House of Gold

by redsquirrel456

Step Lightly

The next day was Tuesday. It was known as an “off day” in that Orion had no official lessons. The rules were the same as Sunday: get up, get brushed, get dressed. Yet afterwards, Orion thought he should have some measure of freedom—that only made sense. But the wisdom of the time held that a young colt’s brain was more like a sponge than an organ, and if it was not constantly inundated with things to learn, it would eventually lose what it should retain. So the Blueblood household ruled that a young colt’s education should be ongoing in whatever he did, even if it was not during school hours. Thus, Tuesdays were disdained very much by Orion, because he was never sure what he was going to “learn” that day.

“Today,” said the Duke as he led Orion away from breakfast, “you will learn more about my business.” That was how Orion knew it was not going to be an altogether horrible day after all. He already knew very well that his father’s business was airships and the flying, construction, and maintenance of airships, but this was one of the few things the Duke and Orion shared an interest in, and he was always excited to know more.

So he said, “Yes, Father,” like a dutiful son, and followed the Duke through the foyer and out the front door.

The outside of the mansion was nearly as important as the inside. It stood on the inner slope of a large, crescent-shaped hill. Nearly every tree excepting a small grove providing shade for the gardens out back had been removed long ago, providing a commanding view of the landscape. Dusty Shelves told Orion the hill was known as Gendarme’s Crest, after a very famous knight from Prance who hoof-wrestled a minotaur at its peak almost three hundred years ago for the honor of the Bluebloods. He owed the win to his plume of feathers in his helmet which tickled the minotaur’s nose, causing him to sneeze and lose his grip. The mansion was built that same year, since the Bluebloods who attended the match liked the view of Canterlot the hill gave them.

The mansion stood taller on the east side than the west because it had been added to in later years by successively richer and more pompous Bluebloods. It created a fascinating left-to-right timeline of Equestrian architecture. The east roof was covered in busts, fancy pillars, and modern tile at the very end. The older western half was capped by looming battlements and gargoyles, on over to the tower holding the solar and its promenade, which once served as a place for the guard watch. A pony could even see the centuries-old stone, greyed and cracking. The mismatched construction was something of a cultural curiosity and lent the place prestige, or so Orion’s parents said, and the local peasantry gave it the nickname Half House.

Goldspinner refused to have even a bit of the older facade removed anyway, so there it stayed.

A broad street for carriages followed the curve of the hill on its south side in a wide arc, the top of which was the front door of the mansion. Inside the arc of the street were wide pathways going down the slope of the Crest, allowing visitors to enjoy fountains, artificial streams, and professional topiary. Orion especially liked the hedge dominating the center of the boulevard: a gigantic clipping of Princess Celestia. He had never met the Princess face-to-face, but he liked to imagine she was about as big and impressive as the artist suggested.

Today, though, even she was dwarfed by the airship moored at the base of the hill, on the elliptical dirt field normally used as a parking space for carriages.

Orion took one look at it and fell in love.

“She’s beautiful. Are we going to board her, Father?”

The corners of the Duke’s lips twitched upwards. Perhaps he was proud Orion remembered to call the ship a ‘she,’ because that was only proper for a lovely craft like her. “Yes, my son. She is what we’ll be unveiling at the Big To-Do next week, and as airships have become an unending passion of yours, I think it best if you are introduced to a more in-depth study of them. This one is based on the design of a simple sketch, made for going hither and thither in comfort. You can see the two sails coming off the side?”

“They’re like fins of a fish,” Orion said.

“Exactly. A sea vessel would need many more such sails simply to move. But our engines provide a little more push. We need it due to the extra weight of the balloon.”

Propellers on the rear of the ship came dangerously close to striking the ground, but the sleek vessel was held aloft by the giant gas sac tethered to it. Even the balloon was shapely, not bulbous like a hot air balloon, but egg-like and sturdy. She looked like a racehorse at the starting gate.

The Duke gave Orion a nudge. “Let us board her. She’s named the Ambient, and with a little luck, her duty will be to ferry the Princess herself when she requires both speed and luxury.”

Orion scampered after his father, unable to contain his excitement. He had been aboard airships once or twice, but those were vague memories of being dragged around showroom floors on big tubby things that floated a story at most above the ground. Nothing so lean and mean as the Ambient, which seemed to strain at the ropes that moored her. She was a creature of the air and knew she belonged in the sky, and Orion wanted dearly to see her in action.

“Will we fly her, Father?”

“Not today, my son,” said the Duke, quite happy about his child’s enthusiasm, “but soon, I promise you. Today you will take part in a very important ritual.”

“Ooh!” Orion’s eyes widened as he stopped in front of the gangplank. “Is it magic?”

“A little,” said the Duke. “You see, every ship that has passed through our shipyards has been touched by me at least once, and given my blessing. You can only really know something if you hold it yourself, my son, and feel its pulse beneath your bare hoof. I have been involved in every step of Ambient’s construction, but she has not yet known the touch of her maker.”

He glanced down at Orion through his monocle. “That honor goes to you, my son.”

“Wow,” said Orion, staring at the gangplank. It was not officially part of the ship, so he tottered up it until he got to the deck, spread out before him like a new horizon. It was sanded and polished and clean, shining in the sun. The balloon loomed over him, a deep royal purple unblemished by work or travel. The clean sails billowed gently with a noise like flapping wings. Everything was quiet and expectant. This ship had been worked on by a hundred hooves, but it hadn’t been given the final test: the touch of a Blueblood.

“Go on,” said the Duke. “Let her get the measure of you.”

Orion gently stretched out his hoof and daintily pressed down on the deck. It did not sag under his touch, but he felt the ship sway just so, like a nervous dog that hadn’t been pet before. But then the whole ship seemed to spring back up, bobbing happily, and Orion’s face glowed with his smile.

“She’s wonderful,” he said. “Pliant, and, and… bouncy!”

“Then she is fit for service,” said the Duke, coming up behind. “Head up to the navigation deck, and I will show you how to make her move.”

Orion sprinted up the stairs to the stern of the ship, giddy with glee. His father had never done something like this before, not even on his happiest days. Perhaps his talk with Mother had gone better than Blueblood hoped.

“Take hold of the wheel with your hooves.”

“But why not with magic, Father?”

The Duke gave him a flick on the horn. “What have I said, my son?”

Orion ducked his head and muttered as he placed his hooves on the wheel spokes. “Magic is for holding, hooves are for feeling.”

“Yes. Magic is the impression of our will upon the world. It changes what is there and turns it into something else. But our hooves tell us the truth of the world around us, and let us guide our environment rather than step on it. Magic therefore is mundane when you are running a ship, for a ship doesn’t really care what you want. She is what she is, and so she must be dealt with by our hooves.”

Orion began to roll the wheel back and forth, listening to the rudder creak as it turned. “Look, Father! I’m a commander!”

“You have been paying attention at your lessons, I hope?” the Duke said, suddenly stern. “Those were meant to prepare you for a moment like this.”

“Of course!” Orion squeaked. “I know that first of all we must check her buoyancy to ensure she will stay level in the air, and then ensure the hull is in working order. There are lift tests, engine diagnostics, checks of the balloon and ballast…”

“Very good,” said the Duke. “Remember my son: all things must happen in their time and in the right place. If we do anything out of order, if anypony forgets their place, then all could be lost. That is the key to keeping a ship afloat.”

“Yes Father,” Orion said, already imagining he was a great explorer as he turned the wheel left and right. There was fair weather on the horizon and a fast-rising sun to the east, and he was commander of everything that lay before him.

“Do you feel the slight resistance of the rudder as it turns?”

“Yes.”

“That is what you must look out for. If it becomes too easy and you feel nothing, it means the rudder has broke and you have lost all control. So it is in life. Always be sure you are levering some of your own effort into a task, my son. Letting others perform for you is like a rudderless ship. She is adrift on somepony else’s currents.”

Orion let the words of his father sink in and wash over him. This was the most they had spoken in weeks. The Duke’s low voice rumbled just above a whisper like a storm ever on the horizon, only caught if you paid attention to the signs of its coming. A pony was forced to pay attention to the Duke if he wanted to hear anything, and Orion often lost count of how many hangers-on leaned in close to glean the wisdom of his words. In this way everypony was dependent on him. He ran a tight ship, the Duke did.

Then a new voice, mirthful and quite higher in pitch than the Duke’s, breezed over the railing.

“Hello, the captain!”

The Duke went to the side and let a small smile grace his lips. “Hello, the shore,” he replied in a more measured tone.

An earth pony stallion with the most ridiculous wig Orion had ever seen strolled up the gangplank. The wig, which was the pony’s most prominent feature and the one Orion noticed first, towered like a ship’s main sail and bobbed about as though it sailed choppy waters. It was chalky white and done up in curls and rolls near the bottom, which Orion supposed were like sea waves if one had never seen the sea before and just flung their comb at the wig a few times. The pony was about as chalky as his wig, with a scraggly grey beard and dull yellow eyes and knees that looked far too wobbly and arthritic to have ever stood firm on the deck of a ship.

“Celestia’s mercy, is that Royal Inspector T’gallant I see there?”

The old stallion creaked and clattered over the deck, seeming about to topple over with every step. “’Tis. I have not been buried at sea yet, wot wot. Is that your young son I see there, Duke Blueblood, or are my eyes finally failing?”

Orion bowed low. “I am honored, good sir,” he said without prompting, for the Duke insisted his son speak for himself when in noble company.

“I am here to honor the Ambient,” replied T’gallant. “The Duke may declare every ship that passes through his shipyards fit to sail, but I am the one who decides if they are fit for the Princess to sail upon. Though she may only use this craft to enjoy the view of Canterlot without the aid of her beatific wings, it still falls upon me to ensure she experiences superior commutation to all other modes of transportation, wot!”

“The Royal Inspector will be at the Big To-Do next week,” said the Duke. “He will give our ship the seal of approval, and then the Princess will bless her, and take her into the Royal Fleet.”

“You sound very certain, my good stallion,” T’gallant said, squinting. His voice was suddenly clear of cobwebs and stutters.

“The ships Blueblood yards have developed have never failed to pass muster,” the Duke said with an imperious upward tilt of his snout. “And every one considered for induction into the Royal Fleet has gone on to serve admirably. You have seen the new yacht, tested it, felt it. If you are refusing to remark on any deficiencies until the day before the Big To-Do, then rest assured it will not be a stain on the house of Blueblood, but the Royal Inspector’s office.”

“Ha ha ha!” T’gallant barked. “All these years and you still think I am the majority shareholder in Her Majesty’s good graces? I have recommended numerous vessels for royal service, yet she has turned down more than one. Or is the fate of the Oriole still so fresh in your mind?”

A harsh silence rose like a wall. The Duke and T’gallant stared each other down, but Orion’s mind was working fast. Any feud between Blueblood and the Inspector would have to wait.

“Are you close to the Princess?” Orion dared to ask, a vague and amorphous feeling rising in his gut.

T’gallant blinked owlishly. “Close to the Princess? I am in her counsel, dear boy, but I am not what anypony would call close to her. In fact, I daresay it is improper to assume such no matter your station. The Princess is a cut above mortal ponies and should be treated as such.”

“She has no friends?” wondered Orion. “Does she play with nopony?”

“Hush, my son,” said the Duke. “The Princess is our protector, the mover and shaker of all that is. She does not engage in frivolity.”

T’gallant’s moustache seemed to bristle. “Quite! There is nothing that Princess Celestia does that is without purpose. She is the ruler of the sun, and ‘play’ is something I have not seen her engage in in all my years of service.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” said Orion, fidgeting with his hooves. “Everything I’ve seen of her makes her seem so wonderful.”

“She is the most astounding pony you shall ever hope to meet,” said T’gallant, “but a frolicking filly she is most certainly not.”

“Um,” said Orion. “I should like to see for myself.”

“To meet the Princess?” T’gallant sputtered, his beard shaking like a loose branch. “The Bluebloods are not short of prestige, but one does not simply ‘see’ the Princess, or ‘meet’ the Princess, or do anything at all in her vicinity without express permission from Her Majesty’s Royal Court.”

“But,” the Duke interjected, “she will be present at the Big To-Do next week, yes? To bless the Ambient.”

“I should say she will be present to do whatever she pleases, being the Princess,” said T’gallant, with a very conspicuous sigh. “My Lord Blueblood, you know I respect you, and for all the friction that comes of my duties brushing against your ambition, I know your ships are always exceptional. But let’s not start putting the cart before the pony, hmm?”

“The Ambient is the product of typical Blueblood Yards efficiency and artisanship,” the Duke replied tartly. “Whatever comes, I am sure the Princess will find her more than acceptable.”

“How long will the Princess be at the inspection?” Orion pressed on, feeling like he was being squeezed out from between two large rocks. The subtleties of old feuds did not interest him; only the tantalizing glimpse of a rising sun on the horizon.

T’gallant barely glanced at him. “As long as she is required. It will not be an open day for petitions, and I doubt she will have much time or inclination to speak to anypony unless it is important.”

“It is important,” Orion said stubbornly, stamping his hoof on the deck. He immediately checked to make sure he had not scuffed it. “I want to request an audience with the Princess!”

“Do not speak out of turn, Orion!” the Duke snapped. Orion flinched bodily and turned his ears down. “Next week is for the honor of the Blueblood family, and is not to be spent bothering Her Highness with questions. If you must see her, I promise you will be introduced formally to her at the event, but the last thing she will appreciate is a disrespectful colt who will waste her time. We are nobility, but we are not royal. To presume any familiarity with the Princess could disgrace our family, you know this. And it is all you need to know.”

“It will not be a waste of time, Father!” Orion said, a sudden fire leaping up inside him. He reared up just slightly on his back hooves, a severe breach of composure for nobles of any age or stature. Rearing was heavily frowned upon as a barbarous act that only primitive ancestors took part in, and it made T’gallant’s whiskers shiver with scandal. “And I wasn’t going to pretend I’m familiar with her! I was going to ask her about Mother, and if she found any magic that could help with—”

“No, child!” the Duke barked, putting his hoof down firmly. “That is the absolute last thing you will ask Celestia, familiar or not. That day will be a day of celebration and triumph, and we do not need more reminders of our calamity shrouding it.”

“Mother is not a calamity!” Orion said, and sudden tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “I just want to help her and all you can think about are these stupid boats!”

T’gallant cleared his throat and walked away. “I should perhaps take a look at the poop deck.”

The Duke loomed over Orion, nostrils flaring. He glared down at his son in a way no father should, and said, “You are a young and ill-tempered colt, so I am going to pretend that I didn’t hear that. Go to the forward cabin and sit there, Orion, until you think about what a foal you are being and what horrid things you have just said. Do not move, do not touch anything until I come to fetch you again when my business with T’gallant is finished.”

Orion sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hoof. Shame at his outburst and guilt for ruining the first nice day he’d had with his father in weeks suddenly washed over him. He wanted his father to understand, but he couldn’t. His own tongue felt useless and flabby in his mouth, all the great and wonderful places he’d seen on his maps couldn’t come out, and magic was useless and his own hooves were useless and this ship was useless.

“Father, I only just—”

“Go!” the Duke roared, loud enough that the sails quivered.

Orion ran for his life, shutting the door to the forward cabin tight behind him. He turned and collapsed on it, beat the immaculate floor and thumped the doorframe, because curse this pretty ship for looking so lean and beautiful when his mother was ailing. He didn’t deserve to fly it.

Then he cried, and berated himself for being a stupid foal, because real stallions like Father didn’t cry, and then he cried more anyway. He reasoned a future Prince could cry if he wanted to. There wasn’t much to say about the crying, thought it felt like hours before it ended. It was the type of crying all little colts did, snotty and full of hiccups and dragging on longer than it needed to, just to spite himself and the world that made him do it.

After a long time he sat up and looked around the cabin, wondering if T’gallant and his father heard his wretched moaning. It would serve them right if they did.

The cabin was pretty, though. It was a large square room with a table secured firmly to the deck, and large portholes let in a lot of sunlight. Cushioned benches jutted from the walls, and he went to sit on one. Father had told him not to touch anything, but he didn’t say Orion couldn’t sit on things.

He sank into the velvety pillow and sighed, then buried his face into it. The warm softness felt good on his aching snout. When he lifted his head he looked out the porthole and saw his family’s grounds, the hill leading up to the mansion, the afternoon sunlight playing off its face. Orion saw the window of his mother’s room, and wondered if she was looking out as he looked in. He saw the Duke escorting T’gallant off the ship. The two of them seemed to exchange pleasantries and T’gallant left, and his father came back up the gangplank.

The door opened without a sound, and the Duke stepped inside with the lightness of a bird on a branch.

“My son,” he said calmly. “We need to complete your lessons. I know you are looking forward to seeing the Princess, but we are a minor house. We cannot simply do whatever we please, especially when it comes to royalty. Do you think the Princess would appreciate it if we nagged her with all our problems when she has thousands of other ponies to help?”

Orion shook his head slowly.

“Would it help if I promised that I will do what I can to get you close enough to speak to her?”

Orion nodded.

“And you understand that means very little, and it will probably not have the outcome you wish? That simply because she is a Princess, she will not be able to give you everything you wanted?”

Orion rested his chin on crossed hooves.

The Duke sighed, as if that closed the entire affair.

“Good. Then you must learn a little more than commanding a ship. You must learn to command yourself in the presence of an alicorn.”

Comments

[FloydienSlip]

Great chapter. T'gallant is quite the character, but I find myself fascinated more by the relationship between the Duke and his son.

[QueenMoriarty]

The duke is eerily similar to my father.

I hate my father.

[Dubs Rewatcher]

7588826
Agreed. I loved the description of T'gallant's wig, especially.