without the crystal seed, but it made my job simpler. By the time the guards returned to the room, I was long gone.
I hid in a bush and changed into my second disguise. This one depended less on my acting skill and more on the Princess’s prep-work. If she’d done what she promised, I’d be fine. Otherwise, I’d be dropped in the cack.
I walked up the steps and rapped on the front door of the mansion. The door opened just enough for a sunglasses-wearing bodyguard to pop his head out.
“Messengers go through the trade entrance, please,” he said. He went to shut the door, but I held it open with a claw.
“Do I look like a damn messenger?” I snapped. “I’m head of security for the Griffon Kingdoms Diplomatic Envoy. Open the damn door before you cause an international incident.”
“Let him in,” came a voice from inside.
The door opened wide enough for me to step through into a decadently decorated antechamber. There were three more bodyguards inside. One looked between me and his clipboard.
“Your name, please?” she asked.
“Grizelda Greywing.”
“Credentials? Just a formality, your name is on the list, but we’ve gotta ask...”
I passed the documents over. She glanced at them, cast a quick-and-dirty scrying spell, and passed them back. “That all seems to be in order,” she said. “You’re authorized to inspect any room in the central manor, the eastern wing, or grounds. You may enter the western wing but only with an escort from the security team here, as this wing is closed off to the guests.”
I thanked her and began the second task. Ducking into a bathroom, I slipped a handful of surveillance bugs, wriggling and crawling, from the jar into my jacket pocket. I dropped one on the floor, where it scurried off into a potted fern and disguised itself in the dirt.
I began my tour of the manor. I pretended to look over my security checklist as I slipped bugs into every room I could access. The ballroom, the kitchens, the stairwells, the grand hall, the banquet hall, the dozen studies and game rooms open to the guests, the guest bedrooms, the hallways, everywhere. There were enough rooms that I had to mark them off on the blueprints that Trixie provided. I had to make a few passes to drop bugs where the bodyguards couldn’t see me. They had some wits about them, unlike the hired bouncers. The maids, cleaners and decorators were easy to deal with. It’s a perk of being a griffon: glare hard enough at a pony, and they’re happy to look literally anywhere but where you’re standing.
I caught a glimpse of the manor’s owner, Fancy Pants, as I dropped bugs under gazebos and on top of buffet tables in the gardens. He looked like a pony who had aged ten years in two weeks. You’d figure somepony with a spread like this would be happier, but no. Ponies, right?
By the time I’d done the third-floor rooms it was dusk, and guests were trickling in. I set up a metal cone in one of the bedrooms looking down onto the gardens, to work as an amplifier for the bug I’d dropped in it. We had near-perfect coverage of the party.
I saw a glint from the western wing.
The windows of the western wing were dark, but I saw something inside on, on the third floor, the counterpart to the room I was standing in. Not a maid or worker—they wouldn’t be working in the dark. I could see Fancy Pants and his partner in the garden. A pet? A family member? I looked at the blueprints. It wasn’t even a bedroom, it was a drawing room. Something was up.
The normal entrances into the western wing all had bouncers posted. I snuck into the attic in the eastern wing and made my way through. Each wing had a separate attic, but they both had skylights. The shield-bubble around the manor meant they hadn’t bothered posting aerial sentries. Sneaking from one wing to the other was just a matter of staying low and not slipping on the tiles.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I got into the third floor hallway. The door to the stairs at either end were locked, and had the key broken off inside. The carpets were scuffed in a way that carpets in a house like this weren’t.
The lock to the drawing room had been plain torn off. I oiled the hinges and slipped inside.
Lying prone on a table, facing the window, was a minotaur. He held a needle-slinger the size of a bass guitar with a bipod and a fancy scope. They were interesting toys. Press the button on the handle, and they’d fire out a crystal dart imbued with whatever magic you fancied. It could put your target to sleep, kill them outright, burst into flames, explode, freeze everything in a meter radius... I’d never seen one outside a weapons demo. Super-experimental, a ‘portable battlemage’ they’d called it. No army in the world could afford to equip more than a clawful of troops with one. I wondered where he’d picked his up.
Fighting minotaurs is simple as long as you remember to avoid the danger zones. Avoid their paws, which can crush your skull like an apple. Avoid their mouth and avoid their horns, which can tear your flesh and impale you, respectively. Avoid their elbows, which can break your sternum with a glancing blow, their knees, which can pulverize you, their shoulders, which can break you against a wall, and their buttocks, which can sit on you. Be sure to avoid their hooves, as a glancing kick against a limb can mortally wound you. Their wounds heal freakishly fast, and pain only excites them.
Okay, so fighting minotaurs is tricky. Luckily, I’d got just the thing. I took a green vial from my kit, and the cloth that came with it.
The minotaur had cut holes in the window for the needles to pass through without giving away his position, so the noises of the party carried up to the room. He was so focused on the scope that I’d have to walk in front of him to be seen. Again, lucky. If the room had been quieter, he’d have found me already.
I jumped onto his back and held the soaked cloth to his face. He grunted in surprise, tried to right himself for a moment, and then grabbed me with a meaty paw to try and haul me off. I felt my bones creak beneath his grip. I pulled my knife with my spare claw, stabbed him below the ribs, and twisted. It wouldn’t do any damage, but he inhaled from the surprise. I felt his grip weaken, and held tight until he was completely limp.
I didn’t have long to work. The sleeping draught wouldn’t last the minute, and I didn’t have enough to keep him under. First, I rolled him onto his front, pulled his arms behind him so that his elbows almost touched, and then pulled his wrists upwards until they touched each other just below his neck. I bound them together with three zip-ties. It almost dislocated his shoulders, but any other way and he could snap free by flexing. I gave him another dose of sleeping draught before I worked on the legs, they were trickier. First, I bound his hooves together. Then, I took a length of twine, tied one end around the bonds on his fetlocks, and tied the other end in a lasso around his unmentionables. If he tried to stretch his legs out or flex them, well... you get the picture.
I focused on the thing inside my ear and said, “Soldier, do you copy?”
”I hear you, Prowler, what’s your status?”
“Both barricades are down and I’ve freed the shrimp. Party Favors Team and Martini Team can move when ready,” I said. “Also, I’ve got a package. It’s a tied-up minotaur assassin, third-floor western wing, the drawing room. Can you make a pick up?”
”...You’re lucky it’s dark. Go to the room across the hallway, I’ll bring the Party Wagon up to the window.”
It took me ten minutes to drag him twenty meters to the next room, reapplying the draught once a minute to stop him from waking up and thrashing around. I hear minotaurs think it’s obscene to grab a bull by his horns, but when you’re drugged and trussed up, a bit of obscenity is probably the last thing you’re worried—okay, actually, it’s probably the first thing you’d be worried about.
Lightning Dust had the sky wagon backed right up to the window. It had ‘Roseluck’s Florists’ printed on the side. She opened the doors, revealing Flam hunched over the thaumaturgic control center inside, and gave an appraising whistle.
“Been big game hunting, huh?”
“I found this chump with a needle slinger that weighs more than I do,” I said, “I think he’d planned some big-game hunting of his own.”
Lightning Dust chuckled, and hopped out into the room. “Is he still out of it?”
“Yeah, but he won’t be for long. Minotaurs don’t stay drugged for long, and I’ve got one dose left.”
“I believe I can be of assistance,” said Flam. He rooted around in a shoebox under his console, and pulled out a funny-shaped crystal. He then placed one end between the minotaur’s lips. The bull suckled it, and relaxed where he’d begun to stir. After taping the gem into his mouth, Flam said, “The Gem of Slumber. He’ll sleep peacefully until such a time as we take it out. It’s got Caster and I out of some sticky situations, I’ll say.”
“It’s a magic pacifier,” I said.
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Lightning Dust took a knife and cut away the minotaur’s barding and webbing. “Let’s see what presents this sucker has for us.”
“Uh, aren’t you guys exposed with your sky wagon sticking out from a third-floor window?” I asked.
Lightning Dust shook her head. “Nah, Tinker’s got it covered.”
Flam smiled smugly. “The wagon has a concealment charm built in, normally it would only last two minutes before dissipating, but with my know-how and your machinations with the manor’s spells earlier, the manor’s shield is actually powering the charm as long as we’re attached to the building. If anypony were to look at us, the most they would see is a minor distortion in the shielding field.”
“Yeah, yeah, give her a sloppy kiss later, look what we’ve got here!” Lightning Dust had spilled the contents of the minotaur’s satchel on the ground and was gleefully rooting through them. He had a pair of fulminating apples, spare needles for the slinger, a knife the size of my leg, half a cigar and a pack of matches, a piece of cardboard with a rough pencil drawing of the garden below on it, with distances marked for all the tables, gazebos and bandstands, and a crumpled booklet.
The booklet was four pages long, and each page had several photographs printed on it. The height, weight and cutie-mark of each subject was scrawled at the bottom of each photo.
“Definitely an assassin,” said Flam.
Lightning Dust’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, none of these guys look like nobles. Hey, I know that mare, she runs an underground fighting ring in Los Pegasus. Bitch tried to have one of my fighters kneecapped!”
I flipped through the pages myself and saw a familiar unicorn. “Somepony hired that dweeb to turn me to stone a few days ago. Starflame or something. He won’t be making it to this party, that’s for sure.”
“Just below him is an old friend of ours from Hoofington,” said Flam. “Well, I say ‘friend...’”
We looked through the booklet and found a few more familiar faces. Ponies in a similar field of work to mine. If you wanted to hire an assassin or kidnapper, this booklet wouldn’t be a bad start.
“This guy ain’t an assassin,” said Lightning Dust, “he’s a counter-skirmisher. Somepony’s getting paranoid.”
“Look at the ones on the back,” said Flam. “These ones are nobles. That’s the Earl of Hayswitch, she’s Rubyhock of Hockton, that one’s Lord Goldbuttle... They’ve all got ‘only on signal’ written on top.”
“He’s kinda an assassin, then. Whatever, let’s get him outta here. Prowler, Tinker, take a leg each, I’ll grab the shoulders...”
We hauled him inside with some effort, stuck him in the passenger seat, and draped a blanket over him. As soon as we finished, Lightning Dust put a hoof to her ear, and tuned her headset.
“Illusionist? Good... Right, I hear you, good, good—right. Good. Okay, good. That’s perfect. I’m sending Prowler down now.” She turned to look at me. “Prowler, open your attache case and grab disguise number four. Our royal benefactor rerouted a griffon diplomat. That’s who you’re impersonating.”
I opened the compartment and looked at the suit and the documents. “Wait, a cravat? A single-breasted blazer? My name’s Gilbert Bundcrest?! This dude’s a dude, how the hay am I supposed to pretend I’m him?”
Lightning Dust shrugged. “Most ponies can’t tell the difference between a mare griffon and a stallion griffon.”
“What—but—I’m obviously, blatantly a molly! Look at the way my crop fluffs up! I have purple crest feathers, for Hoelun’s sake!”
“Just drop your voice an octave and you’ll do fine,” said Flam.
Grumbling, I changed into the suit. It was a nice fit. If I was a tom, I’d have had to splash out half-large easy. At least the Princess knew a good tailor...
“Go down to the garden and meet up with Illusionist. She’ll be standing next to Charmer, and will greet you with ‘hello, old bean.’ Do you remember Ironheart Ironhoof from the briefings?” asked Lightning Dust. I nodded. She continued, “Avoid him, and brush him off if he approaches you. He wants aid from the Griffon Kingdoms, and we think it’s better if he doesn’t get it. Understood?”
“I got it. Anything else?”
“Try not to get shot.”
I left them to pack away and made my way back to the main hall. The party was in full swing now. Hundreds of guests in evening gowns and white tie, sharp-suited lawyers and bankers draining gin with shaky hooves, everypony half-ecstatic, half-terrified.
I saw a few faces from the briefings—hay, I recognised some from the papers—strolling through the halls. Two of the Brackenshin siblings, Rubyhock of Hockton drinking with Dame Periwinkle, Lord Shimmering Path sizing up the paintings on the walls... I got a few respectful nods, and a few glares. Ironhoof wasn’t the only pony expecting the diplomat, by the look of it. It was good to get into the fresh air of the gardens.
The gardens were lit by firefly-lanterns strung between dozens of plum trees. There was a band playing guitar and accordion, instead of the normal string quartet for this kind of shindig. I guess the owner was showing off his eccentricities, or he just had a thing for the ‘charmingly rustic’. Ponies had formed up into nervous mingle-groups. I heard snippets of conversation as I walked through the crowds.
“—have you tried that new cocktail they have for lunch at Buntings?”
“—tastes lovely but it looks like snot, don’t know what Mudge was thinking—”
You could tell the class of the ponies from what they were drinking. The businessponies, the bankers and the lawyers were all getting bombed. The nobles were pretending to be drunk. The servants were pretending to be sober.
“—so you’re shacking up with that Snozzencranzt harlot now, so I hear—”
“—don’t be like that, Stimothy, I don’t relish this demesne business but it’s the best way to keep my lands and my villeins, noblesse oblige and all that—”
“—only teasing, dear, just do watch out for—”
I glanced at the buffet tables and the waiters’ trays. Mostly pony food like grass. I’d kill for a stoatburger right now.
“—what of the announcement from the Royal Palace, to quell the hostilities before they begin?”
“—read between the lines, good chap, it’s obviously the diplomatic way to say that Canterlot will remain neutral, otherwise why—”
I was lost in a sea of ponies who earned more money than me. I recognised a few now, but it was mostly a crowd. I’m not in the noble-spotting business, excepting cases where they walk down dark alleys wearing lots of jewelry.
“—think you’re overstating the nature of the conflicts, for the most part it amounts to ‘capture the flag,’ where our forces will raise our standard atop the capitol hall of the next demesne over. No dirty tricks or blades, just damn big sticks and a lot of tally-ho! It’s in everypony’s best interests to keep the conflicts to a gentlemarely standard, after all.”
“But what if they don’t acquiesce, or try to escalate?”
“Well, then. I suppose that’s when we bring out the knouts and show them up for the prideful foals they are, then!”
I caught a glimpse of Ironhoof. He raised his brow and smiled at me. I raised a glass, but kept walking.
“—best plan the Royal Pony Sisters have had since the new millennium, in my opinions. It’ll stiffen the backbone of this country, right and proper!”
“But what of harmony?”
“Bah, harmony! A wonderful thing, but don’t you see we’ve swung too far? That Tirek blighter ran roughshod over us far too easily, never would have happened in the olden days! Like my nanny always said, if you want cream to have bite, you need to whip it!”
“This conflict is a good thing?”
“It’s bold! It shows vision! Why, look at what Celestia did freeing the spirit of chaos, what spine, what bravery—”
I saw Prince Blueblood through the crowd, undisguised, holding up a very drunk pony in a very expensive suit. I saw Ironhoof break off from his clique, and slipped into a deeper crowd to avoid him.
“—honestly, Percival, it’s no wonder your house has the reputation of a grass-snake if you won’t lead the charge into battle—”
“—pish-posh, the commoners have been suckling the teat of the Noble House of Staines for too long, growing indolent off the fat of the land, it’s about time they buckled up and gave something back—”
I had to go through two different fields of party-goers to shake Ironhoof, but I ended up in the clear, standing next to Prince Blueblood.
“The Crown Prince of Equestria!” I rumbled, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
He offered a hoof, and I shook it. “The pleasure is all mine. Lord Gilbert, I presume?”
“Hello, old bean!” said a white mare with a pink mane. Trixie in disguise. I guessed that the grey unicorn standing next to her was Flim. “How have you fared?”
“Very well,” I replied. “Has our mutual friend kept you all abreast of the recent developments?”
“She has indeed,” she replied. Her horn lit up and cast a subtle spell. “We can talk freely here, anypony who tries to listen to our conversation will overhear somepony else's instead.”
“Right. How’s the mission going?”
Blueblood grinned. “Wonderfully. This place is a goldmine if you know what buttons to push. Speaking of buttons, we have a task for you, Gilbert.”
“Hit me.”
“See the head waiter by the champagne fountain? Go distract him for us. We need his eyes off the toasting tipple.”
“On it.”
I walked over to the waistcoat-clad waiter. He had an insomniac’s eyes, a pencil mustache, and the queasy look of a pony who desperately needs a cigarette. Gross-out time.
“Excuse me, garcon,” I intoned.
He smiled politely. “How may I help you, sir?”
“The food here is all unpalatable to my tastes. Would it be possible to have something made up for me?”
“I believe that is eminently possible, sir, what did you have in mind?”
“I require something with meat. Red, bloody, dripping meat, preferably meat that has been hung for several days in the open air to mature before being tenderized with a flesh-pounding mallet,” I said. I was laying it on thick, but better safe than sorry. “Bloody, stinking, raw meat from an animal that was alive and is now dead. Fish are acceptable, but only ones with claws and carapaces—”
“Ah!” said the waiter, his eyes lighting up. “Good sir, we indeed have such a delicacy in stock. Tiger prawns on the shell, sauteed with garlic and chilies, served with a soybean dipping sauce.” I hadn’t noticed the ruffle of wings under his waistcoat. Pegasus waiter, and a foodie to boot. “I can personally assure you that this dish is of an unparalleled quality. Shall I instruct the kitchens to bring it out?”
“Chilies and garlic, you say?” I saw Trixie from the corner of my eye. surreptitiously tipping a sachet of something-or-other into the champagne fountain. “That sounds delightful.”
“I shall do that for you now, sir,” said the waiter, and then departed. I straightened the lapels on my suit, and returned to the others.
“I take it we’re missing the toast,” I muttered.
“Of course we’re taking the toast, we’re simply taking something else as soon as we’re back at the Summer Breeze,” said Blueblood. “Nothing dangerous, just a small request from our benefactor.”
“Speaking of tasks,” said Trixie, “we have another job for you. You’ll like this one.”
“I’m buzzing with excitement.”
“There’s a pegasus mare under that persimmon tree over there,” she said, nodding in that direction, “Blue mane, white coat. Her name is Rainchaser, and she’s part of Lady Patterprance’s attache. She lived in Condorcorum for some time. Go and flirt with her. We’ll give your next orders via the earbug.”
“I don’t like this job,” I said. “First, I’m a molly—”
“Yes, but are you straight?”
“No, that’s not the point. I’m a molly and she’ll know that because she’s lived in the Griffon Kingdoms, it’s not going to work—”
All three of them rolled their eyes. “Just bluff it,” said Flim, “You’ll manage fine, I’m sure.”
I sighed, poured myself a gin and tonic from the drinks table, and headed over to the pegasus. She was sitting on a stone bench, sipping something colorful. “Can I take a seat?” I asked her.
She looked up at me over her browline glasses and smiled warmly. “Of course.”
I extended a fist. “Gilbert Bundcrest,” I said.
She bumped it with a hoof. “Rainchaser, business consultant for Lady Patterprance. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gilbert.”
I grinned. “I thought you were too sober to be a noble.”
She laughed, and held her drink aloft. “Just carrot juice for me, tonight. I have to keep a head for numbers if my mistress requires me.” She took a sip and sat back in her seat. “So, this little soiree has reached the diplomatic halls of Condorcorum, then?”
“You can say that again. How’d you peg me as talking corps?”
She waggled an eyebrow. “Everypony has heard about the griffon diplomat coming to the party. All sorts of rumors flying about. I’m surprised to see you out in the open, come to think of it. I thought you’d be chomping cigars in some back room with a passel of nobles.”
“Heh,” I scratched the back of my neck, “truth be told, I’m here as eyes in the clouds. All this talk of ‘civil war’ has the Kingdoms on edge. We like having one peaceful neighbor.”
“I can understand why. Good to hear they’ve got a sensible molly on the case, at least. The last thing either of our nations needs is some fool noble dragging you into our conflict.” She drank from her glass, and looked at me nervously. “Celestia, I haven’t made some terrible faux pas calling you a molly, have I? Did you say your name was Gilbert?”
I laughed again. “Don’t worry about it. I go by Gilbert here because ponies confuse me for male. I just roll with it. It saves on endless apologies, and I look damn good in a suit.”
“You cut a rather striking figure, I’ll admit. Where are you from? The Southern Kingdoms, by your accent.”
I nodded. “Grifhala, an eyrie west of Pinionsburg. I don’t know many Equestrians who can tell one griffon accent from another. You been to the Kingdoms?”
“I lived in Condorcorum for a few years doing insurance work—less interesting than it sounds, believe me—and I spent a year travelling. It’s a wonderful place.”
“Everybird’s gotta see the capitol at least once. Were you there for the night of flames?”
“Oh my gosh, that was incredible! Terrifying, but incredible!”
We chatted for a while, reminiscing, joking, flirting. We’d both lived in Cloudsdale at one point, and both dated athletes there. The best lies are the ones that are closest to the truth. I told her about my work as a scout, borrowed a few anecdotes from my family in Griffon Intelligence. We made fun of the nobles. She even made insurance sound interesting.
“Ah, sir, I have your meal!” The waiter had arrived, bearing a dish of sauteed king prawns with a dipping sauce and a moist towel. “Enjoy!”
I glanced nervously at Rainchaser. She was a pegasus, sure, but still a pony...
“Those look delicious,” she said. Oh Zephyr, this one’s a keeper...
“Would you like to try one?”
“I’d love to, but I’ve never had one on the shell before.”
“Here, lemme get it for you.” I twisted off the head with a talon, peeled away the shell, dipped the juicy flesh in the dipping sauce, and presented it to her. She didn't take it in her hoof, or grab it with a napkin. Instead, she leaned down and wrapped her lips around the prawn, looking straight up at me as she did.
As she pulled away, sauce dripped down her chin, and her hoof shot up to catch it. We both tried to keep a straight face. It didn't work. We nearly fell off the bench laughing.
A voice boomed out from the door to the manor house. Fancy Pants, magically amplified, standing on a podium, said, “Stallions and Gentlemares, thank you all for coming to my abode tonight! Once more, we find ourselves living in interesting times!”
There was a rumble of “Hear, hear,” from the crowd, laughter, and the clink of glasses.Waiters sped around like ants from a nest, passing out glasses of champagne to every drinker in attendance.
“Friends, I wish for the safety and success of everypony assembled here tonight. Whatever events the future holds, I pray that we will keep our honor, ennoble the spirit of the aristocracy, and create a stronger Equestria!
“My friends, a toast!” He raised his glass. “To bravery, to mercy, and to glory!”
‘Hip-hip, hooray!’ ran through the crowd, and hundreds of glasses clinked together as all but the few teetotalers drank their champagne.
A voice buzzed in my ear. ”Prowler. In ten seconds, leave Rainchaser and walk to the bandstand, but leave your attache case by the bench.”
I turned to Rainchaser. “Rainchaser, I’m glad I met you. This has been wonderful.”
“It has,” she replied. “It’s not every day I meet a molly as cute as you.”
“I’ve gotta go send my first report of the night,” I said. I placed a claw on her fetlock. “Will I see you again?”
She smiled. “I’m sure of it.”
I got up and strolled towards the bandstand. Through the crowd, my eyes locked with Ironhoof. He drained the rest of his champagne and started towards me.
“Gilbert!”
Rainchaser ran up to me, holding the attache case under a wing. “You left this,” she said.
“Zephyr! Thank you, thank you so much,” I said. I pulled an envelope from my suit pocket with my room key inside. As she passed me the case, I passed her the envelope. “Meet me in the bar at the Cloutsworth Hotel, after the party.”
She blushed. “I will,” she said, and walked away.
I turned just in time for Ironheart Ironhoof to stride up to me, his bodyguard in tow, both of their buzz-cuts vibrating with rage. I could see the veins bulge in his eyelids.
“You honorless cur!” he barked. “We had an agreement!”
I tapped the attache case. “Somepony made a better offer.”
He walked up an inch from my face. “You think you’ll get a chance to spend that money?”
He was starting to get on my nerves. “Get out of my face before I tear you to shreds.”
I couldn’t tell if he laughed or grunted. “Go ahead and try. My bodyguard will beat you to pulp if I don’t first.”
“Cute. You think you’re the only one here with a bodyguard?” On cue, Flim walked past Ironhoof’s bodyguard and bumped his rump.
“You promised me information.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I paid for this information. You have five seconds to give it to me, or you will be dead before you hit the ground.” His eye flickered upwards just a hint, and I knew he was looking at a certain third-floor window.
I shoved him. He yelled out in surprise, and he and his bodyguard both lit their horns. “Thought I’d get bull-rushed, huh? Maybe your friends aren’t as friendly as you think.”
Before they could say a word, we were swarmed by bouncers. Three ponies swarmed each of us, surrounding and glaring.
“Calm down,” ordered one. “This is a peaceful meeting. If you can’t stay peaceful, leave.”
I apologised, and ignored Ironhoof’s glares as I walked away.
The voice buzzed in my ear again. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”
I downed the rest of my gin and tonic walked out of the garden. We would all leave separately, and meet in the lobby of the hotel tomorrow morning. I saw Flim go first. Blueblood would stay until late, for appearances sake. After I saw Trixie leave, I went to the bathroom, stuffed my attache case with cream puffs from a dessert table, and strolled out.
A few hundred yards down the road I saw three ponies yelling. Two muscular unicorns, shouting at a third mare, a pegasus. Damn it, it was Rainchaser, Ironhoof, and Ironhoof’s goon.
“—if that dippy jenny Patterprance thinks she can steal from me—”
“—you’re mad, I have no idea what you’re talking aahh!” Ironhoof slapped her across the face.
“Get your stinking hooves off that mare,” I said.
He turned. “You.”
“Yeah. Me. Back off, pal, before I start an international incident on your face.”
He chuckled darkly. “Oh, I think not. You and Miss Rainchaser are going to accompany Mister Greyface and I back to my lodgings, where we will ask some very pointed questions. You will do this before I lose what’s left of my patience.” His horn and his bodyguard’s horn lit up. I steeled myself for a fight.
A dark bolt hit the bodyguard from the side. He toppled to the ground, his spell fizzling. As soon as Ironhoof looked, I leapt. I slammed my fist straight into his chin.
I’ll give him credit, he took the punch pretty well. His legs wobbled and his spell failed but he didn’t crumple. He reared up and swung for my face. It glanced off my shoulder, so I grabbed his hind legs and tackled him to the ground. I punched him twice more for good measure, then got up.
Ironhoof and the bodyguard got shakily to their hooves. “Back the hay off,” I said. “I have diplomatic protection. You hurt me, and you’ll have every Griffon Intelligence armed team in this hemisphere so far up your backside you’ll be coughing up feathers.”
From the corner of my eye I could see Trixie, standing at the side of the road in the dark. When I blinked, she was gone. The two stallions swore, and then stumbled away.
I turned to Rainchaser. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She swallowed. “Celestia, I knew things were going to get a little crazy, but I thought it would take more than a day.”
“That’s Equestria for ya,” I said. “Wanna come get a drink at the Cloutsworth?”
“I’d love to.”
We flew off together, the sounds of the party growing weaker in the distance.
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Things are getting very interesting very quickly. Looking forward to the next chapter!
Ooh, don't let the pretty feathers block out your mission, Gild.
Even if they're an adorable omnivore. :D I wonder what this will spell for their mission. And what of the champagne toast? A poison? Or perhaps a neurotoxin designed to amplify the fight sense in ponies? Reminds me of Kingsman.
Missing a space in there.
Between Fading World and this, I think you're starting to become my favorite writer on the site.
Even if I don't know shit about that crossover >.>
Hah, that was quite interesting :D.
I have to ask, does this story have any bearing on the plot of the "Demesne"?
I'm loving the ship if it becomes one. I also love how you do Gilda it's just refreshing from how people normally do her attitude.
Of course the nobility sees this as a game.
Those few who might lead from the front will soon change their tune, but how many of them are there?
In any case, definitely looking forward to see the ripples of this night. I get the feeling that quite a lot happened elsewhere, and will happen in the near future.
Okay, Gilda and Rainchaser are too cute. And I love the idea of a "pre-war wine and cheese". It's pretty much what me and my friends do every time we gather to play Risk.
I dunno why, but I thought Ironhoof was a minotaur for a bit there. Probably had to do with the assassin.
Ah, I'm glad to see this is still a going concern. Between this and Fading World, you've got a nice thing going, Chuck.
5678759
Iron Will's similar name might have something to do with it too.
5677656
That story can impact this one, but an effort is being made to not impact the original.
One potential issue: Demesne apparently occurs before Tirek makes his move.
Not really important to enjoying the story, but my inner pendant makes me need to raise the issue.
5677656
Word Of God, here - This story is startlingly accurately portraying the nobility in Demesne in the very near future, if Twilight cared to look into the situation further. Which is a big if: The perils of a neurotic and naive unreliable narrator.
What Chuck has taken is an outline of The Near Future and made Twilight less naive: Something that's great for a comedy, which is what I'm trying to write, but not for something like this. Again, something I find interesting is that both are completely in-character interpretations of the same pony, even with such a wildly different tone. It's just a few tiny alterations... well.
My Twilight will be focusing on Ponyville for a while, though, which is why this story is so absolutely, stunningly wonderful for me to read. One of many reasons, but certainly the most prominent.
It's exploring the headcanon that I have, and Chuck has masterfully expanded upon, that the vanilla story itself isn't 'allowed' to - for various reasons - to expand upon - either yet, or at all for tonal reasons. And it's doing so in a way that I feel Chuck does better justice to, because of his areas of expertise, than I myself could.
Anyway. That's my answer as I see it: This story is inspired by Demesne, rather than the other way around, but that doesn't mean I don't have the utmost respect for what the author's doing with it, and it does approach the same 'canon' from a direction I wouldn't otherwise be allowed to take it.
We get to see the team in action, and it's really quite a bit of fun! As mentioned, it was well-blended into the show's style so as not to feel out-of-place in magical, pre-electronic Equestria... (In fact, it was done better than the show itself, which doesn't alway take care to do so when they just randomly drop tech in.). The team works well together, at least in this initial outing, with surprisingly little friction when it comes time to get down to business.
Plus, "Gilbert" scored herself a date... Not too shabby a night. Provided that she's not a counter-agent of some sort...
Dang, minotaurs are a force to be reckoned with.
Hmn, I wonder what they just dosed a fair portion of the nobility with. Since this is Twilight's operation I doubt it's anything too nasty, though I have to wonder how ruthless she might be when it comes to preventing civil war and the mass death and suffering that would result. Targeted tracking for whoever drinks in the champagne additive? Poison pills that Twilight can invoke as needed depending on who turns out to be a problem later on? Since the overall goal is to stall for time in order to let Celestia do her thing, it could be something to assist with that directly, though I'm not sure what could fit that particular bill.
Ironhoof is not the subtlest of the players in this game. I can't quite decide if he's going to fall pretty quickly on account of being so ham-fisted, or if he'll be one of the major antagonists later on.
Also, I'm conflicted on whether Rainchaser is a random innocent or a part of the game, but I'm leaning towards the latter. That business with the attache case smells like it was part of the operation, especially since nobody on the team freaked out when she ran it back to Gilda.
Another excellent chapter!
Nice to see things working out for the team, though for a moment there I wondered if they had accidentally removed Fancy Pants' personal insurance minotaur, in case of serious trouble at the party. (I liked Gilda's comment about him looking like he's aged a lot recently. Fancy would be one of the ponies all too aware of the dangers, here, and working himself ragged trying to keep things under control.)
The description of the surveillance bugs made me laugh, by the way. Excellent, squirmy little bit of magitech!
I'm not sure whether to laugh at the thought of Twilight having to warn these jerks against killing or dread the thought of the situation escalating to the point where Twilight might deem a kill order necessary.
I get minotaurs being strong, but since when do they have a healing factor?
OPI do wonder how far in the Near Future this is, considering the last chapter of Demesne stated that Fancy's territory had already been absorbed.
5685523
It's his country home. He doesn't own the land its on, but he still has a lease to the property. Essentially, he's been delegated to an errand boy: he's powerless, so he provides the neutral ground and in exchange, his betters won't kick him off his land.
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There's a clue about the poison early in the chapter. It's in the books that Twilight was reading...
5680718
I certainly agree. I love the idea of bugging a site with little, scuttling cockroach "bugs". (I was hoping for some Snapperdoodles for a backup, emergency diversion escape plan though...)
The Ear Shrimp radio sets have a delicious sort of Douglas Adams Babel fish vibe to them. I was half expecting Gilda to ask "Will it hurt?" only to have Twilight answer "Oh no! The Ear Shrimp will not be affected by the insertion process and will experience no pain or discomfort what so ever. It will only hurt you a little... At first... What follows, more so!"
I didn't realize how awesome your writing was until I read Luna, Princess of Space, Chuck. It's all tightly written and dense with details that are all used from one moment to the next.
I've only gotten to the First Interlude as yet, but so far I especially love what you did with Gilda. It reminds me of a bit of Mike McQuay's Mathew Swain novel, Hot Time in Old Town (I haven't read it in years, and I could be off, but I remember it being fun in the same way). I'm really looking forward to reading the rest, and seeing the complete story.
As fun as Fading World is, sometimes you just need some cloacas-to-the-wall superspy action. Glad to see this updating again.
Rainchaser is clearly intelligence of some sort, but given that Gilda's team hasn't put the brakes on anything, I'm looking forward to seeing what sparks they light together.
This. Is. Glorious.
The band of misfits on a mission from (an apprentice) God.
All perfectly in character considering the setting... especially Gilda is all kinds of perfect. I also really like your Twilight, somewhat matured but still her nervous and slightly naive self; but one that has begun to fit into her new role and is beginning to show the steely resolve she displays in the show when faced with real danger.
Also.. the world building. Bravo.
Very interesting
I do agree with many that Rainchaser and Gilda can make a good couple but this is an action/intrigue story so I feel that ship might be short lived but nice. 
I WANT MOAR SOON! 
If that is alright with you 
I'm loving this. It's tickling my nostalgia by reminding me of all the antagonists-take-the-place-of-the-Elements stories from 2011, but wrapped up in a great spy-thriller instead of adventure-fantasy. And I think a more solidly-grounded setting and characters that all pop right off the page.
I discovered this quite some time ago but only now have reached the working face (things kept coming up). Splendid story you have here.
I do find myself wondering, though, what Cloudsdale might be up to, though. The airborne, probably reconfigurable, possibly mobile city occupied more or less exclusively by the pony tribe with by far the strongest martial tradition of the three, the city that contains Equestria's at least primary weather factory... It seems to me like this might be a potential city-state rather interested in the coming power grab.
5809708
Cloudsdale is a different bag of snakes, as it's a republic in and of itself, but part of Equestria's sovereign state, much like Wales is to the United Kingdom. As of such it contains no demesnes and is not ruled by nobles. However, there are pegasus nobles, as well as pegasus nobles who live in Cloudsdale and have their own power structures within the city. So while the nation-state of Cloudsdale itself will not be an actor, it contains a powerful staging ground for several different factions who may well be.
5809897
Ah, thanks.
Chuck, thanks again for writing such magic!
5679683 You mean pedant? (Now I'm being a pedant!
)
somehow, despite the topic being something as unrelatable as a spy-noble dinner party, I actually care about this chapter more than any of the others. It just kind of felt like this one had more relevance. Like, the rest were disjointed stories about things bigger than the characters, but this one was foreshadowed and kind of personal. I hope this thread of relevance continues, though replacing it would be second best.
Finally set aside some time to read through Demesne and this. Credit where it's due to MrNumbers for the fine read, but I find myself enjoying this story a good deal more. It may well be the pacing, if nothing else—this is over three times shorter and yet so much more has happened, and no scene seemed to drag on overmuch. And it's edited much more thoroughly, to boot.
Definitely looking forward to more.
5685772
Also, since nobody else seems to be making smart aleck guesses, I think I want to step in with one… I take it from Trixie's "ghost stories" comment that Twilight was reading Supernaturals ("Super Naturals"? Whichever) and so the poison is probably powdered Poison Joke, or something.
5949905
I think a lot of the difference between TQE and DRTS is just genre, rather than quality. Demesne is a first-person comedy-romance taking place inside the mind of a fairly neurotic mare as she tries to run a state. Being comedy, it has a lot more room for digressions, jokes, tangents, slower pacing and the like to make the relationship and suchlike work. Quiet Equestrian is a spy thriller written from the POV of a loutish thief, and it wouldn't really function as a story with slower pacing.
Plus, I know from experience that comedy is hard as hell to edit. It's very difficult to work out which bits of a comedy fic you should cut. Jokes seem less funny after you've written them, and trying to tell where a joke just isn't good enough and needs cutting, and where your mind is playing tricks on you, and also balancing that with the need to get the plot moving along without the comic pacing going down the tube is a very difficult balancing act.
Thrillers are comparitively easier to write. That's why every airport bookshelf is stuffed with them.
And DING DING DING GOT IT IN ONE about Super Naturals.
5950420
I get what you're saying, and I do agree on the whole—and again, I did enjoy Demesne a good deal—but I would still say that the digressions and such there were a level above what you tend to see even in a slower genre. Jokes would get stretched to the point that they aren't jokes anymore, and that's funny in itself, but then scenes would still keep going—the wit would be there, no doubt, but I'm sitting there thinking something along the lines of, "Why are they still talking about this?" Though, in the fic's defense, I think its very first scene might have been where this hit me the hardest, and it might've colored my impression of the later stuff. And blah blah comedy is subjective and just might not've worked in all cases for me specifically, yes.
All that's not so much a statement of the story's overall quality, of course. Just part of the reason I'm having a smoother time here, comparatively.
Also, in regards to the editing, I was more speaking in the technical sense. Demesne has an lot of hard errors, especially in terms of things like its dialogue punctuation.
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Something can't be anachronistic unless you compare it to something else. And since, afaik, Equestria has never had our level of technology, it can't be anachronistic. Frankly if it's the highest tech there is at the time, then past tech isn't really relevant either.
So I take it this is one Hiatus until Mr. Numbers is fully recovered and updates a chapter of the Demense?
6235179
Actually, no. It's on hiatus until I get a bunch of realfic written :D
6233783
The word itself doesn't matter, it's the implied apples to oranges comparison.
6240465
I don't what stick you have up whatever, but my objecting to a unfair comparison like implying that there is something wrong with setting pony stories in a world without our modern conveniences is not harassment. For the record I wasn't trying to 'win' anything.
6235973
Then the new chapter is double grounds for celebration! Chuckfinley realfic and Quiet Equestrian updating again!
Anypony else having flashbacks to that thing from the first Matrix?
It was the flopping that made me think of it.
5682237
My own bet would be that the addition would only guarantee a serious and lingering hangover the next morning. There are far too many ways with any more exotic symptoms to, if not get caught as being the ones to drug the fountain, get the fountain known as drugged after the fact. Further, the team still doesn't have enough definite information to have planned conflict ready to start yet, and it's certainly too early to actually start setting up Fancy Pants as a sacrifice.
Slowing down the immediate political consequences of the party is a reasonable amount of gain for this gambit. But just as assassination is probably the stupidest method for preventing war around (I'm aware of how rational it seems to be, but historically the technique seems to mostly be a case study in the concept of unanticipated results), blackmail is even sketchier. As fun as it is to write about a group of completely cowed antagonists doing as they're bidden, or dramatically dying in a pointless act of defiance, there's probably a third way for things to go down you never thought of and trying to poison the war away is just begging to find out how outside context that third way will turn out to be.