3 - Pit stop
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Consciousness returned with a pounding insistence. The reunion was not pleasant. He was draped over a hard surface, and his head felt two sizes too large as it dangled down like an overripe fruit, bouncing to an unknown gait and fit to burst. The motion swung him back and forth, bringing his face repeatedly up against a coarse, furry pelt. His nose wrinkled – whatever was carrying him could have used a bath.
Between the smell, the motion, and his orientation, he felt his gorge begin to rise, and he had to struggle to keep his last meal down. Trying to distract himself from further cataloguing the unpleasant sensations assailing him, he carefully turned his head to the side, observing his surroundings through slitted eyes. He was descending a rough stone passage, dimly lit by glowing crystals set into the walls at irregular intervals.
Ok. So, plan 'stay in one place' appears to have found an exciting new way to go terribly awry. Just what exactly is going on now?
Whatever had him appeared to be strong, furry, tall, presumably intelligent, and not too fond of bathing. His current position gave him an unpleasantly close view of a short, clubbed tail that whipped back and forth with each stride. If it was structured like a human, than he would be draped over its shoulder, and he could feel his waist encircled by a firm arm. The other arm swung freely, and he was surprised to see just how long and heavily muscled it was. Like a gorilla, the creature sometimes used it to walk, and it had paws that strongly resembled hands, but for the small, sharp claws that adorned each fingertip. He could see pantless, furred legs as well, but the joints were arranged differently, and compared to its arms, well, I can cross Bigfoot off the list of possibilities, at least. So, tiny legs that bend like a horse, but a non-equine tail, plus it has crazy strong arms and I'm slung front-to-back. The pieces didn't add up. Great, just what I need – something new in the mix.
Though his head was encountering fur, his torso rested on something cold and hard that clanked softly with each step. Aside from that, however, he could hear only its low breathing as it padded softly down the shadowy corridor. An angry squalling broke out on his other side, and he covertly turned his head around to see what it was.
A second, much shorter creature walked alongside the one carrying him, this one with long, black fur, as opposed to the short, muddy brown coat of the one carrying him. The short one wore just a simple grey vest, but it held his jacket in one paw, while the other gripped a vociferously struggling net slung on its back. Said net was bouncing rather more than the biped's gait could account for, the motion making the creature stagger as if it were drunk. He could see a few patches of fur poking through, and the occasional feather drifted down from the net as it thrashed, but with the net's many folds and small holes, he couldn’t make out any detail. Still, from the sound of it, the foals were more angry than anything else. Their captors seemed indifferent to the ruckus, though, starting to converse overtop the complaints. Their speech sounded vaguely similar to the few other bits of language he’d heard so far, though these creatures’ voices were raspy and grating.
Yeah, if this is the rescue squad, they're doing a piss-poor job, he observed acerbically.
Aside from the occasional glowing crystal, the passage soon lost any vestige of civilization, the irregular walls splitting and merging like a maze, long past the point where he had lost all sense of direction. They continued their descent for a distressingly long time, during which he ran through and discarded numerous escape scenarios – most of them quickly running aground on the sharp-taloned thews wrapped securely around his waist, and a pragmatic self-assessment of his navigational and athletic capabilities. The one constant he made out of the travel was the continued downward trend, which continued until the tunnel finally disgorged them into a large, echoing space.
As they entered, the tall creature shifted its posture, giving him only an instant of warning before he was hoisted and set down. He continued to feign unconsciousness, carefully taking in the room from where he lay on the ground.
It was large – the part he could see could have held a baseball game. As it was, it accommodated a small campfire, which cast long, flickering shadows that danced on the nearby walls and blended into the dark reaches. The cavern had clearly been worked – the fire had been built in the middle of a large, unnaturally level area of cave floor, and a low stone building covered the length of the left wall. Beyond the fire, a rusty cart track snaked across from the far end of the building, splitting into a miniature rail yard and running further to his right until the tracks were swallowed up in the inky depths of the cavern. Looking out past the tracks in front of him, he could make out the plain rock wall of the cavern, while stalactites hung like disembodied teeth from above. Upon entering, the creatures had barely glanced around at any of this, instead making a beeline to the fire.
Piled near the fire was an assortment of rusty picks, shovels and other digging tools that lay in heaps and spilled out of a cluster of crates. The taller of the two quickly picked out a large crate and upended it – dumping out an assortment of hammers with an echoing clatter, and holding the empty box ready over a flat patch of rock. In a frenzied burst, the short one quickly set the net down and scuttled back as the tall one swooped in to firmly plant the upside-down box. It sat there for a moment, before the wood shook and the box began scooting jerkily across the floor. Both canids hurriedly started piling hammers atop the crate until it stopped dancing about.
The assembly of the makeshift cage finally gave him an opportunity to get a good look at his captors. Huh. Those muzzles and ears actually make them look kind of dog-like. Even though they walk upright, though, it looks like they're built more like a chimpanzee – they're a lot top heavier than I thought. I'll bet their upper body strength is phenomenal. Add in the huge paws and those sharp claws they have... Yeah, probably better not to get in a fight with one. Of course, relations have not exactly started out on a good foot, he thought darkly.
On the plus side, they wear clothes talk, though that hasn't been enough to keep humans doing unpleasant things to each other. Also, one of those sets of clothes being a suit of armor doesn't do much to help the ‘clothing is a good sign’ argument, either, he thought with a wince. It all would have been enough to give him a headache, had he not already had one. So, flying equines that are legitimately quite upset with me, or warlike dog-types that have abducted me to their lair for reasons unknown? I suppose there are worse things than being eaten, but put that way, I'll stick with the guaranteed herbivores.
When the dogs had satisfied themselves that the crate was secure, the large one returned for him. It picked him up once more, carrying him into the stone building he'd noticed before. The door entered onto a large room that he got only a short glimpse of before being carried a short ways down a twisting hallway that branched off into a side passage. While most of the building was mortared stone built up against the cave wall, this side passage had been carved directly into the rock without using any of the typical wooden beams or supports. The tunnel wasn’t very long, the creature stopping almost immediately at a door. It grabbed something from the wall and passed through, and upon entering he had the brief impression of a small chamber surrounded by bars and shadowed voids.
He closed his eyes and continued to act unconscious as he felt himself carried just a little ways further, until he was finally dropped off again. Rough paws quickly emptied his pockets and stripped off his backpack. Then there was a breath of wind above him and a creak of metal that ended with a distressingly solid clang. Listening intently, he waited until he heard the outer door close, the footsteps outside fade away, and then just a little bit longer for good measure.
He lay on his back on a cold floor of rough-hewn stone, and drew a deep breath. The pungent stench of mildew emanated from the wet dungeon walls, tickling his throat. Coughing, he opened his eyes and sat up to see that he was in a small alcove that had been carved out of the rock, and then blocked off by thick metal bars. The room was just barely tall enough for him to stand up in, and he walked over to the bars carefully. From there the cell opened onto a small, circular room, illuminated by a dimly glowing crystal set into the ceiling and flanked by additional cells on both sides. Fortunately, the room and other cells were all empty, and the door blocked off visibility from the hallway.
The bars before him were widely spaced and had no crossbars, but the gaps between them were still a bit too narrow for his frame. He tried to bend or shift them, to no avail. They were too thick, and so well-seated that they seemed to be almost part of the rock. The other sides of the cell were solid rock, entirely lacking in convenient drains or air vents. There were hardly any furnishings to speak of, just an empty wooden crate, small pile of blankets, and a bucket he preferred not to think about.
He turned his attention to the door. It was as solidly built as the bars, but the hinges were just simple spikes seated in loops of metal. He took a careful grip and heaved. !!! Holy crap, that thing is way heavier than it looks! I don't know if I even shifted it. Without a lever or a shot of pure adrenaline, it isn't going anywhere. He put the thought of lifting it aside for now, and continued his examination.
The door lock proved more promising. A square piece of metal set into the door, it was just as solid and crude as the bars, but in this case, that translated into a massive block that seemed just a bit loose at the seams. He could almost fit his fingers into the keyhole, which hopefully meant the tumblers would be large and simple as well. Of course, I've never picked a lock before, let alone from behind. Still, it's not as if I have anything better to do, he thought, liberating the wire handle of the bucket and getting to work.
The moments passed fitfully, though without his phone he had no real way of knowing how many. The steady drip of the walls cut through the silence, but he made no pretense of counting. Rather, the regular tinks and plinks served only to remind him of his fleeting opportunity as quicksilver seconds slipped away.
So here I am, stuck behind a dumb lock in some crazy situation by a bunch of creatures I don’t understand. At least it happened on the weekend, but what’s going on back home? How many hours has it been already? I was supposed to meet Claire for dinner tonight – she’s going to be pissed. At least I’ll have a good excuse for my absence, or I would if it made a bit of sense. Arrgh, this is maddening. I need to get out of here.
Muffled voices echoed from the hall, interrupting his thoughts. He hurriedly hid his efforts, but the noise soon faded away again, leaving him once more in the company of the iron puzzle and his own musings.
Why me? I'm nobody special. I'm an accountant, for crying out loud. This is a situation for some fancy secret agent, über commando, or Indiana Jones type. I don’t have any magic powers or dark family secrets that I know of. What could I possibly have done to trigger something like this?
He racked his memory. He had obviously been flying, and he vaguely remembered taking off from the Salève, but after that, things got fuzzy.
I don't think I crashed, and this is no sort of afterlife I ever heard of. Besides, if I were dead, why would the glider still be here? For that matter, even if I’m not dead, what significance does the Swift have? Sure, it's about as good of a sailplane as you can get, but ultimately, it's just some metal and plastic. No mad science, fancy electronics, or reality warping engines here. Hell, no engines period, and the most sophisticated piece of gear I have is the tablet.
I suppose I could be crazy. Some of the stuff I’ve seen would make a physicist curl up and cry. I don't see why I would be hallucinating something like this, though. I mean I like flying, but the horses are out of left field, and the dogs aren’t even in the ballpark. Having stuff like this in a crazy hallucination just doesn’t make any sen– … Right. So that logic pretty much fails horribly. He rubbed his temples in frustration. Still, logical or not, I just can’t shake the feeling that this is all just too real and consistent to simply brush off as something I’m imagining. Plus, I shouldn't be doubting myself. At least not quite yet.
So assuming my intuition is right, and this is the result of some external force, then that brings me right back to the original question: why me? he sighed. This isn't getting me anywhere. I need to focus on the lock.
The steady drip faded from his awareness as he threw himself into trying to grasp the feel of the machine. It was an alien experience, threading a metal sliver into a tangle of moving parts and trying to manipulate them correctly. He had never been mechanically inclined – the closest he'd gotten had been managing all the cables on the Swift. Still, he had read a little bit about the basics of locks, oh so long ago. What was that book called again? I mostly remember it had all those funny illustrations of wooly mammoths, but I guess it had a practical side after all.
It hadn't said anything about how to handle lock picking when reaching around from the rear of the lock, though, and his crude lockpick did nothing to help. As time passed, the omnipresent cold and dampness sapped his strength, and he could feel his fingers slowly lose dexterity. After the first few attempts, he started taking frequent breaks to rest, warming his hands or stretching his arms as best he could. Sometimes he would pace the short length of his cell, throw his weight against the door, or fruitlessly search the walls once again. Frustration and fatigue slowly took their toll, and he had altogether too much time to stew over his predicament.
It was aggravating how the lock seemed to hover just on the edge of his abilities. Maybe the lock was some sort of metaphor? A trial, or some sort of struggle he had to overcome? Wait, no, knock it off – I've already followed that line of thought, and it doesn't lead anywhere useful. The lock is just a stubborn hunk of metal.
Gradually, oh so painstakingly, he began to get a feel for how the tumblers moved, and at what points they behaved differently. Then he had to work out how to apply pressure to pin them in place. Eventually, he pulled a few large wooden splinters from the crate, inserting them through the various gaps in the lock and using them to hold the mechanism steady. He was grateful it was a simple lock, with only three big tumblers – as it was, it was arduous, meticulous work.
What seemed like hours later, he finally got it. Success came not as a satisfying click, but as a loose wiggle that kept on giving as he laboriously retracted the bolt. The door swung open with a squeal of metal, and at long last, he stepped free of the cell. He quickly made sure that the other two cells really were empty, and then removed his makeshift lock picks. Having covered his tracks, he went up and listened at the wooden door. All was quiet, and fortunately, this door had no lock.
Peeking out, he saw the key hanging from a hook on the wall immediately outside, and to his great relief he saw his backpack on a bench beneath it. Seeing the hallway clear, he darted out and checked his bag. It had been rifled through, but nothing seemed to be missing. He also took the opportunity to swipe the key from the wall – might as well keep muddying the waters as to how I escaped.
Before him now was a short corridor that opened onto the larger hallway. Right was the way he had originally came from, left was still unknown. He checked out the left branch first. It was fairly short, with perhaps half a dozen rooms jutting off it. Most of the doors here had a split, two-level design, as you'd see in a stable. They had clearly seen better days, however; the wood was often warped, allowing him to easily peek between the two sections.
Investigating these particular doors proved to be fruitless, however; peering in revealed only blackness, and he was not about to risk entering a room to find it inhabited. The hallway itself ended in yet another door, however looking through this gap, he could see the main cavern again. He could make out the track running by just a short distance away, the bulk of the building shadowing it from the fire. An exit, he thought. I'll have to remember this. I'm not out of the woods yet, though – I can't just escape by myself. Ignoring how wrong it'd be to just leave the foals like this, if the pegasi later catch me without them safe and accounted for, well, I doubt they're going to assume anything good.
He turned back around, and retraced his steps, continuing on past the cell. This stretch of the hallway had more rooms, some of which were lit. He saw a bathroom and a couple of storage rooms, but most were dark and uninviting.
Past those, the hallway ended at the room he had been carried in through. This one was much larger than the others, and looked like it may have once been used for cooking or dining. From the door, he could still see a table, plus a few cabinets on the walls. Now it was some sort of living area, with a number of sleeping pads spread out over the floor, and piles of gear haphazardly clustered around each one. There were at least half a dozen spots. So there are more of them about. The overall effect was halfway between a campground and a garbage dump.
Scanning the room, he didn't see any occupants, and carefully let himself in. The first thing that hit him was the smell. He hadn't really registered it when he'd been carried through earlier, but now it assaulted his nostrils like a plague of Vikings. It was as if a locker room had been crossed with a pound and left to marinate at the back of a fridge. Wrinkling his nose, he pressed on regardless. Now he could see that in addition to the furniture he had noticed before, there was a small basin of water flowing in the corner, more shelves and a rusty stove. Comparing the precise stonemasonry and tidy cabinetry of the building to the messy heaps on the floor, he was pretty sure these dogs were not the original builders.
Interesting as it was, it didn't get him any closer to rescuing the foals or returning to the surface. Fortunately, the door to the main cavern was a split door as well, so he was able to spy on the activity within.
Two dogs stood by the fire, seemingly deep in discussion. One was familiar – the short, hairy one who had carried the foals in. The other one was equally short, but gave off a very different impression. This one moved stiffly but precisely and was wiry beneath patchy fur. Wearing neither armor nor vest, it had instead some kind of harness that was festooned with so many mismatched bags and pouches that it had less visible fur than even the armored dogs. One paw held a gnarled staff, while the other gestured broadly as the creature spoke. Good thing there’s no such thing as curses, he mused. The way that critter is decked out, I’m almost surprised it doesn’t have a skull on the staff and an odd-colored brew bubbling away atop the fire.
The long haired one was equally animated, the two continuing their vigorous exchange until with a final yap and a brusque wave, the odd dog began walking straight towards his door. He frantically backpedalled, barely managing to throw himself through a side door before the canid entered.
He hadn't had a chance to check this room, and he found himself standing in pitch darkness after swiftly closing the door. Unnerved by the narrow escape, it took him a few moments of fumbling in the dark before he was able to extract his flashlight from his pack. A quick sweep of the beam revealed a jumble of furnishings, but no occupants. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned around and peered back into the room he had just left.
Within, the odd dog was heading straight towards one of the jumbled piles of items. This one was among the largest, and it was definitely the messiest. He couldn't see any sort of logic to the sprawling mound of jars, bags and other containers, but the wiry canid seemed to know exactly where to look, as it immediately retrieved a large yellow pouch from the jumbled mess. The canid then grabbed a low bowl from a cupboard, filled it from the basin of water and took both items to the table. There it took the pouch and poured a small amount of powder into the water, before stirring it in with a single long claw. Replacing the pouch in its pile, it then carefully carried the bowl back out into the main cavern.
Turning away from the door, he shone his light around the small room again, and spotted a shuttered window. Walking over to the opening, he doused his flashlight and cracked open the shutter. He peered out just in time to see the canid briefly lift one edge of the crate and slide the bowl in with the foals.
After that, the dogs resumed talking, but with less vehemence than before, and ignoring the crate entirely. It wasn't long before he lost interest as well and shifted his attention to the small side room he was in. Closing the shutter, he turned his flashlight back on and looked around.
He hadn't really appreciated it before, but this room had a different air to it; it wasn't just lacking in offensive odors – the atmosphere here had a sense of time to it. The room looked like it had been rifled through, and there were a few pieces of broken furniture piled just inside the doorway, but despite the surface chaos, it still exuded a sense of age and decorum that was quite at odds with the outer room.
A large wooden desk dominated the center of the room, with papers spilling out of drawers that hung from the desk like lolling tongues. Before the desk sat a low, padded bench, powdered stuffing drifting down from the corners. What really caught his attention, however, was a portrait hanging above the desk. His eyes widened in surprise as he shone his light up on it, and saw three ponies gazing back, their painted eyes still bright on the canvas after who knows how long.
Though innocuous enough, the painting nevertheless set his mind abuzz. I didn't think it was the dogs, but ponies dig mines too? What's more these aren't pegasi – none of them have any wings. They could pass for the ponies back home, except for the differences in their colors and proportions.
Curiosity piqued, he examined the portrait with some interest. The picture was set in a nondescript room, and depicted a trio of ponies, two larger ponies in the rear flanking a smaller pony, with all three posed in such a way that their hindquarters were clearly visible. They all seem to have quite intricate brands, he observed. The left rear pony was tall and solidly built, with a white coat, a green mane, and sporting the image of a pick on its rump. On the right was a shorter pony, also sturdy, but not as much as the other was. This one had a tan coat and a pale blue mane, and a rump marking that depicted a basket of gems. Finally, in front of and between the two was a third, smaller than the other two, but lanky. A juvenile? he wondered. It also had a tan coat, but its mane was a deep violet, and its posterior depicted what looked like a minecart.
He leaned back, bemused. Huh. The images are all different, but still relate to mining. Cattle brands would all be identical, plus they can’t hold color. Tattoos could have this sort of variety, and have color, but a tattoo shouldn't be visible through the coat. Maybe they’re painted on, or dyed? This is a portrait, so it could be their equivalent of formalwear, considering they don’t wear any clothes. Wait a minute, though – didn’t that pegasus in the magazine have something similar? he pulled out the magazine and checked it, sure enough, the mare had what looked like a blaze of fire on her rump. I thought that seemed familiar! This magazine doesn’t really seem to be showing a formal type of occasion, though. Yet another oddity.
Anyhow, from the overall composition of the picture, it looks like a family portrait, if anything. Probably depicting the mine owners. So, non-pegasi ponies mine? I suppose that could be useful to remember, he thought, filing the information away. Then at some point these dogs took over, though there is no sign of them in the portrait. I wonder what happened – did they abandon the place, or were they driven off?
Turning away from the picture, he looked down at the desk, curiously shuffling through the papers. The writing appeared similar to the script in the magazine – it was certainly equally incomprehensible. The form of the entries made him think they could be records of some sort, which would probably have been great, had he actually been able to read them. He found that the paper was also quite brittle, and he had to be careful not to tear the sheets. One sheaf caught his eye, however, as the paper was larger and of heavier stock than the others. Examining this pile, he was excited to see drawings and diagrams. Some appeared to depict machinery, which was interesting enough, but others appeared to be maps.
One in particular looked like it depicted an overhead view, and near the middle he saw a shape that looked familiar. Let's see, if I orient the map to align with the direction I was looking at from the entryway, then the passage to the surface would be at the bottom. In that case, this building matches up with these squares in the middle of the map, and the line with perpendicular hash marks would be the mine cart tracks. Away from the building, beyond the switchyard, the far right side of the cavern branches out into dozens of galleries and short, dead-end tunnels. Mineshafts?
He paused briefly, remembering the rails in the flickering light of the fire, and imagining them snaking onward, down into the bowels of the mountain. So that dark area the tracks disappeared into probably didn't lead anywhere I wanted to go. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the table as his gaze returned to the center of the map. Follow the track the other way, though, and it goes left past the building and into a tunnel that runs all the way to the edge of the paper. Hmm. Next to the end were a few words and an arrow pointing away, but that was it.
It took him a good bit of leafing through the diagrams before he made any headway, but his patience was rewarded when he finally matched up the words at the edge of the map with part of the title of another diagram. This was an engineering drawing of some sort of machine at the edge of a pit, but he wasn't concerned with the technical details. What mattered was a photo attached to the bottom of the sheet showing the actual machine and, more importantly, a cluster of houses standing in the background. So the rails in the mine lead to at least one other exit, and one that comes out near a small town, to boot. Considering that the tracks don’t even come up to the surface here, it’s probably safe to say that the exit in the photo is more important. Granted, I could still be wrong, but it seems logical enough. And if these pieces all come together the way I think they do, well, knowing this place has a back door is definitely valuable.
He returned to the map, tapping it experimentally. Unfortunately, even its thicker paper was alarmingly brittle in his hand – there was no way it would survive any sort of hike through the caverns. He jotted down a rough facsimile of the relevant bits in his notebook before turning away from the papers, and checking out some of the other items in the room.
He was glancing over a pile of old cleaning supplies when he heard an angry commotion echoing from the main cavern. Peeking out the shutter again, he saw half a dozen more of the biped canines had appeared, and were now standing around the fire arguing. There was a large variety among them, including many variations of hair length and color. Most were similar to the tall one that had carried him – large, powerfully built, and wearing armor. Despite their apparent strength, however, they acted more like laborers or guards, as they deferred to the other obvious group.
This second group had even more variety than the first – in addition to fur variations, there were other body types as well, with smaller and weaker dogs in the mix. The one constant was that they all wore vests, and despite their less powerful physiques, they did most of the talking. Most of the new dogs were grunts, but three of the newcomers were of the vest class. Two wore grey vests, one short and light tan, the other even burlier than the guards and with a bluish coat. The final dog had grey fur and was also fairly tall, but the bright red vest it wore set it apart.
The new arrivals were heavily laden with all sorts of miscellaneous goods. These were mostly furnishings, with a few personal items, and a smattering of armor and weaponry. Many of the items were dented or bent, but the dogs seemed to have favored items made of precious metals, or encrusted with jewels, so he doubted the damage mattered so much. Most of the dogs were bedecked with an assortment of tiaras and bracelets and various glittering chains. A pair hefted shining metal urns, while several others maneuvered large bolts of cloth. One of the dogs clung to a set of golden armor, a golden helmet with a blue crest set atop its own. Another was trying to contain an unruly armload of gem-encrusted goblets without dropping a pawful of cutlery. Considering the variety, condition, and timing of all these items, he was pretty sure they could have only come from the fallen city. As the dogs settled in, most of the items accumulated in piles on the ground, though a few dogs hung onto them absentmindedly.
The crate had been removed, leaving the foals lying together on the floor. That had better have been some sort of sleeping powder, he thought darkly. The dogs were not paying them the slightest bit of attention, however, as they were all focused on one of the new dogs as it berated the two dogs that had captured him and the foals. This was the one wearing the red vest, and he was guessing it was the alpha, given how the others cringed as it shouted and waved its arms about. Gesturing wildly, it frequently pointed down at the foals, and occasionally up at the surface. Several times the shorter of the pair tried to present his tablet, while the tall one held out his flight jacket hopefully, but the alpha was on a roll and cut them off with a curt wave of the paw every time they tried to speak up.
Finally, the alpha's diatribe seemed to reach a conclusion. Addressing the tall guard dog that had carried him, the leader gestured sharply, indicating first the sleeping foals, and then pointing off along the tracks towards the building. The harried hound hurriedly nodded its assent, simply dropping his jacket in its haste to bolt for the building door.
He tracked the dog, moving to the inside door to keep watching it. The dog quickly headed over to its pile of stuff and retrieved a pack, setting it out on a table. It then grabbed a few bundles, before dumping out its water skin and refilling it from the water basin. Finally, it grabbed a basket and a few small pieces of bedding and carried these back out to the main room. Returning to the window, he saw the big dog had started bundling up the foals under the irate supervision of the alpha, while the smaller dog slumped off to the side, looking like it wanted to disappear.
Mind racing, he stepped back from the door. They're taking the foals through the mines? Could they be heading for the town in the photo? Have the dogs taken it over as well? Given all the armor and weapons they’re sporting, it seems plausible. I didn’t spend much time on the surface – they could easily control the entire area, and I wouldn’t know it. That doesn’t really change my situation, though. Whatever plan those dogs have for the foals, I can’t let it succeed – I’m going to return those foals to safety myself! And them moving the foals could prove to be my best chance to strike, though I still don't know if I can fight the big one directly. Perhaps there is another way. Glancing around the room, his eye fell on the dog's gear, laid out on the table. It's preparing some gear for the trip, at least. With sudden inspiration, he left the side room and went over to the odd dog's heap of items. Though not as quickly as the dog, he soon spotted the yellow pouch of powder that it had used on the foals. Moving swiftly, he dumped a generous portion into the water skin, shook it vigorously, put the powder back, and then hightailed it back to the side room.
The dog soon returned with the foals bundled up in the basket – he could see only their manes and tails peeking out of the cloth. Seeing them swaddled like that gave him another idea. When their manes fall the right way, you can't really see the foals at all. If I had the right materials, I could switch them out, and no one would be the wiser. All I really need is an appropriately sized object and some hair.
As he was considering this, the dog grabbed the gear it had laid out, and departed down the side hallway. Hmm. It's definitely not heading for the tunnel we came in through, which reinforces the case for another exit. And the map showed only one tunnel in that direction, so as far as I know, it’s heading for the town. I just hope it doesn’t stop by the cell, though there’s not much I can do about that chance, and sitting here fretting about it isn’t helping anything. Still, I need to be quick about putting this together – I can’t afford to let it get too much of a head start.
He briefly darted into the common room again, hunting around until he found another basket and some pieces of cloth similar to what the dog had used.
Returning to the side room, he hastily turned it upside down for useful material. Someone had clearly searched the room ages ago, but they weren't looking to make foal dummies. In short order, he found a couple of vases around the right size and shape and filled them with cloth until they had enough heft. For hair, he denuded a tasselled jacket he found hanging by the door, though he wasn't happy with the effect. It'd be better if I found some real hair to use, but what are the odds of running across nice hair down here? Especially for a color like purple.
In a few minutes, he had the bundles mostly constructed when he heard more commotion from the main cavern. Oh no! Have they discovered my escape? he fretted. Gingerly, he went over to the window and peered out.
A new dog had arrived, another of the grey vest wearers. It wrung its large paws together, shifting its weight back and forth between its feet as it spoke, gesturing emphatically back towards the main entrance. Its ears lay nearly flat against its head, and its tail was drooping as it babbled rapidly, continually pointing back up toward the surface.
After a few moments of this, the alpha held up a paw, waving the new dog to silence. It asked a question which the new arrival considered for a few moments before raising six fingers in response. The leader snorted, then asked something else – indicating the guard dog nearby who still precariously wore the blue-crested golden helmet atop its own. A few dogs nearby sniggered as the guard belatedly doffed the headgear, but the new dog responded to the question by shaking its head in negation.
The alpha let out its own derisive bark of laughter, before beginning a long, growling speech. Gesturing along with its words, the alpha pointed out beyond the entrance, extended one finger and traced it sinuously through the air, inscribing a circuitous, looping path that ended up back where it began. The new dog cocked its head briefly, before shaking it in vigorous disagreement. As it replied, it also stabbed a finger towards the entrance, but then drew it swiftly down and across in a straight line that came to rest pointing at the ground between its feet.
Seeing this, the alpha drew itself up, eyes narrowing and tail standing out as it raised its voice in reply and gestured repeatedly up at the surface, paws flapping as if it was waving it away. The scout backed away slightly, tail drooping, but still tenaciously answering and repeating its own point, even under the alpha’s increasingly withering responses. This exchange continued for a few minutes before trailing off, the two seemingly at an impasse.
Huh, that new dog seems to have seen something the leader doesn’t like. A case of shooting the messenger? he wondered.
In the silence, the alpha stared intently at the scout dog as it hunched down, thinking. As the seconds ticked by, the leader began tapping its foot impatiently. The scout's ears began to droop, as it again wrung its paws and glanced about nervously. Then its wandering gaze locked onto the heap of crates, and its eyes lit up.
Springing erect, it ran over to a crate that sat a little ways apart from the others. Briefly rummaging inside, it came back up holding some items that sparkled even in the gloom of the cave. He felt his jaw drop as he beheld three large round gemstones, two blue and one yellow. The scout dog arranged them into a blue-yellow-blue arc, before presenting them proudly to the alpha.
The leader merely shrugged, causing the new dog to deflate slightly. Set back but not defeated, it returned to the crate. Upon its return it displayed three large diamond-shaped blue gems, arranged in a rough triangular pattern. This time it was as if a cat had just leapt into a flock of songbirds, as the pack instantly dissolved into pandemonium.
The large dog with the grey vest jumped headfirst into a crate piled high with tools, with only his feet left sticking out. Its short, tan companion curled up on the ground, with its paws over its ears. Two armor-clad dogs ran around in circles yelping until they collided and fell over with a clatter, while a third ran off howling into the dark reaches of the cave. The odd medicine-dog ran back into the building, where he could hear it rummaging through items frantically.
It was hard not to laugh at their antics, but his situation was precarious enough already, and the dogs’ nervousness was infectious. Wow, those gems must really be bad news if they can scare these guys, he thought, concerned.
A few of the dogs did not react, merely standing there and watching their packmates uncertainly. Among them was the one who had delivered the news, the remaining one of the pair that had grabbed him, and a couple of the armored ones. They simply stood there in confusion and growing agitation as the rest of the pack melted down around them.
The leader was clearly in the worried camp, tugging at its ears and waving its paws in the air as it walked in circles, talking loudly to no one in particular. It abruptly whirled and directed a question to the tan crouching dog, who responded in a high-pitched falsetto that set his teeth on edge and sent a wave of wincing across the canids in the room. The alpha facepawed, gesturing for the other to stop. By now, even the uncomprehending dogs were starting to show signs of worry.
Finally, the leader stopped pacing and shook itself, as if it had just emerged from a cold bath. Its eyes narrowed, and it barked something out sharply, the room quieting as all the others looked at it expectantly. The alpha addressed the remaining member of the pair of dogs that had abducted him, pointing it in the same direction the first had gone in, and then talking at some length.
They're sending it after the first one? His stomach suddenly knotted. If the two join up, I won’t be able to handle them. Now the leader had shifted and began issuing orders to the rest of the pack, who had all returned to cluster around it. He wasn’t really still paying attention to the others, though, as he focused on his former captor who seemed desperately eager to follow the instructions it had just been given.
Fortunately, like the large dog, the first thing it did was go to the room to grab supplies. Without any foals to deal with, it barely broke stride as it grabbed a few bundles and a spear from one of the further piles. The spear gave him momentary pause but he realized it didn't fundamentally change the equation. These creatures are already stronger than I am – if I get into the sort of stand-up fight where a spear would come into play, then I’ve already lost.
He looked around hurriedly, spotting a broken-off chair leg lying among the wrecked furniture just inside the door. Clutching it in sweaty hands, his heart pounded as he watched the dog return, waiting for just the right moment. It approached steadily, until just before it reached his door, it turned away towards the hallway on the opposite side. The moment it started to turn, he saw his chance and launched himself from the side room.
The dog looked back at the sound of his sudden entry. He saw its eyes go wide, but it barely had time for a strangled yelp before he was on top of it. It had just began pivoting to bring the spear to bear when the first wild swing of his makeshift cudgel clipped the side of its head, jerking it to the side and dropping the dog like a sack of flour. Surprised, he stepped back and waited for the dog to get back up, but it just lay there, breathing slowly. Elation flooded him as his success sank in, but the sense of victory was quickly tempered as he considered what to do with the unconscious dog. Luckily, if the others just sent it off somewhere, they won't be expecting it back very soon. I just need somewhere to keep it out of the way for a while. He grinned, as the perfect solution came to him. Turnabout is fair play, after all.
He was glad this one was relatively small and wore no armor; had it been the large one that had originally carried him, he wasn't sure he would have been able to shift it. As things were, manhandling the unwieldy form was not easy, but adrenaline lent him strength, and he hastily drug it down the corridor and into the cell.
Once there, he rifled through its pockets to make sure it wouldn’t be able to escape too easily. He didn’t find any cell keys, but he was thrilled to find that it still had his phone, keys and wallet. It had a few other things as well, a pouch, a small ball of twine, and a few metal spikes. He pocketed them all for later examination. Looking at the dog’s long, black fur gave him another idea, as well. Acting quickly on it, he brought out the scissors from his knife and snipped off a generous portion of its longest tail fur. He stowed it in the basket, to incorporate into the dummies later. The dog was beginning to stir, so he closed and locked the door.
He briefly returned to the large room, retrieving the spear the dog had dropped and hiding the other bags in the side room where they wouldn’t be noticed. While there, he peeked in on the main chamber one last time. The alpha still stood in the middle barking orders, but some changes were already apparent. The crates had been moved back from the fire and covered with some sort of fabric. One dog had climbed the wall and was hanging ribbons, while another set out goblets, and a third had just appeared with an armload of cushions.
The sight derailed his thoughts once more. What? After kidnapping the foals, now they’re hosting some sort of party? What could they be celebrating? Maybe it might make sense if it was for the capture, but that doesn't match up with the foals being sent away, and how they reacted then. Now the dogs are putting together a fancy reception for the grim reaper because of some crystals, and it makes less sense than ever. The logic here is like a train wreck where they just keep sending more trains. I’m not even sure I want it to make sense anymore – that would probably be the surest sign that I’ve finally lost it.
He took a couple deep breaths to steady himself. Okay, I hate to leave loose ends that can come back and bite me in the ass, but I just do not have the time to deal with this anymore. He turned away from the door decisively and hefted his pack. Hoping he had everything he needed to deal with a situation that threatened to spin further and further out of control, he quietly headed down the hall and took his leave through the door at the end.
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Yay, an update!
I think I read that book!
I really like your vivid storytelling, your descriptive language. I'm pretty certain what bogeymare the dogs are fearing, and their reaction was very funny!
That deadale wives reference.
So the Pink one doesn't matter but the whiner....
Now to see if he 'digs' himself deeper with the re-kidnap attempt
Diamond Dogs.... always stirring up trouble.
Save the Foals!
Spitfire should have come around, I wonder what she is up to?
Oh boy, what if he rescues the foals, but somepony finds him while they're still drugged and wrapped up?
2373105
If I remember correctly, it was How Things Work by David McCauley.
So glad to see an update. This is one of my favorite fics on the site!
It updated! Yay a million times over! <3
So, what I can tell of what the diamond dogs said, six (ponies? Perhaps the Mane 6?) were coming down, most likely to get the foals back, and the dogs want to make it look like they don't have them.
2373315 Correctamundo! 2373105
Glad you both enjoyed the reference and the chapter
2373118
2373186 2373292 2373296
Relax, I'm sure there's no real need for concern.
"It's" should be "its", since replacing it with "it is" doesn't make sense in context.
2373719
Thanks
Here I thought I'd gotten all of those...
Definitely going to keep reading this, but will the next chapters be at least on a monthly update schedule?
So it seems he got everything back except his tablet, which I would consider high priority, but that's just me.
So far so good keep up the good work.
2373616 Well that just means he's doomed.
Very fascinating! I love how you portray everything without any real use of dialogue, and I for one was glad of the picture at the beginning because I'd never seen a hang glider like that so the description was having trouble computing with what I DID know of hang gliders. I liked the reference to "ready to spit fire" in the first chapter that let us know for certain who she was, and the Pinkie Pie / Rarity cutie mark demonstrations (and the Dogs' reaction to them) was hilarious. Definitely my upvotes and tracking!
Their legs don't "bend the wrong way", author. That "reverse knee" is actually their heel. The actual knee is up higher, close to the hip.
That works for ponies, diamond dogs, griffons, minotaurs, and pretty much every Equestrian species that is digitigrade.
2373757
Well, the next chapter should take less time than the last one did, but that's mostly because I worked on them both in parallel. Unfortunately, my writing speed / free time isn't quite up to monthly chapters yet.
2373761
Thanks for the feedback, it's encouraging (and helpful) to hear the parts that are working (or not) for folks.
2373820
Well noted. I am familiar with a digitgrade leg; I was trying to reflect that the protagonist was not - it looks like I was off a bit.
2373860 I understand, I don't have a set schedule for my story either, it's a case of "it updates when it updates".
New chapter? Yus! I like the reference to The Way Things Work. I also have vague memories from my youth of that book explaining planes and screws and such with sketched mammoths. Good times!
I'd seen this when you'd first posted in all them years ago... okay, so it was last year... or rather five or six months ago.
My point is, I'm sorry I waited so long to join the party, this is a very interesting take on the human to Equestria story and I find myself hooked from the get go.
Also, just as I started reading you released Chapter 3.
I demand MOAR!!!
(Then again, I always demand moar from good authors...)
The more I read it, the more I like it! I think this was the best chapter so far - I LOVE the language barrier and cultural differences.
2373860 the next chapter should take less time than the last one did - COOL! I can't wait!!!
Caliaponia, could I humbly ask you to consider leaving the language barrier for as long as possible (no magic translation spells, please)? For me, this makes the story so much more interesting.
Aw, man, I loved my copy of The New Way Things Work. Never saw the original, though.
That was pretty great. Too bad he didn't stick around but the foals are his priority. Even though they'll be OK anyway. He does need to show his goodwill to the ponies. at least we know he's near Ponyville.
I'm guessing after hearing the dogs' story and discovering the foals have been sent to safety and that the prisoner is gone, Rarity and Twilight will now have possession of the protagonist's jacket and tablet respectively.
Huh, i though this story was dead because if hasint been updated for so long.
2373860 Just throwing out a quick note to affirm that I at least understood that "bent the wrong way" was in the perception of the protagonist. Too many people conflate character view/opinions and author view/opinions far too often.
I find myself hoping more and more that he'll end up friends with Spitfire.
2374244
Twi? I thought the gem patterns represented Pinkie and Rarity. Regardless, the reaction to Rarity's impending arrival is hilarious.
Great to see another update, and your chapters keep getting longer.
, though I had a bit of trouble following the scene with the diamond dogs the the guy was looking in on
.
Really liked this chapter, lot of wit on guys part
I take it that Rarity is making an appearance for some reason
,and for both that reason and the ensuing rescue of the foals.
Can't wait for more!
2375032
The scout held up 6 fingers and was using gems to run through their cutie marks. He just got to Rarity's 2nd. All the mane 6 are coming.
Dang! Slower than molasses in winter. But still a good enough chapter. I honestly thought some pegasi guards had caught up to him. Way to keep me guessing.
Also, please don't take so long on the next chapter (especially since you said you worked on it.). I thought this story was abandoned by now actually.
I'm hoping for the ponies, and the man to be in the wrong here. The man doesn't know what's going on, so he works on assumption. He decides to play hero.
For all he knows, the lightly furnished jail cell was a temporary, legitimate reaction to the unknown (him). These dogs value hard labor, and dedicate their lifestyles mining their own crystals and ore. They honor peace treaties with the ponies, and the foals are being wrapped up in bundles, so they could be taken back to their village through tunnels bypassing the monster-infested lands above. Pegasi foals could fly about, but their endurance, and coordination is lacking. Even timberwolves could hunt them by spreading out, and making camps among the trees. Foals would die of starvation, and exhaustion to the packs, while tree-hopping, or just crash into branches, and get torn up on the ground. The ponies encroached on Diamond Dog territory, despite the repeated warnings in standardized lectures, and signposts laying about to warn others to not trespass. Ponies, in their curiosity for the human, did not heed these safety regulations. Spitfire was mad at the foals for getting involved with the human, and the complication made her reveal herself to him, to protect the children, when otherwise she would call for assistance from a nearby military unit (Wonderbolts/royal guards),.or militia, to arrest this stranger for unauthorized entry into homes, or being a creature that is not studied.
http://www.comet.ucar.edu/nsflab/web/images/hilo.gif
And specially treated clouds that do not quickly dissipate at lower elevations are used for special events, so the high cities are too far for nonathletic foals to reach alone, which means that carriages, or adults escort them between the high cities, and the earthen ones. It's simple to glide down, but tough to flap up. The show has earth ponies, and unicorns that take hot-air balloons up to Cloudsdale. On the other hand, physics might as well throw up its personified hands, and take a hike. Dark Matter in the catapult launch, Sonic Rainbooms, Pinkie Pie unless someone pulls in some "magic" theory.http://ask.yahoo.com/20000705.html Hundreds of feet from a catapult launch is just not enough to reach a realistic cloud level. So, the pegasi are broken?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dX-_L6chhSw
Forays above-ground in diamond-dog territory entails substantial risk, even in groups, so the horses were brought below to use the subterranean networks back into pony lands. Sort of like how illegal immigrants are deported. They are put on file for the 1st time encountered, but not detained too long if they have a clean criminal record. Ponies that wander too far into dangerous territory are given this treatment, because they're generally racist, entitled, and the guards aren't paid enough to deal with them being awake. Heavy lifting is what these dogs do.
The human clonked a guard in the side of the head with a table leg. Perhaps the guard now has internal bleeding, after falling to a rough floor, or being struck, and will die, or be permanently disabled from either a blood clot in a vital area, or lack of one.
This tragic event leads to Mr. Violent being a highly wanted criminal in the holds of each empire that signed into an agreement for extradition, assuming the ponies play fair, which I doubt in my headcanon based on the show. There are dragons that hate ponies, diamond dogs who force labor on ponies, and ponies that fear zebras, and say "everypony". And the names of their cities are egotistical, and seem to lack non-ponies.
Yeah...that's one detailed take I'm hoping for. I see too much of stories where the human pulls heroics, and is accepted, or revered by the ponies, and the other races are mentioned in passing. Not enough grey-morality, or ponies being haughty, more greedy than diamond dogs/manipulative overlords. Or world building on this site, in my opinion. I'm halfway through shortskirtsandexplosions' story, The End of Ponies. It's pretty unique in plot, characterization, descriptions - it's a joy to read compared to all the drivel of common Gary-Stu self-inserts of bronies. I do hope your main character does not become the average, pony-only relations, and subservient in-general protagonist, and that the glider was not just a hook gimmick to enter him into the land while describing Cloudsdale in detail, leading to story plots with cliches. Cause escaping from slaver diamond dog mines has been done in lots of other fics. But hey, it's your fic, do what you want.
Glad to see more of this, it continues to be very interesting. And I'm glad to see that Rarity left quite the impression.
Truley exellent as always!
Really glad to see this update.
MAKE THE NOISE$SS STOOOOPPP
WHINEY PONYYYYYY
2374002 2374139
I've been pleasantly surprised by the the number of folks that remember it
2374856
I'm glad it wasn't too confusing but it's true that I didn't have 'wrong way' it in 'thought italics', so 2373820 's point wasn't unreasonable. At any rate, I tweaked the passage slightly, so it should be fine now.
2375130
You might have over-thought it a bit much, although you bring up a quite a good point.
Good story. BUT.
That aircraft in the title image is NOT (repeat: NOT) a hang glider, but rather a Brightstar SWIFT (a small ultralight performance / distance glider comprised of a cockpit attached directly to the bottom of an ultralight-style wing, more resembling a flying wing than a hang glider).
TL-DR: You have greatly irritated this particular aviation enthusiast.
2374117
Thanks for sharing your impressions, and don't worry - the issue of language is not something I'll set aside lightly.
2375745
The BrightStar / Aériane Swift?
I did read the article I got both images from (and a few others). Though the official description is a 'Tailless foot-launched sailplane', I had also seen a number of references to it in rigid-wing hang gliding, and was under the impression that either term could be used to describe it. Perhaps I should have hewed more closely to the official line, but I went with what I felt would be the most widely understandable description of a unique craft. Sorry it upset you.
2373118
And here I thought I was the only person that guessed that!
2375679 The mammoth taught me most of my basics on chemistry, physics and English (which isn't my first language by a long shot). It also made me into a helpless tinkerer and diagram fanboy.
Can't believe I didn't comment on that...
The Way Things Work! I remember fiddling around with a computer version of that when I was a wee tot in the early 1990s! I haven't remembered it in ages (probably because I was too young to comprehend what I was seeing).
2373860 In that case, it's better if you, as you did, show it through in-universe character lines, or acknowledge the intentionally incorrect information in* the AN. It can indeed get misleading depending on the reader.
*: Holy crud that's a lot of 'i' words
2376115
How could I forget this?
That's right. Rarity is coming. You better be afraid!
What ho, some canid shenanigans?
Up to your usual standard I see.
I normally can't stand waiting for a train wreck to happen, but I can't wait for that next chapter.
imageshack.us/a/img33/5764/likethischapter.jpg
No pressure of course, I understand quality takes time. Nothing anyone dislikes more than an entitled git complaining about something that's free and good.
Setting out the red carpet for
I nearly had my lungs explode from trying not to wake the other people in my home with laughter.
I really like this story and the way you are presenting the human in Equestria idea.... But jesus fucking christ on a goddamn pogostick doing motherfucking backflips over a shark tank you are dragging ass as far as pacing is concerned. Not in terms of your release schedule, it takes however long it takes to write a story, but in terms of getting through the plot and communicating ideas.
Just saying.
Nicely done; and not in the direction I expected. I especially liked the nonverbal communication that left the reader in no doubt as to what was coming, and that The White Whiner isn't going to get lost in the mine...
The 'legs bending the wrong way' line made me remember a werewolf character I had; exactly his thoughts on first transformation.
Minor comments:
All was quiet, and fortunately, this door had no lock.
--I'd put the comma after the 'and', but that's marginal.
Oh no! Have they discovered my escape? He fretted.
--It's thought rather than speech, but I'd lowercase the 'He'. There are a couple like that.
You might have fixed this already, but in my offline copy there were some thought sections that weren't italicized.
...and I was disappointed when the chapter ended (always a good sign!).
...and before I forget; you may find it easier to have the human give the dogs nicknames based on their descriptions, even just in his head -- otherwise you'll be forever writing things like 'the one that brought him in'. You could use dog breeds, clothing and size etc. Just a thought.
You never cease to amaze me.
Keep up the good work!