Amazing Grace

by Silver-Spirits-and-Ales

Chapter Thirteen: Friends in High Places

Blackjack had moved his desk, so as to face the window. Through it, he could see the cold, gray Griffish sky and the gardens of his estate. He heard the doors open, and his guest stepped in.

"Your Lordship," said Hoofington.

"Hoofington," retorted Blackjack, not turning around. "You received my message."

"Yeah."

"Good," said Blackjack. He sounded tired, older than he was, and weak. But his voice retained a rather majestic and soothing charm. "I wasn't planning on coming out of retirement, but Thunderhoof left me no choice."

"Well after what they did to your son..."

"His suspicions were proven right," said Blackjack. "It was an ambush. They must have followed the snitch to Trottingham and then... a few minutes before, he told me about the meeting point. I told the police to intervene, but as it turned out, they arrived just a few minutes too late."

"How did you respond?" asked Hoofington.

"Immediate disinformation campaign," said Blackjack. "The cover story says something about a party gone south. Most of the press bought into it, but not everyone. Still, I managed to hide the fact that Thunderhoof survived. Which should at least buy us some time. I also assumed Haysley's role in the conspiracy, and informed them that Thunderhoof was the only pony to be dealt with. They'll be none the wiser."

"So where is he?" asked Hoofington.

"En route to an old foxhole of mine," answered Blackjack. "If Haysley's lot are as powerful as Thunderhoof made them out to be, the government can't be trusted. Ironically enough, Whinnston Chestnut lead the effort to move him there."

"The PM?" asked Hoofington, surprised.

"Don't worry," retorted the earl. "Whinnston is the main pony being targeted by the conspiracy. Besides, I've known him long enough to trust him."

"I don't know what you're gonna ask from me," said Hoofington, in a rather passive-aggressive manner, "but whatever it is, I sure was reluctant to help you, after you pulled him out of the Army. You destroyed his caree-"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Blackjack. "I understand that you don't want to bury the hatchet between us. Some things just won't happen. Even a stubborn old carcass like myself can accept that. But I don't want my son to die. And I want whoever did this to get their judgement. Surely we can come together on that, can't we?"

"I guess we can," answered Hoofington. "What is it you want me to do?"

"You are a... pony of the... underworld, are you not?"

"I guess you could say that," answered Hoofington. "But I, uh... I'm not as... let's just say I know what I want. And I have what I want. I'm not going further."

"I am not passing judgement upon you for choosing that path, Hoofington," said Blackjack, in a tone that was simultaneously reassuring and cold. "I just happen to know that an army pension wouldn't be enough to start the most successful nightclub in Canterlot."

"So what's your point?"

"You have contacts in the underworld, Hoofington. Thunderhoof is going to need them once he awakens."

"Okay," said Hoofington. "How do I know when he... you know, when he's awake?"

"I'll drop a letter," answered Blackjack.

"Alright."

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Find Octavia Melody, and send her to me," he said. "She still has an important role to play."

---

"Where is he?" asked Octavia, walking into the room.

Blackjack took a sip from his tea. "You were hard to find, I hear," he responded nonchalantly. "Please, sit down."

Octavia Melody sat down. "Where is he?" the mare repeated.

"He's safe," answered Blackjack. "He's comatose, but stable. If all goes well he'll awaken in a few weeks."

"WHERE IS HE?" shouted Octavia, slamming her hooves on the desk, tears in her eyes.

Blackjack, undisturbed, pushed a platter of digestives towards his guest. "Have one," he said. "And please, settle down. I'll explain everything."

The earl's lack of reaction put out Octavia, in a way. She blinked, sat back down, and grabbed one of the biscuits without a word.

"I ordered Thunderhoof to be moved once he was stabilised. I'm sorry if it came as a surprise to you," explained Blackjack.

"I was wondering why they kept blocking me out of the room," said Octavia.

"Surely you understand," said Blackjack. "Medical treatment in the East End can be catastrophically abysmal. I moved him somewhere I trust."

"I see," said Octavia, munching on her biscuit.

"Besides, this was in Thunderhoof's letter. He said that if he were to disappear, anypony looking for him would be looking for you."

"Understandable," said a grieved Octavia. "I'm worried. I think you can understand. The entry in the obituary. That was you, wasn't it?"

"A necessary precaution, I assure you," said Blackjack. "Regardless of what problems could arise, I still have a job for you."

"Yes?"

"A funeral service is going to be held tomorrow. Closed casket, obviously. I would like you to deliver the eulogy."

"Very well."

"It's already written here," said Blackjack, giving her a piece of paper. "Quite a number of ponies are going to be there. The objective is to show the enemy that Thunderhoof, their only problem, is six feet under. We need to see their next play. Hopefully we'll know who they are. After the funeral, I will give you a few train tickets and some money. I want you to pretend to be grieving the loss of your significant other."

"Alright," responded Octavia, bitterly.

"Miss Melody, I know this has been hard on you too," said Blackjack. "But it's necessary."

Octavia nodded heavily, and got up. "I'll see you at the funeral," she said.

"There is one last... matter I need to address."

"Yes?"

"I'm sick," said Blackjack. "I'm dying."

"So I've heard," answered Octavia.

"I... I know that I have never been a good father to Thunderhoof. But I love him. Dearly."

"I know," said Octavia. "You wouldn't have gone to such lengths to help him if you didn't."

"I..." Blackjack's eyes began to tear up. "What happens when Thunderhoof wakes up, what he does, where he goes... it is in his hooves. But I won't be there anymore. And I know what... what you mean to him, Octavia. I do not know what he means to you, but... bring him happiness. Bring him love. Please."

---

The doctor heard hoofsteps in the corridor. He sighed, and went to the bed that was surrounded by curtains. He opened them, and picked up the clipboard that was at the end of the patient's bed.

The white pegasus stallion was in a considerably better state than when he'd come in. A deep stab wound in his abdomen had been sown up and bandaged, and had cured itself well. Fractures in his skull and leg bones had been magically clamped shut, and several cuts on his body had been sown up. He was being kept in a medically induced coma to hasten his recovery. Intravenous drips were hooked up to his front legs, and an oxygen tube was attached to his muzzle. The electrocardiograph was showing stable levels, and emitted a regular beep.

The door opened. In came three stallions: two beefy pegasi sporting the Wonderbolts' blue uniform, standing tall above a tired unicorn, wearing a business suit. The unicorn gave one sad look at the bed-ridden patient. "Go," he said.

The two pegasi left the room courteously closing the door behind them.

"I almost thought you wouldn't come," said the doctor, empathically.

"Well," grunted Blackjack, taking in the white walls and furniture. "Well, you're supposed to visit hospital before you die."

"How did you get here?"

"My friends in the Air Cavalry know how to keep a secret," answered Blackjack. "The cloudwalking charm and the trip to the airport were... a little dramatic, but the rest was easy. Still, I've had smoother rides."

"I see," said the doctor.

"I won't be staying long," said Blackjack.

"I understand."

Blackjack slowly walked over to his son, and looked at him. "How many... other doctors have come?"

"Eight," answered the doctor.

"And his face... it was..."

"Bandaged during the operations, yes. I was the one to operate on the skull. We did just as you instructed, sir."

"Good," said Blackjack. "He hasn't... woken at all?"

"No, sir."

"Not once?"

"Not in two weeks."

"Good. Very good. And... how long will he be there?"

The doctor looked at his clipboard. "It'll be at least three more weeks before we can wake him," he said.

"Not earlier?"

"We can't," said the doctor. "Three weeks is the minimum. And even then, I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that he won't be in a good shape. I'd advise more."

"Three weeks, not one day more," replied Blackjack, sternly.

"Very well," sighed the medic. "We do move his muscles every four hours. It'll lessen the atrophy."

"Good," said Blackjack. "I am most grateful to you, for all of this."

"It's fine."

"Could you... give us a moment?" asked Blackjack.

"Of course." The doctor left the room and shut the door behind him.

"Thunderhoof?" asked Blackjack to his comatose son. "Can you hear me?"

Thunderhoof remained lifeless.

Blackjack looked out of the window at the evening sky above the clouds. "Nice place, isn't it?" he said. "I went to a lot of trouble to bring you here. Here, where... no one will find you."

Thunderhoof's mask and tube emitted their sounds, and his electrocardiograph beat on at a stable level.

"Do you remember the first time I visited you in hospital?" asked Blackjack. "You were fifteen. You were injured by one of your hoofball teammates. Fractured one of your legs." He gave a chuckle. "You were happy to see me. I was the only one there... we ate dinner together, if I remember correctly. Ah, the good old days..."

As Thunderhoof remained lifeless, Blackjack went on.

"I... I never apologised for... pulling you out of the army, and hastening your discharge," said Blackjack. "Even now, I do believe it was the responsible thing to do. And I know it might seem... a bit old fashioned to say it, but... maybe it was your fate. If you weren't right here, right now, who would be fighting this whole nasty conspiracy? Speaking of which, I've berated Haysley about his role in the plot. I've sent him far away, and I doubt he'll be coming back anytime soon. Maybe knowing this, you'll... sleep better."

The ECG machine just beeped on.

"In any case," said Blackjack, "my biggest regret is about not spending more time with you... who knows how much of it I have left... by the time you'll be awake, I'll be gone. I'll be somewhere even you won't be able to find. The doctors are trying to hide it from me, but I know I don't have much time left. A few months... a year, if I'm lucky. But please, wake up soon, my son... time is running short."

Blackjack closed his eyes, and started walking towards the door. But he was about half-way there when all of a sudden, he heard Thunderhoof give a grunt. The earl turned around, and walked over to the bed, hardly daring to believe it.

"Newspapers," grunted Thunderhoof, before resuming his deep sleep.

Comments

[Antiquarian]

I like Blackjack. He's complex.