6. The Warehouse
They reached the diner ten minutes later, well after the evening’s main crowd of customers had already left. It was a small place, nestled in between a clothing store and an office. They were greeted by Griselda herself, an aging griffon with a wide smile and a warmly accented voice, wearing a frilly pink apron.
“Hullo there, Ambassador! Welcome back.” She shuffled out from behind the counter as they entered. “Your usual seat’s free.” Griselda pulled up short as she got a closer look at Rye.
From behind him, he heard Tyria give a tiny laugh. “Wrong one, Griselda.”
“Oh!” The griffon blinked in surprise. “I’d heard there was a new Equestrian diplomat in town, but I didn’t think I’d see you here.” She bowed to him.
Rye returned the gesture. “Rye Strudel. A pleasure to meet you.”
“No, no, hon, the pleasure’s all mine. Have a seat over there, would you? I’ll come get your order in a minute.”
The ponies made their way to the far end of the diner. Rye sat on one side of the table, cracking his neck. Tyria stood beside him, at a relaxed parade rest. Rye looked up at her and smiled uncertainly. “You don’t have to just stand there, you know.”
“I’m on duty, Ambassador.” Her eyes twinkled. “And this time, I am in uniform.”
Rye tipped his head to acknowledge the point. “Still, you can sit, if you’d like.”
Tyria rolled her eyes. “All right.” She sat down on the opposite side of the table, a seat down from him.
Rye felt briefly concerned. “What, I don’t smell bad or anything, do I?”
She grinned at him. “No, I’m just staying out of tea range.”
“Oh.” Rye had the grace to blush. “I’m… I’m sorry about that.”
“Hrmm.” Tyria mock-glared at him, before her expression faded into seriousness. “I forgive you. Just… please, don’t run off again. I don’t want you to get hurt.” She blinked. “On my watch.”
“You have my word.” Rye placed a hoof over his heart and bowed dramatically. He was rewarded with another smile.
Griselda returned. “Alright, then, dearie. We got fish, berries, hay, oats, enough seasoning to knock out an elephant, and a soup selection that’ll blow your mind. Our wine list is in the back, but we’ve got a fairly wide selection.”
This griffon was certainly unlike any other he’d ever met. He wondered where on earth that accent had come from. Rye raised an eyebrow at Tyria, who was maintaining a straight face. He turned back to Griselda. “I’ll have some oats and a glass of Chardonneigh, please.”
“Anything special you want done to ‘em?”
Rye thought for a moment. “Boiled for three minutes, then put in a pan with a quarter-cup of honey and a cup of water, then add in a dash of milk and let it simmer till the water’s boiled off and the honey’s soaked in.”
Griselda smacked her beak. “Fancy, aren’t we? Alright, darlin’, just sit tight and I’ll get it ready for you.” She vanished into the kitchen, leaving the doors swinging.
Rye watched as the doors came to rest. “Does she run this whole place by herself?”
“No, but the rest of her employees usually go home by seven. Griselda stays late; she lives upstairs, I think.” Tyria tilted her head curiously. “Where’d you get that recipe from?”
“My father.” Rye smiled, remembering long-ago days spent in the bakery kitchens. “I think, deep down, he always wanted me to be a cook like him.”
“Oh.” A brief look of sadness flashed across her face, but it was gone before he could react.
Griselda returned with the wine and a glass of water. Tyria took the water and smiled in thanks. Rye sipped his wine and nodded in approval. “Thank you.”
“Those oats are coming right up, hon. Another three minutes.” She vanished again.
Rye drank from his glass, searching for the right words. This was the best opportunity he’d had yet, and might be the last he’d get. Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he asked, “I feel like I recognize your name, Tyria. Are you by chance related to Commander Jerric Metrel?”
Tyria sighed. “I was wondering if you would ask.” She sounded disappointed. “He’s my father.”
Rye set his glass down. “Uh… do the two of you not get along?”
“No, we get along fine. It’s just… well…” Tyria rubbed the back of her neck. “Everypony always compares me to him when they find out who I am. He’s had his own ship command since he was eleven. I’m already older than that, and I’ve yet to make anything of myself.” She bit her lip, apparently having revealed more than she meant to.
“You feel like you’re getting smothered by his reputation, hm?”
“Exactly.” Tyria frowned, then looked at him with surprise. “I guess you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”
“Very much so,” he said quietly. “My mother’s a legend. I’ll be living in that shadow my whole life.” His face hardened in determination. “But that doesn’t mean that I—that we—can’t do great things, too. Don’t give up on yourself, Tyria.”
Tyria’s eyes clouded thoughtfully. “I won’t. Thank you, Rye.”
They were on a first name basis now, he noted with happy surprise. Suddenly, he realized that he’d been calling her Tyria for days. Well, she hadn’t said anything. He hoped she didn’t mind.
Griselda arrived at last, carrying his order on a tray. She placed the steaming hot plate of honey-drenched oats on the table before him. Rye sniffed and grinned. “You put some pepper in there, didn’t you?”
“You got it. A spoonful of diced bell pepper.” Griselda looked impressed. “You’ve got some nose, hon.”
Rye sliced off a bite and chewed. “That’s excellent. I’ll have to try adding that next time I make this. Hm, and maybe some onions…”
Griselda tapped her beak. “Say, you mind if I write that recipe down?”
“Sure thing!” Rye whipped out a small sheet of parchment, a stopped-up inkwell, and a quill from within his robes. He scribbled down the recipe and a few notes on the parchment and handed it to Griselda.
“Thanks, hon. I’ll put it on the menu, we’ll see if it sells. You enjoy that, now.” She nodded and left.
Tyria gave him an amused glance. “You keep parchment and ink on you?”
“I’ve got some paper, too, but I save that for important documents.” Rye twirled the quill around before laying it on the table. “You never know when you’ll need them, in my line of work.”
“Speaking of which…” Tyria rested her head on a hoof. “What exactly happened during your meeting?”
Rye frowned. “It's going to be much harder than I thought. I figured that she wanted Equestria to stay out of her waters because she wants her stranglehold on the sugar industry to remain unthreatened, but it’s more than that. She’s one of those leaders that has to have control of every little thing that goes on in her domain.”
“I’m familiar with the type,” said Tyria blandly.
“Zahira doesn’t see our request as an attempt to protect our ships, she sees it as an attack on her sovereignty. I can guarantee the Princess doesn’t want control of the Isles, but convincing the Marquis of that is going to be a challenge.”
“Great things, right?” Tyria gave him a smile.
“Right.” Rye returned it. He began working on his dinner. “Want a bite?”
Tyria rolled her eyes. “Are we going to have this conversation every time you eat somewhere?”
He shrugged with a guilty grin. “Probably. You sure you don't want any?”
She sighed, then waved her hoof in a gimme motion. Rye passed the plate down the table. Tyria took a bite and munched thoughtfully for a few moments. Rye raised his eyebrows expectantly. She swallowed. “Pretty good.” She made to pass the plate back to him, but paused. With a faint smile, she took another bite of the oats, then gave him the plate.
The oats were gone in a few short minutes. Rye smacked his lips, enjoying the little piece of home. Across the table, Tyria looked up at the clock that hung from the wall, and started in surprise. “It’s getting pretty late. We should try to get back before ten, or the captain will have my head.”
“I’m ready to go when you are.” Rye set down the payment and a tip on the table, and the two of them left with a wave of goodbye to Griselda.
Outside, the sun had long descended past the horizon, and the sky had turned dark. The streets were lit only by the glowing windows of the few stores and restaurants still open for business. Tyria frowned nervously. “Stick close. This town can be dangerous at night.”
For once, Rye felt inclined to agree. “Right behind you.”
They started off down the road, heading for the southern side of the city. The nighttime city was filled with noises, more than even Canterlot. Barking dogs and hissing cats were accompanied by the sharp report of hooves on cobblestone as the last few zebras made their way home.
Soon they had left the government sector far behind. They weaved through the dark streets, led on by Tyria’s practiced steps. Suddenly, she turned off of the main road, heading into a narrower side street. Rye followed, curious. “I noticed we took this detour earlier this afternoon, too. I figured it was to avoid traffic.”
“No,” said Tyria dryly. “If we follow that street for another sixty meters we’ll hit the city’s red-light district.”
“Oh.” Rye was suddenly glad for the darkness, it concealed his pink cheeks. He coughed. “Wouldn’t want to besmirch our nation’s fine reputation.”
“I'm more concerned about getting mugged. That district has the highest crime rate in the entire city.” Tyria looked around as they walked. “The docks are a little safer... usually.”
They emerged from the street to find themselves at the edge of the bay. Tyria gestured to Rye to follow her. The street out here was dimly lit by burning oil lamps hanging from posts along the piers. Barrels and crates lined the wooden docks, awaiting shipment in the morning.
“It’s nice out here.” Rye inhaled. “Peaceful.”
Tyria murmured in agreement. “I like to come out to sit on the pier sometimes, and listen to the water lap up against the shore. Sometimes I try painting in the lamplight.”
“You paint?” Rye’s ears perked forward with interest.
“Oh, uh…” Tyria’s pace quickened. “Yes. As a hobby. Nothing special.”
“Nothing special?” His eyes flicked to her flank for a brief moment. “Your cutie mark is a paintbrush, Tyria! I’m sure you’re wonderful at it.”
“Um, well…” She sounded quite flustered. “I’m okay, I guess—”
She froze. Rye came to a halt behind her, peering around to see what had stopped her. A pair of zebras were walking toward them, talking to each other in a tongue he did not know. Tyria’s head whipped around, her eyes wide in the faint light. “Hide!” she hissed.
They ducked away from the lamppost and back behind a pile of barrels that lay on the side of the docks. Rye peeked around to catch a glimpse of the zebras before Tyria pulled him back. “Keep down,” she whispered. “They were wearing green scarves. Those are Viper colors.”
Rye’s eyes widened. “How do they keep getting into Zyre?”
“Who knows? Just stay down. There’s no way I can fight off two of them at once.”
Part of him was irked that she discounted him so easily, but he had to admit he was of little use in a fight. Instead, he leaned up against the barrels and tried to listen to their conversation. They were talking in some local variant of Zebrillic. Rye sorely wished he had taken advantage of any of Cranberry’s many offers of language lessons.
“Any clue what they’re talking about?” he asked. Tyria shook her head, and put a hoof to her lips.
The sounds of the zebras’ voices grew louder. He heard a door opening, and then it slammed and the voices were gone. Rye poked his head up above the barrels and stared straight ahead at the warehouse opposite their hiding place. “I think they went inside that building.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here before they come back out.”
He bit his lip. “Aren’t you curious what’s inside there?”
“Not in the slightest. Let’s go, we can report this to the Watch later.”
“It’s our job to keep Equestria safe. These pirates are planning something, and I’m scared it has something to do with our ships.”
“And my job is keeping you safe!” Tyria looked around in panic, then lowered her voice. “Please, Rye! Let’s go!”
He ducked his head guiltily. He’d promised, after all. “Okay. Lead on.”
They crept out from behind their barrels, and began quickly cantering away from the warehouse, when Rye heard the door open once more. “Uh-oh.”
He looked over his shoulder to see four zebras, all carrying barrels on their backs, stepping out of the building. The first looked up and stared right at him.
“Tyria, I think we’d better—”
“Ai!” yelled the zebra, shrugging his barrel loose and onto the ground. “Stop!”
Tyria swore. “Run!”
They raced across the docks, their hooves thudding on the wood. Rye spared a glance behind him to see that all four of the pirates were now pursuing them. He turned back to Tyria and tried to speak between gasps of air. “Split up! They can’t catch us both!”
“Are you nuts?”
So much for respecting the office. “We can double back and meet up at Griselda’s!”
“This is—” Tyria skidded to a halt as another group of three zebras, drawn by the shouts of their fellows, rushed out in front of them. “Oh, hell. All right, into the alley!”
They turned left and headed back away from the docks, with the pirates in hot pursuit. Rye’s hoof knocked into a can filled with some kind of pellets, sending it flying and scattering the pellets all over the ground. As the pirates entered the alleyway after them, he heard one slip and crash into another, cursing.
Rye and Tyria hit a dead end, and the alleys branched left and right. “You go right,” Rye said, panting, “I’ll head left. Meet me.”
“Okay,” said Tyria, looking desperate, “but you’d better be there, so help me.”
He nodded, and then they broke away and ran.
His path ran parallel to the way they’d come, and he raced through the narrow spaces and out into the streets, careening through the city in an attempt to lose his pursuers. Soon he found himself back near the docks entrance. Rye paused to listen for the zebras’ hooves, praying that he’d lost them.
Clip-clop came the sound of their approach, and he grimaced. Rye ducked back into the alleyway, looking for a hiding place. A door in the back of a brick building beckoned, and he rattled it to test for a lock. It opened at his touch, and he gratefully slipped inside. He crouched behind the door as it closed, listening intently.
The sound of hooves rushed past, but they didn’t stop to open the door. He sighed with relief. Give it a few minutes, let them get farther away. Then he’d head back out to the street and find Tyria. At least, if she’d escaped, too—he felt a sudden spike of adrenaline-fueled anxiety. She’s fine. If I can lose them, she definitely can.
Rye looked around at the building he’d entered. He was in a small space between the back wall and a giant pyramid of barrels. They all had red and white markings on them. A closer inspection revealed that it was the familiar sigil of Grypha, a howling griffon backed by a crimson shield. He must be in a Gryphan warehouse.
The front door opened on the far side of the warehouse, and then slammed shut. An angry voice he did not recognize growled, “They lost him.”
Rye’s heart skipped a beat. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. It seemed he had stumbled back onto the same warehouse the pirates had come from.
“What about the mare?”
“Zelvan’s group hasn’t come back, yet.”
“I want to know what they were doing down here, and what they saw. None of this leaves the docks, are we clear?”
“You got it, boss.”
Rye calculated his chances of opening the door and escaping undetected, and licked his lips nervously. He slid his hoof under the handle and began slowly pulling it toward him. The wood creaked, and he nearly had a heart attack.
Suddenly the other door slammed open again, and he heard grunts and shouts as at least half a dozen zebras entered. Then a familiar voice snarled, “Get off of me!” Rye’s heart sank.
“So,” said the leader’s voice, “You’re the trespasser. How much do you know?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tyria sounded angry, but unhurt. Rye crept to the side of the barrel pyramid to discover that the warehouse was a maze of crates and packages. He started slinking through them, trying to get close enough to get a view of the zebras on the other side.
“That’s an Equestrian uniform. Is Milliden spying on us?”
“The ambassador doesn’t know anything about this. I didn’t even know you were down here.”
“Why were you out on the docks?”
“Buying blue dust.”
The lead pirate snorted. “Sure. Who was that other pony?”
“My dealer.”
“Cut the crap. You ain’t got the eyes of a dusthead, sweetie. 'Course, you don’t stop lying to me, and I may give them to you. Now I’ll ask you one more time. What. Were. You. Doing?”
She’s trying to protect me, Rye realized with horror, and they’re going to kill her for it. He finally reached the end of the line of crates separating him from the zebras, and poked his head around.
Tyria was held by two zebras, her forelegs outstretched, and pushed down to the ground. A third zebra, the leader, was standing in front of her and glaring down. Six other zebras stood around them, some holding short, bladed weapons he recognized as sugarcane machetes. Dimly, he applauded whoever had thought of that—they could pass the weapons off as harvesting tools if their storehouse was ever raided.
The leader growled. “Give me a knife.”
Tyria’s eyes were wide, but she said nothing. Rye watched with growing terror as the lead zebra grasped a machete and approached her. “Hold her still.”
He had to do something. Rye swiveled back and forth, looking for anything he could use as a distraction, but nothing presented itself. Closing his eyes and repressing a groan, he jumped out and yelled, “Hey!”
The pirates whirled to face him. The leader shouted around the knife in his mouth, “After him!”
Rye ran back into the maze of crates. He heard the zebras close behind him, the sound of their hooves nearly drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He raced back out into the back row behind the barrels and did the only thing he could think of.
He swung his hind legs up and bucked the barrels hard. There was a groan of wood, and the entire structure began to slowly tilt. Zebras rushed around the corner, knives at the ready. Rye took a step back.
The pyramid collapsed. Over a hundred barrels came crashing down, burying the zebras. More barrels fell on top of Rye, and he was knocked to the ground. The barrels smashed into the crates on the other side, starting a domino-like cascade of falling wood. He heard cries of surprise from the distant side of the warehouse.
Barrels broke open as they fell, spilling out a black, powdery substance that was clearly not sugar. Rye caught a faceful of it as another barrel whacked him in the head. He blinked, stunned, before pushing himself upright. Ahead, the zebras were digging themselves out of the ruined barrels, snarling.
Rye leaped onto the pile of cargo, running over the barrels with his wings spread wide to keep his balance. He glanced forward to see that Tyria had seized the distraction to break free of her guards. She was locked together with one of the zebras, wrestling for his machete. Another was closing in from behind her. The rest had been knocked over or buried by crates.
He hit the ground on the other side of the collapsed goods, racing toward her. He slammed into the zebra she was tangled with, knocking him aside and sending the machete spinning across the warehouse floor. Rye pulled away before the zebra could recover, running for the door. “Let’s go!”
Tyria was right behind him, and they rushed out into the street. She looked frazzled, her normally neat mane sticking out at odd angles. She gave him a look of mixed frustration and gratefulness. “Let’s not split up again.”
“Yes, bad idea,” he agreed. “Let’s argue about it later.”
Tyria rolled her eyes, and shook her head. “Follow me.” She took off running, and Rye followed suit. He looked behind them, but no zebras were following. Hopefully, the mess he’d made in their warehouse would keep them busy long enough to cover their escape.
The minutes passed with agonizing slowness. Rye didn’t think they were headed south, it felt like they were crossing east through the city, directly away from the docks. “Where are we going?”
Tyria paused to catch her breath. “They recognized my uniform. They’re going to try cutting us off from the embassy. It’s too dangerous to go back tonight, we’ll have to wait until morning; but my apartment is on this side of the city. We should be safe there.”
“Okay.” Despite the sweat and the fear, Rye felt a sudden curious rush at the thought of seeing her home.
They reached the building without incident. Tyria unlocked the door, and they pushed hurriedly inside. She locked it behind them again, and the two of them breathed easy for the first time in an hour. “Well,” she said, her voice weary but happy. “We’re alive. That’s something.”
Rye grinned. “Nothing quite like the adrenaline rush after somepony tries to kill you, eh?”
She gave him an appalled look. “Are things always like this around you?”
“What can I say? I’m a magnet for excitement.” Rye felt the familiar exhaustion after escaping danger settling over him. “So where’s your apartment?”
“Third floor. Come on, I’ll show you up.” She led him up the stairs, still panting slightly from the run. They reached the door with a brass 313 above the knocker. Tyria opened it and ushered him inside.
Her apartment was fairly roomy, larger than he’d expected. He looked around the living room, noticing the faded brown couch and the cabinets. Paintings hung from the wall, but it was hard to make anything out about them in the dark. He resolved to get a better look tomorrow morning.
Tyria cleared her throat. “It’s not much, but it’s home. The bedroom’s through that door. You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“What? No!” Rye adjusted his robes. “I’m the guest, I’ll take the couch. I’ve been sleeping in that ritzy thing back at the embassy for nearly a week, anyway; one night on this won’t kill me.”
Tyria shrugged, too tired to argue. “All right. Do you need sheets or anything?”
Rye grinned at her again. “Nah. You know what the best thing about these robes is?” He unclasped his robes and pulled them off. “They make a great blanket.”
She gave him a weary smile. “Okay, then. See you in the morning, Rye.” She went into the bedroom, and he heard a faint thump as she collapsed onto the bed.
Rye lay down on the couch and snuggled into the cushions. He pulled his robes over himself and tucked them under his hooves. He inhaled and raised an eyebrow. The couch smelled unmistakably of paint. He yawned, decided to ignore it, and settled down to wait for sleep.
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Wheatie is goimg to have such fun when he finds out where Rye spent the night.
Thank you for another great chapter
Wow....he's taking advantage of her almost getting killed to snoop through her stuff and feel no guilt....When did Rye become so sleazy?
Just want to say thanks for the both stories!
I read the first story yesterday. Well... technically yesterday - I made terrible mistake on Thursday evening - I thought that I could read 'The Age of Wings and Steel' for half an hour before sleep.
When I finished the book it was 8 in the morning :)
And while your custom ponies lifespan drives me crazy - the stories are amazing
Thank you for sharing them with us !
2345552
Snoop through her stuff? Huh?
2346076
I just feel like he's become very oblivious to the feelings of others and it really grates since he came across as fairly perceptive in the previous story. As well he seems really good at reading subtle body language and cues when he's doing his diplomat thing. I get that the meeting is much more controlled area but he still comes across as really unfair to Tyria.