In the Company of Night

by Mitch H

Life Finds A Way

SBMS091

"La demoiselle Apiculteur, it is a fine thing to meet you. I am somewhat alarmed to find a dame in your advanced condition journeying on terrible roads this late in the season. Are you feeling quite well?" She looked… beautiful, glowing, healthy. But the roads had to be terrible, and it was a long walk from her palace in Rennet down here by the ruins of the late city of the caribou.

"Did you not see the travelling coach? I caught a ride with Monsieur Tones, when he passed through Menomenie on his return trip. He so graciously offered conveyance, that I could not resist the chance. Monsieur Compte Coup made the necessary introductions of course. But I must admit, I am feeling a trifle peaked, and could use a rest, and perhaps a restorative," she granted, attempting to fake a fatigue she was clearly not feeling. "But we are not introduced! Dior, child, please make me known to the exotic gentlecolt I find before me, if you would."

Dancing Shadows rolled her eyes, and 'introduced' me to the Duchesse's travelling guise. "Mademoiselle , might I introduce to you Sawbones, the Company's physician and chronicler. He is a zebra, a tribe of ponies not to be found here on Tambelon, except among the Company itself."

"Charmed, my lord Sawbones. The Company has brought so many new things to Tambelon, it really is a marvel. I am somewhat surprised that you are not followed about by the curious and the enthusiastic, as the seven-day wonders that you all are."

"My lady, the common folk have learned to their regret that in these unsettled days, the curious and exotic are often the marks of danger and death sulking in the shadows. And in general, the Company does its best work in shadows and darkness. This current campaign, with its oblivious undead that disregard all subtle stratagems and sly tactics as if they were not even there, has drawn us out of the shadows more than is our usual practice. But come! We prattle and waste the time of Mr. Ring and company, and you said you needed a restorative? I would feel better if you came to the infirmary and let us take a look at you, given your condition, however road-burned you might not be, you have been on the road. Follow me, if you would?"

She followed me with as much good grace as a jenny nine months gravid could muster, and perhaps a bit more than one might expect. We passed under the grand trophy of blackened bones and skulls woven into a frieze over the main gate of the Hall, and she looked up at the grotesquerie.

"Really, selling the Company's theme rather heavily, are you not, Doctor? This is worthy of a grand necromancer's abode."

"We did offer the fortress to the Empress at the earliest opportunity. She was quite demonstrative in her appreciation of the décor. And our campaign produced so very, very many burnt bones, that we had to find something to do with all of it. Their raising had thoroughly desecrated their remains, and burying the lot with any ceremony would only leave the insinuation that the many murders and outrages committed by the undead are somehow the fault of the departed souls of those whose corpses were risen from their rest. Better to treat the bones as the remains of inequine horrors, to be mounted in triumph against things, than buried in shame of some sort of second murder of the already-deceased."

"You cannot be claiming the barbaric display of skulls and violated remains to be a moral act, Monsieur Sawbones?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow, as we passed through the entrance to my infirmary and hospital. Sack rose from the desk he was crouched behind, going through correspondence.

"Sad Sack, let me introduce - lady, are we maintaining your, hrm…" I looked to the pregnant jenny.

"I am the jenny Apiculteur, if you don't mind, and shall remain for the duration of my visit here, my dear Doctor, aside from certain meetings behind closed doors."

"As you wish. Sack, we're going to be using the number 2 examination room. Is Rye Daughter in the house?"

"She's back in the wards, looking in on the wounded from the other day. Said something about trying out a concentrate of dried tea on one of the ponies with breathing difficulties."

"Blast, if you don't mind, your- my lady, I need to look in on my apprentice, that sounds like an experiment I ought to be overseeing." I rushed back into the wards.

I found Rye Daughter chattering with the armsponies who had been caught in the mine collapse, along with Tiny and a portable table upon which she was re-grinding a brown mixture into a paste. There was a pitcher of small-beer next to a pair of glasses.

"Rye, what is this I'm hearing about you experimenting on our patients?"

She didn't even have the grace to look guilty at having been caught red-hoofed. "Boss, I'm just going to dose Long Glimpse here with strong tea, and Half-Tack there with small beer. A simple experiment, with controls, yeah?"

"You're not supposed to tell them that, or do the mixing in front of them. Sorry, colts, we'll work on this later, something's come up. Tiny, give the gentlecolts their small beer, and make sure everypony is comfortable, if you don't mind. Rye, I have a guest and somewhat-patient for which I need your presence, now. Come with me to the number 2." I turned around and found that the Duchesse had followed me back into the wards.

"Your - my lady, this is a recovery ward, a pregnant mare should not be back here, for your own health."

Rye Daughter snickered at my discomfort, young enough to be amused by the embarrassment of others. I forgave her anyways.
I chivvied the both of them back to the examination room, and closed the door behind us. Late afternoon light streamed into the room through the open window mounted just under the eaves. In the old days, I would have lit a set of candles nevertheless, wanting proper illumination for the examination. As I was now, I found the room almost too bright.

"Rye Daughter, this is the Duchesse of Rennet. She's just traveled down from Rennet City, essentially on her own, and as you can see, while being quite thoroughly pregnant. Can you assist me in performing a proper examination? Seeing as she's removed herself from her own doctors - you have hired a proper set of ducal physicians, your grace?"

"OK, so we are doing things that way, are we? Yes, my donkeys have hired a proper university doctor, and he's been pestering me day and night. I escaped their excessive care for this conference with your Captain and le Duc de Pepin. Among other priorities which had been left neglected for far, far too long. Which we might discuss in a more private setting?"

"Rye, you're a potted plant. Potted plants get pounded into paste if they start repeating what's been poured into them, don't you think?"

"Sure, boss. I hear nothing, I see nothing. I was not here. I did not even get up this morning."

"No, you have to be here, we can't have the Company physician alone with a young mare of quality."

"Right, I am a hearing nothing, seeing nothing lump on log." She sat, her ears laid down on her forehead, pouting.

"Best I can do, your grace."

"Oh, fine. Firstly, what happened to your face, your eyes? You look like a fright mask."

"He won't tell anypony, nor will the rest of them. One night, suddenly two dozen ponies got the permanent thestral eye. Talk of the Company, it is."

"Rye!"

"Right, right. Lump on log."

"As she says, a recent accident. A thaumaturgical mistake, something about Tambelonian blood magery interacting poorly with a Company ritual. The fall-out was - this. Not a total catastrophe, many of us were using amulets to fake the affect for display reasons before it became accidentally permanent. I'll survive, although I'm in the market for a good pair of smoked-glass spectacles if you know a supplier."

We began the standard physical examination, mares variant. I took a medical history, while Rye used the usual tools to check her eyes, reflexes, hearing, so on and so forth.

"So I don't need to ask if you've been recently sexually active, I take it."

"Really, Doctor. I think we're past dancing around it now. And yes, it is yours."

I sighed, hope overwhelmed and in panicked flight from the field.

"That's unfortunate for the poor thing. I can only hope that Tambelon's bizarre effect upon pony genetics holds true for zebra heredity. You'll have a tartarus of a time explaining a long-eared half-striped little foal. Colouring might not be totally out of the expected range, but zebra manes are notable for those who know what to look for."

"No-one in Tambelon even knows what zebras are, torrieu, I do not even exactly know the distinctions, whatever they might be. As far as I and many others are concerned, you are an odd sort of earth pony, no more, no less."

"Doesn't improve matters. Most mules are sterile, it won't be a happy life for the foal."

"Things are worse for the oxen, and yet they seem happy enough now," interjected the supposed lump on the log as she wrapped up the physical examination.

I bent down to check to see how the fetus was riding. And then felt again.

"Did your fancy pedigreed university doctor notice you're carrying twins?"

The Duchesse frowned. "No, she did not. Is that common among zebras?"

"Happens from time to time. I had some cousins who were fraternal twins. Interesting. Shouldn't matter to how you gestate, though, I would think your body's standards would hold sway. How long is it for donkeys? You're very close to term for a pony, but as many as five months away for a zebra."

"Closer to that of a zebra than a pony, then. Twelve to fourteen month terms are typical."

Might as well dive into the latrine, only way to fish the situation out of the muck.

"Obviously they won't be legitimate. How is this affecting your husband-hunting? You don't have time to waste, and unless you make something happen, Rennet will end up in the hooves of those Rime chiselers and their pet, your distant cousin."

"Push comes to shove, we can always collect my 'heir' and cut out her ill-bred guardians. Which I am doing anyways, regardless of my marital status. And you would be surprised how little the potential suitors of a landed duchesse care for her bastards. Better for them than legitimate offspring, obviously enough. They will be raised with love, if not necessarily the full respect owed the foals of high nobility. There are more of them about than you would think, given the pretensions to virtue and elevated conduct that my class affects."

I raised an eyebrow at her, and silently waved for a further explanation.

"So why am I here? Because it - they will be yours. And I thought you ought to know. D-did I make a mistake? Did you not care to know?" She started to tear up. And Rye was glaring bloody death at me from her seat on the 'log'.

I stepped up to the crying jenny, and took her in my forearms.

"No, no my dear, it was fine, it is good. Life is always a blessing. I'm more than delighted that you're carrying them. My late father's mother would be ecstatic that the family line won't end with me, if she were still alive. I'm afraid I cannot give them any family to speak of; what few I know still live, are a world away, and far too poor for travel or contact across portals. And my life expectancy is not such that I could possibly promise that I would be there to see them grow into adulthood, even if I weren't pledged to the Company's banner." She broke down entirely, sobbing out her fears and anxieties.

But she was still a duchesse, and I was still a life-member of a Company which held my final allegiance. I couldn't give her what she really wanted, but I gave her what I could. She stayed in my chambers that night, and damn the proprieties. She did so for the rest of her stay at Dance Hall, her meetings with the Company leadership, and her long, private meetings with the Duc of Pepin. Who did not seem to care that she was sleeping in another pony's rooms while negotiating marriage with the very young duc. Well, I might have made a bit of an impression on young Rollo Murs.

Arrangements were made for a marital alliance late next year, well after the foaling. The duchies would be united in their legitimate offspring, assuming that she would be able to bring the much younger jack's children to term. Such is love among the high nobility.

She returned to her northern palace with a full honour guard of Company armsponies, which might have included at least one anonymous zebra in a borrowed set of barding.

I missed that year's Hearths Warming pageant, which is a shame, I heard later that Cherie ran away with the production.

Comments

[Bookeater_otaku]

Kind of tragic for the twins but at least they won't be raised in poverty. I hope he will leave a letter for them they could read when they are older.