MLP: King's Game

by AlexanderAkai

Chapter 1: Concerning Pawns

Chapter 1: Concerning Pawns
“... the Pawns: They are the very Life of this Game.”
- Princess Lace Curtain, former Duchess of Manechester.

Breaking over the mountains of eastern Canterlot, the dawn that every pony in Equestria had waited for streaked out over the land, painting the hills and fields in vibrant gold and orange hues. The light danced through the supple green trees, splashing westward lines of black ink in the grand portrait of this summer morning. Dancing on the subtle breeze, the light sunk into every crevice of Equestria, from the wildest of forests to the most gilded seats of civilization. Heading ever further to the west, the mighty sun soon came to bathe charming hamlet of Ponyville in its dazzling warm light. It was the start of what seemed to be a gentle, sleepy morning.

On the contrary however, Ponyville had been wide awake all night, as it has always been for the Summer Sun Festival. The residents, much like their neighbors of the capital, were still fiercely partying themselves slowly towards exhaustion. Music boomed from town hall, where most of population had stuffed themselves; most of which were still engaged in dancing and drinking. Occasionally, one or two ponies would stumble out of its main doors an into the dirt streets, drunk off of various liqueurs. Many opted to stay where they collapsed, letting the balmy rays above drift invisible blankets over them, urging them to much needed sleep. Apart from them, there were also a select few couples that had exited town hall so as to watch the sunrise of the year’s longest day with their special somepony. Together, couples would sit, crooning their necks around one another and nuzzling the faces of their own specific beloved in the splendor of the early day.

At the entrance of town hall stood a cream colored earth pony that was caressing a turquoise colored unicorn, the latter of which sat in an odd position. Both were uttering sweet nothings to one another and leaned in to kiss one another. Their tender moment was ruined however when three little fillies pushed past them, each looking with a disheartened expression on their young faces. The couple themselves was clearly vexed by this interruption, but the fillies paid them no mind. For what was one couple’s ire compared to finding one’s destiny? Yes, the Cutie Mark Crusaders had once again had a fruitless search for their chosen talents and were feeling shades of fatigue and desperation wash over them.

As they walked away from the center of festivities together, the red headed Apple Bloom was the first to speak up in her usual twang, “Shoot girls, we stayed up all night trying ta find our cutie marks and we ain’t got nothin’ to show for it.”

Her friends, Sweetie Belle the unicorn and Scootaloo the pegasus didn’t need to be reminded of their most recent failures. Gazing off to the sight of the rising sun, Scootaloo lightly fluttered her wings before adding, “You’d think that we’d have a better chance,” sighed the orange colored filly, “Especially since today is the Summer Sun Festival. Doesn’t that mean we all get free stuff from the Empress or somethin’?”

This forced an incredulous look from Apple Bloom. “How can ya honestly believe that?” Sweetie Belle shook her head, opting to stay out of the impending argument. Apple Bloom halted and rose her hoof to her chest, as though she herself held the topic. “The Summer Sun Festival is about the longest day of the year. Not about getting favors from the Empire.”

Scootaloo naturally took the honey colored earth pony’s comment as an attack on her intelligence. “I already knew that, professor!” she added in a condescending tone, her little wings flaring up defensively. “But Celestia’s been raising the sun forever; if this day is so special, why doesn’t she give something back to us?”

“She does give something to us, an’ it’s called day.” Retorted the Apple Bloom, not willing to back down from her friend’s challenge. “Don’t blame the Empress just because you can’t sing.”

“GIRLS!” weakly shouted Sweetie Belle, “It’s not worth it; it’s just another failed mission. Somethin’ we’re all used to by now.”

“But she said--” sounded both Apple Bloom and Scootaloo in unison, looking to Apple Bloom to aid them in their respective arguments.

But the pale coated unicorn would have none of it, “We’ll just try again later, like we always do.” She said definitively, walking off in the direction of her home, “It’s not worth fighting over. Y’all go home an’ get some sleep.”
The two remaining fillies watched Sweetie Belle leave, each feeling defeated and annoyed by their situation. Both shot the other one an angered look before parting ways without so much as word.

As she trotted down the lonely path to her sister’s Carousel Boutique, Sweetie Belle couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty over not stopping Apple Bloom and Scootaloo from arguing earlier. Even if Apple Bloom had been correct, she shouldn’t have been mean. Sweetie mentally swore to herself that she’d play peacemaker to her friends the next time she saw them. Whenever that would be.

For far from the separating fillies, over the outskirts of Ponyville, soared a coming change.

♙--------------------------♙

Through the morning clouds, came two pegasi flying nearly parallel to one another. Pulled behind them flew an apparatus that resembled a wagon with various fins and wings attached to it. The gliding storage device was firmly attached to the pair’s hind legs. The secured tarp that covered it’s rear flittered and flapped in the breeze.

The faster flyer of the two pegasi was a lean and youthful stallion, with a coat of a darkened mustard tint. His swept back sepia colored mane and messy tail steadily waved to and fro, in an almost uniform pattern with the flapping of his healthy wings. Freckles dotted his nose, attempting to draw attention from his eyes of deepest sapphire. He wore a belted leather harness around his body, on it swayed a holster that snugly held a baseball bat inside its confines. His cutie mark was that of a baseball bat with exaggerated hit lines surrounding it.

To his right, flew a contrasting pegasus. He was heavier-set and tired looking stallion who possessed a coat of olive. And unlike his younger partner, this stallion wore a bit of clothing on him; sporting a grey pin-stripe vest and a grey flat cap with an incredibly shortened Mohawk of umbra brown hair running down from under it. Matching a neatly trimmed tail that was tied off at the base that was style to resemble a short broom. He also bore freckles, but his sat on his cheeks and complimented his forest green eyes. His particular cutie mark was a mortar and pestle combination.

The younger of the two nudged the older with his hoof, and gestured to Sweet Apple Acres as they flew over it. But as he started to drift towards the orchard, the elder seized his wing with his mouth and pulled him back on course. This drew a confused look from the young pegasus, to which the elder responded to by mouthing the words “Not now.” He then proceeded to point in the direction of the Ponyville’s boutique, specifically pointing out an area behind the tents to the rear of the shop. The younger shrugged and turned in rough unison with the elder, preparing to land near the designated area.
After coming to a slow and quiet landing, the two proceeded to untie themselves from the glider-cart. The elder undid his left leg tether first and proceeded to bring his hoof smacking into the younger pegasi’s head. “Sure boyo, why don’t we just stop for apples, cause that’s what we’re being paid for right?” asked the elder through his brogue.

The younger one cringed at the hit and swatted outward with the wing nearest his attacker. “Oi! Let me be!” he said through a light brogue of his own. “The only reason we ever come to this piss-water town is for the apples. So why are we here Speak Easy? What are we being paid for?” questioned the younger of the two, rubbing his head and shaking free the untied tether from his right leg.

Speak Easy lazily flapped his olive colored wings twice before he tucked them into his sides, “Oh isn’t this just like me brother to forget why we’re here.” He said to himself, sucking at his teeth. “The King wants us to acquire leverage for a deal he plans to make. Then transport said leverage back to Canterlot and keep it safe until whatever the deal he’s aiming to carry out is finalized.”

Speak could see that his brother didn’t entirely follow his meaning. He gestured over to his sibling to help push their cart out of sight. As they both placed their forelegs on the cart Speak Easy continued, “Bootleg, we’re here to capture and transport a pony of interest. It’ll be the easiest five thousand bits we’ve ever made. Got it now?”

Bootleg looked over to his elder brother and nodded to him. “Sure, but who are we after?” A valid question, one that Speak Easy would answer after they shoved the cart behind fully behind a pink checkered tent. Speak then flipped the rear tarp over on itself, revealing a small dossier. Bootleg took this as his answer and reached up and turned the cover page open with his mouth.

After reading through the details, he turned to Speak Easy who had pulled a lighter and a homemade cigarette from his vest pocket and was holding them aloft with his wings. “The King is going after the element holders? Isn’t that some kinda jinx? Bad karma and stuff like that?”

Lighting his cigarette and placing the lighter back into his vest, Speak Easy chuckled at his brother’s question, “And tell me Bootleg, ya really think after all the shite we’ve done, karma’s gonna give a damn about us taking one little filly away from all she knows?” He paused, taking time to exhale smoke through his nose. He looked over at the boutique, and took another breath of his cigarette. “Daylight’s a burnin’ boyo, we best do what we came for.”

The brothers nodded to one another and circled around the tents, surveying the area so as to make sure no one else is around. A thought crossed Bootleg’s mind and he answered with a laugh of his own, “Arson, Larceny, Assault, Embezzlement, Extortion, Vandalism, Tax Evasion, Bribery, Sale and Possession of Illegal Wares and Public Indecency. Guess we’ll have to add foalnapping to the list, eh me brother?”

“Right you are, Bootleg.” Yawned Speak Easy, looking off towards the sun. “Well, no one’s around. Ya think it’ll be more fun to play this straight, or to put on a ruse?” Bootleg seemed taken aback by the question and promptly answered with hesitation, “I dunno.” This was a response Speak heard all too often from his younger brother. “Well praise Faust above that at least one of us was born with da ability of decision-makin’.”

At this Bootleg rolled his eyes and watched as Speak Easy trotted around the corner of the tent and began heading for the jewel encrusted door of the boutique. “It’s a damn shame, really, we shoulda brought some tools to get these nice beauties out with.” Commented Speak half-heartedly, spitting his cigarette out onto the pathway and crushing it beneath a hoof.

He then turned to his younger brother, now taking care to speak softly “Ready your harness and go get the cart.” His right wing stretched out and reached into his vest pocket again, this time retrieving a small letter envelope; this was followed shortly by his left wing pressing at the doorbell.

He put on his best smile, and waited for the door.

When the jingle of the doorbell came, Sweetie Belle had already climbed into Rarity’s bed and was drifting off to sleep. Her head popped up from the pillows quickly, but was still feeling extremely tired. Sweetie moved to rise from the bed, but the comforting softness of the pillows demanded that she stay, and soon her head fell back to the bed like a brick.

Unfortunately for Sweetie Belle, the doorbell soon demanded that she rise in a new form. As ring after ring came, Rarity’s white Persian cat, Opalescence, who had been dropped off the day before by Fluttershy came mewing and hissing onto the bed. Opal was not a patient cat, especially not when Sweetie was involved. The sound from below had obviously annoyed the fluffy white cat, and so she came to annoy Sweetie Belle until she solved the first annoyance. Slowly, Sweetie’s head rose from the pillows of Rarity’s bed, and shot an angered glare at the demanding cat. Before long, another ring came, eliciting another hiss from Opal.

Sweetie heaved and heavy sigh and removed her tired self from the bed, stumbling a bit as she did so. “Alright, alright I’m going!” she slurred to her sister’s cat. As she traipsed down the boutique stairs she cursed her bad luck, “Dumb Doorbell…Dumb Opal…” She uttered under her breathe, approaching the door.

Maybe it was Rarity, back early from her trip to Canterlot with the rest of her friends, and maybe she forgot to bring her key with her. Such a thought had crossed her mind, but based on what little Rarity had told her about her trip, she shouldn’t have come back until the following day. In the back of her mind, she hoped it was Rarity, she hated being alone.

She wiped her tired left eye with her right hoof as her horned sparked a weak blue hue. The blue aura slowly wrapped around the lock of the front door; but before she could command it to be turned, her magic hesitated. She wasn’t sure why, but it suddenly became difficult to command her magic. Why was her horn acting this way? Was it the door? Was it what was behind it? True, she felt something was off about a visitor so early in the morning. But it wasn’t just that, it was something more. She didn’t have words to describe it, and did not possess the wisdom to discern what it truly meant. All she knew, was that her own magic was arguing against her will. And maybe it was right, maybe her horn was right. Her gut told her not to open it, her magic told her not to open it; could her destiny be telling her the same?

As these thoughts rushed through her young mind, her pride took hold of her. She was a Cutie Mark Crusader, unafraid of anything. She couldn’t let anything stop her, ever. That is what her pride told her; whilst the curiosity of the moment screamed at her to open the door and discover why she had to be so rudely awoken from potential sleep. Scootaloo would open the door. Apple Bloom would open the door. So why couldn’t she?

“Dumb horn!” And in that moment, her own will was forced against that of her magic. Her sparks of blue turned the lock, gripped the door, and pulled it open.

Light flooded through the doorway, but Sweetie was enveloped in a shadow. An unfamiliar shadow. Before her stood a pegasus she didn’t recognize. He held a letter with a wing she didn’t recognize. On his head, sat a hat she didn’t recognize. And on his face, sat a smile she did not recognize.

“Sweetie Belle?” asked the stranger in a strange accent. His breathe flowed forward with his words, and slithered to both her nostrils and ears. He smelled bad, like smoke. Sweetie wanted to cover her nose, but felt it would be rude.

“Yes, but who are you?” Sweetie answered his question with a question. She had never seen this stallion before, he was not a part of Cloudsdale’s weather team with Scootaloo’s idol, Rainbow Dash. Nor was he a resident of Ponyville.

“The name’s R.E. Liable, of the Imperial Mail Expressway,” lied Speak Easy. “I have a letter here from your sister Rarity.” He said with a smile, holding out the letter in his wing to her.

This stallion was from the capital, that would explain the smell. Sweetie had heard that grown up ponies smoked in the capital as some sort of fun. But no pony in Ponyville smoked, so she had no one to ask how fun it really was.

Sweetie Belle’s horn sparked up again and took the letter from the supposed mail pony and his wings returned to his sides. She gave it a look, all it read on the envelop besides the address were the words “For Sweetie Belle”, and it was done in a fancy looking cursive writing. It sure looked like Rarity’s writing.

She looked up at Speak Easy, and asked “Why would my sister send me a letter? And why so early?”

“I was told to give it only to you, your sister was very clear that the message was urgent, and for your eyes only. If I had to guess, it might have something to do with her stay in the capital” Speak Easy replied without breaking his charming smile.
News from Rarity? Was she staying longer? Was she coming home early? She’d have to read it to find out. “Thank you Mr. Liable” stated Sweetie Belle, in the most polite tone she could come up with in her tired state. She bowed her head and went to retreat back into the house.

But before she could, the stallion spoke up again, “Such a nice little filly. I hope the news is good.” He paused, reaching into the opposite pocket that had held the letter, and from it produced a decent sized caramel candy. Speak held it out to the young pony, “How about a sweetie for you, Sweetie. For being such a helpful sister.”

This caused Sweetie to fully turn around to face Speak Easy. She always did enjoy a nice caramel, but she remembered the lesson that was taught to all fillies and colts: Never accept candy from strangers, no matter how nice they are. “No thanks Mr. Box. It was nice of you to offer.” Speak Easy responded with a shrug and popped the caramel into his own mouth as Sweetie quickly retreated back into the house, and closed the door.

And with that, he sat and smiled to himself. Sat and waited.

Sweetie Belle sat on the floor with her back to the door, having not yet locked it whilst holding the letter from the stranger. This is what she woke up for? A letter from Rarity that was delivered by some smelly stallion? Fatigue and frustration had built up in Sweetie and she wanted nothing more than to read this letter and be off to bed. “It’s probably some sort of atrocious fashion emergency” uttered Sweetie in a voice of mock importance.

She strained for a second, and willed magic to spark from her horn again. The Blue aura holding the letter brought it hovering down in front of Sweetie’s face, it then moved its grip under the seal, and with forceful jerk opened the letter.

When she did though, the young unicorn found not a letter inside the envelope. Instead, when she opened it, outward flew what appeared to be grains of dust or dirt but it smelled faintly of cake. The unknown substance scattered over Sweetie’s face and the surrounding floor around her, scaring the little filly so much that she jumped backwards into the door. The impact reflected back into her body and threw her to the floor.

Sweetie had given the smallest of screams when the substance flew forth from the letter, but gathered her wits when she saw the dust had brought no harm to her. Without moving from her floored position, she looked at the brown substance and sniffed at it. Sweet, it smelled sweet. Almost like vanilla pudding. That was all.

That is what she had been disturbed for? So that Rarity could send a sample of some sugar powder back from the capital!? It couldn’t have waited until she got back from her trip? She kicked up the powdered dust with a stomp of her hooves. She could feel her throat tightening from frustration alone. She stomped the dust again and groaned in annoyance before turning towards the stairs.

But when she groaned, no sound left her mouth. Sweetie paused, and mouthed a “huh?” but again, no sound came out of her tightening throat.

She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t yell. And soon found that she couldn’t breathe. To Sweetie Belle’s horror, she felt her throat beginning to fully swell closed, cutting off her body to all air. She didn’t know what this stuff was, but she was genuinely scared of whatever this foul poison was. She felt like she was being strangled and instinctly reached her hooves up to her throat, but there were no offending appendages to throw off. She attempted to cough, but to no avail. Her airway was shut.

But her throat wasn’t the only sense affected by the poison; Sweetie soon felt her eyes burning and heard her ears began to ring. The feeling in her nostrils dulled and found her nose could no longer smell anything, good or bad.

She panicked and ran towards the kitchen, but her teary eyes betrayed her and she collided with a dresser. Effectively blinded, she wildly scrambled in any direction, fumbling for something, anything familiar. She tried to call out for help, but there were only empty gasps. She wanted to scream. She wanted her friends. She wanted her sister. She wanted the coming darkness gone, and for the pain to go away. This was a dream, a terrible dream. A nightmare she’d wake up from any second now.

Her head felt light, her world was a blur of tears, and she had no pony around to help. She could not but struggle helplessly against her invisible attacker. And soon enough, after a minute of being deprived of oxygen, little Sweetie Belle lay passed out on the boutique floor.

Promptly after Sweetie’s thrashing subsided, the boutique door swung open. In the doorway, was none other than Speak Easy, who was flanked by his younger brother and their cart.

Speak Easy trotted over to Sweetie’s unconscious body, and knelt down beside her. He flittered out his wings and used them to tilt her head from side to side, pleased with the results of his latest experiment.

Bootleg unfixed himself from the cart and entered the boutique, he stopped in his tracks after seeing the condition of their prey. “Faust above, what did ya do to her Speak?” there was a hint of fear in his voice, whether this was fear of losing out on the bounty or aiding in the killing of a helpless filly is unknown.

“This,” started Speak, “is an airborne poison concocted from two parts Swamp-Bloat leaves with one part ground Everfree fungal pod and about ten grams of vanilla bean extract. I’ve yet to name this creation…but I do know for certain it causes paralysis in Griffons. Now we know it causes rapid throat swelling in ponies. Well, that or she’s just unlucky enough to be allergic to it.” Assessed Speak Easy in an almost nonchalant manner.

“Is she dead?” asked Bootleg, approaching the scene ever so gently.

“No, but she will be if I don’t subdue the swelling. Responded Speak with a sniff. He turned to his shaken brother, the sight of which drew a smile across Speak’s features. “We’ve seen much worse than this, boyo. And you know it.”

“That doesn’t make it easier to see…” muttered Bootleg in response.

“Go to the cart, find the boiled water, and mix one teaspoon of the cinnamon powder with one teaspoon honey then add a pinch of black pepper.” Stated Speak. Bootleg nodded and quickly headed back to the cart. “I should have everything labeled so that you don’t get lost.”

Bootleg threw back the tarp on the cart and opened up a built-in chest furthest from the rear. There were several vials that were label as boiled water. Using his wings, he uncorked one vial and began adding the ingredients as told with the tools Speak had labeled and ready for their use. Exact and to the letter, Bootleg added the necessary things to the vial, corked it, and gave it a shake. He then rushed back to his waiting brother and transferred the vial to his wings.

Speak scooted forward, and with his left wing, propped up Sweetie’s body in a near-sitting position, but making sure that her head was hanging back, and that her mouth was open. He then uncorked the mixture with his mouth and tilted the remedy down into her mouth. Once all the liquid had gone, he handed the empty vial to Bootleg, and proceeded to massage the throat of the young filly. He smiled as he felt her swelling quickly start to subside. “So much trouble, just for one little filly. I coulda just had ya club her o’er the head. Woulda been so much faster.”

Bootleg laughed at the small joke, “Yes well I’m sure it’d also make us look a lot worse if the details of this job are ever found out.”

Speak nodded and laughed as well, “Aye, I suppose it would.” But paused when he felt breath starting to steady in Sweetie’s small chest. “Go get me the valerian tea; it’ll keep her nice and unconscious until we can get her back to Canterlot.”

Bootleg once again complied and retreated to their cart; finding a small jug a pre-brewed tea, he picked it up in his mouth and carried it back to his elder. Speak Easy took the jug and slowly urged the filly to drink once more.

Luckily, the brew went down without choking Sweetie and Speak gave the small jug back to his younger brother for him to replace. He then rose from his kneeling position and gave his legs a shake. “Now get ya arse over here and help me put her in da cart.”

“I thought you had her handled, or is a little filly too much for ya?” joked Bootleg, striding over to Sweetie. The olive pegasus cocked his head, “Oh so ya gonna make jokes on me boyo? After you were busy cryin’ in da corner not five minutes ago. And all because little Sweetie ‘ere got a little sleepy.” Retorted Speak as they lifted Sweetie Belle’s sedate body onto the back of Bootleg. The younger pegasi groaned at the comment and walked their prize to the door. Not pleased with a lack of response, Speak added, “Besides, she’s ‘eavier than she looks.”

Neither brother had noticed Opal, who had come down from the second story upon hearing the all the ruckus. The white cat had witnessed what was going on, and was silently creeping about under a drawer. She had not been sure as to what was happening before her, but she could plainly see that Sweetie Belle was being abducted. As difficult as she was at times, Opal still knew Sweetie and Rarity were the only family she had. She had to help.

Bootleg gently placed Sweetie down on the flat bed of the cart; pushing her as far back as he could so as to not risk her falling out during flight. He whispered the smallest “Sorry” as he secured the tarp once again.

Gazing back inside the boutique entrance way, “You were right me brother, this will be the easiest five thousand bits we’ve ever made.” Bootleg commented, hoping Speak would hear.

For a little while, there was no response. Then, there was a sudden sound of crashing furniture and a yell of pain from Speak Easy. Bootleg rushed to the door to find his elder brother frantically flapping away from a knocked over dresser, a white cat hissed and clung to his face. There were already visible scratch marks on Speak’s freckled cheeks. Speak hovered unsteadily, constantly changing direction and wildly kicking his legs; he shook his face back and forth in an attempt to dislodge the terrorizing fur ball.

“Get it off my face! GET IT OFF MY FACE!!!” shouted Speak frantically. He swatted at Opal several times with his hooves unsuccessfully, knocking over several changing shades and slamming into a fabric closet.

Bootleg was swift on the draw; quickly un-holstering his baseball bat from its leather sheath and readily switching it to the grip of his right wing. He ran up to his brother and measured his target. “Hold still, Speak!” Speak promptly did as he was told and locked his body in position, shutting his eyes.

Opal continued to fiercely scratch at Speak’s face, unwary of his approaching younger brother. Bootleg saw his chance, wound up, and swung his bat. The metal rod smacked without restraint into Opalescence’s small body, forcing a high-pitched yowl from the cat as it went soaring off towards a pile of fallen fabric.

“Faust be damned! That is the last time I’m nice to a cat!” yelled the olive colored pegasus, walking briskly out the door, “Holy shite that stings!” Bootleg didn’t wait to see if the cat was coming back for more, but kept his bat ready as he followed his elder brother, closing the door as they both left. “Hope, no one heard all that.” Added Bootleg off-handedly as he approached Speak Easy, who was searching a small exterior compartment for a remedy for his fresh scratches.

“Where’s da clove oil? I could swear I brought it wit’ me.” Questioned Speak, evidently making no progress on his end. Bootleg holstered his bat, and opened a similar compartment on the opposite end of the cart. “It’s right here Speak,” the mustard pegasus held up the small oil container for his brother to see and cantered over to him. He didn’t need to be told what to do; proceeded to dip his feathers in the oil and began dabbing at Speak’s wounds.

The sun was now much higher in the sky, fully visible from the mountains of the Imperial Capital. The dawn had passed and the day had come.

“We’ve taken too much time,” started Speak, wincing between dabs. “We’ll have to pull double time back to Canterlot.” Bootleg nodded in response and walked back around the cart to replace the oil container. “Guess that means I’m flyin’ this cart meself?”

“You fly much faster than I do, you’ll get there quicker.” Affirmed Speak, giving his own wings a flap and rising into the air. Bootleg, backed up to the front of the cart, and began fastening the cart to his leather harness. “Where are we takin’ her?”

“To the Heated Mare Meadery.” Speak circled around his grounded brother, wanting him to quicken his pace. He knew some pony had to come around sooner or later, and when they did, he wanted them to be long gone.

Bootleg was taken by surprise, “Why our meadery? The last thing we need is a foalnapped filly living in our home and business!” he all but shouted, running forward and taking flight.

Speak followed suit and soared after the departing cart. He shouted sarcastically in return, “Sure, go ahead, why don’t ya speak up boyo? I don’t think the whole town heard where we’re takin’ her!”

But by the time Speak had finished his retort, they were far from earshot of any pony in the area. The Pegasi brothers had fled back into the rising sun from whence they came; and nary a soul knew they were ever there.

♙--------------------------♙

Back at the boutique, rustling beneath the fabric toppled in her scuffle laid an injured Opal. Mewing painfully, she rose herself from the pile and limped towards the door. She felt her bones on her right side were shaken, and knew that a few ribs were cracked, if not fully shattered. Her small lungs breathed labored, heavy breaths as she inched closer and closer to her cat-flap exit. She needed help, both for herself, and for Sweetie Belle.

Fluttershy. She’d be the only one to understand Opal; she’d have to be the only one to get help. Thought the cat, pushing weakly out the door. It was going to be a long trip.

♙--------------------------♙

Roughly a mile outside of Canterlot, The Brothers Mead cut through the morning air. Speak Easy had finally caught up to his faster brother, mostly due to his brother carrying the weight of the cart with him. Bootleg, had not said a word since they left; he was still peeved at the announcement that Sweetie would be their personal guest back at the Heated Mare Meadery. He had thought they would be dropping her off with one of The King’s contacts, or with the Trotter. They didn’t have time to look after a hostage filly, and sure as sin didn’t have anywhere to keep one.

He periodically shot glances over to his brother of olive shade; his face was already healing nicely. Speak’s poultices were unnaturally powerful, surpassing even the healing capabilities of most medical corps unicorns. Speak was blessed with a useful and incredible talent. Unlike himself, thought Bootleg, gazing back at his own flank. What kinda pony, especially a pegasus, has a destiny comprised of hitting things with a bat?

Speak Easy took notice of Bootleg’s troubled look, and decided it wasn’t the way he ought to be looking. “Quit yer starin’ at ya arse boyo! Keep ya eyes focused on where ya goin’.” Came his snickering voice. “You’ll never get into da Wonderbolts with that lack of concentration!” Bootleg recognized this was just stab at him, but didn’t appreciate the joke all the same. “Shut ya mouth! I can outfly any of those leotard wearin’ pansies any day of da week!” spat Bootleg, coming in dangerously close to his brother so as to look him in the eye.

“Oh yeah, and that’s exactly why they ejected ya from the program is it?” laughed Speak, placing a hoof between them and shoving himself away from his angered sibling.

Bootleg swore under his breath, and prematurely began to descend towards Canterlot. This action perturbed Speak, who came gliding down to his brother’s level before he could drop further. “Pull up! Yer flyin’ too low; ground sentries are suspicious of low flyers on Imperial Holidays.” Reminded Speak, “We have to get back above cloud level, and bypass the morning traffic from above.”

“I thought you finally picked up the landing permits.” Grumbled Bootleg. Speak shook his head, “I said I’d get around to pickin’ them up. Now please, climb higher before we’re noti---!” A sharp and loud bang rang, like a thunder crack, rang out from over Speak’s right shoulder, causing both brothers to nearly jump out of their skin. Without breaking from their flight path, Speak and Bootleg slowly turned their heads to regard the offensive sound.

Drifting behind the brothers were three gilded imperial chariots, each carrying a unicorn gunner in addition to the dual pegasi piloting each chariot. The pegasi pilots wore the traditional golden guard armor that covered the upper body and crept up the neck, ending in the crested helms that many of the imperial citizens were familiar with. The gunners however, were a new improvement to the Solar Empire’s military. They were covered in light golden scale armor that resembled a skirt as it wrapped around their whole length of their bodies, from chest to flank. The armor covered little more than that, mostly to offer mobility. Their legs and necks were uncovered by armor, and in their place sat patriotic linens of gold and purple colors instead. On their heads sat feathered berets, a stylistic nod to the northern Gryphus Empire no doubt.

They needed not look intimidating like their guardsmen counterparts. For the fear they commanded was in wielding the fearsome Model Two Equestrian Flare. A .75 caliber flintlock rifle that was adapted from the Griffon .69 Moineau flintlock rifle design. It is hailed by many to be the weapon that put down the NLR. Capable of blowing an average sized armored equine in two with an accurately placed shot; it would have no trouble with putting down two slow moving and unarmored pegasi.

That bang was a warning shot, issued by the closest gunner. Who was already well into the process of reloading a second shot. Speak was confident they wouldn’t be so generous as to give another warning.

Speak Easy soon noticed the reason why the first gunner looked so eager to reload. Bootleg’s flight pace was increasing, “Stop runnin’ boyo; they’ll think we’re guilty.” Uttered Speak through his teeth, putting on a mock smile for the imperials.

“Travelers, you are traveling towards the Capital of Canterlot outside both official tourist and merchant sky-lanes with unidentifiable cargo!” Yelled the second closest gunner; who was dressed in much finer style and as such was the obvious leader of the group “Deviate from your present course and accompany us to the nearest travel checkpoint to verify your citizenship and your cargo!”

“But we ARE guilty Speak…” replied Bootleg, not ceasing his pace increase. Speak wasn’t ready for this kind of honesty; he didn’t need it right now. He placed a free hoof on a wheel of the cart and pushed in the opposite direction in which they flew. “Yes, but we don’t need them to know that we know that we’re guilty…” Bootleg shook his head at this, “Well what’s da plan then?” whilst Speak kept up his smile, “I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin’.”

“If you continue on your course, we will shoot to kill! You will not be warned again!” Came the shout of the second gunner again; this warning was accompanied by the closest and furthest gunners readying their weapons. Magic flowed from their horns, adjusting their sights on their targets.

“Good morning friends! My name is I. M. Lyre, and this is my adopted son, Hugh Jass! We are merchants with an express permit to the early morning market!” Shouted Speak Easy in response, “We are good friends with Captain Love Lace, you may contact him if you wish to verify our permits.”

They were closing in on Canterlot fast, and were running out of time. Hopefully, dropping the Captain’s name would get them somewhere. The second gunner paused and blinked unbelievably at the brothers. He pursed his lips, suddenly sweating, and instantly lowered his rifle. “Stand down troops!” The other gunners were slow to react, and looked at their commanding officer quizzically “I said stand down fools! These pegasi are under the protection of Captain Love Lace, who speaks with the authority of House Le Blanc of the imperial family!” yelled the gunner officer in an almost frenzied manner. Hearing this, the other two gunners lowered their rifles, and all three chariots pulled off their pursuit.

Speak Easy heaved a huge sigh, “Good, Love Lace’s name still commands weight.” It had been a gamble he had taken upon them, as it had been quite a while since he last used the Captain’s name for any favor. Either way, he was just glad it worked out so well.

Finally able to turn back around, Speak sped up and punched Bootleg the shoulder playfully. “See? I always told ya out Ma didn’t raise a fool! Well, she didn’t raise two at least.” Bootleg answered only with a half-hearted laugh and shook his head. He knew Speak meant well, but he did get tired of always being treated like a moron. But there was no arguing with Speak, he always seemed right. He’d just have to grin and bear the usual treatment like he always did.

♙--------------------------♙

The day was still young when the brothers finally touched down in Canterlot just outside the Capital’s market district. One might not have thought it, but the city streets were still quite lively. Marginally more so than the near vacant roads of Ponyville. True, most of the festive game booths were closed, as well as concession stands. But the majority of the usual merchant stalls were still open from the night before, many of which had resorted to hiring help for ‘round the clock shifts.
The streets were still busy with a wide assortment of tourists and citizens, young and old. From all breeds of pony, to the visiting Griffons, to even the rare Zebra or Elk. The main streets were rife with taxi carts and traveling wagons, the brothers could even swear they spotted a few new steam-powered investments that nobles were calling “cars”. Boot was always enamored with such technological advances, and stopped to wonder if every pony would one day own one. Speak easy didn’t care for them though, he thought they just looked like squished, ugly train engines. Nudging his younger brother in the side, they continued down the side streets that they had been traversing for years.

They then turned down what was likely the most vacant street during the daytime in Canterlot. It’s real name was no longer used if anyone still remembered it, as it was now known better by its nickname, Wicked Way; or simply as the red light district of the imperial Capital. It housed probably the best and worst ponies you’d ever want to meet. And it never seemed to form a shortage of new arrivals, from employees to customers. No matter your kink, there was a bordello for you in varying shapes and sizes. At the far end of the way, sat Speak’s personal favorite section : where the widest assortment of odd eateries and risqué shops sat. Such a Miss Velvet’s The Crop, the Panty Pastry dessert shop, and the brothers’ favorite pub The Sea Unicorn.

Speak had always insisted to Bootleg that the shops and pubs around Wicked Way always seemed like the best target consumer for their mead. But the younger brother had always disagreed, saying that the kind of customers you’d get from this district aren’t the kind of customer you want to keep. Speak knew where the money was though, the real money anyhow.

Turning down a back alley that lead them away from Wicked Way, Bootleg lead both the cart and his brother to the through the darkened turns and twists until they came upon the familiar rear entrance of the Heated Mare Meadery, Speak Easy’s pride and joy. Bootleg himself was never interested in running this place as he didn’t know the first thing about brewing mead; but he did derive enjoyment from helping his brother enforce his business practices, usually on competitors to their business.

Speak helped his brother get unattached from the cart, as it would take both of them to wheel it into the small garage that was built into the back of the meadery. Compared to the events of earlier, pushing a cart back into its resting place was easy enough. They then slowly trotted over to the front of some crates they had stored in the garage and sat down. The brothers smiled, and enthusiastically bumped their hooves against each other.

“Easiest five thousand bits, ever.” They said in unison, each with his own accented laugh after the statement. With his laughter subsiding, Speak rose to his hooves and cantered over to the rear of the cart. “Let me get our guest out of her chariot…oh! And while I do, could you see if we have anything in the icebox? I’m right parched.” At this, Bootleg took flittered his wings and shot up into a moderate hover. He exited the garage and disappeared through the meadery doorway.

Speak smiled to himself, “That’s a good lad.” He all but whispered to himself, untying the rope that secured the tarp. But just as he went to throw back the cover, a trash can fell over in the ally, followed by the yowl of a cat. Speak flew at the sound and pivoted, landing in a stand position on his hind legs with his wings outstretched, forelegs up to his chest, and ready to fight any oncoming felines that dared show their furry face. He felt that his scratches had finally healed, and was in no mood to receive fresh ones.

However, no cats pounced. No fur balls attacked. And no felines mauled. Speak was relieved at this, and turned to find a returned Bootleg staring at him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, I thought I heard something in the alley. Anyway, never mind that.” Spouted Speak Easy in rapid succession, throwing back the covers of the cart. Bootleg shrugged at this behavior and placed two mead bottles down on one of the nearby crates before looking at Speak, who had gone quiet. He could see a silent horror creeping over his brother’s face, as though he had just stepped into something vile and he didn’t want to lift his hoof to tell what it was. He saw sweat beading on Speak’s head, and his olive face was turning pale.

“Where is she?” uttered Speak, barely audible to Bootleg.

“What was that?” questioned the mustard colored stallion.

“WHERE IS SHE?!!” roared Speak Easy, turning his gaze to meet his brothers. Bootleg could see an accusatory flame burning in those green eyes, and knew well enough where this was headed. “How should I know? You’re the one who placed her in there.” Answered Bootleg honestly, attempting to deflect the blame back at Speak.
“You were the one driving, and you were the one being reckless when we came across that patrol. What if she fell out because of you?” came the accusation from Speak, as he threw his forelegs onto the cart and slammed his hooves onto its vacant flatbed. His wings flapped aggressively in an assertion of dominance. But Bootleg would not back down, as he threw up his own aggressive wing beat in defiance.

“I swear by Faust above, if I lost out on good money because you, I will personally fu---!?”

Speak didn’t get to finish, as he found himself crashing mid-sentence and nose first into the flatbed. His head swung back, throwing his hat from his head and spinning his world. He could smell the copper scent of blood in his nostrils. His eyes began to water, and swore several times a Bootleg before realizing that he’d been kicked. More specifically, his hind legs we kicked out from under him. He looked up to see that Bootleg was rushing towards him, asking what had happened.

Realization shot through Speak like a bullet, Bootleg hadn’t done this. It was another pony. One that wasn’t supposed to be awake. This was affirmed when he heard the clopping of tiny hooves against the pavement just down the way. “It’s Sweetie. Get her back before she gets away!” coughed Speak, wiping his nose. Bootleg wasn’t feeling up to taking orders from his brother right now, but he’d be losing out on money too if she got away. And so he soared out the door and after the retreating filly as Speak gathered himself against the wagon and replaced his hat. After he regained his wherewithal, Speak rushed to the compartments of the cart and began rummaging through the drawers.

Sweetie had no idea where she was, or when it was, or where she had been. She had hoped the events from earlier were all a dream. But they weren’t. She knew she had been taken from her home after she succumbed to that weird powder from earlier. And it was all planned by that strange Mister Liable.

She knew now she shouldn’t have trusted him, as she darted back and forth through what seemed like never ending alleyways. The sun shined through breaks in the cramped rooftops above and reflected off viscous puddles on the floor beneath her. The Sun! The sun was still up, that must mean she hasn’t been gone long, and it must mean that she must not be far from Ponyville.

With renewed vigor, she raced throughout the endless stream of alleys, she ran until she saw it. A light at the end of the tunnel. An exit onto a street. A street where she could get help and be saved from these crazy pegasi.
She felt weak, but ran like there was no tomorrow towards the light. The light where her sister lived, the light where her friends lived, the light where she lived.

So enamored with the light was she, that she did not hear Bootleg swoop down from above. He had her before she had time to react, placing a hoof over her mouth so that she couldn’t scream, and holding her firmly to his chest with his free hoof. Faster than he arrived, he flapped his wings and flew off into the darkness of the Canterlot alleys.

Speak Easy was waiting in front of the cart when Bootleg returned with Sweetie, who was struggling as hard she possibly could whilst in his grip. Speak briskly trotted over to the pair and looked Sweetie Belle in the eye. “Great catch boyo, I swear I’d be lost without your help sometimes.” The words flowed from his mouth, but they were only half genuine as he confirmed with an added, “Don’t let it go to ya head though.”

Without breaking eye-contact, Speak held out both of his wings to Sweetie, each of which held a clear vial. One vial held an oddly colored liquid, the other held a brown colored powder. Sweetie could not help but let out a muffled scream and let tears flow freely at the sight of the second vial. A scream that was answered with a knowing nod from Speak Easy. “That’s right, you know what this is.”

“What you may not know however, is that you have a choice.” Speak smiled his earlier smile, and changed his voice to a more soothing tone. “And the choice is whether you want to get along with us or not. It’s just that simple.” Sweetie Belle was confused, what did he mean by “get along”?

Speak then gestured to Bootleg, who nodded and removed his hoof from her mouth. Sweetie felt like she should scream, but all she could manage between sniffles was a soft “Huh?”

“We’re not here to hurt you Sweetie Belle, we’re here to bring you to your sister.” He said, wiping away a salty tear from her pale face. “That’s where we are now, we’re in Canterlot. We’ll bring you to your sister in due time, but we’ll need you to cooperate with us so that we can do our jobs well.”

“But why did you take me from my home?” Sniffed Sweetie, “If you needed my help, you could have just asked.” She added with a whimper. Speak nodded to Bootleg, letting him know that she wasn’t going to run. “Because we’re secret spies for Empress Celestia, we couldn’t let you know anything unless you were gonna be a helpful lassie. We’re on a super important mission to find a group of bad-guys who want to hurt the Solar Empire.”

“So we need to know that we can count on you.” He finished, holding out the vials once more. “You must choose, to side with us, and drink this valerian tea…” Speak drew attention to the liquid vial. “…Or to side with a bad guy, and have another fun moment with your good friend from the past.” He said sweetly, holding up the brown vial.

For Sweetie, it was not a hard decision. She had tried to run once, and they only caught her. At least if she cooperated, she’d see her sister again. She lowered her head and uttered, “I’m with you.”

“A wise choice, for such a young filly.” Chuckled Speak with an affirmative nod, pocketing the vial with the brown powder and holding out the valerian for Sweetie to take. And take it she did, as light blue aura swirled around her small horn and shot out, taking the vial and opening it. Sweetie paused for the slightest of moments, her thoughts drifting to her friends back home. She hoped they would be alright without her. She then tilted the vial towards her mouth and drank the bitter, unsavory tasting tea.

Speak then walked past his brother, tapping him on the shoulder with his left wing. “She’ll be feeling tired, let her use my bed.” At this Bootleg scoffed, “Yeah and where are ya goin’? Just up an’ leavin’ me ta look after her?”

Pulling a lighter and cigarette from his vest, he turned and smiled at his younger brother, “Reportin’ to da King, like any good pawn should.” He lit up his cig and placed it in his mouth. He inhaled once, spread his wings, and then he was gone. Soaring off through the dark nest of corridors that they called home.

♙--------------------------♙

At the now quiet Imperial Palace, as all of the noble guests slept, a shadow moved. A figure clad in a midnight black cowl and uniform walked briskly through the halls towards the room of Rarity, divine unicorn beauty and holder of the Element of Generosity. The figure did not creep, or sneak, or attempt stealth of any kind. They walked freely through the guarded halls, unnoticed by any and all castle staff.

When the figure came to the guarded guest room of Rarity, the posted soldiers did nothing to halt the advances of the unknown figure; They walked unchallenged into her room.

They approached her bedside and spoke in an androgynous yet commanding voice so as to be heard, “Lady Rarity, wake up!”

The voice startled the sleeping Rarity, who quickly awoke with a jumble of garbled phrases. But soon came to her senses after realizing that she recognized neither the voice nor the appearance of the pony at her bedside. “Who are you!? What do you want!?” Rarity asked frantically, completely forgettomg to just scream for help.

“I am the Trotter, my dearest Lady Rarity. And what I want, is to deliver a message.” Stated the anonymous shadow before Rarity. It paused, waiting for her response, but none came. Rarity was either too dumbstruck or too polite to interrupt the Trotter any further.

“My lord, Esprit Le Blanc of the royal family, wishes to hold an audience with you. He believes that he has a proposition for you that will prove to be mutually beneficial. And wishes to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime.”