Eden Fire

by Sharman Pierce

First published 23rd of August, 2022

A wreck, a demon ship, and an eccentric captain turn a family business trip into a chase with stakes far too high to lose.

The trip was supposed to be simple: a few weeks sailing to deliver family spices to a new buyer, a quick vacation, and back to the plantation. One mysterious, and coveted, box turned Cold Snap's chance to prove himself into a desperate struggle to survive on the wild seas at the mercy of a captain that sailors feared to whisper of, if they even believed he existed.

Others want that box, and the only thing keeping Snap and his friend alive is a ship so unnatural it had to be created by demons. Everything he thought he knew about the world's past is shattered in a game of cat and mouse to see who cracks the box's mystery first.

Unable to back out, and finding himself not eager to do so anyway, Snap throws his lot in with the peculiar Captain Gideon, who harbors more than a few secrets about his ship and himself.

Fish and Hounds

Science has agreed for years that heat was a quantifiable energy content. More heat necessitates more energy. Also, there are those on the scientific fringe that believe that energy could be converted to matter and vice versa.

If they were correct, then the docks at Port Archer would have manifested as an oven. Cold Snap felt the sweat roll down his face like an ocean. Even sitting under an awning away from the main action of the loading docks, he was drenched.

This place wasn’t like his mountain home. It wasn’t cool. It was blistering and possessed a swamp for an atmosphere. It wasn’t beautiful. It took great pains to avoid any semblance to beauty. The buildings were all of identical plank and façade constructions that looked like they might blow over in the next hard gale. Given the regularity of “hurricanes” as the locals called them, they probably did and were rebuilt immediately afterwards.

Lastly, this place smelled terrible, not quite indescribable, merely terrible. Home smelled like pines. It smelled like the subtle burn of ripening spices. It smelled like the storms blown across the hills in the afternoons. This place smelled like a sewer stuffed with month-old fish.

Snap tried to avoid thinking about the smell and focus on the familiar scent of spices beneath him. That was the real reason why he was here instead of at home. Two months ago, his father pulled him aside and told him he was old enough to take on some of the family’s greater responsibilities. This one was nothing but an errand run to a buyer with the prospects of a long-term deal.

Every day they delayed soured that deal. Of course, Snap had to admit to himself that he was being paranoid. Travel across the mountains and the Gulf of Abyssinia was not an exact science, and seasonal weather could stall travel for days or weeks. It did not help that the ship they intended to book had left nearly two days ago to keep its schedule.

He breathed deeply, trying to smell the charred, peppery scent of smoke-cherries or the sweet tang of queensbreath. Unfortunately, he got a healthy whiff of the seaside as well. He coughed and flicked his tail irritably. He looked over the active docks for a familiar face.

The rest of the docks bustled with laborers loading or unloading ships. Minotaurs dominated the decks and quays, but there were a healthy mix of Abyssinians bounding through the rigging as they replaced or patched sails, unicorns and pegasi managing cargo, earth ponies like himself working cranes and wagons. Snap even saw a few zebras and diamond dogs on some of the larger vessels.

What he did not see was his friend. He debated going out to find him. The guard his father had sent along could watch the shipment perfectly well in his absence, but he knew that the moment he disappeared to find his friend would be the moment his friend came back. They’d known each other too long to believe otherwise.

So, Snap waited. In half-an-hour, he was reconsidering his decision to wait when he saw a familiar shock of dark hair in the crowd. The mane was the only thing visible about his friend, that and the glowing horn. Finally, he reached the awning, chewing on some unidentifiable, local pastry.

“Shorry, bhut de’s”- he started.

“Swallow, then speak,” Snap said as he crossed his rust-colored forelegs.

The unicorn chewed furiously and gulped. “I was saying that all the ships are either already booked or won’t divert.”

Cold Snap grit his teeth. Of course that would happen. He tapped the crates beneath him. Tapping turned into soft drumming.

“Sorry, bud. Wish it wasn’t that way.”

The drumming ended in a harsh sigh. “It’s fine, Neb. It’s my fault for stalling as long as we did early on.”

Nebula polished off his sweet and gave Snap a rough pat on the shoulder. “Don’t be too rough on yourself. We’ve both made a few stupid mistakes on this trip.”

“Yeah, but yours didn’t cost us a week in this dump,” Snap grumbled as he went over the possible alternatives. Travel over this part of the gulf took nearly two weeks, accounting for the occasional unfavorable wind. The next ship guaranteed to make the route from Port Archer to Galeston wouldn’t arrive for at least another four days. All in all, that added as much as another week to his travel plans, not unacceptable, but not becoming to a prospective client.

This time of the year put them just before the foul weather season. In another month, storms would blow in from the warm ocean and scramble the shipping routes. Many captains would leave for better areas or take longer routes.

Snap was running out of time.

A hoof lightly clonked him over the head. “Relax. I know that look. Everything will work out.”

Snap looked at Nebula. The dun-colored unicorn smiled and shrugged. “No idea how though. So, I’d appreciate ideas.”

That forced a reluctant laugh from Snap. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. You sure you asked all the ships?”

Nebula shrugged. “At least most of them. One or two might have showed up after I left, but I doubt it.”

“Well,” Snap said as he hopped off his cargo. “Then I guess we better check again.”

Dread crept across the unicorn’s face as he realized he had to walk the port again. Snap chuckled. “Don’t worry. You get to show me where you got your snack.”

That brightened his friend’s mood. They left the cargo under the guard’s watch and set out to find a ship. Most, Nebula passed without a word or with a terse explanation of why they wouldn’t work. Several dozen ships lined the various docks, but Snap quickly figured out why his friend had such a hard time.

Many of the ships here were small sloops and ketches that never left the shallow waters. A few of the remainder were well-rigged ships, but most of them wouldn’t take them on for one reason or another. The rest were military.

These sat on the far end of the port under guard. Armed minotaurs patrolled the decks and entrances, making sure no troublemakers got inside. Lines of armored minotaurs waited under large tents as the waited their turn to board the transports.

“War’s got nearly everyone tied up. The big haulers are on military contracts, and the smaller ones are busy filling the gaps. Unfortunately, we are small-fry going way out of the way,” Snap observed.

“That’s the long and short of it. Have you considered offering more?” Nebula asked.

Snap only shook his head. “Wouldn’t make much difference. Most of these wouldn’t budge for what I can offer. Looks like we get to wait.”

Nebula looked at his moping friend. He brightened as an idea struck him. “Say, I do know where you can get a great sour blackberry tart.”

He dragged Snap through the congested city streets until they found a shop that wavered between street-side stall and permanent establishment. He bought a few of the specialties and maneuvered to a less crowded spot that also seemed slightly less dirty.

“It’s been two years. Are the two old goats ever going to call truce?” the unicorn asked.

Chewing thoughtfully, Snap considered his answer. “The king’s officers better not hear you calling him that, but I doubt it anytime soon. There’s territory and shipping lanes on the line. Minotaurs don’t back away from a fight, and the zebras have a big stake in a victory.”

The two finished their tarts and turned to scour the docks once more, but both knew it was a wasted effort. Perhaps the northernmost end of the port past the naval berths might have something? Snap was willing to give it a try.

Nearly at the military ships, both wanted to give it up. No skipper would take them, and their attempts to convince them otherwise failed spectacularly. Nebula rubbed his head as they stumbled down the swaying gangplank of a green-painted schooner. “Did he have to hit? Did he have to hit that hard?”

“Can we just give up and go get our room? There’s supposed to be another ship coming in soon. We’ll wait for it.”

“The one that stops in Calah?” Nebula asked.

Add another six days delay for that. Snap bit back a curse before he could embarrass himself in front of strangers.

“Excuse me, sirs?”

The two looked up to see a young Abyssinian waiting ahead of them. Her clothing was obviously used, but in good repair and good tastes in the way it complimented her calico fur. Her bearing was reserved, shrewd, and mildly interested in them. All in all, she looked somewhat respectable, but slightly rough around the edges.

“I hear you’re looking for a ship?” she asked Nebula.

Snap stepped forward as the unicorn started to nod. “That we are, miss…?”

“Hazel.”

She grinned slightly, just enough to show her impressive teeth. “Where are you going?”

By the tone she asked it and the fact that she knew they were looking for a ship at all meant that she already knew the answer, but Snap knew that wouldn’t change anything. “Bound for Galeston. Do you know a ship that will take us?”

Hazel licked her lips, taking a deliberate sweep over her jutting, ivory teeth. “I might. What’s your cargo?”

Processed agricultural products, that was all she needed to know. About one ton of baled samples for a prospective buyer. It seemed better to downplay the cargo. The less she thought he valued it aside from his business deal, the less she had to hold over him in negotiations.

Oh, and they needed berths for three.

“So, do you know a ship?” Nebula pressed.

Hazel tugged on her jacket. “Indeed I do. Follow me, if you don’t mind.”

She led them through the port once more, but unlike their previous attempts, she diverted from the main areas and took a few back roads. Snap thought this rather odd. That took them away from the commercial region and into some smaller, private docks.

That’s what he thought at least. Minutes later, they passed through streets that were seedy even by Port Archer’s standards and came to a section of harbor notably older than what they left. Small boats of all descriptions filled the place. Snap frowned. Most, no, all, of these ships were still too small. Most of them verged on pleasure craft or trawlers. These weren’t ships that would take to deep water.

Of course, he grew up in a place where the deepest water was a frigid, spring-fed lake. What did he know about sailing?

Hazel did not hesitate. She turned onto a section of the pier and walked quickly past a couple of fishing vessels refitting for their next run. She passed five passengers hopping into a pleasure skiff offering three-hour coastal tours.

Finally, only one ship remained. A ship with fading yellow paint on its hull and a sun-bleached dog for a figurehead bobbed softly in the last berth. Two masts stood nearly naked as the crew buzzed around the ship doing...whatever crews did to make them ready. This one had its varied crew like many other ships, but ponies made up a much larger percentage of the crew.

Hazel motioned them to wait as she scampered up the plank. She snagged a rough-looking minotaur who seemed marginally better dressed than everyone else. Snap couldn’t hear anything they said, but he could see them look his direction several times before the minotaur nodded and came over to them.

He was a big bull, but past his prime. Curious boots hid his legs in black canvas. Scars cut through his fur and he walked with a slight stoop, but his eyes still marked him as a sharp character. He doffed a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with a single, golden hatband. “A fine afternoo’ to you. Name’s Wrought Iron, captain of the Golden Hound. My bosun tells me you’re trying for Galeston?”

Snap introduced himself and his friend before confirming. “Correct, Captain. You’re going there, I take it?”

The bull lifted a hand and waved it back and forth, but he realized the gesture was lost on the two. “Wasn’t originally to tell the truth.”

Nebula stiffened beside him. Snap held a hoof out to stall anything his friend might say next. “But now?” he ventured.

Wrought Iron replaced his hat of office. “Now I’m two days ahead of schedule and Galeston wouldn’t be that far out of my hired route. I have space three and cargo, yes, and we can leave this afternoon with the tide.”

He bent over and fixed Snap with a stern eye. “That’s if ya hurry. I’ve got other paying passengers, one which wants all speed. Take too long, and the Hound will be long gone by mid’ight.”

He then named a figure that had Snap blanching inside. While not as high as it could have been, it was higher than he would have liked. A few minutes of haggling lowered it, but only barely. It seemed better to take what he’d been given than look for something perfect.

The two friends returned for their guard and cargo and spent a frantic half-hour dragging their loaded wagon through streets barely large enough to scrape through.

“What’s bothering you? Is it that bull?” Nebula asked as the wagon jolted over a rough timber.

The heat seemed even more unbearable while pulling the load, and Snap had to gasp a time or two before he could answer. “What? The captain?”

Without waiting for his friend to clarify, he plowed on. “He was pushy, but that’s business for you. Nah, I’m just upset with myself. For missing the boat, I mean. Don’t worry about it,” he finished in a grunt.

Nebula looked like he wanted to chase this problem down to the core, but he saw that Snap wasn’t in a mood for that. So, he let it drop and watched the city pass. By now, they were back in the old harbor.

Even before the war, the harbor had been small, and the port had been making efforts to modernize for the larger ships. The minotaurs’ Crown Navy only accelerated those plans. Those included more and larger moorings for marine transports and their ships-of-the-line. From what he’d heard while wandering the ships, those expansions included places for those massive kings of the navy they had heard so much about.

None of them currently waited here. They were either out on maneuvers or patrolling key points in, well, wherever this war was being fought. Cold Snap never quite understood it.

Actually, he didn’t understand any of it. He could be told about sails and cannons and capstans, but it meant little to someone who had never seen a real ship before today. He didn’t understand why one spit of ground hundreds of miles away was so critical to their king’s pride. He didn’t understand because none of it ever affected him.

At least, it hadn’t affected them in ways they would have noticed until now. Something as simple as trying to arrange passage proved to be the simple reminder that times were not exactly normal.

By now, they were nearing the Golden Hound. A crane creaked from the ship’s main rigging as the various creatures crewing it swarmed over the various crates and bales in the wagon. Before Snap could get a word off, his cargo seemed to have vanished into the depths of the hold, and only a couple of unicorns levitating ropes remained to secure the cargo.

“Mah mates werk fast. Don’t they?” Wrought Iron asked in a loud voice.

A dozen voices echoed over the deck. “Aye, sir!”

The captain chuckled and gestured to a dark hole in the deck illuminated by only a few glowing stones. “And there are ya bunks, the ones with the white cloth on the tops. I needn’t repeat myself, but there will be no trouble for me or my crew. I am master over this ship, and I’ve sailed these waters my whole life. Obey me; obey the crew. Am I clear?”

The challenging glint in his eye left no doubt that if he wasn’t, then he would boot them to the pier and sail off without looking back. Snap cleared his throat nervously. “Inescapably, sir.”

A slight smile crossed the captain’s thin lips. “Good. Meals will be taken with the crew. If you miss one, then you’ll have to wait until the next meal. Have you taken this route before?”

“Uh,” Snap tried to think of a good way to answer the question, but Nebula solved that debate. “First time on a ship like this.”

An expression halfway between dread and annoyance replaced Wrought Iron’s calm aura. “Well, then. It sounds like you might be missing a few meals then.”

Without another word, he turned and began shouting orders for his crew as they scrambled around the deck and cables. The ship vibrated with energy, and the only place for them now was below decks.

As promised, they were not alone. Three others occupied the crowded passenger room. Two unicorns seemed to know each other and were friendly enough, but the hippogriff seemed content to keep his peace and not interact beyond the necessary pleasantries.

That is, until a sudden sway in the ship caused Cold Snap to stumble as he was stowing his belongings. A throaty chuckle sounded from the hippogriff’s bunk. “Well, well. You haven’t been on a boat before?”

Cheeks burning, Snap focused on his small saddlebags. “It’s-it’s that obvious?”

After a stutter like that, he cringed and couldn’t bring himself to face the fellow.

The hippogriff snorted, ignoring the various glares from the other passengers. “As obvious as a flopping fish. Don’t worry. About the time you get off the boat, you’ll finally be used to it.”

If that was a joke, it wasn’t well-done, but it banished the last of his embarrassment. Snap turned. Light reflected through an open shutter and illuminated the room adequately enough to see the hippogriff’s strong shoulders and muted blue hue. A few minor scars crossed his forelegs, but nothing recent and nothing that hinted at his occupation. His eyes, however, seized Snap’s attention.

Eyes so brown they were nearly black stared back. They radiated intelligence while demanding attention. Cold Snap had always felt proud of his abilities to read others’ intentions. It was why his father handed him this job in the first place. These eyes could pick him apart in an instant.

“Name’s Mr. Horn,” the hippogriff said.

The pony raised his eyebrow. Mr. Horn waved a gleaming talon. “I know. I know. No horn. I get asked that often, but I figure we might as well get it over with now.”

Cold Snap smiled, perhaps the first real smile he had since coming into this cabin.

Mr. Horn leaned forwards, steepling his claws as he did so. “Think you’re ready for it?”

Confused stares were the only answer Snap could give. The hippogriff elaborated. “First voyage, the sea legs, standing at the railing, watching for sea monsters, you ready for it all?”

“We’ll find out,” Snap answered before responding, “You sail often.”

It wasn’t a question. “Indeed, I do.”

Finally, Cold Snap had to ask the question probably on everyone’s mind. “Sea monsters? Are there really sea monsters?”

Mr. Horn rolled his eyes. “Certainly, but not as many as the salts make it out to be. They’re always coming up with new reasons why they lost something. You afraid of them? Not, say, sea serpents?”

Snap shook his head.

“How about long-necked creatures as long as this ship? Can crush a sailor in one bite?”

Snap gulped, but still shook his head.

“How about demon ships?”

“Now you’re just making things up,” Nebula interrupted.

That made Mr. Horn raise his eyebrows, such as hippogriffs had anyways, and lean closer to the now gulping unicorn. He took his time formulating a response. “Am I? I’ve heard of one. Dark as a moonless night. No one knows its name. Been plundering left and right for years now. It flies through the water like a cloud through the sky. Winds don’t touch it. Not a shot’s scratched it.”

The entire cabin fell speechless at his story. Once Mr. Horn saw everyone under his spell, he smiled and gestured with his claws. One chased the other like a pursuing ship.

“It doesn’t have sails. It doesn’t need sails. Hellfire burns the sea in its wake. Ravaging beasts crew it, ready to take booty and blood. Tortoise. Whiplash. Brilliant Dawn. Fearless. All these were found limping home, holds emptied and survivors weeping for rescue. Who knows how many more rest beneath the waves? All the murderers say to the survivors is ‘Not yet.’ And then? They’re gone in smoke and fire.”

His story now over, Mr. Horn relaxed into his thin mattress. Freed from his gripping tale, the audience forced laughs at the sea yarn and tried to focus on their own affairs, but they all walked like death was about to descend upon the Golden Hound.

Snap approached the hippogriff who studied him with a curious eye. “Are they real?”

Mr. Horn did not need clarification. “As real as you or I, lad. Don’t worry though. They’re not demons. Demons don’t worry about whose flag their prey is flying.”

With that, he settled in for a nap. Hours passed as Snap had little to do but watch the light filtering through the window work its way up the wall. Hooves and feet pounded across the deck above them, and Snap realized that if the outside was hot, then this place was stifling. Even with the windows open, the air settled in the cabin. One of the unicorns promised it would get better once they were underway.

She was right, but only because the sun had set by then. By the time night fell, Port Archer was fading behind them, and they were riding the sea-breeze into the Gulf of Abyssinia.

Cold Snap stared up at the dark ceiling timbers. Everyone else had long since been lulled to sleep by the gentle pitching of the ship, but he was too excited to sleep yet. He had a job to do, and he would not let his father down! He’d been slowed down, but not stopped.

In a few weeks, he’d be concluding this deal. In a month, he’d be back home. It was a little surreal at times and he had to remind himself that it was really happening.

He pulled the unfamiliar sheets closer around him and felt his eyes drift across the room again. This time, they stopped on the dozing hippogriff. Snap’s insides twisted at the sight. This hippogriff had been engaging, the very opposite of impolite, but volunteered little else other than his horrifying stories.

Others had told him that he had a good feel for others’ intentions, and something seemed off about this fellow. Not one of his intuitions could be placed on a single cause, and trying to do so only frustrated the young colt.

So, what was he hiding?

Were monsters and demons going to end his first voyage?

And what did the captain mean by missing a few meals?

Author's Notes:

This pesky story took up residence in my head, and despite all encouragement to the contrary, refused to vacate. It has been given an eviction notice to the written page. -Story Management Board

Fog of War

Two days had passed since their departure from Port Archer. Two days of feeling the salt air, feeling the spray on his fur, and feeling the deck roll under his hooves.

Cold Snap now knew why he’d be missing meals. He hung out by the front railing as he had for most of the morning and the day before. His stomach roiled like the wake below him, and it threatened to leap from his mouth at any moment.

Mountains weren’t like this. Mountains never moved! His hooves moved across the deck like a drunken dancer, the deck moving whenever he least expected it.

None of this had been bad starting out. The ship bobbed and plunged in the spray like any ship was supposed to, but that was a steady rise and plunge, and the deck may as well have been solid stone to him. A front had blown through shortly afterwards and turned the seas choppy. The bow hit the broken waves like a hammer. Every hit bounced him hard.

One tiny part of his barely functional brain pointed out that the bow was moving the most. He should try moving to the middle of the ship. He made a step to do just that. Then another wave hammered the ship, and his stomach lurched.

Never mind. It took less effort to stay here.

Not far away, but closer to the mid-point of the Hound, Nebula seemed to be faring slightly better, but only by the thinnest margin. His face held a distinct pallor, and his hind-legs swayed like they might dump him on the deck at any moment.

The only one of the passengers seemingly unaffected was Mr. Horn. He had one advantage: wings. He flapped around the rigging, doing whatever the crew asked of him. That was not much. The hippogriff had plenty of nautical experience under his non-existent belt.

The crew wandered around like it was a pleasant summer trip through a garden. They laughed; they talked. They did whatever jobs the captain demanded or they saw needed. Cold Snap couldn’t help being jealous.

Muffled hooves clomped against the deck behind him. He turned only enough to see the captain leaning against a taut rope. A hooked spur on the back of his black boots scratched the deck as he rocked against his support.

They were curious boots. Many of the hooved crew wore at least two. They came in colors from oily brown to black as night, but they all had two things in common. First, they lifted the hoof by an inch to make room for channels cut in the sole. Second, they had at least one spur that could be used for anything from tying knots to deadly weapons.

With these boots, the non-magical and finger-less among the crew could climb rigging and work almost as well as someone not lacking those body parts. Powers like this were meant to be abused, and whenever ship activity hit a lull, the crew could be found sleeping in the oddest of places.

That didn’t seem to bother Captain Wrought Iron. He stood on the deck without saying a word, content to stare out at the featureless horizon. Cold Snap tried to see if there was anything in particular out there, but the boat lurched beneath his hooves. His stomach decided it had enough.

As he hacked, the captain’s hooves thumped closer. “It’s always worst on ya first trip. It gets better. In a day or two, ya might be down for some broth or even a biscui’. The day ‘fore we get to port, well, maybe even some fish or the cook’s stew.”

The idea of fish, the thing that stank up Port Archer so badly threatened Cold Snap’s barely regained control. Something cold against his shoulder interrupted his concentration.

A gleaming brass tube lay against his right shoulder, but when he tried to grasp it, the minotaur pulled it away. “Ah ah. Away from the water.”

Stepping away and taking the tube, he found it to be a well-made telescope. As he took it, the captain buttoned his rich red vest and pointed to the horizon. “Look out at the horizon. Try not to mind the deck much.”

Captain Iron spun back for the helm, but paused a moment. “One more thing. If’n ya feel the need to feed the fishes, don’t drop the glass.”

Cold Snap nodded and tried to use the telescope, but between his own clumsiness, the heaving ship, and the necessity of using two hooves to control the thing, he nearly dropped it as often as he got it to his eye.

He looked for a place to brace that still gave him a reasonable view. A mast or something would probably do. Instead, he found a heavy metal cylinder strapped to the deck.

A cannon.

That’s what a real cannon looked like. It looked like bronze. Sea water had covered it with a dark patina with greenish flecks in the divots, but a few spots gleamed dully where constant touching had polished the tarnish away.

It mounted on a carriage, but it served mostly to let it roll backwards and forwards for reloading. Aside from the screw on the back, it had very little adjustment to it.

“That’s a one of this schooner’s four guns. Shoot a ball as big as your hoof with a crack a thunder.”

Captain Iron hadn’t left for the helm. Either that or he just returned to make sure his precious spyglass hadn’t gone swimming. He leaned against one of the cannon’s sisters. A small smile crossed his face as he regarded the open curiosity in the colt’s eyes.

“Why do you have them?” Snap asked.

A few reasons occurred to him: monsters, monsters, and more monsters. Perhaps these could be used for…

Actually, Snap didn’t really know. Home never needed anything like this, and he was at a loss to tell why the captain had these. Fortunately for his curiosity, the captain answered for him.

“Pirates.”

“Pirates?” Snap asked in wide-eyed interest.

“Yessir. They roam some of the waters the Hound plies. Most look for an easy catch. After whatever may be valuable on this here ship. Aye. That’s where the gun plays its first role. Most see a gun and either give it up or try to catch her unawares.”

He paused, a glint appearing in his eye. “Ah. The ones that don’t? They learn a lesson the hard way.”

Snap leaned over the gun and worked the telescope with his forehooves. He tried to focus on the horizon. Given the constantly moving ship, that was easier said than done. Still, a few minutes of practice, and he was getting the hang of things.

“Have you fought many pirates?” Snap asked while he lazily scanned the horizon.

The captain snapped off a few orders and sat on another cannon. “Ah. Two, mebbe three times. Each time near coastal waters. The rats hide in the sandbars and barrier islands near to port. They get a perfect sight of any laden ship as far as their keenest can see, and there’s hundreds, no, thousands of crags to hide in when the patrols come to smack them in their place.”

When Snap looked at the captain, he seemed to be scratching his chin like he was grooming a missing beard. “Each fight quick and bloody. A good broadside gets ‘em most of the time. One got close enough to ram the Hound. Lotta good it did them. My crew sent ‘em to the drink.”

The further out to sea this minotaur got, the more sea-ish his jargon and accent became, but Snap didn’t really mind. The captain’s advice was sound, and his stomach felt much better. Now, he simply panned the horizon to see what was out there.

Nothing broke the endless blue and white caps. A few large fish the crew called “dolphins” splashed in distant water, but the could not get a good view. Some birds wheeled in the air, but this far away from shore, they were an oddity. Nothing else remained to be seen.

“I see a rock.”

Captain Iron snorted. “Oh, please. There aren’t no rocks out here.”

Snap fiddled with the instrument and shook his head. “Nope. It’s a rock.”

“The bottom’s near eighty fathoms down. There’s no rock out here. It must be another ship.”

“Captain, I’m telling you it’s a rock. There’s no mast. No sails,” Snap insisted.

Metal clanked as the grumbling captain hauled himself off his seat and yanked the telescope to his eye. “I’ve sailed this route for years. I’ll swear by every coin I’ve made there’s no’ a rock there.”

His fingers worked the device, bringing the world into focus. They never stopped moving. Minute adjustments gave the captain a perfect view. Then he froze. The telescope closed with a snap, and he spun to the closest of the crew. “You, carpenter. Strike the colors. Up with Abbysinia.”

The Abyssinian gave a lazy salute, but his quick pace was anything but. The entire air of the ship changed. First it was the captain. Then, the entire crew grew tense and silent. Their joking and attempted singing halted, and the ship plowed onwards as silent as a graveyard.

“Helm! Bear us starboard thirty degrees. The wind will favor us better.”

Snap cautiously trailed the captain, not sure what exactly happened, but knowing it was not good. His seasickness was forgotten in the sudden gloom enveloping the ship. The crew no longer sang. They moved quickly and efficiently. The bow shifted, and the sails swelled, and the ship groaned as a new burst of speed caught it.

“What’s going on?” Nebula asked.

Snap looked at his swaying friend. “I don’t know.”

An hour passed. Snap looked over the sea from the poop deck. A grayish-black blob broke the choppy waters, but it never seemed to get more distant.

A second hour passed. Whatever the thing was, it was not a rock. It never fell back, and it seemed to be gaining on them. Captain Iron still held his spyglass, and Snap couldn’t make out any more detail without it.

A third hour passed. The wind slackened and died. Already low morale plummeted and the crew whispered, wondering what their captain wanted next.

Snap waited on the poop, his eyes straining to make out the thing behind them. It resembled a dead tree standing on a raft. Every part of it was some monotonous gray. There might have been movement on it, but it was too far away to tell. It was chasing them though, and with the wind gone, it would be on them soon.

“What now?” Nebula asked.

Captain Iron snorted. “Pray we get out of this alive. Without a breeze, we’re dead. If we could get a good gust, we’d leave that monster behind. As it is now?” he trailed off in a sigh.

He unbuttoned his jacket and pulled two matchlock pistols from a box by the wheel. The captain measured out powder for each and loaded them, but waited to light the matches. “We need distance. If we don’t have wind, we’ll make our own. Flyers, harness up! Reef all sails.”

Pegasi and griffons dropped what they were doing and raced to put on harnesses. They hooked onto long tow lines the rest of the crew fixed to the bow. Anyone not flying to managing tow ropes, stowed all sails. They would just slow them down now.

“You too,” Captain Iron pointed to Mr. Horn who had come out to watch their pursuer.

“Me?” the hippogriff asked in disbelief.

“Yes, you. If you care so much about that box, then you will get out there and pull!” Captain Wrought Iron left no room for debate.

Mr. Horn slumped before rushing back to the harnesses.

Nebula hooked his hooves over the railing and stared at their gray pursuer. “It won’t matter.”

He said it softly. Snap barely heard it despite standing next to him, but the captain had. “What do you mean?”

“They’ll still see us. That thing will keep following us until the pullers are exhausted. Then, we’re back where we started. If we could only hide in a fog.”

“Hmph. Maybe, but it’s the wrong weather for fog.”

“Then we’ll make our own,” Nebula said.

Snap scratched his head. “What are you thinking?”

“Some of your family’s crops required specific weather conditions to grow properly. They needed lots of cool moisture that usually worked best as a fog. So, when the plants matured enough to need those conditions and weren’t able to get them, then we could use magic on a water source to make fog.”

Nebula looked at the captain. “How many unicorns do you have?”

“Three plus the two passengers and yourself.”

“Bring them all here.”

Orders went out and the other unicorns arrived to learn Nebula’s spell. The ship moved along slowly, but it was moving. For once, a sense of hope worked its way through the crew. They hauled up barrels of seawater for the unicorns to work their magic.

Already, a white haze began to lift from the barrels and wreath around the ship. It grew thicker and thicker with every passing minute until the entire ship became mired in the fog. A pegasus detached from the harness to spread the fog even further. In just a few more minutes, A massive region around the ship was completely covered in fog, but it wouldn’t last long.

“Bear port ninety degrees. Let’s shake this leech!” Captain Iron shouted.

The pullers began a gradual sweep left while the helm coordinated the maneuver with rudder. No one dared speak. The entire ship seemed to think that the smallest voice would bring whatever that thing was down on them.

A half-hour later, the Golden Hound broke through the fog bank. Her pullers sagged in their harnesses, but they kept pushing onward. Their chaser, whatever it was, was nowhere to be seen. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Sails from a distant ship hung slack in the doldrum, but they were otherwise alone. Captain Iron ordered the exhausted unicorns to stop fog production. It wouldn’t do much more good anyway. A faint wind was starting to kick up, and he called in the tow crew and ordered all sails thrown to the wind.

Slowly, but surely, the ship started moving closer to her destination. Snap idly listened to the muted cheers of the crew as he looked over the fog quickly blowing away.

Thoughts of Mr. Horn’s demon ship forced themselves to the front. Had they just escaped it? Was it something else entirely? He knew it was no rock, and the crew’s silent fear had been all too real.

Still, it was behind them, and the wind was picking up rapidly. He’d put those fears to rest and try to put his stomach to rest too. Snap sat by the poop’s railing and watched the fading fog. He squinted. Did something move in there?

A dark shape burst from the hazy bank. His heart froze. It was that thing, closer and moving even faster than before! How could it be? It was a ship, but it had no sails.

His thoughts moved at the rate of cold honey. Only one ship had no sails and needed none.

A demon ship.

Snap opened his mouth to shout a warning when something flashed from the other ship. He felt confused for nearly three seconds. Then a horrible cracking shuddered the ship and nearly threw him to his face.

Shouts of mirth morphed into screams of terror. The helms-pony spun the wheel wildly to get the best wind, but the ship never changed course.

“Damn it! They’s got the rudder, Cap’n!” the mare shouted.

“Maintain course. Make ‘em work for us!” Captain Iron commanded.

The ship plowed on its uncontrolled path away from the nightmare ship. What good would it do? Snap couldn’t bring himself to ask.

He looked at Nebula. His exhausted friend slouched against the back rail. The unicorn offered a faint smile, but didn’t bother getting up.

“Hey, it was a good plan,” Snap said.

He could hear the other ship now. An unholy coughing filled the air, an echoing rumble of the monsters from the darkest parts of the pit. Horrible screeches that had no origin in mortal throats drove bolts of fear with every heartbeat. A single bell clanged wildly on the other craft, the only semblance of normalcy in the terrible vessel.

Snap had to look. If he was going to die in minutes, he was going to look! He craned his neck and hauled himself to his hooves.

It wasn’t a ship. It couldn’t be one. The only relationship this thing could claim with an ordinary ship was floating. It barely did at that, dragging its bulk through the water with barely a railing above the surface.

Gray like washed charcoal covered everything, shrouding every detail in wreathing cannon smoke. No sails or masts cluttered the sky. Instead, earsplitting groans came from the tumorous decks, and the howls of its unseen, damned crew climbed higher and higher.

And the sea was on fire. Flames trailed the wake as the ship came on impossibly fast. No ship could plow so quickly! Even a landlubber like Snap knew that.

Someone fired the swivel. A clatter and squeal later, the shot splashed harmlessly into the sea. Snap felt someone rest beside him. “Hey,” an exhausted Nebula said.

He coughed in the sulfurous smoke and looked at the Mr. Horn’s demon ship with his very own eyes. “So” -cough- “so it is real.”

Snap could only nod. Nebula wrapped a leg around his shoulders. “Never thought it would end like this. I wonder if they’ll take us to the pit with them?”

That broke the last straw of Snap’s reason. He snorted. His snorts grew into full on laughter. Laughter mutated into slumping over the rail and pounding the Hound’s splintered wood regardless of the stains he left. He felt Neb, the most loyal friend he could ask for, try to heave him back to safety.

Something thumped from the other ship. It thumped again. A tinkling like shattered glass scattered across the decks. Snap did not care to look. Somepony screamed, then another. Here was his end.

The ships collided. Instead of striking directly astern, the demon ship struck them from the rear quarter. Thunder-like cracks threatened to split their ship as the demon monstrosity tossed their wooden tub like a bull.

Snap felt the deck lurch and then felt airborne. One instant, he gripped his best friend tightly. The next, he whirled every limb he had as the water raced to him. He struck painfully and nearly blacked out from the shock.

He plunged beneath the sea and felt himself tumbling in the water. Which way was up? He kicked wildly, pushing himself towards the bright thing that had to be the surface. Another dark form hung still in the water.

Nebula! Snap kicked with renewed energy and wrapped his legs around his weakly thrashing friend. His lungs burned, and he felt seawater filling his mouth, but he would not give up yet!

His head broke the surface. As soon as he got a breath, he felt himself sinking again. He pumped harder, but he could feel himself weakening. Not another soul could keep up to him in a race, but the sea was no race for him.

Snap’s sluggish fore hoof slapped the surface, and it caught a piece of wreckage. He hauled them up and saw a frayed rope trailing in the water. He chomped on it, praying that it held fast to something and began pulling himself and his coughing friend from one certain death to another.

Screams of terror and clangs of battle echoed across the eerily quiet sea. Sulfur stank the air. The Golden Hound’s crew and passengers wept for mercy as the deadly crew swept the ship. Chests and bundles sailed from the doomed ship’s deck onto the demon ship’s nearly-swamped deck.

Why would demons need plunder? The though existed between one breath and another. Snap struggled with keeping his exhausted friend afloat and breathing.

In a matter of minutes, they looted the ship to the nails. The demon ship gave a mighty growl and pulled away from the Hound. Snap felt the rope shift and tighten. His eyes followed the line to a piece of the Hound snagged on the strange ship’s side.

They were being dragged along with the demons. Before he could think to let go, the Golden Hound, unrestrained by the other vessel, began darting across the sea like a freed bird.

One fact finally pierced the fog pervading his mind. The Hound wasn’t moving that fast. Their ship was traveling backwards!

Such a difference that made! Snap spared himself an ironic smile. They would never catch it now.

He could make out what could have been voices over the groaning ship. Laughter as cold as ice scraped his ears and set him shivering in the water. He could not work up the nerve to climb over. That way promised death.

However, staying also promised death. He could smell the sea still burning behind him. One death would probably be quick while the other ended in burns and weak drowning. Snap was strong, but he wasn’t the best swimmer. He made his choice.

The ship slowed, stopped, and shot forward away from the fire. His teeth yanked painfully against the rope. Nebula nearly tore free of his grasp. Time was running out. Soon enough, he would be torn free and left to drown.

He gripped Nebula’s shivering body and hauled on the rope. Bit by painful bit, he chomped and crawled closer to the cruising ship. It traveled at a good clip now. He had no idea how, but he had to fight it for every bite forwards.

Nebula bumped the hull. Snap took a quick breath and gathered every bit of his strength and heaved his friend over the edge. Nebula caught the low gunwale and flopped over like a boned fish. Snap almost gasped in victory.

Then the rope slipped. Now, the ship raced past him. He had no second chances here! Snap kicked with all his might and launched himself upward. His hooves brushed metal, caught, and began to slide. Desperately, he tried heaving himself up, but he couldn’t fight his loosening hold.

Pain shot through his legs as sword-like talons dug into his legs. Then, they pierced his shoulders. He felt himself hauled from the water and dumped onto a rough deck.

For a moment, he could only cough and breathe. When the deck finally stopped swirling so badly, he looked up directly into a pistol muzzle. The black bore wavered, and he even thought he could see the silvery ball inside.

He still wasn’t dead. Chancing a glance around, he saw more pistols and sabers held ready around him and the prone Nebula. He also saw the nightmare crew.

These weren’t demons. They were Abyssinians. They were minotaurs. They were griffons. Even a few ponies gripped weapons in mouth, wing, or magic. Savage paint covered their faces and lined their bodies. They could spawn demon legends, but they were anything but.

“Stow your arms. They will not cause a fuss.”

A griffon stepped from a stack of the Golden Hound’s plundered cargo. He was young, maybe only a few years older than Snap. His slate gray feathers lay almost immaculately groomed. He was also the most richly dressed of the assorted riffraff with a royal blue short jacket decorated with golden piping on the sleeves.

Impressive as the coat was, it didn’t compare to his glittering golden eyes that demanded absolute respect, nor the twin pistols strapped to his breast, or the saber tucked under his left wing. Without a doubt, this was the demon captain.

The crew obeyed without a word. They drifted back to their earlier tasks, though with some hesitation to get too far from the scene and miss something.

The griffon stepped closer and gestured a claw at himself and the ship. “I am Gideon, of the Hail clan and captain of the Yellow Rose, and you are now my prisoners.”

Author's Notes:

Storyboarding, please get back to us ASAP. We would like to set up a meeting to discuss the possibility of setting up a meeting to meet with the author. We have noticed numerous oddities within the story that we are struggling to understand. Namely, what does port wine have to do with sailing and what swiveling is. Perhaps this is an innuendo on the author's part? If so, it is in questionable taste. Thank you. -Story Management Board

--RE: the last stupid letter.
Port and Starboard are the traditional sides of a ship, left and right respectively. The swivel gun is a small caliber gun mounted on a pivoting cradle and commonly used for close range anti-personnel purposes during hostile boardings. These are NOT fanciful and misplaced innuendo you drunken deviants! And I will not partake in your useless meetings to plan meetings. I have better things to do with my life. Slide all further lines of inquiry under my office door and I will dispose of them as soon as possible.
-The Author

Carpet Diem

Everything clanged and echoed. Every step reverberated through this horrible ship. Voices drifted through the dim hallway, but Cold Snap could not see any of the pirate crew. Their guard was the only proof that they were not suddenly alone.

The bulky minotaur yanked the deck hatch closed, cutting off their light and only hope of escape with a bang. He grunted and shoved Nebula down the hallway. Snap didn’t need encouragement and scrambled after his friend.

Almost immediately, he could feel claustrophobia set in. The entire hallway, floor, ceiling, and walls were painted the same monotonous bluish-gray. If it wasn’t for the solid planking under his hooves, Snap would have thought they were somehow still stuck in the ocean.

They came to a fork. The guard gestured right with his musket. Snap eyed the weapon. Part of him wanted to come up with a daring plan to overpower their guard and make an escape. Common sense killed any of those ideas before they became mature and dangerous. Sure, he and Nebula, even as weak as they were, might be able to take the minotaur’s weapon.

What would it matter? The Hound had at least eighty crewing it. This ship had to have at least that many. They had no hope to triumph over numbers like that. Worse still was that they had no way off this ship. Even if they escaped onto another ship, this ship could overtake it without a thought.

The longer the earth pony thought about it, the more he realized that cooperation was in their best interests. Any attempts to escape, resist, or harm Captain Gideon Hail’s crew would only come back to haunt them.

So, when he saw the musket, he looked with a tame academic curiosity. While his home was isolated, he managed to keep abreast of technological advancements. Generally, that meant he happened to hear relatively outdated snatches of information about an eclectic assortment of subjects. One of those was the field of firearms.

There wasn’t much to know about an arquebus or gonne. Both utilized burning chemicals to generate a violent expansion of gas to propel a crude shot at deadly velocity. Both were heavy, but sometimes they had enchantments to mitigate that shortcoming. They were lit by a burning fuse touching a powder hole. All in all, they were unreliable creations of iron and wood that held much in common with a club.

This guard’s weapon didn’t match any of those. If anything, it bordered on petite, with its wooden stock in sharp contrast with its black barrel. Unlike the blocky firearms he’d seen, this weapon looked trim with sharp edges everywhere. It gave every impression of falling to pieces at the slightest provocation.

Cold Snap was not willing to put that impression to the test.

By now, his eyes had grown used to the gloomy ship. He lifted a hoof over a doorway and paused for a moment when he realized the door was a thick plate of metal. The guard shoved him along before he could get any more observations. Now that he’d seen it once, he could see oddities all across the ship.

Brass tubes ran near the ceiling for some unknown purpose. Doorways always possessed a raised lip and a tarry fabric around the entire portal. Light glimmered from humming gemstones set at regular intervals along the hallway. Above all, everywhere he looked was metal!

Snap had never seen so much metal before. Maybe that had to do with his upbringing. Metal was a scarce necessity on the farm where worn tools were saved for repairs or reforged into new parts. This ship could have supplied a thousand farms like his with more to spare.

Their captor halted them and opened a small door. Without a word, they stepped inside. The door clanged behind them and clanged once more as a bolt fell into place. Nebula let out a violent huff.

“We are in so much trouble now.”

Snap looked around their prison. The mundane bits of cloth and tarry scent of the place made it obvious that this was some kind of storage closet. A few things here could be turned into weapons, but that would not go over well. The place had no window or porthole. Instead, the light came from a gently humming crystal above their heads.

“I think ‘trouble’ doesn’t begin to cover it,” Snap replied.

Nebula huffed a weak laugh. He leaned against a shelf in what should have been an uncomfortable slouch. Finally, he smiled. “No. No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Minutes passed as Snap felt the ship slowly heave. He already missed the Golden Hound. This ship simply felt wrong. This one growled beneath his rump like an angry animal. He could feel it rumble; hear its titanic breaths, and, worst of all, hear the faint screeches in its bowels.

This ship sounded like it wanted to kill him with every idle thought. He grabbed a stack of cloth and wrapped his head to try to ignore it all. It somehow made it worse.

He sighed and sat back up, not bothering to remove his head-wrap. Nebula coughed. “So, what now?”

What now? Snap had never ever considered something like this. He wasn’t foolish. Planning for the unexpected came second nature to him. However, this crossed the line between precaution and impossible.

Instead of answering, he sat stupidly on the wood decking. His scattered thoughts warred against the unfamiliar surroundings. He heard the enchanted light hum above him. He felt the ship growl all around him. Worst of all, he felt the ship rocking.

His friend must have seen his growing discomfort. He scrambled closer to the door. “Don’t you dare lose your lunch now! And don’t do it on me!” he shouted as he jabbed a hoof at the ailing pony.

He did not lose his lunch. Whatever the weather was above, it must have changed since the ship gradually lost its heave and sailed in relative smoothness. Cold Snap enjoyed rubbing his victory in his friend’s face, but given their circumstances, it was a hollow victory.

Time was impossible to tell in their prison. They had no view of the outside, no appreciable change in temperature, and no clock. None of their attempted conversations lasted long. Plates of boiled cabbage and beans arrived, but no one ever retrieved them. In between boredom and fitful napping, hours may have passed.

A heavy shudder rocked the ship and shook the two awake. They stared at each other in silent confusion. A moment later, soft thumps echoed through the ship. “Gonnes,” Snap breathed.

The discharges reverberated through the metal with tiny cracks. A battle was happening above them, but against who? Having felt the shudder before, Snap could easily believe that Captain Gideon had found new prey.

A second blow like a massive fist shook the ship. The illuminated gem flickered. The fighting outside suddenly stopped. Minutes ticked past with the ship as silent as a tomb.

Snap and Nebula looked at each other and the cramped closet. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air. What just happened?

“Would it be a bad thing if these guys lost?” Nebula asked.

Grunting noncommittally, Snap began to probe the room for weaknesses. Of course, he didn’t find any. However, thundering hooves echoed outside their cell before he could sit down.

Both Nebula and Snap shied to the back wall as the door clanged open. A bright light nearly blinded them, and they could only see the silhouettes of muskets aimed at them.

“Follow us. No trouble, please,” a female voice commanded.

The light left with her, but the armed sailors held their ground. Cautiously, the two prisoners did as instructed. A trim unicorn clanked down the hallway. The guards followed slowly, but never used their weapons.

After a minute, they entered a stairwell. Snap could feel the sea breeze against his coat, but couldn’t tell where it originated. No windows existed this deep in the ship, and none of the hatches led to open sky. A guard nudged him along when he lingered too long on the mystery.

One thing was certain. They were going up. They passed another landing, this time stepping aside onto a platform that shuddered under their combined weight. The unicorn and guards paid it no mind. The former simply reached with her magic and pressed a lever upwards.

With a whine and groan, the floor rose. Seconds later, they stood on another deck, this one much more lavish than the others. Finer wood lined the walls along with paintings of various maritime or land features. The illumination gems were in much greater abundance here, and the halls shone like noontime. The guards waited at the lift while the unicorn trotted up to an ornate walnut door.

She rapped on a battered metal plate beneath carved hyacinths and rolling fields. “Sir, Midshipmare Deep Blue reporting with the prisoners.”

Something thudded inside, like a closet or drawer, before a familiar voice echoed: “See them in.”

With a slight nod, the mare motioned them through the door. Snap had taken one step inside before he froze. Something strange touched his hoof. He looked down to see… “Carpet?” he breathed.

It wasn’t just carpet. It was a rich indigo, like the deep sea. Its strands were packed close like grass while still remaining wondrously soft. This carpet alone was worth a fortune.

“Well? Step lively, colt,” Captain Gideon said with not a drop of patience in his tone.

Cold Snap and Nebula scrambled through the door, which Deep Blue closed before standing in the corner. They all waited on the griffon captain to speak next, but he seemed in no hurry to do that. He scrutinized the two from head to hoof, not uttering a single word in all that time.

Snap wanted to tear his eyes from the captain. There had to be incredible things all around his chambers, but he could not summon the will. The predatory gleam in the captain’s eyes kept him nailed to the spot.

Finally, he spoke. “Tell me. What was in the box?”

Confusion tripped their tongues. Nebula recovered first. “C-captain? What box?”

Rather than be upset, the griffon gestured with his claws. Snap followed them to see a glass window. A dot hung against the twilight gathering on the western horizon. Even this far away, Snap could see it was a ship.

“Not thirty minutes ago, an unknown group of flyers, mostly pegasi and griffons, ambushed this ship as the crew was loading the last of our spoils. The attackers used concussive enchantments to disorient the crew with surprising success,” the captain explained as he leaned against a beautifully polished desk inlaid with silver trim.

He picked up a piece of parchment no bigger than a large plate. “In the midst of the gunfight, they took only one small box as big as this paper. Not a single other item was taken. They covered their escape with a smoke screen and second concussion and flew back to their ship. They knew exactly what they wanted. So, I ask again: what was the box?” Captain Gideon said as he waved the paper.

“I, uh, we don’t know, sir,” Snap supplied.

The griffon looked at him with clear disbelief. Snap hurried his explanation. “We were transporting spices to a prospective buyer. We found a ship, and we fell overboard when you attacked us,” he finished with a slight accusation.

Captain Gideon calmly ran a talon in a carved edge of the desk. A moment later, he chuckled. “Then you should have reconsidered your ship choices. I am bound to attack those ships.”

“You’re a pirate,” Nebula accused before anyone could stop him.

Instantly, Captain Gideon’s eyes hardened, and Nebula quailed under their unrelenting focus. “I am not a pirate. I am a privateer.”

He fished inside his desk for a moment before pulling out a faded leather book. From this, he produced a letter. “This is a letter of marque to engage in activities detrimental to the Minotaur Unified Kingdoms and their war effort against the Atoli tribes. You did notice the flag your ship sailed under, did you not?”

Snap actually hadn’t noticed, but he remembered a sudden urgency to switch flags shortly before the battle. The griffon gave him no time to respond.

“So, here I am, a captain who’s just experienced a highly coordinated attack against my ship for the express purpose of retrieving one item. And if you’re wondering why I’ve failed to retaliate, it is because they have sabotaged the ship’s rudder. Rest assured though, it will be fixed within the hour, and I will be seizing it back.”

“Mr. Horn,” Snap uttered before he realized all eyes were on him.

Suddenly, he felt very uncomfortable. Nebula looked at him like he’d gone a bit mad, and the captain leaned over his desk in controlled eagerness. Snap swallowed and decided if he was going to dig himself a hole, he might as well do a good job at it. “Mr. Horn was a hippogriff. He paid the captain, Captain Wrought Iron that is, to make a special run for him. When you chased us, the captain mentioned Mr. Horn having some kind of important box.”

“Damnation,” the griffon muttered. “He’s miles behind us now. Anything else about him?”

Snap thought for a moment. “He knew about ships, a lot about ships.”

The slate griffon frowned. His claws thumped against the carpet as he paced, occasionally stopping to study the distant ship or some part of his gray, monstrous ship.

“Sir?” Midshipmare Blue tentatively spoke up.

While her interruption might have been a breach of protocol, the entire room focused on her. Unlike Snap, she seemed to be better prepared for the attention. “If we are going to pursue them like you say, we will need to prepare better. The smoke used during the attack made the deck crew tear up and not aim well. When they retreated, their flash and bang enchantment was obviously premade and of high quality.”

“Any prisoners?”

“No, sir.”

“Any bodies?”

The mare shook her head. “If we wounded any, it wasn’t bad enough to ground them.”

“Our losses?”

“As reported earlier. Three wounded but still fit for duty. One wounded and expected to recover with the surgeon.”

She took a cautious swallow. If she wanted to say more, the captain didn’t give her the opportunity. “And given that, it becomes clear that these were not spur-of-the-moment raiders. Whatever was in the box was obviously known by someone in advance and being trailed from its port of origin. Us seizing their target only adjusted their plans.”

The unicorn mare nodded. The captain returned to brooding over his desk. “Midshipmare, see that surgeon knows the specifics about the smoke. If we try to take that ship, then we will need to be prepared. We may be able to craft a counter to it.”

“Aye, sir,” the mare said as she stepped out.

Nebula waited until the mare stepped outside before asking a dumb question. “Captain? Does that mean?”

“It means you stay here. I’m not done with you just yet. About this hippogriff”-

Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by a loud hammering against the captain’s door.

“And what do you want?” the captain barked.

“Sir, we captured one of the attackers,” a loud male voice bellowed through the thick paneling.

Everything about the captain’s posture shifted. In that moment, he’d forgotten about the two unfortunate prisoners in favor of another. It was for the best. Snap realized that this griffon looked happy for this news. “Bring him in!”

The door slammed open, and three crew members squeezed through while hauling in a thrashing, feathered form. Thick jute ropes bound its legs and a croaker sack covered the figure’s head. In a moment, they slammed it to the carpet. The figure immediately tried to stand, but a bayonet placed between its wings stopped that.

“Found him hiding in the dinghy,” a familiar minotaur said.

One of the crew yanked off the hood. A ragged, exhausted Mr. Horn sat before them. Captain Gideon looked like he’d been handed a gift from the heavens. “Mr. Horn! The pleasure is all mine. I apologize for the rough greeting. I do hope we can have a productive discussion regardless.”

As soon as he said the hippogriff’s name, the prisoner melted. “You...know me?” he asked weakly.

“But of course! These fine colts have been extremely informative about you and your business with a certain package.”

Snap could barely follow the conversation. How could the captain have known this was Mr. Horn? He’d never met him or even heard a description!

By now, Mr. Horn looked like he was balancing on eggs. “Package? I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Mistake?” Captain Gideon said with the faintest edge. “I’d certainly hope not. We are talking about a wooden chest about yea big with a gold circle on the top and an uncut, polished ruby set in the center, aren’t we?”

Every identifying mark made the hippogriff flinch a little. The captain gestured his crew back, but not out of the room. Snap couldn’t help but notice they did not cut Mr. Horn’s bonds. Mr. Horn sat upright and tried to look composed and dignified.

With a figure like Captain Gideon in the room, he had as much hope as a snowdrift near a bonfire. “No. Mr. Horn. There is no mistake here. Unlike my jacks here, I know you weren’t part of the attack. You’re too exhausted, too much salt in your feathers. Also, these two recognized you immediately,” he said as he gestured to the two colts.

Mr. Horn said nothing, but it was plain that he was being given enough rope to hang himself. He eventually sighed in defeat. “What do you want?”

The captain didn’t gloat in victory. He actually seemed bored. “A small thing. Should be something you’d have no reason not to give.”

He stepped to his window. “I want to know what’s so special about that box.”

“I don’t know, captain.”

The captain didn’t turn from his view. “And I think you do. At the very least, you know it’s incredibly important, important enough to divert a ship and fly for hours to retrieve it.”

Silence reigned for the longest time, but no one broke it, not the crew, not the prisoners, and not the captain. Eventually, the gray captain broke out a smile. Everyone perked to hear what brightened his mood. “Let me offer you a deal, you want it back? You can have it back, but I get to know what everyone’s so excited about.”

“Yes.” Mr. Horn said it softly. His voice gained strength, and he continued. “I agree, but I’ll tell it only with you. Not with your crew.”

He tilted his head in Nebula’s direction. “And not with the ponies.”

Captain Gideon paced back to his desk, paused to caress a rose covered with beautiful golden blooms, and faced the bound hippogriff, his eyes molten with anger. “Mr. Horn, you mistake your position on this ship. The Yellow Rose is mine. I say ‘go’ and my crew goes. ‘Do this’ and they do it. You can give orders to no one. You may make requests, but I am in no mood to grant them.”

The furious griffon pointed a talon at Nebula. “I do not care if that pony disturbs your sensibilities or reminds you of a jilted lover back home. You answer to ME. Let me make it clear: I will understand this mystery, and you will either be on this ship helping me, or overboard as soon as the rudder is fixed.”

A claw flipped open a silver disk. “Which should be any minute now.”

Snap watched the helpless hippogriff. Bound legs and disheveled coat made him an absolutely sorry sight to see, but it was the defeat oozing from him that struck Snap the hardest. Captain Gideon was a harsh master who would see that he got exactly what he wanted. Snap began to feel worried for a creature he had no real bond to.

“It’s a mechanism. It’s of unknown origin. Deceptively simple, and with a few pieces of writing on...animal skin.” Mr. Horn shuddered.

“No one knows what it does. I was supposed to bring it to a contact who would pay handsomely for it, but I had to be discreet. I obviously wasn’t discreet enough.”

“I’m sure someone has theories,” Captain Gideon said as he tucked the silver disk into a jacket pocket.

Mr. Horn barked a laugh. “Theories are all anyone’s really got. Sensationalists claim treasure. Others claim magical rituals. Ideas like tools of celestial worship are the most boring of the lot. Bring it in, and I will show you what I know. I doubt you’d get anywhere with it.”

“And there’s our snag. I do not possess it.”

The emotions on Mr. Horn’s face shifted from confusion to outrage to resignation. The gray griffon captain pointed at his window and the fading dot of a sail. “That’s why our repairs are so critical. Our pirates are making for the Black Archipelago. Once she’s there, that box could be on one of a dozen tramp ships making for the other islands in the chain. It will be as good as lost.”

Resignation gave way to fear. “Then, if they’re that far away and with a wind like this, we’ve already lost,” Mr. Horn said.

“Not so, my new friend. There’s not a ship on the waves that can outrun the Rose. Gale or calm. Sun or rain. They’re all the same to her. They’re confident they’ve whipped us. Now, we will return an eye for an eye.”

The captain reached for a metal tab on his desk and pressed it so that it bent with a click. Then he grasped a copper tube on a small stem. “Engineer, are our repairs complete?”

Snap wondered at the ingenious communication tool. His wonderings were cut short as a gruff male’s voice poured through. “Nearly so, Cap’n. Another five minutes, and we’ll be underway.”

“Good. Stoke the boilers. We have a ship to catch.”

Author's Notes:

"I don't care about your excuses! I want that author's submission!" the beefy white stallion thumped his desk.
The army of interns scattered from his wrath and did everything in their power to find the elusive Author. Alas, they wasted their time.

The Publisher and Story Management Board chair shuffled through his paperwork and grumbled under his breath. He couldn't stand the interns. He couldn't stand the Author. Above all, he couldn't stand the refuse they called coffee in this place. All he could do was work until everything was finished and he could finally go home.

The door clicked. He looked up just in time to get a roll of paper to the face. The Publisher rubbed his nose furiously and shot a death glare at the figure before him who...was wearing a ski mask?

"A little hot for that mask, don't you think?" he asked.

"Hardly. I find it rather pleasant. I can only imagine a world where people will wear masks for no other reason than to feel comforted. Perhaps they will be quite fashionable."

The Publisher shook the pages. "This was due last week! As by previous submissions!"

"Submission," the Author corrected. "Two data points hardly make a trend. Besides, I have been rather busy. What with crashing a wedding and taking up a side project or two. Tell me, are you aware of the complexities in modeling parts for the Germane MG08? I'm currently on the feed block and it's quite a mechanism."

The Publisher felt an eyebrow twitch. "And you are doing this instead of writing because?"

The Author only shrugged in response. "Are you saying the world doesn't need properly dimensioned CAD files of obsolete heavy machine guns? What about those who make their livings producing spare parts? It's not like the Kaiser is making more of these things."

A dozen retorts presented themselves to the Publisher, and none of them seemed fit for the whack-job before him. Finally, he waved a hoof. "You know what? I don't want to know. I have the submission. I don't need anything else from you at this moment. But I still expect timely submissions!"

"Will do! As soon as I finish planning another project. I call it '404: Gun Not Found.' Should be absolutely hilarious."

The Publisher dropped his head to his desk and decided to focus on his now very sore nose.

Ironclad Negotiation

Cold Snap should have been asleep hours ago. Nebula was. The crew was.

Snap mentally corrected himself. The crew was nowhere on deck except for the ship pilot peering out of the enclosed wheelhouse and a spotter watching the sea from his perch in the ship’s towering crow’s nest.

After the day he’d somehow survived, he should have been exhausted, and while he was, sleep eluded him. He’d tossed and turned on his shipboard bed until the wee hours of the morning. Finally, he’d given up any notions of a good night’s rest and wandered the corridors until he finally found his way topside.

This captain and his crew had a peculiar vocabulary. The “outside” was “topside”. Doors became “bulkheads” while walls were also coincidentally “bulkheads”. The thing he walked on was the deck, but he knew that already. They used more technical jargon, but that was all he could understand.

Snap leaned against the rail near the bow. If he looked over the edge, he could see the ship’s dark anchor kiss the foamy water, and he could trace its massive chain to a large capstan in the middle of the deck. Only a few clouds broke the empty night sky, and a full moon turned the smooth waters into rolling glass.

It was quiet out here. Perhaps it wasn’t as quiet as on the Golden Hound, but it was close. The water peeled from the bow in a permanent roar while the wind whispered through the ship’s many crevices. A gentle rumble also made the ship’s plank vibrate under his hooves and fill the night air with a soft chugging sound.

Far off the ship’s bow, he could see sails of a ship under all the canvas it could bear. As far off as it might be, Captain Gideon gained on his prey with every hour.

None of his world made sense. Days ago, he’d been happily sailing away on his first real responsibility. Making a sale was supposed to be his first real accomplishment as an adult. Instead, he rode on a death ship chasing a mysterious prize. Her hard captain nursed a painful grudge against a third party in this fight for the box, and now he wanted dealt in to this game.

Cold Snap, Nebula, and, most of all, Mr. Horn all suffered under his claw until he got his way or decided to let them off at a friendly port to work their way home. Given how things were going, he doubted they would get off this ship for a very long time.

Escape would prove their only chance. Snap’s eyes lingered on the ship’s rowboat lashed to the deck. It was there, ready for the taking. If only they weren’t exhausted. If only the boat was already provisioned for them. If only they weren’t untold miles from any inhabited land. If only. If only.

Hooves thudded behind him. Snap perked to see what the sailor would order him to do. Instead, it was a familiar voice. “So, you couldn’t sleep either.”

Mr. Horn leaned against the ship’s winch. He looked better than when he’d been unceremoniously hauled into Captain Gideon’s quarters. A good night of sleep would work a miracle or two, though.

“That wasn’t a question, eh?”

The hippogriff gave a pained laugh. “No. No, I suppose not.”

He silently studied the fleeing ship. “That brig makes good time. She’s got a nice hull and a good hand on the helm.”

Mr. Horn glanced at the stars. “We’ll probably catch her before dawn, maybe a little afterward.

“Brig?” Snap asked.

The hippogriff nodded. He pointed at the ship. “It’s arrangement of the sails.” he sighed and continued. “It’s easier to focus on that tub than to think about the one I’m on.”

Snap studied the way the moonlight glinted off their wake. He breathed deeply, catching a whiff of something burning on the breeze.

“You can tell it, can’t you?” Mr. Horn asked.

Cold Snap’s silence must have given the hippogriff his answer.

“This ship is impossible.”

Mr. Horn stated it as a matter of fact. Snap didn’t quite figure out his reasoning, and he expressed all his curiosity, disbelief, and grogginess in a flat: “Is it?”

“Of course it is. Look at what you’re standing on, mate.”

Snap finally tore his eyes off the water and stared at the deck beneath his hooves. “It looks possible to me. You know, since it’s here.”

His response was a grunt. “It’s a ship without sails. No. Sails! And here it is, puttering along as pretty as you please. And have you given a single thought to how it’s built? Iron! Iron all over it!”

To prove his point, the hippogriff fluttered from his seat to rap on the hull. Instead of the deep thump of wood, Snap only heard the heavy slap of flesh on metal.

“It’s a miracle she doesn’t sink. But you do smell that infernal smoke, right? I admit,” Mr. Horn said as he held up a defensive claw, “I was wrong about this being a demon crew. They’re normal folks like you and I, but demons surely sold them the ship.”

“And yet here it is and we are on it,” Snap said, his tiredness making him far more accepting of the situation than he normally would have been.

Mr. Horn apparently did not have a good comeback for that aside from a grunt and settling back on the capstan. While he wouldn’t admit it to the slightly superstitious and ornery hippogriff, Snap preferred it that way. Instead, he found himself a nice seat on a loose rope coil and watched the sea. A cool wind brushed his fur. Clouds rolled in from the north, hiding the moon and shrouding the sea in blackness. He could barely make out a ship-like shape on the horizon.

“I-” Snap yawned. “I wonder what they’re thinking on there.”

From the corner of his drooping eyes, he could see Mr. Horn rubbing his jaw. “Probably cautious, but truth be told, I don’t think they can see us. It’s the paint. And we have no lights burning either.”

He emphasized his words with a rap on something iron. Snap had never paid enough attention to tell what he hit, and he could barely focus anymore. All he felt was the cool wind and the gentle swaying beneath him. He heard hooves thump the deck and fade away, and then he remembered no more.

*****************************************************************************************************

Something wet slapped Cold Snap in the face. He jolted and gagged at the hot, rancid smell of whatever hit him. He tried scrambling away, but heavy weights snagged his struggling legs and threatened to drag him down under their relentless pull.

Then, someone barked in his ear. He jolted ramrod straight and gasped as his stiff back roared in agony. The world came into enough focus to see this wasn’t another monster from Mr. Horn’s tall tales.

Ropes tangled his hooves in impossible knots while a brown collie took advantage of his misfortune to get in licks wherever it could. He finally managed to free one hoof enough to rub the dog’s ears, partially to scratch the cute animal and partially to keep it away.

“Sucat, come!” someone shouted from across the ship.

The collie froze mid lick and bounded out of sight. Snap wiped off his wet face and began pulling himself out of the ropes. A few crew members passed him, but they seemed more interested in the tangled ropes than the pony stuck in them. Snap didn’t particularly mind since it gave him time to work out the days aches and pains.

He would need them for a day like today. The pre-dawn sun didn’t shine so much as diffuse through the thick overcast, and the air held a tiny nip that it hadn’t yesterday. The entire world hung in a gloom, and somewhere out there was a ship.

Snap gave one final yawn and hauled himself up, straightening the ropes as best he could as he did. He looked up just in time to see Sucat round the corner and Captain Gideon close behind.

The captain paid him no mind. Instead, he walked to the bow, looked up at the glowing sky, and then down to the dark waters crashing against his ship’s bow. For minutes, he stood absolutely motionless.

Snap didn’t know the captain well at all, and their introductions were hardly cordial. He didn’t know what Captain Gideon was doing. Perhaps it was some kind of morning ritual, a greeting of the dawn as some did.

He could see the ship beyond. It was so close. Their sails were out, but they hung slack in the still dawn. Theship didn’t seem to be in any particular panic. Mr. Horn must have been right. They hadn’t seen the Yellow Rose in the dark night and assumed they’d lost her.

Snap took a few steps closer to the captain to ask something, but that something was forgotten as he heard the griffon’s low voice. “And today, I bring them to the doorstep of battle. If I am the one wrong, then let all the judgment fall on me. Spare those this ship carries, but if we are to fight, if we are to pick up the sword, then let us wield it boldly and with all joy.”

The strange words washed over Snap and left him confused. What was this? Nevertheless, he knew he had somehow intruded on a very private moment for the captain. He turned to leave.

“And grant clarity in the coming days. My instinct says that this battle will be only a beginning, but to what, I cannot say. By your will,” the griffon sighed and turned, only to catch Cold Snap in the act of retreating.

Instantly, his expression flattened. “So, did you need something?”

Snap gulped, and it felt like someone glued his hooves to the deck. Anything he thought to say died in his throat. Sucat didn’t make matters easier when she saw him struggling for a single word and barked happily.

“Well?” the captain asked.

“Nothing, sir, sir?” Snap asked hesitantly.

“I believe either ‘sir’ or ‘Captain’ will be equally acceptable.”

Captain Gideon turned and studied the rapidly growing ship. Cold Snap thought this was probably his excuse to leave, find Nebula, or just find anything better to do than be here.

Yet, he couldn’t tear himself from his spot. The griffon seemed to not notice him at all. Actually, he seemed not to concern himself with many things. By his own admission, he’d said that there would be battle before the sun sank. He’d delivered that news with all the fervor of someone telling him that it would rain later.

The griffon pulled a brass tube from his jacket, extended it, and peered at his prey. Snap finally worked up the nerve to leave.

“She’s nearly two miles off. Her colors still fly, but I doubt they would fly under their own flag. There does not appear to be any crew on deck. She appears to be unaware of us.”

So the captain was still watching him. “Our surprise will not last past dawn. So, pony, what do you think my course is?”

What kind of question was that? Snap didn’t know the first thing about ships! He scraped a hoof against the deck. “Captain, I think there might be more qualified folks around to answer.”

“Maybe there are, but you’re here. I know you and your friend are greenhorns to ships, but that’s what I want. You know nothing about a ‘real’ ship. Thus, you have no idiotic preconceptions I must beat out of you. You also come up with the unorthodox ideas.”

He pointed the still-extended spyglass to the armored ship. “Look at the Rose. She’s not anything like another ship on these seas. Her crew needed to be that too. Every soul on board started as a landlubber like you. I need no carpenters. I need no riggers. I have no use for sails. It takes blacksmiths and technicians to run this ship. Our skill with sailing her came from painful mistakes as we learned a new trade.”

So, he meant that the demon ship, the terror of the Abyssinian Sea and a dozen more beyond, was an impossible ship crewed by self-taught sailors? It seemed absurd, but after what little he’d seen of the ship, he’d believe the captain if he said a cockroach could pull a wagon.

“My question still stands. We are losing our darkness. We are gaining on them, but if they mount a defense, then we will have a much harder fight. This also isn’t a defenseless merchant plying molasses and rum. These are crack fighters that bloodied our noses before. They might try some novel tactic. Given that, what do you think the course is?”

Snap thought carefully. This was some kind of test. How the captain tolerated them might hinge on his answer. He took a deep breath. “When you attacked the Hound, you shot the steery-thing”-

“Rudder,” Captain Gideon said.

“Rudder. Can you hit them, but, no. That will wake them like a shook beehive. I don’t even think you could hit them from here. I’ve never heard of a cannon shooting that far. Well, shoot that far and hit.”

This might be a slightly harder question than he thought, but it quickly came to Snap. “We need to get close as possible, right?”

The captain nodded. “Correct. Once we close the distance, we engage and dictate the fight. I have no doubt we would win, but I would rather not do it over a pile of my crew. Depending on their orders and attachment for my prize, they might see fit to destroy it. I cannot risk that.”

Something thudded behind Snap, and he whirled. A brown griffon clambered over an iron railing high above the deck. He laid his musket against the metal and focused on the closing ship. Another crewmate joined the griffon and held his own weapon in a tight grip.

An earsplitting metal groan sent Snap’s heart pounding, and he spun to see the latest culprit. The large slab of metal behind him, the one he had seen just before being tossed in for a swim, moved. He could just barely see the titular yellow rose painted on its studded surface.

The bulge could easily fit a dozen griffons inside, and as it rotated, two long cannon barrels silhouetted themselves against the lightening sky. It looked like a cheese wheel had been dropped flat on the deck, and then someone started carving random hunks off the sides, vaguely circular, but still angular plates held on by massive rivets.

“Turret Number One. Fires a sixty-pound projectile nearly four miles. Its front armor is seven inches thick at a sixty degree angle. It will withstand any cannonball a ship may throw at it. This ship is an engineering marvel, but I do not have time to be a hospitable host and show her to you. You need to get below. We will be engaging them within the hour.”

Snap gawked at the mechanical marvel before him before remembering that his temporary captain and captor had given him an order. He finally found his hooves and trotted back to the main hatch.

Inside, he found members of the crew checking their muskets, tightening armor, and putting the last touches on their heinous makeup. They paid him little mind until he got near the stairwell where one of the last in line jabbed a striped hoof up the stairs, not down.

“Captain gave orders. You must go up. Midshipmare Blue will watch you,” the zebra said in slightly stilted words and a most peculiar, almost guttural accent.

Snap left the zebra to finish his own ghastly makeup of painted bones. Up the stairs, he found a turn to the right, and then a familiar hallway. Without a doubt, that zebra did not mean for him to intrude on the captain’s quarters. Instead, he found another stairwell with plenty of voices echoing through the bulkheads.

As soon as he left the stairwell, he stumbled into the hornet’s nest. Creatures of all kinds hovered over tables, demanded updates and shot back orders, or stood staring grimly out the narrow viewing glass. Only a few even noticed him, and most of them barely paid him a glance.

One familiar face did not. “I must get it back. Don’t you understand?”

Perhaps he should not have been surprised to see Mr. Horn in an important-looking place like this. He was Captain Gideon’s source of information regarding this contested box. Keep friends close and enemies closer, as the saying went.

That only puzzled Snap. He was neither friend nor enemy to the dour griffon. If anything, he was a tolerated stowaway. So, why was he here?

“I can’t lose it now,” Mr. Horn muttered to seemingly thin air.

“That’s enough mumble-mumble. We’ll get it back. I have no doubt of that,” Midshipmare Deep Blue said as she parted the chaos and joined them.

“Er, Midshipmare?” Snap hazarded.

The azure mare stared. “Deep Blue is fine. Heck. Blue is fine as long as we’re not in the wheelhouse.”

Snap snorted. “Thanks. I prefer to go by ‘Snap’ myself. Feels too formal otherwise.”

“Then I think we’ll get along. Get a seat. Show’s about to start.”

He followed her pointing hoof to a lumpy looking cushion shoved against the wall. It must have been a well-loved piece of furniture based on the countless stains that turned the thing into a mottled green-brown. There was no telling what color it was originally.

Midshipmare Blue trotted to a raised, metal table bolted to the floor. Her eyes roved over whatever lay on its thick surface before sparing a glance at the brig. As if someone kicked her, she jerked her focus back to Snap as if she only then remembered he was in the room. “I probably don’t need to tell you this, but stay put. Both of you. Look, but don’t touch. Things get crazy enough in here.”

She said those words like he was expected to understand the importance of whatever “in here” was. All he saw were a half-dozen sailors hovering around their tables. Some furiously jotted on bits of paper while others watched whatever lay on the table like their lives hung in the balance. Every one of them stole a moment to stare at their approaching victim.

As he studied, he recognized other things. Midshipmare Blue wore a coat similar to Captain Gideon’s; though hers was plainer, a little more disheveled, and probably worn only for the pockets all over it. The others wore similar attire, but each had a different pattern of gold, stars, and a variety of basic symbols from starbursts to arrows to fire to knives. This obviously reflected a rank system, but he didn’t know enough to translate it.

Brass pipes lined the wall. They ran across the ceiling where they descended a pillar in a central area of the room, forming a cluster of tubes like an obscure musical instrument above a wide table. This table was thick, with magical disks and arms spinning and waving in a pattern lost to the Snap. A single brass stalk like the one in the captain’s cabin rose over a black fabric box. Whatever the place was, it was important. That only brought up one pressing question.

“Why are we here?” he asked Midshipmare Blue bluntly.

The junior officer glanced at him, an answer ready to spill out when she looked to one side, stiffened, and barked: “Captain on deck!”

Some of the crew mimicked her while others sat too engrossed in their duties to see Captain Gideon. The captain wore his jacket and had donned his brace of pistols. A saber lightly tapped his side as he walked. His golden eyes fixed on Snap, and the pony found himself feeling very small.

“Because I have allowed it. We are about to engage. If you do not wish to see, then now is your time to leave. As for the hippogriff, I know enough about him not to trust him. Hence, I will keep him where I can keep one eye on him. I will not suffer losing this prize a second time,” the griffon said as he walked to the table with all the brass tubes.

He gestured to a second griffon, this one wearing no uniform at all aside from a belted pouch and knife at his shoulders and carrying a musket oiled to perfection. “Take the balcony. I want no surprises.”

“Aye, sir,” the brown griffon tipped the musket barrel to his head and exited through a sturdy looking door. Snap could just barely see his head through a square of glass embedded in the metal.

“We will be engaging in moments, and I want this battle over quickly. Pilot, set a course for boarding. I will manage the rest.”

The captain stepped close to the brass tubes, but the mare on the helm piped up. “Captain, they’ve seen us!”

Sure enough. Figures raced around the brig’s deck. Fliers were already pouring from the rigging. Some pulled massive ropes and brought the stalled ship to deliver a broadside at the Yellow Rose. Others readied smaller weapons and waited. No one fired.

“Hold your fire. Save your life.”

The griffon captain said it with such calm conviction that Snap felt a chill rush his spine. He had been on the other end not two days earlier. He’d felt the fear of the terrible demon ship bearing down on them. He remembered that sickening feeling of the deck leaving his hooves. How could anyone hope to stand against that?

A white puff erupted from the sailing ship’s deck. An instant later, a loud clang reverberated through the ship. More cannon fire and small arms fire joined the fray. A swivel gun fired, sending chainshot clattering across the Rose’s tower and barely missing the glass windows.

In an instant, the entire attitude in the room changed. Any nervous jitters vanished, and everyone focused completely on their duties. Midshipmare Deep Blue rushed from station to station gathering reports and dumping them on other desks, mostly Captain Gideon’s. The griffon himself was an island in the storm. It seemed so incredible to Snap that someone so young could maintain such control in the situation, yet here was the proof.

The slate-colored griffon leaned over the brass tube. “Yellow Rose. They’ve given us their answer. Show them ours.”

Author's Notes:

The Publisher glanced at the manuscript in his hooves. It wasn't crumpled this time. No. It was muddy. Black flecks and smears covered the whole thing and carried with it the distasteful aroma of rotting vegetation and methane.

The one who threw it at him (a thing he was grateful for for once) was far worse. The Author didn't need a ski mask this time because this time he was covered horn to hoof in black mud. It speckled his gray coat. It covered his blonde mane. It tracked all across the linoleum leading into the Publisher's office. Thank heaven it could be mopped up.

And he reeked, like the pages in his hooves, but by CELESTIA, that was strong. It was like the Author had brought the entire bog with him. The Author himself seemed totally oblivious to his aura.

The Publisher lowered the pages, but not too much in case they would infect his other work. "Do I want to know?"

"I DROWNED TWO CATS!" the Author shouted in almost manic excitement.

The entire office, perhaps the entire building, fell quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The Publisher blinked and shook his head. "Er, run that by me again? two CATS?"

"Yes! Two cats!" the Author said vigorously.

A sick feeling started forming in the Publisher's gut. He opened his mouth to hazard the question he dreaded. "Cats...like, 'meow meow'?"

Barely breaking stride, the Author kept up his crazed rambling. "Hrm, no. More like 'rmm rmm'. Biggest, meanest cats you've ever seen."

"Wait, what kind of cat does that?"

The Author gesticulated as he talked, slinging foul mud everywhere. "Not entirely sure. If I had to take a guess, it was probably 80,000 for the big one and 50,000 for the little one. I put 'em deep in the marsh. Worst part too. Mud as black as an Oreo's damned soul and smelling as foul as a Taco Bell gamer's anus."

The Publisher could tell that with excruciating detail. He set the manuscript aside. "Eighty thousand cats?"

"No, pounds. Weren't you listening?"

Blink. Blink. So many things were coming together, and the answers kept leaning towards insanity or drugs. "Do you have the slightest idea how little that explains?"

"You want to come and see? One of them's still there. It's a pit straight to hell," the Author asked.

"I'll pass. But thank you for the offer anyway."

"Understandable. Have a nice day."

With that, the Author turned and trotted out, leaving a black trail in his wake. The Publisher leaned back in his chair, feeling totally stupified. "So, what the heck was that?" he asked no one in particular.

*****************************************************************************
In Plain Speak, I was digging with a 50,000 pound trackhoe on a levee in the middle of a marsh on the ranch. This particular area's mud had no real structure to it. I made a combination of mistakes and sunk the machine. We had a big brain moment and brought an 80,000 pound D-8 dozer onto the levee that barely held the smaller machine.

We sunk it.

A few days ago (I've forgotten what day at this point), we managed to get it unstuck with an absurd amount of logs, chains, sweat, and luck and back onto solid ground. The trackhoe is still in the mud.

So, my days have been long and exhausting. As such, no writing has been completed for the week while I've been playing in the mud. Enjoy this chapter, but the next one will be delayed until I can get my world caught up again.

Thanks all,
Sharmin

Sink or Swim

Everything seemed to slow to a crawl. It was like a god had reached down and stilled everypony. Silence reigned on the bridge. The crew that had been scrambling for their posts seconds earlier had frozen, each and every one fixated on their closing victim.

Only the sea spray spoiled the impression. Another puff and thump erupted from the fleeing ship’s swivel. Their fliers nearly had completed their maneuver and brought the ship’s full might to bear. Eight shiny, brass cannons faced the Rose’s bow. A dozen glints reflected from muskets, bayonets, and swords ready on the doomed vessel’s deck.

The fliers dropped their harnesses and dove on the armored ship. Pistols and swords appeared as if by magic, and the fliers gained even more speed.

A wall of sulfurous smoke belched from the ship, throwing everything it had at the oncoming dreadnought. Each and every gun threw a shot of a caliber that made the Hound’s cannons look petite. A horrible clang and scraping whine resonated through the metal ship. A volley like that would have devastated a normal ship.

The Yellow Rose was anything but normal. The only proof of violence was a new dent on the lead turret’s armor. She plowed towards the stranded ship with deadly intent.

The battle was joined.

The turret roared as its twin guns opened fire. The shots shredded the rigging and sent the main mast toppling amid a shower of splinters.

Cracks echoed from the Rose as the crew opened fire on the airborne threat. The fliers weaved and made a difficult target. They dived close to the ship. Their pistols flashed, and they soared away to reload. Muskets followed the fleeing enemies as the crew focused on them. That’s why they missed the small orbs clattering to the deck.

Gray fog swirled around the ship’s deck. Some of the crew coughed and collapsed in hacking fits, but many seemed unaffected and still poured fire into the returning fliers. One fell, then another plunged into the sea. The muskets on the rapidly approaching ship opened in an erratic volley, and most of the shots flew far wide of their targets. The crew divided their attention to silence the new threat.

Gouts of smoke and fire flew between the ships. The crews were evenly matched, and they both had to compensate for swaying decks, but that’s where the similarities ended. The sailed crew fired almost randomly and with little effect. The Rose’s crew fired with eerie precision. Musket after musket fell silent as Captain Gideon’s sharpshooters let loose a withering fire.

They fired so fast! Snap couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t even see them reloading. Adrenaline thundered through his veins and he leaned forward to watch the deadly engagement. One shot from them was met by five, and the enemy crew dove for cover.

The Rose lurched as the rumble beneath his hooves changed. For hours, it had been a constant thrum, a beast waiting to be released. Now it growled and bucked. The ship slowed and heaved as the metal craft began to parallel the floating wreck.

A movement flashed in the corner of his narrowed vision. Snap looked over to the balcony door. His breath hitched as he saw the brown griffon struggling before falling out of view. The colt shouted an incomprehensible warning as the balcony door slammed open.

A hippogriff stood in the opening. A wheelock sat in his holster and his bloodied saber dripped onto the wooden planking. He raised the saber and drew the pistol and exploded into flight.

In an instant, Captain Gideon had a pistol in his claws. It barked, and the attacker staggered, but wasn’t down.

None of the other crew was armed. Captain Gideon couldn’t possibly pull out his second pistol in time. Snap’s feeling of invincibility gave way to chilling fear.

The captain’s pistol roared again. Staggering, swaying, bleeding, the hippogriff collapsed. Snap could just see the limp form of the griffon crewmate. Snap bolted for the door.

“Snap! What are you doing!” Nebula shouted after him.

“Stay inside, fool!” the captain roared.

Snap ignored both and rushed to the fallen griffon. His weapon lay cast aside and his eyelids fluttered rapidly. Crimson stained his breast and head, but he still lived. Snap bit into the griffon’s cartridge belt and dragged him. He didn’t put up a fight. His body got caught on that ridiculous lip all of the ship’s doors had. Snap grunted, and with a powerful flex, heaved the griffon over and into relative safety.

Midshipmare Blue rushed to his side and immediately shoved rags onto the bleeding wounds. “Thanks. I’ve got it.”

Snap stumbled back. He could taste the bitter gunpowder smoke that pervaded the room. It hazed everything and brought tears to his eyes. Suddenly, an inexplicable breeze kicked up and the smoke began to clear.

Captain Gideon set his pistol on the desk. “Boarding party, prepare yourselves. I want that box they covet so much,” he said into another brass tube.

Snap rushed back outside to watch the engagement. There wasn’t much of one left. The airborne fighters had been beaten back and the shooters on the other ship were forced into hiding for fear of their lives. Grapples launched from the Rose found sure purchase on the ragged railing and torn masts. Winches groaned and the ship’s stern crept towards them.

Thumps sounded from nearby as more of the Rose’s crew fired swivel guns. Their shots trailed lazily through the air and crashed against the deck, covering them in a carpet of shattered crystal. Then, the crystal sublimated into a rapidly expanding cloud.

The ships nearly touched now. The boarding party huddled behind an iron gangway fitted with heavy spikes. With a shout, they heaved the barrier down and rushed onto the stricken vessel as soon as it landed.

Then the wails started. Terrified cries sounded in the fog as the invading party whooped and yelled their way through. The damned throats uttering that horrible sound had abandoned all hope. The whole thing chilled Snap’s blood.

The first bodies leapt over the side in a desperate attempt to escape certain death. They came in a frenzy, shoving each other aside as they sought refuge in the bottomless sea. They ended up in the water and paddled wildly in any and every direction.

Another figure rushed from the cloud. This pony was more finely dressed, like he was some junior officer. He retained enough of his senses to keep a magical grip on a smallsword. A familiar zebra rushed out of the fog intent on bowling the unicorn over.

The young officer waited until the last second and feinted. The charging zebra couldn’t stop. His hooves scraped against the deck and nearly brought him to a stop. Then the officer slammed into the zebra’s rump and sent him toppling over the railing. Then, he continued to the stern.

He didn’t jump like the others. Instead, he levitated a small bundle from his saddlebags. It looked like a wad of sail cloth. A faint red stain seemed to glow against the white cloth. Without any hesitation, the pony threw it overboard and rushed away from the scene and back into the fog.

Snap’s eyes followed the bundle’s descent. It splashed and bobbed in the disturbed waters. It gradually soaked up water, and the red stain glowed like the crystal lights inside the Yellow Rose.

His eyes shot open. That size! It had to be the box! He had to tell the captain!

He started to turn, and then the wad of cloth slowly slipped beneath a wave. It resurfaced a moment later, but much lower than before.

No time! It would be long gone by then. Snap’s thoughts ran a mile a minute as he tried to come up with a plan. Get Nebula to lift it? No. Too far. Throw something after it? There was a swaying hook from the cargo winch within easy reach, but he didn’t know how to use it. The box slowly sank out of view.

Snap realized he had to do something stupid, monumentally stupid in fact. He backed up a few steps, banished all doubts and common sense, and leapt. His hooves caught the smooth railing and sent him soaring through the air. His outstretched hooves snagged the cargo hook with an agonizing jerk. The crane swung out over the sea. He smiled. This just might work.

Then the crane pulled tight against its storage chains, sending the unfortunate pony flying. He splashed painfully and lay there a moment. His body hurt, and his eyes stung.

A glowing red orb seemed to hover in the water below him. Snap kicked with all his might after the precious box. A chill seeped into his coat as he dove after the plunging bundle. Pressure built against his ears. He could almost touch it. It was so slow, but just outside his reach.

The pressure built. His hoof brushed the fluttering cloth. Still, he kicked. His lungs burned. He wanted to give up, but this was the only chance.

It wasn’t his box. Let it go.

He grit his teeth and ignored the cold and pain. After all he and Nebula had gone through, this was his box just as much as Captain Gideon’s. The pressure was agonizing, but he wouldn’t stop.

Lungs burning for air, his ears about to rip, and blackness growing in his vision, Snap gave a desperate reach. His hoof snagged the sail, and he yanked. The box slowed, but didn’t stop. It started tumbling. Snap pulled harder, hoping to grab it. It only tumbled out of his reach. He groped again. He had to get the box now!

Just as his lungs decided the issue, something dark and round fell out of the white sail into the black depths. The bundle, without its sinker, tore through the water like a bubble. It slammed into Snap’s hooves hard enough to bruise, if he lived long enough.

He clung to the chest like a lifeline. The sun looked far, far above him. He kicked weakly. His lungs screamed for air, but Snap could only ride his flotsam and pray for a miracle. It was all he had now. The blackness made everything so hard to see.

Snap saw bubbles. He was losing precious air, but he couldn’t...he felt so weak! The water warmed. One second, two, and then a third passed. His head broke the surface, and he sucked down greedy lungfuls of air as he clutched his glowing box. His legs felt so weak that he thought he would slip into the sea at any moment.

He saw movement above. An iron ship. Figures rushed along its rail and crossed to the ruined ship, the Fang of Eris. “Hey”-he hacked violently- “hey up there! Rose! Pony overboard!”

With the screams, the creaking ship, and the sounds of the Rose’s rumbling, no one could hear him. Snap tread water as best he knew how, but this was no mountain puddle. He could feel his legs slowing. All that kept him above the surging waves was that box. He had to hold on. Soon, somepony would spot him when they looked for survivors in the water.

Just like they had at the Golden Hound? The thought froze his paddling legs. He had to do something before they left him! Suddenly, the weights on his body didn’t seem like so much. He splashed and hollered. Hoping, praying, that anypony would hear him.

“Bark!”

Snap looked up into the intelligent eyes of the crew-mate he least expected. Sucat, the captain’s dog, stuck his head between the deck and the railing. All the dog’s attention laid on Snap, and his bushy tail wagged so fiercely that it took the rest of his body for a ride.

“Sucat! Sucat, go get help!”

The collie cocked its head. He pondered the demand before letting out a happy bark and raced out of sight. Snap breathed a small sigh of relief. He wasn’t out of the water yet, but things were looking better than they had been a moment ago.

Hooves thudded along the deck, accompanied by growls and muffled cursing. “Let go, you mutt!”

Nebula!

Sucat didn’t seem to like that, and Nebula yelped. Sucat came back into view, a mouthful of tail in her mouth and forcing Nebula to reverse-trot around the ship.

“Neb! Down here!”

Instantly, Nebula stopped his struggling and rushed to the side. “Snap! Thank goodness you’re alive! Stay there!”

“Wasn’t planning on leaving,” Snap muttered.

A levitated rope hurled over the side, close enough to Snap that he could bite the coarse fibers. He didn’t dare let go of the box. He was pulled close to the ship and lifted partway out of the water, but Nebula had never been as strong as he had, and all the poor unicorn could do was leave Snap half-way suspended in the water.

If he dropped the box, he could reach the side, but he wasn’t about to let go after all he’d been through to fetch it.

“Kahn’t phfool ew, phatt.” Nebula grumped around the rope.

Snap felt his jaw getting tired. Suddenly, the rope jerked, nearly pulling a few teeth out. “Leave it to me, tiny pony.”

Snap flew over the rail into the waiting arms of the burly minotaur guard. “Gotcha,” he said as he set his soggy body down.

All of a sudden, the past few minutes caught up to him. His legs wobbled like rubber and finally collapsed. Absolute exhaustion replaced thrilled fear, and Snap couldn’t bring himself to move, even with the box jabbing into his side.

Cold Snap did not care. In that moment, he wanted to be back at home, in his own bed, on his own plantation. Instead, he was playing a dangerous gamble with things he had no part in. And somehow, he liked it.

“Hey, Snap? What’s that box?” Nebula asked.

Snap studied the box, as if it was something completely new to him. A large, oblong ruby sparkled both from the morning sunlight and a glow deep inside the cut gem. Coarse twine bound the gem to the wood in haphazard knots.Water beaded across the wooden surface like it was covered in wax, and it looked like it hadn’t just come out of a plunge from the deep.

“Snap? Buddy? Are you alright?” Nebula asked with evident concern.

Smoke rolled across the ships. The wounded moans echoed throughout the ships. Wood scraped against steel as the tethered ships sawed against each other in the waves. Worst, he could hear those terrified souls now whimpering and begging any deity they believed in to deliver them from the demons.

Crystalline shards were long gone, and so was the gas. The survivors huddled into any corner they could. They flinched at everything, and never seemed to see the world around them. Only when the Rose’sghastly painted crew passed them did they shriek in terror. Suddenly, all the legends of demon ships and crew made so much more sense.

Suddenly, more hooves thudded across the deck, a lot of hooves by the sound of it. Snap tried to find the source, only to hear it first.

“Find it! I don’t care if you tear the ship to splinters!” Captain Gideon shouted.

Several of the crew charged across the iron gangway while the Captain, Mr. Horn, Midshipmare Blue, and, of course, Sucat approached the railing.

Sucat rounded her master. She continually stopped and looked at the Snap’s miserable form. Her plaintive whines fell on deaf ears. Finally, Mr. Horn found the dog’s antics more riveting than the ruined ship.

He saw Snap and raised his eyes. Then he saw the box. He gasped and rushed towards his lost delivery.

“That’s far enough, Mr. Horn.”

The captain hadn’t moved. His deadly pistols still rested in their holsters, yet he may as well have leveled one of them to the hippogriff’s head. His command was threat enough. Snap saw the greed in the hippogriff’s eyes fade. Cold, common sense took over, and he stepped aside, gesturing the captain forward.

Captain Gideon looked coolly at the dripping pony. “Cold Snap, bring that box here.”

His legs nearly refused. Just what else could the captain want? Hadn’t he just saved it from a long rest in the crushing deep? Still, he found his weak legs moving. Snap staggered to the griffon as if he were drunk.

One problem. Mr. Horn stood between himself and the captain. Snap hesitated, clutching the box to his chest in a death grip.

“Step aside, Mr. Horn, if you would be so kind,” Captain Gideon’s voice was anything but pleasant.

The hippogriff moved without complaint, none that he dared speak. His eyes betrayed his humiliation at his powerlessness. Snap edged around him and approached the captain.

“Your prize, sir,” Snap said shakily and offered the box.

With only a word of thanks, Captain Gideon plucked the box out of Cold Snap’s hooves. His bright eyes wandered over its carved surface. Snap only now recognized the carvings as forests and flowering plants. The captain’s claws traced over the surface gingerly, as if afraid to mar its surface with his sharp talons. He pressed on something out of Snap’s view, and the box opened with a soft click.

Everypony on deck unconsciously leaned forwards, wanting a piece of the mystery. Captain Gideon disappointed them. He snapped the box closed and turned back for the ship’s bulkhead door. “Midshipmare, recall the crew and cut the jetsam loose. Find the mate and order him to avoid entanglements. The engineer may let the engines rest, but the crew remains on the alert. I will study this in my cabin.”

“Aye, sir!”

Snap struggled to comprehend it all. Was he the captain’s delivery pony? Did he only get an “attabuck” and a pat on the head like a foal? Confusion metamorphosed into anger. Suddenly, the last of Cold Snap’s strength rallied around that kernel of anger. “Captain!” he said with as much command as he could muster.

He felt like it was a pathetic attempt. Pathetic or not, it worked. Captain Gideon turned on the door threshold. “Yes?”

The anger suddenly felt very inadequate in the face of reality, and Snap struggled to maintain his composure. “Captain, I risked my life for that box. I recognized the situation and the immediate need for action. As such, I would like to study the box with you.”

The griffon said nothing, instead fixing him with a blank glare. “You may like to do many things. Your actions are recognized and will be rewarded as I see fit. However, you push your limits with that demand.”

“In that case, I would consider the privilege of seeing the box’s contents reward enough,” Snap said calmly.

A tense moment passed, and Snap thought he’d pushed his luck too far. That changed when the captain nodded. “Very well, you may come, and you as well, Mr. Horn. However, I will handle the prize.”

Mr. Horn blinked in shock and then smiled like it was Hearth’s Warming a month early. They eagerly followed the captain back to his cabin. Snap only paused at the deck bulkhead long enough to cast a thankful smile at his friend. Nebula only looked annoyed at being left out of the fun. Then, Snap bolted to catch the captain before he slammed his ornate door.

Once inside, the captain cleared a space on his desk. He flung anything unimportant aside. Papers fluttered to the priceless carpet, and anything more substantial was shoved into a massive pile that threatened to slip off the desk. The captain gently placed the mysterious box into the cleared area. His claws eagerly hovered over the mechanism. “It goes without explanation, but not a word of this must leave this room, not to your friends, not to the crew. I do not care if they are asleep, drunk, or promising that I sent them. Not a word.”

Both nodded eagerly, each craving to see the mystery unveiled. The captain sliced the rough twine holding the faceted ruby. This, he set aside after a brief study. Snap thought he would immediately open the chest, but instead Captain Gideon studied the exterior. It was a dark wood, similar to walnut in color, but with pronounced dark purple streaks. The grain was close and seemed to indicate a dense wood. Two fruiting trees stood in proud relief on the box lid. What they were, Snap had no idea.

Click. The lid snapped open as if it were spring loaded. Snap couldn’t see inside, but he didn’t want to approach any closer than he already was. Given how things went down outside, the captain might not tolerate that. Painful seconds later, the griffon lifted the first item.

It was...Actually, Cold Snap didn’t know what it was. It was small. It could easily fit into his hoof, and it seemed to have two halves stood vertically like a tiered cake or a foal’s top. A rectangular half with a depression that looked almost like a tiny cup on a heavy stem made up the top half, and a circular ring of amethysts made up the bottom. It didn’t appear to have any moving parts, and no matter how the captain pressed the gems or attempted to rotate anything, it refused to react.

Captain Gideon set it aside and pulled out the next item.

It appeared to be a swatch of black carpet or maybe a rug, but it was a fine example. His mother would ooh and ahh over the piece and fret about where to place it for the best decorative value. Heavens forbid that she put it on the floor. They were much too valuable for his family to leave wherever muddy hooves could reach them. The fine threads would-

It dawned on him that those threads didn’t quite look like thread, and his sensitive nose picked up an unpleasant pungent odor like old tar or bitter smoke. He felt an involuntary chill. Those threads that didn’t quite look like threads were hairs. This was a creature’s skin. And it looked far too similar to pony skin to be comfortable.

Captain Gideon rolled the ghastly thing over his claws like it was a dishcloth at market and he was appraising it before purchase. He seemed absolutely unbothered by the thing in his grasp. In fact, he seemed to take an almost scientific interest in the qualities of the skin. “Cowhide. A well-prepared specimen, supple and still retaining its hairs. I did not expect that.”

The strange doohickey wasn’t impressive, but this was? Snap averted his eyes from the hide and tried hard to not think about who it might have come from.

“Oh? What’s this?” the captain said.

Snap forced himself to look. The captain had flipped the skin over and was scrutinizing the pale tan flesh. His claw hovered over the skin without touching. Somepony or, more likely, someone had taken ink to the skin like a crude page. It had lines that were not lines. They seemed to be allergic to being normal, straight lines. They ran in squiggles, sharp breaks, and blots across the skin.

It was a map. A map to what though? Where even was this? Snap did not know the answer. Maybe it would help if he could make sense of the strange letters filling a neat square in the center of the hide.

It looked like it conveyed a message. Why else would it be written? But it was in a completely foreign script unlike the minotaur scratches he used frequently or the Equestrian traditional glyphs his parents insisted he learn. Certainly, there were dozens of other languages he had never heard of, but they might as well have been zebra swirls for all that meant.

None of that meant he was stupid. Already, his mind was throwing out ideas to decipher it. However, with such a small selection to work with and no context, then his chances of making heads or tails of it plummeted.

Snap was never the most educated on those matters, and knew he would be of no help there. Mr. Horn looked similarly baffled. The captain set the disgusting note down and furrowed his brow. “Well, it would appear we have a mystery here.”

Author's Notes:

Plap!

The Publisher looked up. The Author stood before him, a tired, triumphant grin on his face. The Publisher took a moment to study him. No mud. No obscure mechanisms. Not even a wild costume that probably befitted his questionable mental status. The only peculiar thing about him was the pervading scent of kerosene.

It wasn't strong. Perhaps he took a bath in it and then took a regular bath to cover it up? Who knew? Either way, it was an improvement over the last few meetings. Which only made the Publisher frown. "I thought you were dead. I was about to look through the papers for your obituary," he said as he pushed the belated manuscript aside.

The Author took no offence to the statement. If anything, he looked too tired for anything more than an anemic shrug. "You can't trust everything you read in the papers. Haven't you paid attention to history?"

That made the other pony give a shrug of his own. "I'm a publisher. I try to be good at my job and leave others to theirs."

"I'll try not to think of the short-sighted denialism packed in that little statement," the Author quipped.

Anger flushed the Publisher's face. "Don't you have some parts to model? Or kittens to kill? Or something more productive than pestering me?"

The Author rubbed his chin. "Well, I've pretty much finished the MG08 feed block. Now I need to model the firing mechanism. And umm...all cats are out. We shan't speak of The Hole again. Otherwise, I am being productive."

The Publisher groaned. "Forget I asked. Look. It's that time of the year. Let's talk about something sensible. How about Nightmare Night? It's tomorrow."

The semi-desperate tone was lost on the Author. "Not quite sure what there's to talk about. The young'uns go out and collect all the free candy. When I try, I get kicked out. So, I just filch candy when no one is looking. It's like Trick or Treating, but stealthy."

Only one word could describe the Publisher's glare: scathing.

"What?" the Author said. "What am I supposed to appreciate about this stupid holiday? Diabetic gluttony? Celebrating an event so far removed from its original purpose that they have nothing in common?"

The Publisher leaned back, rubbing his eyes and trying to ward off a headache that always came from talking to the Author. "Do tell."

Hooves clicked against the floor as the Author shuffled in place. "To start, it's a harvest festival out of control. Samhein. Celebrate the end of summer, light a fire to scare the ghosts, and wear a crazy costume for the heck of it. Most schmucks on the street don't even know where food comes from. So why have a harvest festival? To herald in the Commercialistic hedonism where I will be bombarded with messages of peace, love, and buy our toys?"

The Publisher finally opened his eyes. "Don't you have anywhere else to be and more to write?"

The Author harrumphed. "Fine. I can see when my insights aren't needed." Have a good day."

And with that, he stomped to the door.

Out of habit, the Publisher lifted a bowl. "Want some candy?"

The door slammed, and the Publisher sat the bowl down. The empty bowl. He stared at it for two long seconds. "Sunnuva..."

Grim Histories

Everyone stood in silence for what felt like an eternity. The air felt charged with a tension of being on the cusp of some incredible discovery, yet that discovery was a complete unknown. The only sound piercing that silence was the Yellow Rose’s natural resonance and their own harsh breathing.

Cold Snap watched Mr. Horn and Captain Gideon. They both focused intently, and seemed completely lost in thought. Mr. Horn still couldn’t quite come to grips that his lost delivery rested before him. The captain remained introspective. He scratched neck idly and seemed willing to take as much time as necessary to puzzle out the riddle.

Finally, Snap couldn’t take it anymore. “So, um, is there anything else?”

That shook the other two from their reverie. The griffon let out a halting sigh. “Unfortunately not. Still, I have to assume that our mutual enemies saw these as well.”

Frowning, he picked up the skin. “No, I have to assume that they had as much time to study as we have. Perhaps they picked this one apart, or at least managed a photograph of these pieces.”

“What’s a photograph?” Snap asked.

Captain Gideon blinked. “Certain chemicals exposed to light will embed an image into a wet tin plate. If they are quickly prepared, then they are a permanent image that can be stored or referenced later. However, that is an involved process that is unlikely to be found aboard a ship.”

“But not if they do it magically,” Mr. Horn finally spoke up.

The captain’s eyes widened. He growled softly and stared across the table with the box, the gadget, and his various papers scattered across it as if they were party decorations. He laid the skin upon a clear spot and smoothed it carefully. “If they do have a magical image of these things, then they will be working on this just as we are as soon as they recover from my crew’s shock crystals.”

“They have it,” Snap surprised everyone, including himself, by injecting himself into the conversation.

The others briefly forgot about the artifacts. “How do you know this?” Captain Gideon asked.

Snap uncomfortably rubbed his foreleg. “It’s, well, that overboard.”

He took a breath and tried to channel confidence he did not feel. “Think about it. They threw it overboard. Maybe they wanted it back, but they had to have some backup. What if they couldn’t get it back for weeks? It doesn’t seem like they’re the kind to practice patience.”

“He makes a point. They probably wanted to keep it from us,” Mr. Horn said.

“Mr. Horn,” the captain’s voice turned cold. “I should ask just how much you know about this group. I still find the timing excessively convenient, and you seemed to be in a great hurry to retrieve it earlier, and you were paid for discretion. No one pays for discretion unless they have something another wants. So, who are we facing, and why should I assume that you are not playing us for fools?”

Caught off guard by the captain’s accusation, the hippogriff spread his wings wide defensively. “And how was I supposed to know they were following me? If they were with my client, then why would I stay away from them? And if they were with my client, why would they storm the ship and take it?”

“Because your client could be playing both groups, and they would storm my ship because they thought you failed. They were only needed when their courier failed to deliver. It is excessively elaborate, but still possible. Tell me, exactly who is your ‘client’?” Captain Gideon tapped his desk impatiently.

That cooled Mr. Horn’s fire. “When you put it that way…” he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I truly don’t know my client. All arrangements were made either by a messenger or by written letters, none of which I have now.”

The captain gave a look that had Mr. Horn rolling his eyes. “No. I’m afraid I don’t remember them in detail, and even if I did remember every word of my writings with them, they would all be extremely uninformative, basic meeting locations, lodgings, and other necessary expenses. No master artifact plans.”

“Um, the box?” Snap asked to redirect the conversation to useful matters before they two were at each other’s throats.

That stalled the two quarreling birds, for now. Mr. Horn looked at the painfully small collection of things they’d risked so much for. They did not seem like the sort of things that would harbor any great secret. He sighed. “I’ll admit I took a few peeks at them before I boarded the Golden Hound. None of the symbols on the skin made a whit of sense, and I couldn’t find anything that might explain the device.”

“Perhaps because you don’t know where the item came from?” Captain Gideon asked.

“And you do?” Mr. Horn contested hotly.

The gray griffon shook his head. “I know as little about the origins of this tableau of antiquities as you do. If it is of any significant age, as I have reason to believe it is, then it could be from one of hundreds of cultures or tribes scattered across the lands. Let’s start with the basics, shall we?”

Without waiting for any protest, he picked up the skin. He sniffed it slowly and rolled it between his claws. “The scent of smoke gives it away. This is a brain-tanned hide. Such a method is crude, but adequate in wilderness situations or when modern tanning solutions are unavailable. It also indicates that a predator species tanned and wrote on it. Ponies would not have used leather. Wouldn’t you agree, Cold Snap?”

Snap gave a pained nod. The captain was spot on with that guess. “Unless the maker was some lunatic. Even we hippogriffs haven’t used such barbaric practices,” Mr. Horn butted in.

The captain gestured to his bookcase. “For how long? I can point to several accounts where hippogriffs, and griffons too I must admit, have performed atrocities that make cowhide insignificant. I am getting off-track though. Notice the writing. The symbols are arranged into columns and rows. This is perhaps the one immediately useful clue we get.”

“Can you read it?” Snap asked in growing excitement.

Captain Gideon fixed him with a displeased stare; then he softened. “It is familiar. The symbols themselves are rather limited. We have an alphabetical language as opposed to a character language. If I had to guess, this is a dialect of Griffish. Conflicts within the major clans forced them apart, and the languages splintered. Since then, they have rejoined, but the dialects are similar enough that you can read them with some difficulty and reference material.”

He picked up a quill and consulted a ragged book before scratching out what he thought it said. Occasionally, he would pause and twirl the quill in thought. Other times, he wrote so furiously that he almost forgot to dip his quill. Still other times, he scratched out a letter, a word, or even an entire line as he realized his mistakes. Finally, he blew on the page and studied it. Both Snap and Mr. Horn crowded behind him to read.

The captain had recreated the map

Thirteen days of flying on Boreas’ winds brought me from my home to the land where the seas were born. Legends promised knowledge and life to whoever found it, but when I arrived, I had been deceived. There was only fire and destruction. I had not been the first one there. A tall creature unrecognizable in death had been here before me. A box and a bauble lay clutched in its grasp. I took them as my pitiful trophies. There was no power here. Only death.

-Grimlock

Everyone held their silence as they read and reread the peculiar note until Mr. Horn chuckled. “Well, it seems I may be of help here after all.”

The captain turned in his chair to face them. His forelegs were crossed and his eyebrows were raised. “Oh? And just how might that be?”

“The name, Grimlock. He was a griffon. Power hungry by all accounts. Led a bloody revolt against King Gunther the Second nearly fifteen hundred years ago. It failed, he survived. Then he disappeared for a number of years before returning and trying it again against the king’s son. This time, they clipped his wings and threw him off a cliff.”

Captain Gideon put a claw to his beak and slowly tapped as he processed the note. “As he lived, so he died. It still does not explain what he wanted or what he found.”

Snap tried his luck again. “But what about the other parts? Boreas’s wind and seas born?”

This time, the captain had an answer. “It’s a common sailor’s tale. Boreas is the griffon god of winter and the northern gale. It brings storms and cold with them and is dreaded by the sailor. The other? Well, that’s an older tale yet. Supposedly, there were once no seas. Only lakes that the first navigators plied around. They were mocked and called useless since you could walk everywhere. Then, one day, a fountain erupted in the plain and waters rose and rose and rose, until the lands were split and the seas were born.”

Mr. Horn studied the map. “Thirteen days as the griffon flies. There are only so many places a north wind could take a griffon within a fortnight. Between that and the map, we should be able to find it.”

The captain stood and began pacing. He stopped at a chest and pulled out a map. He silently studied it before stowing it and pulling out another. Once he tired of that, he faced his two guests. “I can, but it will take time. But remember that if I can, our unknown enemies can as well. I am not the only one who can parse through ancient Griffish.”

After that, he pulled out another piece of paper and started scribbling down his orders. Snap grew bored and instead focused on the unexplained box and...whatever that thingy was.

Neither of the two held any clues about their origin aside from Grimlock’s note. The gem-encrusted thing was practically nothing more than peculiar jewelry. It held no markings, and it looked like it would be at home in an aristocrat’s collection.

The box wasn’t much different. Aside from its foreign wood and artistic flair, it also looked like a chest he might find in most well-to-do houses. He imagined there was a story behind the pastoral scenery and the fruiting trees, but it was just a box an ancient griffon rebel had robbed from a corpse.

He began turning it over and over, admiring the quality of the construction. There were no iron nails, instead a mixture of bronze tacks and jointed wood panels. A bronze hinge held the lid on, and a bent piece of metal embedded in the lid functioned as a crude catch spring.

It was a rather curious thing. He wondered about the culture that created it and the extent they would go to in order to decorate a simple thing like it. Why, they even engraved the inside. Wait, the inside?

Snap tilted the box to catch more of the light generated by those fascinating light gems the Rose used. There were carvings on the inside. Somepony, or someone, had scratched symbols into the lid. These were not Grimlock’s work. These carvings looked far older, and the language looked absolutely foreign. The characters were so tight they were practically overlapping. The captain and Mr. Horn were in another discussion, thankfully a more civil one based on their voices.

“Captain? Can you read this?”

The two stopped, and the young captain was beside him. His eyes roved over the scratching. They squinted. They focused. Finally, they relaxed. He shook his head. “No. I don’t even recognize it. Perhaps it is a unique language, maybe a dead language outside of academia or religion. Notice the number of symbols. They are not consistent from row to row, but they are similar. So, I would assume this is poetical or at least in rhyme. That said, it is an unlikely possibility. We will keep trying to solve it. In the meantime, we have to plot a course.”

Mr. Horn casually inspected the alien writing. The hippogriff gave up almost immediately. “A course? Where to?”

“Why, a course to the sea’s cradle, of course.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cold Snap felt exhausted. It was funny because he hadn’t felt nearly so tired when he first entered Captain Gideon’s cabin a short hour ago. Nearly drowning and then intensely studying a historical, if not magical, artifact had absolutely sapped everything from him.

He trudged down the stairs that led to the central corridor that led to the rest of the ship. Once he stood in the intersection, he looked around in dazed confusion. Where was everything in this ship? So far, the only thing’s he’d seen were the captain’s cabin, the wheelhouse, this stair, and a storage closet.

His stomach gurgled as he realized he hadn’t eaten for hours and had not a clue where the food was on this ship. What sounded fantastic to him right now was a meal, a bed, and a bath to wash the icky salt itch out of his coat. Which order he wanted them in was still up for debate.

Some time must have passed as he stood in the stairwell debating his next life choices. The world beyond may as well have not existed. Finally, a hoof knocked him back into the real world, and he fell to his rump with a grunt.

Nebula stood in front of him, looking perplexed and his hoof still raised. He looked back and forth between his hoof and his friend. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”

“Sorry,” Snap mumbled as he rubbed a sore shoulder.

“What are you sorry about? And you don’t look so great. Maybe you ought to take a nap or something. What happened in there anyway? What was in the box? Treasure? Treasure map? Cursed, uh, cursed….whatever things you curse?”

Not a word. That was the captain’s command. Cold Snap bit his lip. Nebula had been his closest friend since forever. They never kept secrets, not if they could help it. It didn’t feel right keeping it from him.

“Sorry. Captain ordered me not to tell anyone.”

Nebula’s face fell. “Aww. Come on.”

Snap wasn’t having it, but he also knew Nebula would push. “Later. Someone wants that box bad. Just assume that it’s old and confusing.”

His friend immediately brightened just a little. Snap hoped that was enough for Nebula and not too much for the griffon captain. Secrets were not his strong suit.

Too many minutes later, Nebula stopped him in front of a tiny cot. Snap stared at it stupidly in his exhaustion and tried to make sense of it. Nebula pointed at the bed-like object. “The Midshipmare said we were to bunk with the crew. Better than a smelly closet, right?”

If he asked it in humor, Snap couldn’t tell. His eyes lay on the bed, how it hinged off of central poles and was suspended by chains leading to the next cot and the next and finally the ceiling. It was a most efficient system. Undoubtedly, it was not comfortable.

“She also said that we will get jobs just like the rest of the crew and will report to her, the mate, or the captain. She said we will also get paid depending on our performance, and”-

Snap had already tuned him out. All his thoughts focused on the bed and how to get in it. He gripped the frame and heaved himself. He rolled into the cot and felt how surprisingly comfortable the mattress was. His eyes already sagged and his friend’s jabbering slowly turned into a monotonous drone.

Work. Part of this ship. Part of her crew. Yes. He would worry about those pesky chores later.

Once he got some sleep.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As it turned out, there were quite a few jobs aboard a vessel like the Yellow Rose. There was food to cook, maintenance, and never-ending cleaning against the salt spray. Some member of the crew could almost always be found scrubbing the deck or touching up the monotonous gray paint.

Cold Snap and Nebula, being the newest members of the crew, were not spared from these assignments. In fact, given their complete unfamiliarity with the workings of a ship like the Rose, they were given the most menial tasks.

The first day, they scrubbed the deck and painted over the scuffs she had picked up in battle. The second, they worked in the galley preparing breakfast. It had been going well until Nebula had tried to improve the kitchen efficiency with a slight bit of magical automation. That backfired horribly and gotten them banished to the bowels of the ship.

Black dust covered Snap’s coat. His sweat mixed with the dust and left it a runny mess that dripped down his nose. He jammed the shovel deep into a crumbly black pile. With a grunt, he lifted the scoop and tossed the load onto a chute that carried the black rocks down to a blazing furnace.

He winced from the brief heat and bent down for another load of coal. Everything felt sore. Every part of him dripped and itched, and he still had several hours to go before he was relieved from this backbreaking labor.

The one solace was that coal was light. It really seemed incredible how this rock could power a ship like this. Of course he knew what coal was and its value in metal smelting, but using it in this capacity, to drive massive pistons that spun shafts to propel the ship? Absolutely incredible.

Nopony had bothered to explain how the engines worked. The chief firepony had spent so much time next to them that they were simply another device he had to keep running. However, Snap had been watching everything for hours and had just about got it figured.

The coal would feed the furnace which would boil water. Hearing the hiss in the pipes and the bleed air from the system proved beyond a doubt that the Rose harnessed steam. As long as it was contained, it would build pressure until it powered a series of reciprocating pistons. An offset rotating wheel translated the pistons’ linear motion into rotational motion that turned what the firepony had called “screws” outside. With a reversing mechanism, the ship could travel either forwards or in reverse without needing the wind.

It was an absolutely fascinating system, and he was trying to memorize every detail of it. Just the steam power system could be put to so many different tasks around the plantation.

If only he made it home to build it. Snap grew a little melancholy at the thought. At first, everything happened to him like an absolute whirlwind. It was a struggle just to find a calm moment after their capture. Now, he had too much time to think in between shovels.

As fun as this little adventure had been, Cold Snap couldn’t help but think about when he got home. Sure, his family wouldn’t miss him for now, but once the day of his expected return passed, they would only get more worried. If their guard had survived and made it back home, then they would expect the worst.

With a character like Captain Gideon, who know how long before they returned? He might grow bored of them and this little mystery before two weeks passed. He might decide that impressing them into his crew permanently was in his best interests.

Should that happen, then the only course left to Nebula and Snap was to jump ship at the closest port and hope for the best. They could steal theYellow Rose’s rowboat and a few supplies and make for the closest shore. Navigation poked holes in that plan. He simply didn’t know where the closest ports were or even how close they might come.

Captain Gideon kept the maps either in his cabin or in the bridge for the helmspony. As of yet, Snap had not been able to get a look. Even if they did find a possible opening, they still didn’t have money to get them back home. That seemed like a smaller problem in light of simply escaping the ship.

For now, it seemed the more prudent choice to remain in Captain Gideon’s servitude until a time where escape actually seemed possible.

Granted, that seemed difficult when he doubted that a ship like the Yellow Rose ever visited any ports. No self-respecting demon ship would ever make berth in a port. However, it had to get food, water, and coal somehow.

Snap had already asked about his seized spices. He’d seen them in the ship’s hold. The captain’s only response was: “You care about that now?”

Snap had since written the bale off as lost.

A hollow tooot sounded above Snap’s head. A cylindrical whistle affixed to the boiler’s body dripped condensate, and a metal needle in a glass circle hovered nearly two-thirds of the way to its maximum.

He let the shovel thud into the coal bank. The engines were at pressure, and he could afford to breathe for a few minutes. He sat in the coal. It wasn’t like he could get any dirtier.

Some minutes must have passed that way. Something crunched in front of him. Snap blinked and saw Nebula, just as sweaty and grimy as he was, staring off into the distance.

“Hey,” he managed.

That brought Nebula back into reality. “Hey yourself. I’m regretting everything I ever did in that kitchen.”

Snap laughed and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Good.”

His friend’s magic glowed and rooted around in a small satchel he kept around his neck. “I found these when we were painting. I don’t know what they are. They were in the crevices where the crew were fighting the other day.”

He withdrew several identical copper cylinders and passed them over to Snap. It was rather small, barely longer than an acorn, and hollow. The cylinder was fairly consistent in size except for a slight raised ring sat at the very end of the cylinder.

Snap looked over the round ends of the peculiar device. It was flat and smooth on one side and held a smaller circular disk in the center. This one was of a lighter colored copper and had a tiny dimple in its center.

The other end was open and dark. It held black residue and smelled of bitter sulfur. He gave it a cautious taste and immediately started spitting. Somewhere in there, he dropped the cylinder. Nebula started laughing.

“Ha” -spit- “ha. So what are they?”

Nebula lifted the copper pieces and tucked them back into his pouch. “No idea. Smells like gun-smoke, but I don’t know why. Something that happened during the fighting. Maybe something they held the powder in before they reloaded?”

Snap shrugged. It made as much sense as the rest of this ship. He checked the gauge. Pressures were down. He groaned, took the shovel back in his grip, and resumed shoveling.

Two hours later, the two friends stumbled out of the engine room. Outside, the weather had soured. A low drizzle sprinkled the ship, and the waves had turned choppy. They took a quick detour outside to let the rain wash off the coal dust. The rain gradually thickened, and they retreated back inside once they felt clean enough.

They were almost back to their bunks when the ship shuddered beneath them. Everything went still for a second. Then, the crew started shouting and rushing.

Cold Snap and Nebula froze in indecision. The captain’s voice crackled in the air around them.

“Crew, battlestations. All crew to battlestations! We are under attack!”

Author's Notes:

For once, the Publisher wasn't sure what to make of the sight before him. This time, the Author didn't look filthy, greasy, or even the slightest bit unhinged. He looked, to all the outside world, completely normal.

That terrified him.

The Author stood before him looking rather bashful and nudging a wrapped-up manuscript towards his desk. Why he used his hooves and not his horn was lost on the Publisher.

Going off of his previous experiences, the Publisher started looking around his office. Water cooler? Check. Festive fall decor? Check. Outgo box larger than his ingo box? Double check.

He did not see anything that he would associate with disaster, mayhem, or anything else that might follow the Author's steps. No caged raccoons, no machine guns on little, red wagons, not even the telltale scent of gasoline and styrofoam.

"So, what's the reason now?" he asked.

The Author looked up from his hooves. "Pardon?"

"The reason for the delay this time. I'm sure you have one," the Publisher said as he tapped his hooves together.

The Author sucked in a huge breath, then immediately deflated. "No. Sorry. No wild excuse this time. Just the usual Thanksgiving holiday, token fall sickness, individuals of the female persuasion, and old-fashioned 'don't give a hoot'. I know. Not what you were expecting."

He sat and spread his forehooves. "Tada!"

Sighing, the Publisher levitated the manuscript before him. "I'm surprised you didn't mention your job."

"Which one?"

It was such an innocent response. The Publisher's ears perked. "Which one? As in you have another?"

"Well, not quite another."

The Publisher put a hoof to his head. "How many jobs do you have?"

"Umm, like 2.5 at various times of the year, but I'm also trying to start my own business and make some inventions on the side. So you could call three to four."

The Publisher blinked in shock. "Exactly when do you write?"

"Typically at one AM when I should be sleeping. Look, do you want Yellow Rose trivia or are you going to grill me about my questionable life choices?"

"Umm, by all means. Trivia away."

The Author pulled out a crumpled notebook page and began smoothing it out. "Ahem. The Yellow Rose shares many similarities to the USS Puritan, an ironclad of the Puritan class, and the only one of her class. She and the Yellow Rose both possess a single funnel near the midship as well as a developed superstructure foreshadowing the construction to be found in turn-of-the-century warships as well as four guns divided between two turrets. One being ahead of the superstructure and the other behind. The story's ship is approximately 250 feet long, 50 feet across, and a 15 foot draft."

The Publisher felt a bit dazed under the onslaught of data, and the Author must have noticed. "Should I keep going?"

The Publisher couldn't find an answer. So the Author continued. "However, the Puritan has 12" guns while the Rose has 6" guns. This is to save on weight and draft. Also, a 12" gun would be ludicrous for the sake of storytelling. The Rose also has less armor all around, only 3/4" plate on the deck with 1.5" around the waterline. Additional protection comes from the coal bunkers lining the sides and timber shock absorbers backing the plate."

"That's just a little armor?" The Publisher ventured.

"Quite so. Given the low-velocity guns used in this era of sailing (several centuries post-Nightmare Moon's Lunar Coup), more armor made no sense, and I wanted the ship to seem powerful, but still at risk."

The Author flipped around his notepage and checked the back side. He squinted. "Can't read my own writing."

Finally, he looked up. "And she is powered by two 400 horsepower boilers and possesses approximately 765 tons of coal, enough to steam for 16 days at 2 tons per hour, travels at maximum of 12 knots and is crewed by 140. Magic and automation augmenting the shortage in crew. Anything else you'd like to know?"

The Publisher was rigid in his seat, his eyes glazed over. The Author crept closer and gave the Publisher a test poke. Nothing. The Publisher breathed, but no one was home.

"Well...You have my submission, and all I know about the ship. So, I've got a few things to do. Like A LOT of things to do. So, Ta ta."

And without another word, the Author fled the scene of the crime: Coma by data overload.

The Publisher shuddered and took a shallow breath. "He's no writer. He's an engineer."

Melt the Butter; Bring the Bibs

Battle stations! Snap felt his heart pound at the word. His head reeled. Even before Captain Gideon’s voice faded from whatever magical device carried it, the energy had already infected the ship.

The crew rushed to fulfill their duties, and they didn’t look flustered or confused as he no doubt did. They rushed to weapons and pounded through doors in the way of them and their duties. No one screamed. No one panicked.

Snap didn’t do the first, but he was starting to do the second. He looked around. Just a few steps away was his bunk. Even though he’d gotten to know it for such a short time, he was starting to like it. It would just have to wait for more important matters.

But where would he go? He never had a battle station! He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to fight. However, he was part of the Yellow Rose’s crew now. He’d have to do his part. What if his part was to stay here out of the way? But what if they found him here and threw him overboard for cowardice? His thoughts raced as he tried to figure out a solution.

It came in the form of a hoof to the head. “Calm down, Snap!” Nebula commanded him.

Pain and his friend’s voice anchored him. Cold Snap focused on him. Nebula looked nervous, but he kept a lid on it, if only barely.

“Where do we go?” he asked.

The unicorn pursed his lips in thought. Then his eyes widened. “Where we went last time! The wheelhouse!”

Together, they raced to the crew quarters door, into the stairwell, and up to the reinforced door leading to that critical nexus. They heaved the heavy steel door open and stumbled inside. They found a beehive of activity.

The crew were scattered around their instruments and tables as before, but they didn’t look as confident as before. They appeared flummoxed and kept glancing at the figures at the central table.

Captain Gideon hunched over the table, somehow holding a conversation with Midshipmare Blue, the zebra mate, and the brass tube simultaneously. His claws clenched a pair of spyglasses that had been bound together in a frame.

“Crow’s nest! Find out where that shot came from!”

Gray feathers whirled as the griffon turned to the rest of the crew. “And double boiler detail for whoever let a ship get within firing range!”

The entire command crew looked around in puzzled confusion. One griffon with arrows on her uniform patch spoke up. “Captain, there’s nothing around us at all. We don’t”-

Thump! A reverberating shudder hit the ship. Snap felt his teeth grind from the vibrations. The captain clutched his table. “Damnation! Don’t stand there and tell me there’s nothing out there. We are under attack!”

Another thump hit. This time it was softer, but not by much. It was so hard to tell where it was coming from. The rain started coming down heavier, not a blustering gale, but a heavy shower.

The Rose took another hit, but this time, it rocked. The arrowed griffon officer frowned. Captain, that’s not shot. That feels like, um, soft?”

She said it so hesitantly, yet the suggestion sparked a light in Captain Gideon’s eyes. He rushed to the brass tubes. “All crew! Put your eyes on the waterline. We may have an unorthodox attacker.”

The entire wheelhouse crew peered through the windows at the water below. Several of the deck crew walked to the railing and looked around in confusion. Everyone was quiet, and the atmosphere was so tense that it was liable to snap at any moment.

Cold Snap crept towards the window and stood on an unoccupied table to see over the gathered crew.

Another strike, but nothing! Everyone waited for the next hit and frantically searched for whatever took offense to the Yellow Rose.

Frustrated mutters filled the air as the seconds ticked by.

“There it is!” someone shouted.

On the main deck, several of the crew fled the rail as a mighty fin sliced the water. It towered over the deck railing and was nearly as wide as a pony. Its diamond profile trailed seawater on its plunge into the ocean. Then, in a terrifying display of speed, the fin whipped around and slapped the ship.

Thoonk! The ship shuddered under the blow. The fin disappeared.

Snap breathed in amazement. That thing was huge, and it was only the fin! The creature it was attached to had to be massive.

Captain Gideon breathed in relief. “Hammer bunyip. They’re uncommon, but territorial, doubly so in mating season. We are in shallow waters not far from an archipelago. We must have passed over its nest. It will tire of us soon enough.”

The crew breathed a sigh of relief, but they stuck around the window watching for the elusive creature. The captain peeled away and returned to his table.

“Captain, what makes them aggressive?” Nebula asked.

The captain blinked and finally recognized the two intruders on his command post. “What do you think you’re doing here? Why aren’t you at your posts?”

“Um, we don’t have one, captain.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“My fault, captain. The mate assigned them to quarters in battle. I was supposed to tell them,” Midshipmare Blue said.

The look on the captain’s face could only be described as “scathing”. Nevertheless, he looked back at Nebula. “They are not aggressive. They are territorial. Outside their little realm, they don’t care one whit about anything. Trespass though, and they’ll beat on a ship like it’s doing now. Only most ships are not as durable as this one. They’re not aggressive unless they get injured. Then they are completely unpredictable. Fortunately, when we’re underway like”-

He broke off, his eyes growing wide before he rushed to his brass tube. “Engineer! Emergency stop! Disengage those screws!”

A scant five seconds later, the ever-present vibrations in the ship slowed, but not before a blood-chilling screech echoed through the hull.

The damage was done. The entire ship fell into a grave silence as everyone waited for what came next. Another wail cut the ship. Then the hammer fell.

Snap lurched as the Yellow Rose heaved sideways. A furious shudder rocked the ship. The groan echoing through the ship was incredible, like an enormous fist slamming a bell. The sea grew calm for an instant, then a wave formed off the starboard bow, and the ship took another blow, this one making Snap’s teeth chatter.

This strike was different. It seemed to have more weight behind it, and it carried enough force to make the ship’s riveted plates groan in protest. It also seemed less fleshy sounding than the fin earlier. By then, the wave was gone, and the crew were rushing back to their duties.

Captain Gideon lived in the thick of it. He hunched before the brass tree and shouted into his tube. “Engineer! Get the screws going post haste. We can’t make it any more angry. All speed!”

A few painful seconds later, the ship’s natural rumble returned, and Snap could feel her powerful engines surging her forward.

The captain spoke again. “Lookout, keep the creature in sight. Give the creature’s bearing’s to the helm!”

A brief “aye, sir” was all he got.

A wave formed off the port side. The lookout’s voice spilled out next to the wooden wheel where the helmsmare furiously hauled on the only normal looking thing in this entire ship.

The bunyip struck again, but this time, it slid off the angled hull rather than deal a resounding strike. The wail of the injured creature made up for that relief.

It came again. This time, the helmsmare couldn’t move enough. Snap felt pain in his nose, and suddenly realized he was on the floor. He struggled to his hooves and stumbled to the side wall. Maybe he’d have some place to brace himself and not get trampled by the wheelhouse crew.

“Can we outrun it, Captain?” Snap asked over the din.

The griffon looked at him. For once, his immaculate feathers were disheveled. His uniform had popped a button at some point, and it looked like he’d picked up a dark stain across the sleeves like on a common sailor’s shirt. “Only once it tires. It probably can’t keep this up for an hour. We can steam at this pace for days.”

Another hard hit thumped the ship like a drum. Something shrieked, something metallic. An Abyssinian tom sat rigid at his station, his paw clenching a cup with a wire to his ear. “We’re taking water, captain! Starboard aft near the Number Two powder magazine.”

The captain whirled at the news. “How much? What about the boilers?”

The Abyssinian's eyes narrowed before he answered. “Slow leak. Unsecured coal bunk door. All adjacent rooms sealed and holding.”

Captain Gideon’s eyes hardened. Then, he reached for a third tube. “It’s time this game ends. Gunner, do you have a target?”

Snap felt sweat trace down his face. They were taking water. They were in the middle of the sea and taking on water. Had this angry monster done what ships and guns couldn’t and hurt the demon ship?

“No’ a chance, Cap’n. It moves too much for the turrets an’ too close. We don’t have the gun dekkl’nation.”

“What about the fire tanks?”

The gunnery captain did not hesitate. “Nay, cap’n. If it came out the wa’er, it would only disperse the fuel. If we could get it ta surface, the deck sweeps could hit the bastard.”

“Somehow, I doubt it will be so amenable,” Captain Gideon muttered.

Another shudder, thankfully a weaker one this time, jarred the ship. Midshipmare Blue looked up from her table. “Is there something that could get its attention? I mean get it focused on something other than the ship?”

The captain ran his claws through his crest as his face contorted with the effort of thinking. “Perhaps. Some salts claim they dislike certain scents or colors. None of them are consistent though.”

Like a rabbit, Midshipmare Blue dashed to the captain’s table. “Tell us what we need, sir, and we will move Tartarus to make it happen!”

A scattered cheer backed her claim. The captain smiled at their display of loyalty. “Supposedly they”-

Then the ship listed to port violently enough that it threw Cold Snap to his hooves again.

“Damnation! The beast’s seized us!” the captain bellowed.

Snap caught a glimpse outside and saw a single massive flipper thrashing the water violently. Another fin rested on the deck, and the creature raised its head high. It rested on a whip-like neck that raised it high enough to peer at Snap with its cold, glassy eyes. Its head was pear shaped, with the narrow end of the pear morphing into a parted jaw.

Seawater dripped from its fangs, ran down its scaly hide in rivulets, and sprayed from its nostrils with every huff. It leaned in closer to the wheelhouse. Its nose flared as it sniffed at the crew inside. It also put more weight on the deck. The ship leaned even further.

“Gunnery! Get that off my deck and on my plate before it capsizes us!” Captain Gideon shouted into his tube.

“Workin’ onni!” the garbled voice came through.

Another groan and worked its way through the ship’s metal as the turrets creaked towards the bunyip. Just a few more seconds, and the monster would be obliterated!

Crumph! The guns fired. The guns missed. The bunyip didn’t collapse into the sea from whence it came. It threw more weight on the deck to flee the cannons’ vicious shock. Captain Gideon threw off his coat. “Mate, you have the helm.”

Then, he bounded to the balcony door, threw it open, leapt into flight. The young griffon was in his prime. His wings beat the air smoothly and powerfully. He wheeled and turned to buzz the bunyip’s face. The creature flinched back, but not enough.

The captain whirled for another pass. This time, his claws jerked one of his pistols from its holster. He passed within feet of the bunyip’s face, and his pistol belched fire and smoke directly into the animal’s nose.

Snap couldn’t tell if the shot connected, but it did distract the animal from the Rose. It heaved off the ship, and the only thing keeping Snap off the floor again was preemptively leaning into a wall. The first mate was not so lucky. The zebra stallion stumbled into a wall, bounced, and collapsed limply on the floor.

“Oh, buck,” Midshipmare Blue muttered.

Outside, the bunyip whirled its head to track the gray blur zipping around it. When it tired, the captain would fire a shot into the creature’s massive body. That deadly mouth snapped at him, but Captain Gideon easily dodged the strike.

Somehow, the captain fired again and again. Three! Four! The bunyip uttered its piercing yips with every blast of smoke and fire, but it did not release the Rose.

Five! Six! Captain Gideon soared above the bunyip’s waving head and snapped his pistol in half. Red glimmers cascaded in the gloomy glow as the griffon’s claws worked furiously on the weapon. Scant seconds later, he slammed the two halves together and circled behind the enraged beast.

The gun flashed. This time, the bunyip noticed and whirled its head impossibly fast, and only lightning reflexes saved the captain from a deadly bite. As it turned, Cold Snap could see the bunyip’s back. Three massive gashes oozed down the ragged scales. Bits of scale and flesh clung to the ragged wounds, and pink tinged the sea-green hide.

“Gunner, you wanted that thing still? Well, here’s your wish!” Midshipmare Blue shouted into Captain Gideon’s tube.

“Right ‘way! Er, where’s the mate?” the gunnery captain asked.

Snap instinctively looked at the unconscious zebra sprawled on the floor where he fell.

The mare stomped her hoof. “Not important right now. You wanted to use your new toy? Then prove we didn’t waste our money!”

Possibilities started working through Snap’s mind. What possible surprises could this ship still possess? It had defied everything he could have imagined to be possible and treated it as absolutely mundane.

“Thankee, ma’rm! We’re already lined up!”

The ship shifted again under the persistent enemy’s grip. Snap gripped a ledge by an open window and mustered all his focus into making it through the next few minutes. What came after that was later’s problem.

Grunts and curses sounded from the captain’s table as Midshipmare Blue clung to it like a shipwrecked sailor. “Just shoot it already!”

And “already” might not be fast enough. The bunyip had forgotten about the ship and turned all its ferocity on the flying menace around its head. It snapped viciously and turned its head to follow the dodging, wheeling, aerobatic griffon. It flinched with every pop of the pistol, but the captain may as well have been hurling sand at the leviathan.

Something creaked outside. Snap snapped his focus onto a low steel box mounted just outside the wheelhouse. A large brass tube protruded from a slot cut in the box. The whole thing looked like a miniature version of the big guns in their big turrets. After seeing those incredible weapons in action, this thing looked rather...unimpressive.

In a bellow of frustration, the bunyip heaved off the ship and extended its neck to bite the griffon menace out of the sky. It towered over the water like a scaled colossus as seawater and thickening rain poured down its body.

The brass gun fired. Not once, not twice, but over and over in an endless chatter. White smoke wreathed the wheelhouse.

Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut!

With the creature’s immense bulk suddenly removed, the ship rocked side to side, turning the gunner’s precise aim into a wild spray. Captain Gideon just barely missed getting cut in half by the curved fangs by rolling to the side at the last instant.

The bunyip crashed back into the water, raising a splash that showered the wheelhouse. Captain Gideon swerved side to side, reloading his pistols and watching for the creature’s return.

Midshipmare Blue pounded on the command table. “You missed every shot! That thing’s half our size and you missed it completely!”

“Trae hittin’ anything when yer slung around like a fol’s toy!” the gunnery captain shot back.

Tense seconds passed before the magic box spoke again. “Reloaded,” the gunnery captain said.

And not a second too soon. The sea boiled, and that was all the warning the gray captain had before fangs and fury tore at him. He didn’t roll or dodge at the last second. Instead, he hammered his wings and climbed above the creature’s reach, if only barely.

Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut!

The creature’s scales rippled under the impact, raising a spray of water and blood. The bunyip shrieked in pain, but the shots never seemed to hit anywhere vital, and the bunyip seemed to be working itself into an agonized frenzy.

It coiled on itself and slipped beneath the sea’s rising caps. Once again, the sea was quiet. Meanwhile, Cold Snap’s heart pounded so hard he was sure the rest of the crew could hear it. The entire command crew sat silently. The only thing that broke the silence was the gunnery captain’s brogue. “Reloaded.”

That snapped Midshipmare Blue back to the present. “If I had to guess, gunner, you landed four shots. You’re too slow. Affix the steam port.”

“But, bu’ mah barrels!” he pleaded.

“Damn your barrels and don’t spare the ammunition. Either it dies or…”

She didn’t need to finish.

Captain Gideon was flagging. His wings kept him aloft, but they were slowing and starting to jerk him erratically. He whirled and scanned every foaming sea spray, ready for the bunyip’s fatal charge. He climbed higher, but would it be enough?

Add to that, the winds were picking up and starting to batter him. He spent nearly as much energy fighting the gusts as he did gravity. He stilled for a moment and looked at his prized ship, wondering if the leviathan had retreated or simply regrouped. Even from this distance, Snap could see the exhaustion in the young captain’s eyes.

That’s when the bunyip struck. It rocketed out of the water, its fangs ready to bite. Captain Gideon saw it. He had to, and he wasn’t nearly high enough. His leaden wings pumped for all they were worth, but it wasn’t enough. The massive maw nearly surrounded the griffon.

Tuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut.

Snap felt the deck vibrate underneath him. White smoke completely obfuscated the battle. And all of it had somehow come from that little gun. What about the captain though?

The wind ripped the smoke aside like a ragged curtain, exposing the carnage.

The bunyip’s head lolled to the side. It didn’t strike. It didn’t howl. It simply rested there as if frozen in time. Then it slowly wobbled and toppled. It was as if Snap had let a feather fall and it was now riding the air.

The last rays of sunlight caught the creature’s magnificent scales, a contiguous suit of armor that proved resilient to the captain’s pistols. Light glinted all across their wet surface except for one ragged hole on the back of the bunyip’s neck. Blood wept and frothed around the hole as mighty lungs tried clinging to life.

The Yellow Rose had triumphed again. But what about her captain?

Water sprayed as the carcass’s head slammed into the water. Its jaw hung limply and gradually slipped beneath the waves.

A cold fist surrounded Cold Snap’s heart. So that was it? The Yellow Rose’s infamous, almost legendary, captain fell not in the fray of battle, but in the belly of the beast?

“Come on, you bastard, sir,” Midshipmare Blue muttered as she scanned the slowly stilling corpse.

Sunlight faded almost entirely. Everything lay shrouded in choppy seas and gloom. Snap could just make out the still-floating bunyip’s mass. Morale plummeted by the second as the rest of the crew accepted that they’d seen the last of their decisive captain.

All except for Midshipmare Blue. The mate, though awake, was still confused. Midshipmare Blue kept a firm hoof on the room’s atmosphere and insisted the search go on just a little longer.

“Put the lamps on,” she said dispassionately, as if she had finally selected her breakfast pastry.

Moments later, the sea around them was awash in amber light. Had Snap not seen it, he would have thought it late afternoon. The ironclad’s lamps put out far more than the lamps back home. Now, he could clearly see the water crashing over the bunyip’s still body. Not much except for the area around the spine remained above water.

Splash. Splash. Splash. With the weather turning foul, the sea was an ever-changing scene. It was impossible to stay focused on a single point with every point moving. As such, he found his attention wandering to the only constant object out there.

His hoof shot forward before his mind had words to give. He gaped for a split second, trying to make sure he’d seen it. He had! “Look on the body!”

One of the sailors heard him and swiveled a lamp to clearly illuminate the fallen beast. Light fell over it and caused its soft blue scales to glimmer again except for the ragged hole in its neck and a small patch on its side.

Said patch shifted in the sudden light, and then it stood on wobbly legs. Captain Gideon stood there, dripping, but triumphant over the leviathan. He raised a foreleg, claws clenched tightly as he stretched.

The entire wheelhouse exploded into cheers and celebration. Midshipmare Blue breathed in relief and slumped against the captain’s desk. She ordered the boat to be lowered, and in a few minutes, exhausted griffon stood in his wheelhouse. He was short a pistol, but still very much alive.

He slumped against his table, a fresh coat identical to his other draped over his back. He looked over the crew, the ship, and the gathering gloom. “Put us underway, and patch the ship.”

That was all he said before he stepped out of the wheelhouse and silence reigned once more. Like that, the spell was broken. The crew rushed back to their duties with a vigor, and the ship rumbled to life once more.

The Rose had survived. Certainly, she was battered, taking on water, and bent in places, but she still powered through the night. As he looked over the damage wrought in a single harrowing hour, Cold Snap suspected that his life was about to get very busy over the next few days.

Author's Notes:

"Did you know that if you rub a bullet enough, it will orgasm?"

An all-encompassing silence filled the room, broken only by a brief: "WHAT THE BUCK?!"

"It's true," the Author insisted.

"My life. My whole life," the Publisher wailed. "I've lived my whole life without hearing that string of words, and you couldn't just let me die in the peace that only comes from not hearing about orgasming cartridges?!"

The Author raised a hoof. "Actually, that's my bad. You are correct. The bullet is the flying chunk of metal. The cartridge is the whole kit 'n caboodle. So, to be precise, you are bringing the cartridge to orgasm."

"Why? Please tell me why we are talking about this? I thought we had a story to write and publish, or something! Anything but this!"

"I'm glad you asked!" the Author whipped out a whiteboard from...

"Wait. You stole that from my conference room, didn't you?"

The Author dodged the question. "See, ammunition right now is very, very expensive. Like increase of thirty percent across the board. So, we have to take shortcuts in our ammunition sourcing."

"So what? You reloaded like a sane pony? Wait. I forgot who I was talking to."

"Absolutely not!" the Author swung his hoof out, leaving a random blue mark on the board. "Too much work. Not cheap enough. We are buying salvage ammo!"

A niggling feeling started building in the Publisher's gut. "That doesn't mean"-

"Of course it does! we buy all sorts of ammunition by various calibers in various states of shootability. Now, since I stick to military cartridges, I end up with a lot of surplus rounds in the mix. However, there are some...rejects."

The feeling went away.

"However, I have different standards for rejection."

And the feeling was back stronger than ever.

"See. Some of these cartridges are perfectly fine. Some are Bubba Bob's reloads, and some are just dirty. Or covered in rust."

He shook his saddlebags out and a small shower of brass, copper, and lead came raining out along with a file and sandpaper. "So we clean off the rust and go shooting! I can save probably 85 percent of the ammo I start with!"

"Where are you getting these numbers?" the Publisher asked.

The Author made a grand gesture. "My ass!"

"It's true. He's got a fantastic recovery rate," said the donkey in the corner of the room.

"When did he get here?" the Publisher tried to ask; then he stopped. "No, ignore him."

"It's ok. Everyone does," the donkey said as he plopped to his rump.

"What does this, any of this, have to do with, ugh, orgasming cartridges?"

The Author stopped trying to shovel projectiles and powder into his saddlebags. "So, uh, this is awkward."

"Please. That is the one word you don't understand."

"So, I had this box, err...boxes, of 7.65 Argentine that had seen some better days. Most of it was fine, but a little water damage here and there. You know, some corroded brass. Nothing that couldn't clean off. I threw it in the tumbler and let it go for a day. Most of it was good to go, but there were some stubborn spots.

"And I thought to myself, 'Self, we gotta go fast.' That's when I started some advanced abrasion decorrosion mechanics."

"Uhh," the Publisher said.

"I used the buffing wheel on them. Worked well, but I forgot that buffing wheels get hot, and powder doesn't like getting hot, and boom."

"Boom," the Publisher repeated flatly.

"Nah. More of a pow! I was left numb and wondering where my bullet went. I eventually found it on the floor. Still haven't found the case yet. It left unburned powder all over my bench though. Without a barrel to hold everything together, it's rather unimpressive. There you go. Orgasming bullets."

"They never told me I'd have to deal with this when I got into the profession," the Publisher muttered to himself.

He straightened the manuscript. "At least you have this submitted within a reasonable time and on an auspicious holiday."

The Author frowned. "Holiday? What holiday?"

Under normal circumstances, the Publisher would have a headache building by now. However, he found that he simply didn't care enough to acknowledge his body's minor aliments. It was probably only out of habit that he was rubbing his head. "Hearthswarming. Christmas. Noel. Feliz Navidad. The incarnation. Advent. Any of this ringing a bell?"

The Author's eyes widened like they would pop out of his head. "Oh, shoot! I forgot about that! I got distracted by ammo! I've still got to print that gun for my brother-in-law! Sorrygottagobye!"

And just like that, the Publisher was once again left alone in his office. The donkey didn't count. He picked up the manuscript and filed it away and got himself ready to enjoy a day with his family. Then, he saw it on his desk.

A single cartridge, glistening, hard, and ready to blow.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Merry Christmas to all!

And yes, I invented the gunner's accent after about five minutes of YouTube three minutes of YouTube no research at all pure, unadulterated stereotyping.

Sue me.

Bungling Burglar

The Yellow Rose creaked a little more than Cold Snap expected. Well, he really couldn’t be too sure about it. He hadn’t been on this ironclad long enough to know the difference between a “normal” creak and a “bad” creak. It simply sounded creakier than usual, and that was enough to raise the hair on his neck.

Today was much the same as previous days on the ship. As the youngest and most inexperienced of the crew, he and Nebula were given the jobs no one else wanted to touch. Most days, that would be boiler duty. Today, he’d beg to shovel dry coal.

Yesterday, the ship had survived a harrowing ordeal against an enraged hammer bunyip. The massive beasts were known to turn other ships into matchsticks in their territorial ire. The Rose wasn’t other ships, yet she still bore scars.

They could be large: a bent rail on the deck. They could be small: a sheared rivet thrown across a hallway. However, the most dangerous of them all was the smallest of them all: leaks.

Obviously, every ship, no matter how well-constructed, would have a leak somewhere. That’s why every ship came with some sort of pump to keep the water outside where it belonged. Things got tricky though when the in-go exceeded the out-go, and the upkeep would be their downfall.

The crew had worked throughout the night to jam plugs and tarred ropes into the holes and separated plates, but it was simply a stop-gap. The Rose needed repairs, and she needed them quickly.

In Cold Snap’s estimation, this ship was an incredible work of engineering, assembly, and rigidity, but that came at the cost of maintenance. When the ship was in tip-top shape, it ran as smooth as fine silk. When it wasn’t, such as now, she was a cantankerous beast that demanded attention at every point. She worked the crew to exhaustion.

What was worse, the ships rigid construction made repairs that much more difficult. Several of the experienced engine workers ran around the decks dragging along a small forge. One of them turned a metal handle almost constantly, while another passed out flared, cherry-red rivets to crew members wielding tongs. These would be dropped into a waiting hole and then pounded into oblivion. They couldn’t reach all the holes, but it would have to do.

Snap, with only the basics of smithing under his proverbial belt had to shovel wet coal. One of the ten compartments that held the Rose’s coal was along a ruptured seam. Water seeped into the compartment and the adjacent room before being halted by those peculiar sealed doors.

It left the two rooms a black, mucky mess. The coal chunks floated in the water and stained everything it touched. Cold Snap and Nebula waded in the mess, feeling the dye in every part of their coats. They scooped the sludge with buckets, and someone up top heaved it up and overboard.

Snap never wanted to taste coal again. He kept his mouth far from the gunk and was still tasting it! He wasn’t even sure if he would ever get the color out of his coat, but he kept dipping.

Finally, the buckets scraped bottom, and they shoveled the worthless coal into the buckets. Water still trickled onto the floor around them, but at this point, it was washing away the black film and leaving the ship’s standard gray primer.

After hours of backbreaking work, Snap sat in an exhausted heap. Earth ponies were strong and near unstoppable, but as far as he was concerned, that was only on dry land. Even back home, he had never worked so hard.

At least now, he could see the Yellow Rose’s wound. The ship’s sides were made out of heavy plate steel, and the hammer bunyip had pulverized this section like foil. Steel crinkled like a rag at a joint in the plates. The rivets were gone, as well as the supporting rib beneath.

The rib, or what was left of it, was actually wood, not metal like he expected. That construction peculiarity alone was perhaps why the damage was so localized. The timbers absorbed most of the blow and crumpled. Perhaps metal did not have all the answers to construction yet.

That blow was nearly a disaster for the ship. The coal bunker had not been closed, and the water would have flooded compartment after compartment had one of the engineers not caught it quickly and sealed it off. Sailors whispered how quickly it would have gotten to the engine room otherwise. Snap did not know what that meant, but he suspected that was a very bad thing.

He turned to the black lump beside him. “So, want to be a miner?”

“Buck no,” the lump said.

“How about a blacksmith?”

“Buck no.”

“How about a”-

“Buck you,” the lump said as it lifted its head.

Nebula was not even recognizable. The only spot of color was his horn, and even that was spotted in grime. He never was particularly strong or enduring, and being a unicorn had not done him any favors there, but he looked exhausted. Not just exhausted, but absolutely beaten down.

He reached out and gave his friend a comforting pat. The pat felt more like a “splat” though. “We’ll get through all this. It’ll get better.”

“Can’t happens soon ‘nuf,” Nebula said and heaved himself up.

His magic weakly grasped the door latch and began pulling, but it suddenly clanged out of his grasp. The burly minotaur crewmate stepped through with a heavy sledge and a steel cylinder cradled in his arms. His eyes glinted as he saw the two filthy, ragged ponies. “Ahh, good job tiny pony, but here’s where real work gets done.”

He sauntered to the buckled plate, broke away the last remaining wooden splinters, and set the cylinder against the steel bone of the Rose. The cylinder clacked as he worked a small handle, and the cylinder stretched until it made contact with the compromised hull.

The minotaur suddenly strained against the load, but kept pumping. For a long second, nothing changed. Then the heavy plate shifted and bent back into place.

More of the crew started hauling in timbers and tools and repeated the minotaur’s work on other parts of the hull, but it took two or three to equal the muscled giant. Yet, equal him they did. The metal groaned under their irresistible load.

Cold Snap watched in growing fascination as the ship seemed to heal under her crew’s ministrations. The joint was tarred and shaped. Then rivets were passed through the holes from someone in a magical bubble outside. The minotaur spit on his hands and grasped the sledge. Corded muscles twisted, and like a tight spring, he slammed the heavy head into the glowing ingot.

One hit. Two. That was all it took, and the now-graying rivet looked as solid as the world’s foundation. The rest followed suit, and timbers went up behind them. Soon enough, Snap would never have believed that it was ever damaged.

“Is there anything they can’t do?” he asked in awe.

Nebula didn’t bother lifting his head. “How about not get us smashed to bits on this stupid...umm, what are we doing?”

Snap looked back at his friend. “What do you mean?”

Nebula rolled and winced at locked joints. He waved a hoof at the room in general. “This ship. This...thing. Why is he keeping us around?”

Not a word.

“Neb, I can’t”-

“Yeah, yeah. You can’t. Fine, but then what is he after? And why do we have to be part of it? At first, I was glad he didn’t dump us on a remote island to figure out our own mess, but now I’m starting to reconsider that notion.”

He rolled to his back. “Think about it, and I’m not asking you to spill whatever he’s cooking. We find out our good friend Mr. Horn is hauling along some hot goodies. Everyone has to have one. Come get one with the sticky-hooves discount!

“The captain is after this thing, whatever it is, and because of that, we’ve been in fear of our hides twice within as many days. And he is as determined as ever to keep going with it! Just how much more does he expect this ship to take?”

His voice fell. “Just how much more does he expect us to take?”

Hooves clanked nearby. “As much as necessary.”

Cold Snap looked up from his friend and at their newcomer. Mr. Horn leaned against the bulkhead and seemed to be studying either their cleanup job or the crew’s repair skill. Either way, he didn’t let it distract him for long. “You two should get a bath. You could use it.”

Snap finally let out a broken laugh. The sound magnified inside the metallic cell until it was harsh and primal. He stopped and regarded the hippogriff. “And where? In the sea? I guess it would get the soot gone, but then the salt would be almost as bad.”

“You say that now,” the hippogriff said as he flicked away an errant piece of coal, “but I think you’ll change your mind later. I didn’t mean the sea though. I meant fresh water. Not just the daily rations or the weekly shower. I mean as much as you want. What then?”

“You drank the seawater. Didn’t you?” Nebula pointed an accusing hoof.

Snap didn’t hold his friend’s derision. “You know something we don’t. It’s your business to know things others don’t. So what’s it this time?”

Mr. Horn lifted his claws to his jacket as if to rub them, but he saw the black smears across his claws and thought better of it. “I only know that the crew is talking. They’re restless. Not mutinous. Land’s sake, I don’t think that word even exists in their vocabulary. No, they’re eager for something to happen. And what excites a sailor more than liquor, land, or lust?”

“And nothing else? Nothing new from the captain?” Snap asked.

Mr. Horn’s eyes darted over to Nebula. Then they settled back on Snap. “Nothing I have been told about. He keeps this whole matter close to his chest. I’m not sure why this little treasure hunt is so important, or even what the treasure is. The whole thing is so vague that it could be anything you want.”

“What about the other note?” Snap asked before realizing that he shouldn’t say anything around Nebula.

Mr. Horn glared meaningfully at him to please shut up before the captain decided to throw blabbermouths overboard. Nebula caught the message, shoved his black hooves in his ears. “Lalalalalala.”

“I have no idea what it is. I took a look when the captain was elsewhere about his business. What?”

Cold Snap felt a cold chill run down his spine. “You...sneaked into the captain’s cabin?”

“No. I resumed independent investigations.”

The room was silent.

“And, no. It’s total gibberish. Whoever wrote it seemed to throw it on with no sensible pattern of lines or curves or even having things not written on top of other things. Damnedest part is I know it’s important.”

“And everything else?”

Mr. Horn held up a defensive claw. “Look, I’m only a curious courier. I leave the investigations up to those more qualified than me. And I need to be getting back to work. I suppose you’d best do the same.”

He turned for the door, and then hesitated. “Though if you do want to conduct your own investigations, his door can be easily opened. It just takes a moment and a small knife between the door and jamb.”

The room was silent once more, broken only by Mr. Horn. “Good day.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why?”

Cold Snap asked himself that question in near silence. He couldn’t think of a good reason. He had no reason to be outside Captain Gideon’s carved door. He had no reason for keeping a knife swiped from the galley tucked in his mane. He definitely had no reason trying to give himself a crash course on burglarizing.

Yet he was still here. He could see the rolling fields of hyacinths and spear-like blossoms carved on the captain’s solid oak door. He could smell the oils used to give it its luster and vibrant grain. He could see the tiny crack between the door and the wall.

All it would take would be to slip the blade in that crack. With a quick swipe up, he could open up the door and answer his own burning questions. What was the secret behind Grimlock’s grim map? What was the carved thingy? And what was the messaged carved in the box lid?

In the back of his mind, he knew that if he went inside, he went against astronomical chances that Captain Gideon had made any headway in his research and would only jeopardize his standing on the ship.

Then why was the knife blade touching the lock? His hooves tightened around the handle, and his pounding heart demanded he give the final push while his head screamed at him to think.

He pressed a little bit and felt a tiny give.

Something scraped inside. Ice flooded his gut. The great door muffled everything on the other side, but he could hear them: the confident, predatory padding of the captain’s paws. Paper rustled. Something thudded on the other side.

Captain Gideon had dropped something heavy on his desk. More pages rustled. A book then? Or a stack of papers? Was this his search for the Fountain of the Seas? Or had he heard that faint rasp of steel on steel and was coming to find the intruder ready to break into his sanctuary?

Cold Snap felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. Reason finally reasserted itself. As silently as he could and as fast as he dared, he withdrew the blade and tucked it back in his mane. He took a few slow breaths to still his pounding heart and prepared to leave the captain to his ship.

Then another sound came from the other side of the door. Captain Gideon’s voice echoed behind the wooden portal, but it was different than the powerful, demanding master of the Yellow Rose. This was precise, flowing, and melodic.

“...is flowing, and the starry skies are bright,

She walks along the river in the quiet summer night:

She thinks if I remember, when we parted long ago,

I promised to come back again, and not to leave her so.”

Captain Gideon was singing. His strong voice was subdued, as if he was singing to the hen his song captured. It echoed with his voice’s rich timbre and painted the picture of perfect longing.

Cold Snap momentarily forgot about his plan to escape. Instead, he remained still and put his ear close to the door.

“She’s the sweetest rose of color this soldier ever knew,

Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew;”-

“Bark!”

Snap recoiled from the auditory assault and thumped loudly against the floor. Meanwhile, the barking and snuffling on the other side of the door continued unabated. Captain Gideon’s song ended. “Whoever is out there, come inside immediately.”

The ice in Cold Snap’s gut was replaced by lead. He rubbed his ear and slowly resigned himself to his fate. The door opened soundlessly. Captain Gideon sat at his desk, papers and books scattered across the top. Sucat, the little traitor, sat happily in his corner and wagged his tail.

The griffon looked him over up and down. Finally, he smoothed out some loose papers.

“Cold Snap, you possess a singular talent for interrupting my privacy. Are you sure that is not your true talent, and that bush on your flank is a farce laid on you by higher powers?”

Snap gulped. His mark wasn’t a bush, nor was it a farce. He was actually quite skilled at cultivating various herbs, barks, and resins useful for incense and perfume. However, he was not about to give Captain Gideon the satisfaction of a retort.

The griffon set aside a page and pulled a book closer. On its pages were lines of text and illustrations of art and sketches. All he could see from this distance was squiggly lines.

“I take it there’s a good reason for spying outside my door?” the captain asked as he turned a page and scribbled a few notes without sparing Cold Snap a glance.

Well, there was something Snap had asked himself for the past few minutes! “Well, sir, I wanted to know if you…”

The captain stopped his note-taking and looked at him. “If I what?”

He didn’t sound particularly happy. Snap thought quickly. “If you had managed to make any progress on the artifacts recovered or if I might be able to assist on any research?”

Silence descended on the room. Snap could probably have heard a pin drop onto the captain’s plush carpet. The captain laid his quill across its stand and leaned onto his desk. “Shouldn’t you have duties to be attending to?”

“Already done, sir. I am here of my own free will, and I’m one of the few who has seen these artifacts personally. I’m volunteering to help you.”

Exactly where had that caravan of nonsense come from? Surely the griffon captain would laugh it off and kick him from the room. Cold Snap mentally prepared himself for an extended stay in the boiler room.

The laugh and order did not come. The gray bird sat silently, his brow furrowed in thought. “These studies have proceeded, slower, than I would prefer. I doubt that you can add any knowledge I already possess or have access to, but additional eyes would be a welcome change.”

Sweet celestial monarch from his ancestor’s homeland. That worked. The captain tucked away one of his notes and pulled out another page covered in his clawwriting. “I am yet to make any determinations on the artifact. Simply put, it has no markings on it that may indicate origin, and it does not seem to fit into the existing schools of magic, indeed, assuming it is magical at all.

“The box has also proven to be a unique challenge. The wood is not one I recognize, but I confess to not being an expert of dendrology. The writing is practically gibberish. It shares almost nothing in common with the various known languages across the world.”

“So, Captain, what about the others? Do we have a heading?” Cold Snap asked as he gently picked up the jeweled artifact.

The captain held a claw out and waggled it side to side. Then he realized the gesture was lost on the digit-less pony. “Somewhat. The description is very basic, but given the geography of the griffon kingdoms over the years, I have a guess or two. Follow my logic closely because it it fraught with assumptions.

“Grimlock was known to live in the eastern regions of the First Conclave. A physically fit griffon is able to maintain a speed of eight-and-a-half leagues per hour, and an average northerly tailwind is five leagues per hour. Our hypothetical griffon can maintain this pace for eight hours every day for thirteen days. Does this make sense?”

Cold Snap simply nodded. He wasn’t familiar with the nautical measurement, but he did not feel inclined to interrupt the captain for that. He rubbed his hoof over the artifact’s various curves and edges. No doubt the captain had done the same and gotten nowhere, but he liked to think he was being productive.

The griffon continued. “That totals approximately 1,360 leagues, or, with some grace given to his possible starting location, somewhere on the zebra continent’s southern coast.”

So, they would be taking this ship into the waters of the minotaur king’s enemies. Was it too late to take Nebula’s muttering seriously and find a way to jump ship?

“So far, I know nothing else. There are thousands of coves on that coast, and I have not finished comparing my maps to Grimlock’s. Though it did get me to start thinking. What creature did Grimlock find? Surely it was not one of the peoples common to the land. Tall? He would have recognized a diamond dog or minotaur. They are distinct.”

Snap said nothing. Where had the captain gone with his line of questioning, and what importance were the specifics of the original owner of the box and artifact that he was rolling between his hooves like a foal’s ball?

The captain pulled his book to the top of the pile. “That brought me to the more unknown species of the world. None of them either fit his vague description or were, quite simply, too stupid to even possess a box like that, let alone make anything like it. Also, the one or two possible species I found were several continents removed. Perhaps not impossible odds, but nothing I’ll bet on.”

Sharp pain flashed in Snap’s hoof. He grunted and lost control of the artifact that then thumped lightly against the carpeted floor. A thin red line welled from his frog that pulsed with every beat of his heart. The artifact lay on the soft carpet, unchanged except for a wet glimmer on an edge Snap had not noticed.

Captain Gideon grunted in annoyance, snapped up the artifact, and tossed a cloth to stem the bleeding. Snap pressed his hoof against the makeshift bandage, more embarrassed than hurt. The gray captain cleaned the blood off the bauble and returned it to his desk. “Now, if you are ready to pay attention?”

Cold Snap nodded vigorously. “Captain, what difference does it make who possessed it first? Isn’t the location and purpose more important?”

The captain spread his claws. “Perhaps no difference at all. However, knowing who held or made it first can yield clues on its purpose, unless you rolling it around like a foal’s ball gave you some miraculous insight?”

The earth pony shook his head. Silently, Captain Gideon gathered his thoughts for a few moments. “Are you familiar with mythology?”

Snap didn’t even have to think about that one. “Not a lick, sir.”

That got a neutral grunt from the griffon. “You should be. Because that’s where I started looking next. Myths and creatures recorded by tribe, tongue, and nation across the world. What could fit Grimlock’s mysterious skeleton? It had to be something tall, as seen by a griffon of average stature; and it had to be unrecognizable. Those are the only clues we have.”

Checking his bandage and reapplying pressure, Snap thought about the captain’s search method. “It sounds flawed. How do you know what they write is even accurate? It’s called ‘mythology’ for a reason.”

That made the captain smile, a fierce, predatory smile. “But it provides opportunities you would never have encountered otherwise. I threw out dozens of creatures for every possible lead. Too small, too stupid, too recognizable, but then it struck me.”

His eyes seemed to pierce Cold Snap to his core. They studied him, as if seeing if he was worthy of hearing what came next. Was he? Or was he to be sent out with the rest of the crew?

“Are you familiar with the curse of familiarity?”

Cold Snap only blinked at the absurd question.

“Come on then. Are you ever so acquainted with something you forget it’s there? Answer this: do you think about growing things, as in the exact method behind it?”

Finally, something Snap understood. “Not really. It’s something I just do. I can do it all day and think about something else.”

The captain nodded. “Precisely. You understand it, and you can put it aside to focus on other things. Not like someone who is totally inexperienced and has to consider every step. This familiarity makes for shortcuts in logic because you think you understand the situation.”

Captain Gideon put a claw on the book before him. Then, he hesitated. “You can read?”

Snap nodded.

“Pony? You can read pony writings, or just minotaur script?”

“My parents made sure I could read both,” Snap responded with a bit of pride.

Slowly, the griffon turned the book so Snap could read it. The title at the top caught his eye. The Myth of Man.

Captain Gideon tapped the page. “Tell me, Cold Snap, are you familiar with a creature called ‘Man’?”

Author's Notes:

The Publisher tapped his hooves. “And what, pray tell, are you doing?”

The Author wasn’t sure which word held the most emphasis. “So, when you say that, are you supposed to be ironic, as in pray tell, aghast emphasizing the what, or shocked at what I am doing?”

That made the Publisher roll his hoof. “Yes.”

Finally, the Author looked up from a stack of paper. He spat out a red marker that neatly landed in a pile of other red markers. He pulled a fresh marker from a box of only red markers. “Editing.”

Perhaps it was the simpleness of the statement, or the fact that the Author began marking up a sheet of paper until it looked like somepony bled on it, but the Publisher again found himself at a loss.

It happened far, far too often when dealing with this Author. He took a cautious sip of his tea and gathered his thoughts and sanity before the Author scattered it to the winds.

“I thought final editing was my job. You could just send those to me, and I will proof them for publication.”

“You didn’t get them right the first time. Why would you get them right now?” the Author said as he set the bloodied page on another matching stack.

The Publisher watched the Author pull up another blank, innocent page and start murdering it. “Do you mean to tell me that you’re editing...published works?”

“Someone’s gotta. Misspellings. Wrong format. Weird hyphens. Words that autocorrect obviously took a lunch break on. Words that autocorrect absolutely vomited on. And those damn commas.”

The Publisher winced at the Author’s language, and subtly reached into one of his desk drawers. The Author, lost in his own world of pointless lexicography, continued rambling. “I swear. It’s hard to enjoy fanfiction when you gotta dig through all this crap.”

Saying a silent prayer, the Publisher pushed a button.

A piece of paper went flying as the Author heaved it to the Publisher’s desk. “I mean, look at this! Not only did ‘Yeetleyee69Amogus’ write yet another ship-fic of another Twi-Jack relationship, but they can’t even be bothered to pick up a bleep dictionary!”

Unaware of his audio glitch, the Author kept winding up his building rant. “Actually, I don’t know what’s worse: using the wrong words or switching sentence tense in the middle of the bleep sentence! Not the bleep paragraph, the sentence! Look, you obviously need a grammar bleep on staff here.”

For once in his multiple dealings with the Author, the Publisher was smiling. Perhaps that snake-oil salesman wasn’t so full of bleep after all.

The Author looked up from his self-imposed task. “You know what Grinds My Gears?” he asked as he punctuated each word with a swipe through the air with his highlighter.

While he phrased it as a question, the Author would answer it anyway, regardless of the response. That was just how he did things.

“Research.”

Confused silence followed that apparently profound pronouncement. The Publisher hazarded a guess. “Meaning that you’d rather write than do that?”

The Author looked at him like he’d sprouted a second tumorous head named “Bob”. “The bleep you smoking? Bleep, I’d rather research than write. No. I mean that they’ll go off and write with not a bit or byte of outside knowledge. Read that.”

The Publisher looked at the red page on his desk. After reviewing it, he looked expectantly at the Author. “And?”

That made the Author huff. “Bleep sake. Twi-Jack ship-fic. Ignoring the amount of innuendo regarding AJ’s rope, did you happen to notice anything wrong? No. Of course you didn’t. You’re a bleep stupid mother bleepbleep who can’t tell bleep when something’s obviously bleep up beyond all recognition. Did you count how many times they said ‘lasso’ when talking about the rope?

“Of course you didn’t. Get outside your desk a little more. ‘Lasso’ is the verb. ‘Lariat’ from the Spanish ‘la reata’ that literally translates to ‘the rope.’ There is no such thing as a lasso unless you’re doing it. If you find any cowpoke out there and point at his ‘lasso,’ he will know exactly what you’re talking about and still have a laugh at your expense.”

Before the Publisher could intervene, the Author went on another rant. “And on that note, Stetsons!”

The Publisher quickly glanced at the hat hung on his wall.

“I can with utter certainty tell you that that mud pony has no Stetson!”

The Author, in his full-blown rant, never noticed how he was spreading his massacred papers or his deceased markers. The Publisher winced at the damage being wrought on his office.

“You see, Stetsons are the namesake of a fellow named Stetson. They became a brand built around his style of hat. There are no Stetson dealers within a parallel world of her! Ergo, she doesn’t have a Stetson. Even if they did sell them, the word ‘stetson’ has been so bleep that people apply it to literally any hat with a brim. Just look at Amazon if you don’t believe me.

“Besides, cowboy hats have literally dozens of styles and names. Use them!”

Tedious minutes passed as the Author alternated between ranting with some editing and editing with some ranting. Finally, the Publisher couldn’t take it anymore. He decided to hit another button.

Suddenly, the world jerked. The Author, already moving at a quick pace started burning though his stack of fanfiction while his rants one-sided conversation became unintelligible chipmunk squeaks. He finally heaved his old markers into the trash; said a squeaky possible-goodbye; and exited the room.

The Publisher mashed buttons until finally the world stopped lurching. When the ringing in his ears finally returned to normal, he breathed in relief. “Bleep, he wasn’t lying. It really is a universal remote.”

--\

Author’s note:

In clarification of the last chapter, The deck sweep tut-tut-tutter is an obvious reference to a Gatling type weapon. The steam drive adaptation is my own writing imagination. The Gatling gun was invented in 1861, and was considered obsolete by the adoption of the Maxim platform by the British, German, Russian, Finnish, and other world armies in the late 1890s and early 1900s. It wasn’t until the 1950s that they were reintroduced.

The F-86 Saber used an M39 cannon in 20mm Vulcan. This cannon was literally an oversize revolver, and it had fire rates too slow for jet combat, and it was prone to overheating. Some folks took an old Gatling gun, modified the feed mechanisms and attached an electric motor. Voila. The minigun and similar motorized Gatlings were born.

Given the technological savvy I’d given the crew on the Yellow Rose, it was believable that someone came up with a similar notion. After all, most people out there can understand “more boolet shoot faster” logic.

And I suppose I should admit, I am a great fan of Jules Verne and based a lot of Captain Gideon on Captain Nemo. It’s a delight to me to read sci-fi stories with technology that could be possible instead of standard space-fantasy bleep.

I hope you lot enjoyed your Singles Awareness Day.

(And if this author’s note looks deranged in any way. I was up again at 1AM writing this.)

Sinai's Fiery Mount

Man.

It was a word unlike any Cold Snap had heard before. It was simple, yet carried an air of unknown about it. More than that, it was positively foreign. Captain Gideon hovered his claws around the book as if to highlight the spectacular nature of his discovery. Unfortunately, Cold Snap had no idea what a “Man” was.

“So what is it?” he asked.

The captain sighed and dropped the book, now robbed of his moment. He chose to pick a few pages out of his pile instead of answer. The griffon presented these pages along with the book. “You may review these in a moment, but since you know nothing at all about the creature, then I have to give you an education on them. They are a peculiar interest of mine. Blame my father. He’s the one who cursed me with his obsession.”

Now, Snap’s hoof merely throbbed instead of leaked. He took a seat and awaited what was sure to be a long lecture on this arcane creature. Captain Gideon tapped a claw to his beak, pondering his words. “You know nothing about them. Fair, I suppose. They are not a common fixture of legends in most, if not all cultures. Details vary, but they are always clever. They are considered a sign of change, as nothing is the same after they come. Rarely are more than two encountered, and those arrive in a moment and disappear in another.”

Snap could only nod. While the creature was peculiar, he did not see the indisputable link between the myth and their relics that the captain seemed to see. The captain picked a page from his stack. “Nor are they consistent. Some come with blessings and balm. Others come only with a sword. Some for salvation, and some for slaughter. Truly a child of Chaos if there ever was one.”

“They were the Mad God’s creation?” Snap asked.

The captain snorted. “Hardly. Discord’s creations behaved in ways to defy the laws of nature. Man followed a pattern, but there were many possibilities to that pattern.”

Pages rustled as the captain flipped through his book. Finally, he settled on an illustration. Snap leaned in close. The subject of the image could only be described as bestial. It was all angles, and none of them seemed natural. It walked upright...mostly. The creature only needed two of its four limbs for walking, leaving gangly arms ending in ragged claws to whirl around the torso. Mismatched hair covered most of its body except for knobby joints that suck out in ways that had to be artistic fancy.

But none of that compared to the face. Fangs jutted from upper lips that were nearly hidden by coarse hair. Tiny eyes peered from sunken sockets. These were not blank like an animal’s, but brimming with intelligence. All in all, it was a horrifying specimen.

“That’s what we’re looking for?” Cold Snap couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Not a terribly impressive representative, isn’t it? I suppose you’re wondering why I have enough of a fixation on these creatures to keep a book on them in my personal library?”

Somehow, the creature’s gaze kept following Snap no matter how he moved his head, and the sensation gradually grew unnerving. Just looking at it made him glad that it was a creature of myth.

Or, perhaps it wasn’t if the captain gave it as much thought as he did. Then again, the captain could have spent too much time on his ship and under the sun, and this was his hobby. Truth be told, he did not know. This ship proved there was more to the world than he expected. Perhaps there was enough room for Mans to exist too.

Snap took up the captain’s book and quickly flipped through the pages. It possessed a collection of text and figures that masterfully blended half-truths and total nonsense. It covered everything from the creature’s sleeping (they preferred sleeping in trees in small huts), their sciences (composed entirely of euphoric drugs and flammables, probably not a good mix with the trees), their tools (a mishmash of iron, wood, and rock that seemed to serve no useful purpose, probably because of the euphoric drugs), and even their mating habits.

Snap skipped that last part before he saw something he would regret. The Yellow Rose’s captain sat across from him, an eyebrow arched, waiting for Cold Snap’s judgment. His claws clicked ominously as he waited. “Well?”

The book felt heavy in his hooves. Just how did he tell the captain that his taste in literature could use refinement? It wasn’t like he could throw him overboard or something.

Nevermind. He actually could. Snap thought quickly.

“It’s...uh...interesting,” he finished quickly as he quickly flipped pages back.

“Don’t mince words with me. I can smell your discomfort from here. Out with it.”

Dodging the issue hadn’t worked. Perhaps being blunt would be quick and painless. “I can’t believe you spent money for this thing.”

Quickly, Snap cringed and waited for judgment.

The griffon nearly fell over laughing. He slapped the desk, leaving small gouges with each blow. Snap winced with each hit.

“What? That pile of drivel?” Captain Gideon resumed laughing.

The stress piling on Snap’s shoulders seemed to evaporate, not that he understood why. The captain reached back for his book. “I bought this at a discount. The seller couldn’t get rid of it. She truthfully thought I bought it for a party joke. As far as I’m concerned, it’s mostly useless.”

So, why was the captain making such a big deal about this creature? “Captain, I’m afraid I don’t see any evidence to support this Man-thing theory.”

“Then let me give you a theory of my own, my father’s theory. I believe that Man is no myth, that he and his kind are far more than the brutes depicted in here, and they understood things that we can only begin to grasp here.”

The only response Cold Snap could muster was cool blinking. This theory had to be going somewhere. It had to be. The captain noticed.

“Who do you think designed this ship?” the captain asked, and then immediately had a chuckle as Snap went bug-eyed.

“Perhaps I should rephrase that. This ship is of my design. However, I admit I drew from the ideas of Man in its construction. How else could a ship like her be on the water today? None today have the blast furnaces capable of producing high-purity steel. My pyroxil powders would blow anything less than her Parrot guns apart. None could produce enough to forge her keel and plates. No. I drew from others to make up for our weaknesses.

“She is a beast ahead of her time, ahead of her century. She is the mystery and fear of this era’s navigator. And despite all that, she is just a ship. Time or calamity will have their way with her. Though I can promise you that she will never fall in battle.”

The captain pulled out another book. “Book” may have been the wrong word. It was more of a notebook stuffed with pages and loose scraps. “Evidence. If you want evidence, I believe I can adequately provide that. Look at this.”

He handed a yellowed page to the earth pony. Someone had rendered a basic charcoal sketch in neat, sharp lines on it. It was obviously old, and folded a few too many times in irregular ways, but it clearly depicted two ships caught up in a brutal battle. Smoke clouded everything and rendered them like beasts challenging each other in the mist.

Snap blinked. How could he miss that? He studied the paper far more critically to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, to make sure he hadn’t spent too much time aboard Captain Gideon’s ship.

The smaller of the two looked exactly like a board with a barrel stuck on top. It was crude, but he could recognize the inspiration of the Yellow Rose’s turrets. The other… well, it was vaguely ship-like if he could look past all the angles. It had a smoke stack just like Captain Gideon’s vessel, and it floated. Truthfully, it floated better than its adversary. It didn’t change the fact that it looked like a lumbering beast in the water.

Still, if he put them together in the right way with a few creative embellishments on the designs, he could see how the Yellow Rose was born. Though how the captain had managed to blend the two was a feat he couldn’t begin to imagine.

“So what am I looking at?”

Captain Gideon reclaimed his page. “A battle between iron leviathans. Man was known for war. If there is one thing about that book I don’t doubt, it’s that Man was a violent creature, devoid of Harmony your people abide by. His history was one of war and struggle. They waged it on land,” he tapped the page, “and sea. Had they been blessed with wings or found a machine to take them there, they would fight in the heavens too.

“But to summarize, I believe Man to have been a creature intimately involved in our past, and even though they are gone, I believe their impact is still measurable across vast swaths of society.”

That was not the theory Cold Snap expected to hear when he planned to break into the captain’s cabin. He picked up a few of the pages the captain had set down and started skimming them. His attention was barely on the pages though. “And you believe that they had something to do with the box and that skeleton?”

“With all my heart,” Captain Gideon answered plainly.

He leaned forward. “Though as of yet, I am as much in the dark as you are, but I suspect that we will see our way to an answer soon enough. We will be busy before the end of the day refitting this ship.”

“We are going to a port?” Cold Snap asked a little too eagerly.

The griffon frowned. “So eager to leave my company? Yes. We will be docking at a port, one well-suited to the Rose’s needs.”

Snap’s eyes flicked to the map pinned to the wall. Now, he didn’t know where the rest of the world lay, but he knew the about where Port Archer lay, and the ship had been traveling consistently west to northwest for the past several days. All in all, that meant that they should be smack in the middle of the ocean.

And yet, Cold Snap knew better than to doubt the captain’s claims. If he said they would be docked by nightfall, then they would be. This might give him and Nebula an opportunity for...something. He really wasn’t sure what. He missed home, and he knew Neb missed it twice as much. Their families would start worrying soon.

They had to do something, but what?

Snap put those thoughts aside for the present. The captain was starting into another theory about their artifacts, and it looked like it was going to be a doozy. He and Neb could make their plots when they got closer. Yes, when they actually saw the place, they could make their plans then.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, where’s this port, genius?” Nebula groused from his shaded spot underneath one of the Rose’s guns.

“I don’t know, you idjit. All I know is that we’d be docked by night.” Snap snapped back. He leaned against the ship’s capstan and peered across the afternoon sea.

He didn’t have Captain Gideon’s double spyglass or even a normal spyglass. So he made do and cupped his hooves over his eyes to shade out the sun. Maybe it worked. Maybe it didn’t.

“At least you could help me look,” he grumbled.

“Excuse me. I’m trying to nap here,” Nebula said as he steadfastly refused to budge.

“Well, excuse me. For some reason, I thought you wanted to escape.”

He looked back at his friend who had a stink eye leveled at him. “Well, excuse me for not excusing you. And after dumping princess-knows-how-much coal overboard, I’d really like to sleep a bit.”

“That was yesterday. You’ve slept. I’m fine,” Snap said in what he thought was a perfectly reasonable argument.

Nebula grumbled unintelligibly as he shifted. “Yeah, you’re fine, but I don’t recover as quick as you.”

Snap only grunted.

“Besides, where do you think he’s going to drop anchor? That hill over there?”

That took Cold Snap back. He shifted to look the horizon again. Sure enough. There was a small hill poking out of the water. It was so small though. There was no way this ship could dock there. But it could be a point near more land. Snap resumed his watch for the Yellow Rose’s mysterious berth.

Thirty minutes later, Snap admitted that the small hill wasn’t so small, but he wasn’t so sure that it held a dock. He didn’t see any sails going to or from it. He didn’t see anything especially notable about the seamount.

An hour later, he was both sure it was a seamount, a massive peak that towered above the sea. Its cone cut a dark wedge from the sky. He also knew there was no land about for as far as he could see, and they may as well have been the only ship on the sea.

Two hours later, they were in its shadow. The helmsmare cut a course around the mountain’s curve. The crew picked up their pace. Everything was stowed, and everyone slowly drifted to the ship’s bow. Everything grew quiet, leaving the ship’s constant rumble echoing off the land as the only sound.

Without a doubt, this was the Rose’s home, but Snap couldn’t imagine how.

“Look,” Nebula gaped as he raised a hoof.

He didn’t need to point. Once the Rose cleared a spit of land, the mountain opened up in front of them. A massive circular, black hole gaped in the mountain’s side and extended deep into its bowels. The Yellow Rose pushed onward.

The waves died almost as fast as the light. The rolling breakers outside died to pathetic splashes that were overpowered by surges from the ship’s bulk. The chamber lit with a yellow glow as the crew switched on their magical lamps. The light bounced and gleamed off of the walls in a rough, black, twinkle. Time seemed to slow as Snap saw an entirely foreign world with his own eyes.

Rocky walls echoed the Rose’s steaming engines, and smoke drifted across the ship in the still, confined air. Shiny glimmers reflected in the ship’s lights as precious diamonds that would be the envy of every sorcerer and regent were passed by like worthless gravel. More glints, these green and white, reflected the light in dark rock, more foreign minerals in this strange new world.

The walls never seemed to waver, as if they were cut by the will of a god. They could have gone full speed in this tunnel and never worried about striking. The walls started changing, not in shape, but in texture. The black rock was replaced by a reddish stone, and the walls suddenly were no longer so smooth. Now they were pockmarked with circular holes and gouges. Piles of these shattered stones lay at the base of the tunnel’s walls, far out of the YellowRose’s path.

Snap could see a light in front of them and not one of the ship’s either. He worked his way through the idle crew to get a better view. He felt a gentle breeze across his face, and his world changed once again.

The tunnel into the mountain suddenly ended, and the Yellow Rose steamed into a quiet bay in a great cavern. Sunlight poured through a hole far above them where the top of the seamount should have been. It entered at an angle and struck the wall above them. The bright light reflected off the sparkly granite and illuminated the rest of the cavern with a gentle glow.

Without the sun’s presence, he would have expected this place to be barren. Instead, it was lush. Water dripped off the walls and ceilings, irrigating plots of moss, creepers, and brush. Trees grew sporadically, but only where they could lay claim to the greatest concentrations of light. Flowers and colorful mushrooms dispelled any notion that this place was lifeless.

The ship slowed. “Bring ship to anchor!”

So enamored had Snap been with the incredible cavern, that he had forgotten why they were there in the first place. He wrenched his gaze from the micro-climate’s flora and focused on the dock. It didn’t look like a dock. If anything, it resembled a stone pen large enough for the ship to squeeze into and a large stone jetty for the crew to disembark as well as a staging area for cargo.

The crew hustled and began flying ropes between the ship’s tie offs and the stone walls. Others among the fliers swung out a large wooden ramp exactly the height of the Rose’s deck. Metal groaned, and the ropes grew tight as the ship skidded closer to the dock.

Then the ramp gently thumped into the ship just after the capstans stopped their labor. The rest of the crew burst into action, stowing away the unnecessaries and throwing open the hold doors. Somewhere down there was Cold Snap’s own delivery, not fated to ever be delivered.

For the first time in days, the ship sat still. Snap and Nebula both took their loads and brought it to a prescribed spot on the dock. Snap had to fight a small wobble in his legs with every step he took, but eventually, he overcame the inconvenience.

The work was hard. Captain Gideon had plundered well in his legitimized piracy. Soon, a small mountain of booty filled the side of the dock, and the rest of the crew had already pulled out a peculiar contraption like a funnel on the end of a jib pole. It hovered over the ship’s open coal bunks and released a steady stream of black rock and dust into the waiting bins.

While that was interesting, it couldn’t hold Snap’s interest. The captain’s secret lair was too much to ignore. Closer to the volcano’s cone, the sandy, ashy soil rose out of the water and would have ended at a solid rock wall. Perhaps it did at one point. Now, those walls were torn apart to make room for everything Captain Gideon and his ship would need to repair and restock.

“There’s so much here. I never imagined in all my years of traveling that there could be some place like...this!” Mr. Horn said as he joined them.

Nebula snorted. “Now how does it feel to see the magic behind your tall tales?”

Mr. Horn shook a cramp from his wings and fixed Nebula with a baleful stare. “Seeing this legend in reality does nothing to diminish it. If anything, it makes me even more in awe of it. Any sailor can spout nonsense about monsters and villains who’s origin is likely a bottle, but this…”

He trailed off into nothing as he took in more and more of the facilities at Captain Gideon’s disposal. Snap saw the supplies stacked up high. He saw the lean-to structures covering equipment, sleeping quarters, kitchens, and everything else it took to maintain a beached crew. This wasn’t the raider hideout he read about in his foalish fictions.

“This is beyond any legend. This is real, and accomplished by someone younger than me. The legend isn’t the demon ship. It’s the captain who made all of this without the world knowing.”

Nebula shook his head. “Don’t misunderstand me. That makes a great story, but you can’t just hide something like this. Look around. This is huge!”

Snap did look around. While his friend and Mr. Horn got locked deeper and deeper into a philosophical debate that was rapidly approaching an argument, Cold Snap took his friend’s advice and truly studied the world around him.

Yes, he still saw the supplies, the sheds, the kitchen, and barracks. He also saw the massive forges further back, long covered in dust, but with the walls still marred by soot. Near them lay mechanical fans to circulate the air and to blast surplus air into the furnaces. He saw the incredible hammers resting in their cradles, ready to pound crucible steel into shapes. He saw the steel rolls taller than him, exactly the kind that would make flat armor plate.

When he looked above, he saw the dirty marks on the walls from the foundry smoke traveling further up the volcano. It had traveled further up the natural chimney until it exited. If anyone happened to see it while Captain Gideon was doing his secret work, it would be thought of as nothing more than an active volcano and nothing to be trifled with.

Captain Gideon had chosen well. This was the place that would bring his ideas to life and prove his theories to himself and eventually the rest of the world. Because unlike Mr. Horn and his well-meaning friend, Cold Snap saw more than the Yellow Rose’s hidden berth. He saw Captain Gideon’s sketches. He saw the marks of Man.

Author's Notes:

"Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
"Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
"Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,
"And we'll all stay freeeeeeeeee!!!!"

The Publisher clamped his hooves to his ears, trying desperately, vainly, to drown out that screeching caterwauling. Nothing helped. If he filled his ears with glue and sucked all the air from this room, he'd still hear that horrendous wail through his bones.

"Must you do that?!" he shouted over the Author's musical number.

The Author, to his credit, stopped mid-line and returned his attention to the quailing figure crunched against the desk. He blinked owlishly. "Why? Do you not like it, or is Irving Berlin not your thing?"

Now, it wasn't that the Publisher had anything against the song itself or whoever this "Berlin" character was. In fact, he suspected he might enjoy the song when it didn't sound like it was being ululated by a choir of pubescent chipmunks.

"Oh no, but I am a bit short on time today. I'd be delighted to hear more. Perhaps there's a record somewhere I can listen to as I work?" the Publisher hoped no one could see how much he grit his teeth to say that.

Metal jingled.

That wasn't a particularly unusual thing anymore. Whenever the Author came to call, the lunatic always brought something...odd. Rusty ammunition, plastic guns, mud: he'd seen it all before. Heck, he wouldn't be surprised if the Author came in one day dragging in a branding iron or an anti-tank rifle.

This was none of those. Instead, it was a grey helmet, green pouches festooned across his body like holiday banners, a wood-stocked submachine gun with a round heat shroud and compensator across his chest, and tan canvas puttees around his legs. All in all, he looked like someone who'd been barred from three or four different armies and contented himself with stealing whatever he could from them.

"Do I want to know?" he asked...mostly out of politeness.

The Author's eyes widened. "Do you really?" he asked excitedly.

He rushed up to the table, his quasi-uniform jangling with every step. "I can tell you ALL about it!"

That's exactly what the Publisher was afraid of.

"Well, in the interest of time"-

"See, I went to this museum, but not just any museum. The had tanks and guns and trucks and boats and uniforms and"-

"Does this have anything to do with why you missed last week's submission?"

That paused the Author's ramble. "Submission? But I don't even have a special somepony. I might be into that though. I always enjoyed getting a beating."

"Not what I meant!" the Publisher shouted to get that image out of his head.

He pulled out a crinkly piece of paper and began reading. "And given my expeditious writing and self-editing procedures, I should have no issues making the submission this weekend."

The Publisher dropped the note. "Last weekend."

The Author quivered, sending the entire office into a tinkling crescendo. "But...but they brought the tanks out. They drove them. They even had battles. The Great War. Great War the Sequel. Great War: Jungle Lite. I was unavoidably delayed! You have to understand the extenuating circumstances!"

Great. Another one of the Author's fantastical distractions. "Unfortunately, this publishing house is a business venture."

"It is? Then why ain't I getting paid?"

"You are our tax deduction."

That made the Author loose focus for a few precious seconds. "Fair enough."

"As I was saying, this publishing house is a business venture. That requires timely submissions. As you specified in your letter"-

"Didja finish reading the letter?" The Author asked.

Frowning, the Publisher picked up the page again. His eyes scanned over the document until it got to the last lines. "Lord willing and the Creek don't rise?"

The Author scowled. "Can never trust those Creeks."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Actual Author's note:

Yes, I really did intend to publish last weekend. Yes, I had the time lined up. Yes, I could have stayed up until 1AM again to get it done.

I didn't.

Instead, I chose to be a sucker for history and went to the Museum of the American GI for their Living History Weekend. If you ever manage to make your way to the Central Texas area, you should go. They have an absolutely fantastic collection of functional American World War Two and Vietnam armored vehicles and trucks.

And a Renault tank.

So, I got to enjoy bangs and booms for a weekend. You get to enjoy writing this weekend. I see this as a fair trade.

Bonus. The phrase "Lord willing and the Creek don't rise" doesn't refer to the body of water. It was written in the late 1700s by Benjamin Hawkins in a letter to the president regarding his return to Washington. He capitalized Creek, making us assume he was referring to the tribe, which was rather powerful at that time and the subject of conflict in early American settlement.

If you are interested in tribal culture and conflicts, I recommend My Sixty Years on the Plains: Trapping, Trading, and Indian Fighting by W. T. Hamiliton. It's his autobiographical account of his time as a trapper on the Great Plains from the 1840s to the early 1900s. As an independent trapper, he and a company of other trappers traveled to the various tribes trading manufactured goods for pelts and native products. He was the primary interpreter for the trappers since he spoke the universal language of the plains: sign language. In fact, he was widely acknowledged by both trapper and Indian as one of the best sign talkers on the plains. It also goes into great detail in the times the trappers defended themselves against hostile tribes and fought alongside allied tribes. Definitely a different perspective than John Wayne...as much as we like John Wayne.

Next chapter is already in the works. Until next time...

PS. The submachine gun mentioned is not a Ppsh-41. It's actually an Italian Beretta 38a. Relatively unknown, but considered one of the best SMGs of the war.
Italian M38a SMG

Equine Dreams and Stranger Things

Some of it was the drawings and compiled records that the captain had presented him. Some of it was the sheer other-worldliness the cavern presented. There was not another place in the world that had such technology and in such quantities.

Cold Snap could recognize the steam engines after his long tenure in the Yellow Rose’s boiler room. They lay on one wall of the cavern, great metal shafts extending from their flywheels. Heavy brackets anchored the shafts to the rocky ceiling. At intervals, flat belts joined the powered shaft to the machinery below.

It was like looking into an industrial jungle. On the far wall, piles of brown-red lumps lay piled like a mountain range next to heavy steel cylinders covered in identical rusty dust. Funnels, chutes, and belts traveled into other machines like rivers. Long-cold crucibles lined the circular forge, and iron claws hung motionlessly from a flanged track. Hammers, rollers, and titanic punches lined the path the finished steel would take until it ended where he stood.

Coal dust smudged the walls, floors, and machines. The air still held the scent of coke, and Snap could almost feel the warm exhaust of burning coal. The entire facility had an energy to it, as if it was a beloved pet waiting for its master’s command. Indeed, everything had a preserved look to it, and it wouldn’t surprise him if the whole place could be ready to go by morning.

The only reason Snap could recognize those machines was because of their basic similarities to common tools he’d seen the plantation blacksmith use. No matter how you sliced it, a hammer was a hammer and a punch was a punch. Still, that was like saying a penknife and a greatsword were both blades: technically true, but completely incomparable.

Even if he had not seen the captain’s sketches, Cold Snap would recognize this place as foreign, or at least as a place far beyond what the world understood. Now that he was privy to the captain’s theories, he could finally grasp just how foreign it might be.

Yet, seeing the real thing in front of him and having seen the very same thing in Captain Gideon’s dossier on Man rattled him. Here was the proof. No one else had even imagined such devices, let alone constructed them.

There were still dozens of machines under their own shelters with purposes completely unknown to him, and probably to every creature out there except those on a very peculiar ship.

Captain Gideon had not only produced them. He had synergized them to produce a warship unlike any that prowled the water. If he wanted to display a creation showing Man’s potential, he would be hard pressed to come up with one better.

Shouting finally got his attention. Mr. Horn and Nebula were in a full-blown argument by now.

“You don’t get it! Look at this stuff! You expect me to believe he made them too? Find one drawing, and you’re suddenly the master of metal?” Nebula snorted.

Mr. Horn recoiled, his wings flaring defensively. “You haven’t seen as much of the world as you think you have. Certainly not what I have. There is knowledge out there that we can barely understand. You think the wizards and sorcerers would still be around if there wasn’t?”

Nebula waved a hoof dismissively. “Irrelevant! Knowledge only gets you so far. You have to have the means to use it.”

“I’d say this goes a fair bit beyond knowledge. Or perhaps you would like to claim that none of this is real? It’s here. It’s real. It goes far beyond the simple legend of an unstoppable vessel. All this is incredible and the result of leveraged skill.”

Nebula blinked. “’Leveraged skill’? And tell me how that works? What master has the slightest idea how ANY of this works? There’s not a bit of skill out there anyone could lend to this project. Just whose help did he leverage, or are you back to blaming demons? Because I’d love to see what demon leaves their mark stamped in their work.”

Cold Snap could see his friend getting worked up and moved to stop him. Then he froze as a familiar blue coat and gray form stepped behind the unicorn. “Perhaps you would like to see my help?” Captain Gideon’s voice froze Nebula immediately.

As if a puppet controlled by a god, Nebula turned stiffly to face the captain. Captain Gideon did not smirk. He did not smile. He did not even glower. By all appearances, Nebula might as well have complained about the weather.

“You wanted to see my help? The able bodies and minds that laid the Rose’s keel and layered her plates? Here they are,” he said coolly as he extended a claw.

The Yellow Rose’s crew stood before the ship, paused in their work. One hundred and thirty-five souls stood nearly motionless under their captain’s eye.

“Every one of them is a master of their craft and knows this ship intimately. They saw this vision bloom into reality. Did we borrow other’s knowledge? Yes. But such is the way of progress. We built upon the shoulders of the giants that came before us. Though in our case, we found other giants than you would expect.

“You’ve studied the mechanical arts? Because in every tribe, tongue, and nation, there’s a common flaw regarding revolutionary innovations: magic. So many incredible possibilities are lost simply because magic can do more and faster. Take steam. It’s infinitely flexible and can power almost anything.

“There have been several aspiring inventors that realized the potential locked in super-heated water, and while one produced a functional example, a single spellcaster produced a cantrip that could replicate it in moments. Thus, the inventor would be doomed to ignominy.”

The captain raised his voice while still holding Nebula captive in his gaze. “Isn’t that correct, engineer?”

A gray-dapple pegasus stiffened. “Aye, sir! They were happy to humiliate me.”

Captain Gideon allowed himself one tiny smirk. “And that’s how he would have remained. Perhaps that steam cloud on his flank would get him a job pushing clouds, but I saw far more. So, I took him aboard. Now, he has built engines far larger that a hundred spellweavers couldn’t maintain.”

Cold Snap saw the captain pause, his eyes wandering as if lost in thought or memories. Nebula looked confused, his earlier doubts warring with this slight upset of new facts. Mr. Horn looked like he couldn’t decide to feel vindicated or shocked. The captain seemed to have that effect on everyone he came across.

And in a moment, his thoughtfulness passed. He wasn’t finished defending his ship’s honor. “And so I recruited a mechanic, but I found others who had their potential cut short in the name of tradition. Why should someone bother with your chemistry when enchantments have made it irrelevant?”

A tawny griffon in the crowd bristled at the captain’s words. The captain paid him no attention. “Yet suddenly when shown the discoveries of Man, he created compounds beyond what magic could hope to replicate.”

By now, Nebula was just about sitting under the weight of the captain’s lecture. The captain appeared as unruffled as the moment he started. Mr. Horn was caught up in his own thoughts, and slowly detaching himself from the conversation as he processed it. That left Cold Snap the only mostly unaffected observer of this puzzle slowly coming together.

“Perhaps I should go into detail of sound transmission, or the effects of work-hardening on homogeneous rolled steel? Or introduce you to the expert on boring and button-rifling cannons?”

“Bitch love cannons!” a diamond dog female shouted from the crowd.

The puzzle wasn’t quite what he would have thought a week ago. Then, he would have thought that his captors were blood-thirsty raiders sailing away on a contraption they had barely enough knowledge to run. Now, he saw a range of experts in fields that he truly had not heard of before his unexpected captivity. And maybe slightly blood-thirsty.

They had all suffered. They had been cursed with knowledge that none saw the use of. Instead of finding ways to apply their insights into the mysteries of creation, they were mocked and shown how irrelevant their discoveries were. Were the winds of fate unchanged, they would have vanished into obscurity. However, Captain Gideon had swooped in and gathered them into his patchwork crew.

In this cavern was possibly the largest collection of scientific knowledge the world had ever cast off. Together, they had advanced scientific fields decades, perhaps even more. And in the process, Captain Gideon had created the most horrifying warship on the waves.

The captain shifted, shattering his spell like glass. He tugged his cuffs and pivoted back to his beloved ship. “I hope this has enlightened you.”

“Captain.”

The griffon halted and stared at Cold Snap, a wordless question in his bright eyes.

A week ago, Snap would have gone weak-kneed at that stare. In that time, he’d gotten an opportunity to know the captain better. He held his ground and his fortitude. “Do you believe magic is bad?”

The captain smiled. “Do you believe the ax is bad? Magic is a tool, just like chemistry or forging. Each has their use. If one is used to the exclusion of the others, then it is a crutch preventing improvement. That is why the Rose is built as she is. She is a tribute to science and engineering. Magic is used only where it is best suited.”

He snorted. “Though I’ve found the line between magic and technological wonders to be a very thin one. Now, I have a ship to prepare.”

Without another word, he returned to his crew, and the work resumed.

No one dared say anything for several minutes as they watched the crew repair and restock the ship. It was Nebula that broke the silence. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

Snap shook off the last of the captain’s aura. “Wrong? What do you mean?”

Nebula remained sitting. His hooves gouged the ashy floor as he worked through his thoughts and dealt with his emotions. “I mean that I attributed the entirety of the ship to our debonair captain. It was impossible, and I knew it. I was wrong to do so. He did not have to be an expert when he could find the experts.”

“So where is that hard line that there was ‘not a bit of skill’ out there he could leverage to his needs?” Mr. Horn said.

Nebula flushed. “That was an idiot talking.”

A few moments later, his hooves stopped pulverizing the floor. “It’s a common thing really, especially in magic. Unicorns are supposed to be the ‘masters of the arcane’ and be able to warp reality.”

He hung his head. “Most of us can’t do that. The few that can usually have egos to match. But they believe that if it can’t be done by magic, it’s not worth trying. Eventually, everyone else believes it because the expert said so. And sometimes, the expert was feeling lazy.”

Cold Snap pursed his lips. So this entire ship was the combined efforts of scores of minds. He already understood that. However, was that the only question their mysterious captain hoped to answer with his creation? Or did he have a score to settle with it? It seemed awfully peculiar that he would begin an undertaking like the Rose on a whim.

Somehow, the puzzle surrounding Captain Gideon only became more murky the longer he got to know the griffon. He was yet to see if continued association with the captain would prove excessively hazardous to his health.

That might be an important detail. Adventure was fun and all. He still wanted to go home at some point. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in the middle of an affair he had no part in.

Though, he was neck deep in it already and didn’t have the sense to bail out before now. No reason to assume he’d get smarter in the meantime.

Just what was the captain’s angle on all this, and why was Man so damned important to this puzzle he’d stumbled into? That was the kicker. He didn’t know.

Perhaps that was what drove him harder and harder into this mad chase.

Either way, he suspected he would have time to answer that question. The good captain attracted questions like fruit brought ants. He’d get to the bottom of this Manness issue. Until then, he was a crewmate aboard the finest vessel in the water. He had work to do. He left his friend behind and trotted back to the stone jetty the ship lay moored at.

“Clear the wharf and start the pumps!” the engineer shouted.

With a rumble and a belch of steam, the water in Captain Gideon’s retreat swirled, and the Rose slowly settled into the bay.

Cold Snap skidded to a halt, his eyes wide as he watched the ship sink. Then he realized the ship wasn’t really sinking. The water level was dropping. As the steam engines chugged, the ship settled onto great stone cradles. Finally, with a sickening slurp, the water vanished, and the ship stood suspended above dry-ish ground.

Now, he could see all the damage the bunyip dealt to the ship. Warped plates and plugged rivet holes dotted her frame. Barnacles trailed her keel. And corroded lumps blistered her hull. She was a ship in need of attention.

“What are you standing around for? This ship is your mistress! See to her!” the engineer demanded.

All those divots and dings, the barnacles and bends, the creases and cracks in her skin...never stood a chance.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Cold Snap wandered darkened corridors. The world was quiet, like everything had gone to sleep with the sun. Beneath his hooves, he couldn’t feel that tell-tale sign of life that everything nearly crackled with under the surface sun. Perhaps this deep under the earth, nothing truly awoke.

Mr. Horn and Nebula slept. The entire crew had descended upon the Yellow Rose with a fury. Not a single barnacle or loose rivet remained untouched. It was like she had never gone into battle at all. None of the crew could be accused of slacking, and every one of them lived up to the captain’s expectations of excellence.

Now they were all tired, and slept the sleep of the dead. Only Cold Snap couldn’t sleep. Too many questions burned through his head.

First among them were his family and general worry about them, but there was nothing he could do about them. So, he set those worries aside. Second would be the mystery resting in Captain Gideon’s cabin.

He’d been wondering about the thing they’d recovered ever since that fateful battle. The map seemed straightforward enough. With a bit of creative interpretation, the map seemed to fit a particular region on the zebra continent. That was as far as they got though. Despite all their best efforts, he and the captain could not make any progress on the jewelry or box.

Since he could get nowhere at the moment, he set those concerns aside too. And focused on his third, and most pressing concern: Captain Gideon.

Where should he start? The bird was an enigma. Seemingly compelled by his esoteric choice of study, he wielded knowledge unlike anyone else. His youth belied his capabilities, for he had shown himself to be both a capable warrior as any griffon should, a commander others never hesitated to obey, and an erudite scholar who knew the true meaning of the phrase “Knowledge is power.”

Cold Snap sighed and continued to walk. His world consisted of dark tunnels, glassed by the earth’s fire, and crunching stones underhoof. Exhaustion dragged on his eyes, but his racing mind gave him no peace.

At the heart of it, he didn’t know what to make of many things. He didn’t know what to make of Man, a long-extinct race that somehow led a golden age long before the pony tribes united to seize control of nature. He didn’t know what to make of their technology the captain seemed so bent on recovering. He didn’t know what to make of the Captain. This was a puzzle, and Cold Snap was missing far too many pieces.

Rocks crackled underneath him. They echoed in the empty halls. The walls grew straighter and taller, but Snap was too thoroughly lost in his ruminations to give much notice. Once or twice, he stumbled as the rocks underhoof slipped. At some points, he felt like he was wading through the debris.

Crach! Snap blinked and looked at the rocks around him. His breath froze. “Not rocks. Bones.”

Pony. Griffon. Dog. So many others. They were old. They were covered in dust and broke with the lightest touch. They stretched from wall to wall as far as he could see in the gloom. Gone too were the glassy lava vents. In their place rested moldering stonework. Old, foreign, and imposing despite the cracks and dirt spilling from its faults, it hovered over Snap like a waiting hammer.

His breath quickened. He had to get out of here. Back to the ship. Back to his friends and safety. He turned, scattering bones like a wave.

The corridor stretched into darkness. There wasn’t even a sign he’d come this way. He whirled again, his breath catching and rattling like the bones around his hooves. Just a blank wall met him, and he stumbled backwards in growing panic.

His rump jabbed something sharp and not stone-like. He risked a glance. A skeleton lay sprawled across a stone block, tatters hanging across its form. Its ape skull lay open in silent scream while its hands clutched a dark box.

A place of death. Cold Snap spun and galloped down the way he came. White shards sprayed out behind him. Never mind safety. He had to get out now! The corridor turned, and he nearly slammed a wall in his mad dash. Dirt trickled from the ceiling with every thunderous pound. A warm glow lit before him. He snorted and poured on speed.

It was as orange as a fresh dawn, and he could feel the sun’s blessed warmth from here. Over there was safety and promises of leaving this horrible place behind. He stumbled through, and blinked to adjust to the sudden light.

His euphoric smile cracked and collapsed as he saw the truth. This was no outside. There was no warm sun, only a raging fire. It filled the air with stifling heat that sucked the sweat from his body. The flames consumed nothing, yet were everywhere.

Despite all the writhing flames and the heat, two trees stood in the center of the inferno. Their leaves gleamed in the warm light, and their bark stood as white as bone. Fruit hung from their branches unlike any he had seen before. They waved in the flames as if it was only a summer breeze. It was surreal, and he felt his body taking an unconscious step forward.

As if it were a living beast, it surged and pulsed. Tongues of fire crackled, seemingly angry at his intrusion. One came too close, and he smelled the disgusting scent of charred hair. Finally, that snapped some sense into him, and he finally felt how the room was cooking him.

He stumbled backwards into the wonderful coolness of the corridor. The flames were not satisfied. They flowed through the doorway, intent on claiming him.

Cold Snap’s heart pounded, and he galloped without care for stone, bone, or wall. The world rushed by him in a blur, and in the back of his mind he could hear the flames just behind him.

His hooves scrabbled for purchase on the tunnel floor, and his eyes widened in shock an instant before he slammed into a body.

“Oi? What’s the tiny pony running from so quickly?” the burly minotaur asked.

“Fah. Fu. Fire!” Snap wheezed in between ragged breaths.

The minotaur looked shocked and turned to his companion. Midshipmare Blue blinked in concern and took a test sniff. She lit her horn and shook her head. “Nothing. Volcano certainly isn’t acting up, and there’s just flooded tubes that way. Don’t know what you mean. You were dreaming. Didn’t take you for a sleepwalking type.”

Cold Snap gawped. The pony cut him off. “Never you mind that. The captain is looking for you and he’s got a burr in his feathers about it too. Come on, you can run a little more.”

They rushed through a groggy camp with the crew looking around in sleepy befuddlement. They pounded up the Rose’s gangplank and through her iron halls. Without even an announcement, Midshipmare Blue slammed the captain’s door open and shoved the confused Cold Snap inside.

The captain lurked around his desk in the barely lit room. His intense gaze pinned Snap to the floor just like it had when he first joined the ship. This time, the captain looked confused. It was not an expression the pony was used to. In fact, he realized it scared him.

The day-old wound on his hoof throbbed with his pounding heart, and his parched throat couldn’t get out a single word.

The captain did not wait for that. Instead, he swept something off his desk and strode towards Snap. Without a word, the griffon pulled one of Snap’s hooves out from under him and slammed something hard into it.

Cold Snap yelped at the pain, but the captain’s iron grip held him still. He lifted his claws. The jeweled thingamabob sat there, its faceted surfaces glowing with pale blue light that pulsed to every throb in his hoof. Its polished surface reflected its cool light everywhere except for a tiny spot of dark blood.

Author's Notes:

The Publisher hid behind his desk. His ears flicked at every sound, real or imagined. His own harsh breathing clashed with the still silence of his office. It should have been a quiet and productive afternoon, but then again, that’s what he always thought around this time of the month.

Gah. That explanation made it sound like he was describing some other problem. No, this was the time, the day even! Some time today, that the Author would be here.

Like a horse of the apocalypse, he would come, and chaos and calamity would follow him. All that delightful quiet would shatter into an inane rabbit trail of...something! He never could tell what was going on in that writer’s cracked mind.

The stress was getting to his nerves. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think. Work sat unfinished on his desk. He was afraid that as soon as he set pen to paper, the Author would barge in with a blaze of moonshine and gunpowder and cast aside all he had accomplished.

Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Still, the Author never appeared. He had no reason to. He had already submitted his manuscript. That wouldn’t matter though. The Author would still come. Part of the Publisher wanted to hope against hope that for once, the Author would be late.

He knew that was a fool’s hope.

The stress was too much. Work wasn’t getting done, but he had to get his nerves under control. He felt around under his desk until he found a spot mostly free of cobwebs and dust and pulled out a smooth glass bottle.

He yanked the cork out and felt his eyes cross at the smell of alcohol. He didn’t do it often, but he needed to boost today. A few more grasping probes produced a small glass jigger.

He poured, nearly missing the rim of the glass, but he managed to keep all of the greenish liquor under control.

The Publisher enjoyed the heady, almost medicinal smell of the alcohol for a brief moment. Then, without any decorum, he slammed the shot back.

He held on, savoring the burn and flavor. He felt his nerves calm before he even swallowed. Then…

“You drink absinthe neat? What kind of barbarian are you?”

The Publisher cried in shock, which had the unfortunate effect of spraying licorice-flavored alcohol all over his desk. His precious papers and forms darkened from the blast.

Some of the absinthe got into his nose, and he retched and snorted. When the burning in his nose finally died down, he turned to face the Author.

The Author, looking completely unperturbed by anything in the world, was turning the green bottle over and over, studying it with the critical eye of a fine snob...or any engineer. “I’ll give it to you. You at least got decent absinthe, but neat?”

The Publisher fixed him with a hard glare. “So what if I do? It’s my right to enjoy my vices how I please.”

The Author put the bottle down. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. You’re allowed to be wrong any way you like.”

That made the Publisher’s blood pressure spike. “Oh, so now you’re an expert on libations too?”

“I’m an expert on most other things. So why not?” the Author shrugged.

Then he pulled out a bottle of water from his pack and a small baggie of white powder. “Sugar? And don’t worry about the bottle. I didn’t spit into this one.”

That somehow did not alleviate the Publisher’s growing concerns. “No sugar….ummm, thanks?”

Without any further grandstanding, the Author poured a fraction of the green spirit the Publisher had, and then generously added water. To the Publisher’s shock, the green morphed into a cloudy haze. “Here. Try it the Hemming-way.”

To his credit, the Publisher accepted the glass. If the Author really wanted to kill him, he could have done it long ago. Besides, this might be the more dignified way to go.

As the Publisher drank, the Author produced another glass from his pack. Without a word, he mixed up his own drink. He took a quiet sip.

Then, with a solemnness that he was not known for, he addressed the Publisher. “So, you read the submission?”

Wordlessly, the Publisher nodded. The Author sipped again. This time, the Publisher broke the silence. “Mysteries, secrets, and sights unexplained. The jaws of the trap begin to close. So it begins.”

The Author nodded and slammed back his drink. “So it begins.’

Curses, Foiled Again!

The ship thundered. Normally, it rumbled pleasantly, or growled when it wasn’t happy. Today, the Yellow Rose roared.

It plowed through the waves without a care. It ignored the quartering headwind. With a full head of steam, she could go anywhere.

The deck swayed with the waves, and Cold Snap’s hooves rolled with it. He moved from station to station doing whatever he could. Everyone rushed through the ship trying to make her ready to depart...after they had departed.

The morning had been a wild ride. Captain Gideon had roused the entire crew and demanded the ship be ready to sail five minutes earlier. Everyone rushed to do the minimum to make it happen.

As a result, the ship had a number of loose ends that the crew had left the night before. The one benefit was that they had reprovisioned and recoaled during the drydock session. Thanks to the extensive repairs, the ship ran even better than before. When it was presented in that context, having to perform minor repairs and stow non-essentials while underway didn’t seem so bad.

Captain Gideon’s mountain fortress faded into the background. By now, it seemed like nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Ahead of them lay deep seas. And somewhere beyond that lay the Zebra continent.

And the birthplace of the seas.

And solar princess only knew what else.

Cold Snap fought as a chill racked his body. He couldn’t explain last night. Not the smallest part of it made sense. He had never had a dream like that in his whole life. Oh, he had nightmares. He had dreams too. None of them stuck with him like last night did. The dreams faded into a pleasant fugue as he woke, and the nightmares dissolved like mist in the morning.

Last night stuck with him as vividly as if he’d lived it, felt the flames crawling up his body. He felt the chalky scrape of death under his hooves. Smell the burned hair. He shuddered.

He threw himself into his work. It was the only way he could forget about it for a few minutes. Checking tasks off the chief mechanic’s list gave him a bit of structure that his life felt like it was missing.

Sure, the dream would haunt him as soon as he finished whiling away at his work, but in the meantime, he could enjoy a bit of an escape. In his work, he found a bit of meaning, value, and purpose. Besides, he’d grown up working on the plantation. When there was a problem, he worked at it to make it go away.

Pity it didn’t work now.

Still, it was a dream. A peculiar and vivid dream perhaps, yet still a dream. He’d forget about it soon. Dreams never stayed with him long, good or bad.

“Just like I never sleepwalk?” Cold Snap muttered to himself.

He was sure he never had before. Didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, but the chances…

Well, he would bet on another ship besting the Yellow Rose first.

He was overthinking it. It was his curse. He overthought Captain Gideon sometimes. He overthought Mr. Horn’s box. He was overthinking the dream now.

“Finished yet?” Nebula asked as he heaved himself out of a hatch.

His friend’s arrival stalled overthinking about overthinking. Snap shook himself back to reality. “Um, yeah.”

Stowing the last of the chains used to load the ship, Snap took a chance to breathe. He hadn’t seen his friend since dawn that morning. A chance to talk and enjoy a bit of companionship after last night would be a great break for his tired body and stressed mind.

“So, what’s next?” the unicorn asked.

Snap rolled his hoof. “More of the same. Finish clearing the deck and paint over the fresh steel.”

Nebula was already shaking his head. “Not that. That’s all we ever seem to do on this ship.”

His ears folded. “And shovel coal. No. What’s this ship doing next?”

Sleepwalking was obviously not a great rest because Snap blinked owlishly. “Uh, dunno?”

That obviously wasn’t the right answer. Nebula huffed and glared at him. “Don’t ‘dunno’ me. When we take off in the middle of the night, something is up. When we have the crew whispering about the captain being strange...er than usual, something is up. When the entire crew knows nothing at all but a heading, something is definitely up. So, spill.”

“But,” Snap weakly protested.

In a moment, his friend was in his face. “But? Care to finish that? You going to keep covering for Captain Goofy? Something is off with him; cause he’s nuttier than a squirrel. You don’t pull this for nothing. So. Talk.”

With so little time to think, he couldn’t come up with a convincing lie. He hated lying to his friend anyway. He hated telling him things that he didn’t understand himself. Captain Gideon’s command be damned.

“All I know is that we have a heading. Southern Atoli coasts. There’s a legend there, some creation myth of the seas. I don’t know what it has to do with the box, the seas, or Man.”

Nebula blinked. “What the fruitcake is a ‘Man?’”

Cold Snap grasped for an answer; then felt his gut clench.

“Something he should take more seriously,” Captain Gideon said from above them.

_+_=-

Funnily enough, the most shocking feature about the captain’s cabin wasn’t the great carved desk or the glowering griffon behind it. It wasn’t even the sheaves of paper and mechanical oddities that served purposes unknown. Rather, it was the carpet.

That sea-blue fabric was absolutely incredible, a marvel of crafting blending durability and softness. It was outrageously expensive, completely useless, and showy opulence.

And it was the thing that Cold Snap tried to focus on with every bit of his being.

His ears flattened as his cheeks burned with shame. He could feel Captain Gideon’s hard eyes working over him, even if the bird said nothing. He didn’t want to be here one bit.

Nebula, more precisely his hoof, shuffled next to him. The situation did not seem to bother him quite so much, but he also hadn’t been explicitly commanded to keep his stupid mouth shut.

Likewise, a taloned claw stood to his other side. Mr. Horn expressed confusion when he was first thrust into the captain’s lair, but he quickly held his tongue and watched to see where the situation went.

Silence reigned in the room, and only one creature had the power to break it. Snap dreaded that moment.

An eternity of minutes passed. Only their breathing and Captain Gideon moving papers and other things across his desk broke that silence.

“Some of you are wondering why I’ve called you in here today. Others know exactly why they are here,” the captain said.

Snap risked a glance up. The captain sat at his desk, a piece of yellowed paper in his claws and the damned box beside him. The predator’s eyes studied everything keenly.

“However, what is of far greater importance is the things none of us know. The situation has grown more uncertain. While I would like to see that Cold Snap sees my full displeasure for breaking my command of silence, there are more serious matters I must address. Mr. Horn, I believe that is where you will be most beneficial to this meeting.”

“Me, sir?” the hippogriff asked quickly.

“Don’t be too excited. I want to know everything about this box you were to deliver.”

Instantly, surprise traded places with confusion. “I’m sorry, captain. I’ve told you everything.”

“And I don’t believe that.”

“You know I don’t know who asked for it. I don’t know what he, she, or it wanted it for. I don’t”-

The captain held up a claw. “Spare me your theatrics. Managing a ship is dramatic enough. I need to either know what this,” he shook the box for emphasis, “is or an educated guess.”

He set the box aside and laced his talons. “At first, I assumed this was some treasure hunt taken too far. Artifacts have been known to disappear from legitimate sources and appear in wealthy collections. Now, I say that wealthy collectors would be pleasantly boring.”

Mr. Horn shook his head. “I’m sorry, captain, but I don’t follow.”

Captain Gideon did not answer. He spun the box so that its basic lock faced Snap and slowly withdrew his claws. “Cold Snap, open it.”

He did. Mr. Horn’s eyes widened as the pony pulled out the glowing blue orb. “How?” he breathed.

The captain did something terrifying. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Enchantments and spells are outside my purview. It has no mechanism, no movement, and no markings. Peculiar shape aside, it may as well be art.”

Snap stood there, blue magical thingy pulsing in his grasp. He hadn’t been instructed to put it back. So, he waited for the command.

“I tried messing with it a little. I admit I didn’t want the buyer to know I’d been fooling with his merchandise, but never got it to do that. How did you?”

The griffon pointed at Snap. “Ask him. He made it work.”

Once again, all attention was on Snap. Sweat started beading on his brow. His heart thundered. The blue pulse sped up to match. Every eye was on him, not that glowing…thing.

“I worked with that thing for hours after I got a hold of it. Never could make it do anything. What is it? Some sort of enchantment obviously. But what?” Mr. Horn asked.

The captain ran a claw gently over the box lid. “I don’t know. As a griffon, I never had the natural aptitude for magical arts. Hence why I’m pressing you for everything you know.”

Finally, Cold Snap managed to slow his breathing with all the attention finally gone. The blue glow also slowed. That only made his his breathing pick back up. The glow did too.

Captain Gideon and Mr. Horn traded theories and crushed them in turn. Many theories gathered by the wayside like fallen casualties after a battle. Most of them got pushed aside from a lack of information.

Snap stared at the jeweled piece in a weird blend of curiosity and horror. Why was this tied to him, and he knew beyond a doubt it was. Whatever this was, it was no trinket.

“Snap?” Nebula’s voice finally jarred him to his senses.

“My heart,” he whispered.

That whisper silenced the room. Everyone looked to him. Snap looked up. Fear quavered his voice. “It’s my heart.”

Captain Gideon’s eyes alternated between the almost panicked pony and the artifact. In a moment, he had stood and crossed over to one of his many chests. He rummaged through it, pulling out various brown bottles, tins, and metallic instruments. “Ah ha! Here it is.”

He turned back with a peculiar device in his claws, a metallic wishbone ending in a large carved flare. The two ends of the wishbone went in his ears, or wherever griffons had ears. “Hold still and do not speak.”

He pressed the flared end against Snap’s chest. His other claw opened up that silver disk. Snap could see a thin rod tracing a circular path across angular symbols that looked like they had been carved in gold.

Cold Snap watched that rod ratchet its way around while wild thoughts ran through his head and the others in the room could only watch the captain’s eccentricity play out. Finally, the captain pulled the cone away. “Perfectly healthy heartbeat, but he is right. It is matched utterly to his heart.”

“So what does that tell you?” Mr. Horn asked.

Captain Gideon stowed his device and bottles. “It confirms a suspicion, that there is much more to this thing than jewelry. As to why you had no luck,”

He took the artifact and turned it so Mr. Horn could see the bloodied edge. “The life of the flesh is in the blood. Blood is a powerful force.”

The color drained from Mr. Horn’s face as the captain uttered those words. “Blood magic?”

The captain nodded. “Of some form. It seems that someone, your patron perhaps, knew more than he let on. He wanted this thing desperately.”

So that was the strange feeling eating away at his body. Snap saw the thing in a new light. It was a leech trying to suck him dry. It was tied to him now, or was that just his frightened imagination? He couldn’t look at it. He looked anywhere else, the captain’s maps, his potted rose, his half-completed projects stacked against a desk.

Yet these things didn’t soothe him. He kept getting a sense of...something. There was something in the room that was screaming for his attention, but he couldn’t find it.

The captain sighed and tapped the chest.

There. Cold Snap saw them. Two trees lay carved into the exotic wood. Add a little fire to them, and they would be perfect matches to last night.

Dream or something else?

The smoothness of the bark, the venation in the leaves, the subtle differences between them: they had been captured perfectly by a master woodworker. They had only missed the fire.

“Cold Snap.”

Something violently shook him. Next thing he knew, he was on his rump starting away from the captain. The captain kept pace with him. “What is it? Your heart is going like a quarter horse.”

True enough. The blue light was flashing on and off like the spurts of fire from a gun. He fought his way past a parched throat. “Trees. Last night.”

“What about trees?” Mr. Horn pressed.

Snap forced himself to swallow some spit and haltingly launched himself into his story. Captain Gideon interrupted once to give him a glass of rum. Snap downed it without hesitation careless of the burn.

He told them of his sleepless night. He described the bones, the room of fire. Then he pointed to the box. “And those trees were there.”

Captain Gideon turned back to his desk and lifted the box. “These trees. You’re sure?”

Snap was lost for words. So he only nodded. The griffon studied the carving closely, pulling out a magnifier for the fine details. Eventually, he shook his head. “I don’t recognize them. I will question Midshipmare Blue and Jupe regarding the incident. Given the amount of discussions we have had on the subject and the number of times you’ve seen the box, it’s perfectly reasonable to say that they combined into a nightmare.”

Somehow, Snap wasn’t sure if that was comforting. Not that it would be better to believe a pleasant lie rather than a horrible truth: he was in over his head.

He looked at the blue light. He couldn’t bear to look at the cursed thing itself.

Cursed. That’s what it was. So was he by extension.

Wood thumped as Captain Gideon practically slammed the box back on his desk. “Mr. Horn. I think it’s time we dispense with prior assumptions.”

“Sir?” the hippogriff asked.

“Any belief that this box and its contents are ancient treasures to gather dust on a collector's shelf is denying the facts. These are ancient and valuable, perhaps much more so than anyone ever thought. However, someone suspects that these are much more than would meet the eye. Your patron.”

Mr. Horn shuffled in place. “I don’t know if I believe you, but I can’t disprove it either.”

“That is good enough for me. I have more to add to my theory: you were a pawn. This artifact was extremely valuable to your patron. They understood something about it, maybe more than we do. They were willing to pay generously to have you collect it from its prior owner and deliver it to them.”

Low chuckles rumbled in the hippogriff’s chest. “If that’s the case, then they chose poorly. Not only did I end up on your ship, you were attacked by pirates too.”

“Pirates going after one thing only. They only wanted the box. Your voyage was the most risky part of the journey, and you were on the Golden Hound before they could change plans. Those ‘pirates’ were their backup plan in case your ship foundered or was attacked.”

“But they lost. You won against them,” Nebula piped up.

Captain Gideon looked at the otherwise very confused pony. “We did. We put them in check. The Yellow Rose was something they could never have predicted. Now they are having to come up with some backup plan to their backup. What that will be? I don’t know. What I know is that they want this badly enough to destroy any who stand in their way. If they catch this ship, then every one of us is marked for death.

“As to the other unknowns of this antiquities collection, that will take more time. Call me obsessed, but I know that Man has something to do with this puzzle. That will take time to study though. Whatever the reason, these two trees are central to it. Return to your duties and I will resume my studies.”

Snap wasn’t sure what to say about it. What was a cursed pony having his soul slurped away by an ancient thingamdooder supposed to say? So, he let Nebula drag him off the carpet and back into the hallway.

Once outside, his friend looked at him sadly. “Hey, it’ll be okay. You got me.”

Snap said nothing.

Nebula sighed. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know things would turn out like this.”

“No one did.”

Nebula grimaced, then cocked his head. “Hey, when did you burn your mane?”

-------

Time passed like mud. Days had passed, and all Cold Snap could do was throw himself into his work. It was his only relief.

Nightmares of trees and fire plagued his sleep. Thoughts and glimpses of blue light hounded his days. Only in the backbreaking work of keeping a warship running could he escape his tormenting demons.

He eagerly sought out the chief mechanic for any work that he could throw himself into. He worked long after the crew slept, and he crashed into fitful sleep halfway through his tasks. These were thankfully dreamless only because of sheer exhaustion.

Gradually, the jobs changed from complicated to things that a sleep-deprived pony couldn’t screw up. He was supposed to be trimming paint near the wheelhouse. Somehow, the crew had missed some battle damage here. So, it was his job to clean and paint the bare steel.

Simple jobs for simple types. The problem with painting was that it was so easy to get distracted and daydream, and dreaming was the last thing he wanted to do.

He felt the fire, and the unnatural pull of the trees. His grip slipped, and he stared at a streak of gray paint across the wheelhouse glass window. He grumbled a curse; then he picked up a stained rag, dipped it in vile smelling liquid that put toxic moonshine to shame, and cleaned away his mistake.

Gray smeared the glass. He wiped harder. The noxious chemical soaked his hoof, drawing a lance of pain through his injured frog. Snap jerked back and hissed. His grit teeth felt like they were about to shatter from the stress, and his hoof throbbed badly.

Somewhere in Captain Gideon’s cabin would be an otherwise unknown object glowing in time to his heart. He could see the sickly light in his mind as clearly as if it was before him now.

While the pain died down, he looked back at his mess and saw a faint blue glow. Cursing, he blinked and shook his head. No good. The light was still there.

Was he cursed?

The light moved. Then he saw that Captain Gideon though the slightly distorted and painted glass. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look irritated at the painted window. Instead, he looked rather sad.

For a moment, the Captain looked like he might speak through the glass. Then, he turned and vanished into the dark heart of his ship. The last thing Cold Snap saw was a pulsing blue glow.

He had no proof for it, but he knew that his dream wasn’t a dream. It was more than that. He could feel it with total conviction. It felt like piece of him had been burned in that damnable fire. That bauble latched itself to him like a leech.

Would it kill him?

Snap picked up the wet rag with his hale hoof. He cleaned, but halfheartedly. Tears slipped from his eyes, and his chest throbbed in time with his suppressed sobs.

For the first time on this grand adventure, Cold Snap genuinely feared that death would find him soon.

“C-cursed.”

Author's Notes:

To be fair, the Publisher had spent days doing worse things. He just couldn't remember when.

There was that time that he helped his Aunt Agnes do her...wait. She gave him lemonade at least.

Then there was the time his boss... nevermind. That time had earned him a decent bonus.

Or perhaps....

Well, there were things worse than listening to the Author prattle. He just couldn't remember any of them.

"And you know what the answer was? Coconut hulls! Seriously! I was tumbling those things for hours, and the walnut wasn't doing anything!"

The Publisher blinked. "Walnut what wasn't?"

The Author backtracked like an expert politician. "The bullets. I'm sitting on crates, I mean CRATES of 7mm Mauser, but they're all covered in crud and have seen better days. I'm cleaning them of course, but the walnut hulls weren't doing jacksh"-

"Please, we are based on a children's show after all," the Publisher waved a hoof placatingly.

The Author rolled his eyes. "Fine. Jack shoopedoopy. Oh, and I found my missing casing."

Missing casing? Just what was the lunatic talking about now? Thinking back over all his
conversations with the Author hurt his head terribly, but he did so anyway. "From the POW! incident?"

"Yep. Found the thing halfway under my tool shelf. Had the neck all blown apart."

With a quick spin, the Author turned to face the Readers. "Remember kiddies, that's why you take safety first, unless you're at your local insurance agency."

"Who are you talking to?"

"No one who cares about you," the Author said primly.

"I have no idea if that's a good thing or a bad thing," the Publisher retorted.

He tapped his desk. The effect was muffled by all the red-marked pages in front of him. The pages ranged from elegant script of ponies on wild adventures in foreign lands to a crayoned picture of Twilight Sparkle and Spike with a caption that said "Now ki5s" to a not-safe-for-woona submission covered in...

"Look, I receive all sorts of submissions, and I have complaints about yours."

The Author stiffened indignantly. "Excuse me?! My submissions are carefully vetted and studied by the best of grammar nooners, me. You will be hard pressed to find a more polished first draft than"-

Slap!

A stack of pages covered in mud, grease, spots of blood, and metal shavings landed on the NSFWoona submission. The NSFWoona was better because of it. "Look at this. It is filthy. You expect people to read this? Our publishing house has standards, and we pride ourselves on reputation!"

Seemingly unharmed the Publisher's tirade, the Author rolled his eyes. "You say that, but you have me working for you. Soo..."

"Touché."

The Eden Fire manuscript was set aside on a clean-er part of the desk reserved for "special" submissions. The Author was proud. He always knew his work was special.

"Do you have a rag or," the Publisher said before common sense caught up to him. "You know what? I'm good."

"You want the high-temp grease rag, the 30 weight rag, or the cutting fluid rag?"

That only made the poor office pony grimace. He pulled a stack of pages covered in numbers and columns out from under his desk and started wiping his dirty hooves. "Actually, I was meaning to get rid of these shareholder reports anyway. It's not like companies use real numbers anymore."

"Just one more reason to want an actual apocalypse. It'll make the world make sense again."

The Publisher stopped rubbing his hooves on the crinkly paper. "I hate how much sense that makes."

"One more question. Are you sure it's good to send Cold Snap through this?" the Publisher asked.

"Absolutely. He's growing older. He needs to realize that his idea of an adventure doesn't line up with reality. It is dangerous and comes with consequences you can never predict. Some are minor and others are horribly life altering.
"Also, it's not like his curse won't come without a few perks. It might prove useful in unraveling at least one of the mysteries here."

The Publisher frowned. "Well, if you insist. He's a good colt. Hate seeing this happen."

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to do is to decide what to do with the time that is given us."

The Publisher didn't look up. "Put my Starswirl hat up."

"Hrmpf. Fine. But I do suspect that Captain Gideon is more right than he expects."

"What do you mean?"

"Nope. Spoilers."

The Publisher dropped the subject and continued the futile task of cleaning his hooves. Then he stopped again, anger boiling in his eyes. "Hold up! You only do one draft!?!"

The Author quickly looked at the crayon watch on his foreleg. "Oops. Gotta go."

_+_____+_+_+_+_____+_
Never saw the point of doing more than one draft. Seemed like a ridiculous waste of time if you planned correctly. The Publisher and Author interactions are different. They aren't planned. I just come up with them after snorting a bottle of Coke.

And yes, coconut bedding from your pet store will clean off the toughest crud on a cartridge case. Better than risking POW! and taking all the time to do them. They still need more time in a finer media like walnut hulls or corncob to get a bit of polish back. Otherwise they look like brushed brass

I've Gone Fishing!

Nebula found him hours later. The bucket of paint sloshed in time to the waves, and the brush and rag had dried under the beating sun. Cold Snap sat half in the shade and half out of it, heedless of the sun beating down on him. His eyes focused somewhere on the horizon of another world.

Snap felt his friend sit beside him, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. A powerful thirst raged in his throat, but he couldn’t care enough to go find his water ration. Death was coming for him.

“You look terrible. Can you tell me where Cold Snap is?”

“Cursed.”

It was the only thing that could survive his dark mood. He sat sweating in the hot sun and trying to think of nothing at all. He didn’t care about his work or the punishment that could come with it.

“So what about it?” his friend pressed.

Nebula hated seeing his best friend like this. They had grown up together, to the point that they were almost family. They had been through thick and thin together and more than a few idiotic scrapes. To see somepony normally so chipper and levelheaded beaten down like this made him hurt in a way he never imagined.

He tried different avenues to open up his friend. He made small talk, asked about those technical things he liked reading so much about, and even a bit of grating humor that only long-time friends could get away with.

None of it made a difference. Cold Snap lay senseless to everything outside of his own misery. Conversations went nowhere and everything else went ignored. Nebula’s ears folded back. Maybe this was a funk that his friend had to find his own way out.

He turned away to finish his own duties. Then a grin split his face.

Cold Snap watched the deep blue waves ripple in the distance. It was soothing. It was something he could lose himself in and just forget all his problems in their hypnotic show. Oh, how he wished that his problems went away like that.

He could almost see the burning-but-not-burning trees now. Every time he tried to sleep or even close his eyes, he saw them. They hid behind the waves, ready to torment him as soon as he started feeling better. He couldn’t get any peace.

Some suffocated part of his mind understood this was being blown way out of proportion by total exhaustion and a self-destructive streak he never realized he had, but to acknowledge that meant to put in some effort to climb out of his misery.

Cursed or not, he couldn’t keep this up forever, could he?

He even ignored his own friend as he tried to cheer him up. While he’d been in some depressing places as he experienced the trials of growing older, Nebula was always a rock in uncertainty. He could think clearly even in the middle of a struggle. He needed that now more than ever. So why was he afraid to ask?

His eyes wandered down to the deck. Perhaps he could ask why there was a rope tied around his leg?

“Sorry, Snap.”

Snap looked over in time to see Nebula slam his hoof on a metal lever, and then the world went topsy-turvy.

Pain burned through his leg and everything it was attached to. Any harder, and he would’ve thought it was one of those “amputations” the surgeon mentioned. His stomach spun as he desperately grabbed at the slick deck to stop his climb. Nothing worked. Where he had once moped in a sideways view of the sea, he now got a birds-eye view.

About the time that he got his head used to seeing upside down, something else clicked, and the next thing he felt was a disconcerting weightlessness and that birds-eye view becoming a fish-eye view.

It should have been soft. Water moved. It flowed. It passed over his body whenever he swam. So why did it feel like slamming into a rock!? Any air Snap might have held onto was violently hammered out of him. He spun uncontrollably. His only clues for “up” and “down” were light, and they were meaningless when he was rolling like a ball.

Suddenly his leg jerked again, and he felt the water trying to pull him apart as he was dragged behind the unstoppable ship. Water forced itself into every cavity he had. He could even hear the ship’s powerful screws pulsing through the water.

Nebula was trying to kill him! He desperately struggled away from the sound and reached for the rope. Even his immense strength couldn’t overcome the force of the water. He was towed along like bait on a hook.

Then the force doubled, and Snap thought the rope was about to break. He thumped against the hull. Half his body had to be bruised in that hit. He skidded over flush rivets and plate seams. Then before he could drown, he broke surface. He coughed and retched so much water. Wild energy had completely beaten away his lethargy.

And he was ready to make somepony pay.

He spun on his rope, hanging quite a ways away by the ship’s loading hoist. Nebula leaned against the winch with a small crowd of gaping onlookers helplessly watching.

“So, feeling better now?”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“I swear I’m going to kill you.”

That was supposed to be threatening, but wheezing out seawater every second word completely wrecked that idea. Nebula wasn’t even slightly impressed. He leaned against the bow turret with an inscrutable glare. The best Cold Snap could do was return the glare and shove as much animal savagery into it as he could.

Given that he looked like a drowned kitten, he didn’t have much of that to spare.

“You know, that’s the most heartwarming thing you’ve said for days. I’ll treasure this always,” Nebula held a hoof over his chest and held in false sobs.

Coughing would have to substitute for beating his friend’s head in with a board. Just how much water could he hold in him?

His friend’s eyes softened. He slouched against the heavy steel. Once or twice, his jaw clenched until he finally could force the words out. “Snap. I know you’re mad at me. I’d be too if someone turned me into fishbait.”

Cold Snap snorted at the joke and how funny his friend sounded now that his ears were all full of water.

“But what about me?” the unicorn looked absolutely pitiful. “You weren’t there. I barely saw you for days, and you never saw me. You were miserable and wouldn’t let me help you.”

Showing speed he never had at home, Nebula had his hooves around his friend’s head and shook him like a dog. “Wouldn’t let ME help!”

He stopped. “Everything. We’ve been through everything together. So when you’re hurting, let me help you! It was stupid. Probably could have killed you, but I had to do something.”

“Well, you can help me get the water out of my ears,” Snap grumped.

Nevertheless, he felt a smile for the first time in days. This was how they were supposed to be on this trip: two best friends having an adventure together. One thing was certain. This would be a tale to tell their foals about.

If they lived that long.

And like that, the cloud was back over Snap’s life. This was an adventure. It just came with a few caveats.

He saw Nebula move. “Stay away from that winch!”

His friend jerked his hoof away from the loading winch and grinned sheepishly. “Ummm. You had the look.”

Snap grunted. “You would too if you were cursed.”

The unicorn moved to join Snap in the shade. “I’ve been thinking about that. Actually, it was all I could think about for what? Four days? Four days while somepony I thought was my best fri”-

“Yeah, yeah. Shut it. What were you thinking about?” Snap waved a hoof.

Nebula settled back against the metal. In the shade, the large mass was pleasantly warm instead of scorching under the sun. The two friends relaxed as they thought through their perspectives.

Nebula shuffled and took deep breaths. He obviously wanted to say something he thought important but wasn’t sure how to go about it. Eventually, Snap couldn’t take it anymore. “The curse?” he prodded.

“Yeah…” Nebula trailed off. “What kind of curse is it?”

Snap felt like someone beamed him with a brick and the crate it came in. “Umm, the cursed kind?”

“The cursed curse?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t get it.”

Snap rolled onto his side and then yelped. He scrambled away from the hot metal and back into the shade. “Look, I play with an artifact of an unknown culture, accidentally perform taboo blood magic on it, and now it keeps a good time on my ticker. How much more cursed can it get?”

Nebula bobbed his head around as if all his thinking took place to a tune stuck in his own mind. Somehow it worked because all his best thoughts came when he was like this. “Not trying to wash this under the ship, but that sounds like a pretty lame curse. Does it do ANYTHING else?”

“It gives me recurring apocalyptic dreams and doesn’t let me sleep.”

“Huh, that’s a slightly better curse.”

“Are we really ranking curses?!”

“We have to start somewhere.”

Cold Snap seethed and contented himself with that much against his always-loyal and sometimes-aggravating friend.

“So, does it?” Nebula asked.

“Does it what?”

Nebula made a noise halfway between a snort and a grunt. “You know. Does it feel like a leech slurping your life away through a sympathetic blood bond?”

“Sympathetic?”

Nebula waved a hoof. “Old school of magic. Slightly outdated. So does it?”

Snap’s snarky retort fizzled as he for the first time in four days seriously considered his situation. The ship bobbed and rumbled. The winds blew, but beyond that, it was totally silent between the two friends.

Snap tried to recall everything he could, how he felt, what he thought, and what had happened to him over the last few days. “Actually, no?”

“Oh, some good news for a change. So it must be slurping your soul away. I bet it comes back for a refund.”

Cold Snap chucked the ruined paintbrush at his friend. Nebula was never the best at dodging, but he sure could yelp. And he looked so stupid with that sticky brush hanging off his hair. “Not that either. It’s different. I’m different. Something’s different, but it’s not like I’m hurting or feel like I’ve lost something important. Whatever it is though, I think those trees are important to it. Sorry I can’t be more specific than that. This curse didn’t come with instructions.”

Nebula raised an eyebrow. “Trees are important to it? It has thoughts now? Opinions and preferences?”

His friend knew how to prod him just right. “I dunno! That’s my thought. Maybe I’m the one cursing the thing! How do you like that theory?”

“You get the weirdest curses.”

Before Snap could reply, the decking thudded nearby. Simultaneously, the two friends looked up in time to see Mr. Horn making a mad dash across the ship to the stairs up to the wheelhouse.”

“I remembered. Gotta tell him. Rememberedgottatellhim,” the hippogriff wheezed as he ran.

Then he took the exterior stairs two at a time and rushed into the command nexus of the ship and out of sight. That left the two ponies staring at the almost-closed door in bafflement. What got Mr. Horn so fired up about all this? Nebula looked at Cold Snap. “So, table this review of curses for a later date?”

Snap snorted and shook off the water. “I guess. Let’s see what lit his tail on fire.”

He wasn’t feeling better about his own curse, but if it hadn’t killed him yet, then he had a little more time. Besides, with a friend like Nebula, he could handle most anything. Of course, with a friend like Nebula, who needed curses?

The two chased after the hippogriff and barged into the wheelhouse. The entire crew focused on them and without a single word, five of them pointed to the door heading into the main stairwell.

“Um, thanks. Don’t mind us! Keep doing...ship things,” Nebula chuckled as he dragged Snap behind him.

The two entered the main interior stairwell. Up or down? Down took them into the dark heart of the ship where the mechanics and cooks and everyone else it took to run a ship lived. When Mr. Horn said “him”, there was really only one “him” he could mean. He didn’t live in the bowels of a steel beast. The two rushed up the stairs.

This hallway and door were very familiar by now to Cold Snap. He’d grown used to seeing the carved field of flowers on the captain’s stateroom. He’d actually stopped studying it a while back. It was just a small specimen among many more aboard Captain Gideon’s incredible vessel.

Contrary to habit, the captain’s door was open slightly, and the two could hear raised voices. Mr. Horn and Captain Gideon did not see eye to eye on a number of things, but like civilized creatures, they could put aside their differences in the pursuit of a common goal. This must have been one of those times.

“Captain, it’s one of his letters,” the hippogriff wheezed.

“Your patron’s letters? I thought you didn’t recall them in any detail.”

Cold Snap couldn’t stand hovering outside the door and moved to open it, but a sharp jerk on his tail stopped him. Nebula shook his head vigorously and flicked his ears. His silent message was clear.

Snap scooted close to the door and managed to get a peek through the crack. The captain was in his usual spot behind his desk, partway through some project or another. He could see the box and the ruby crystal still in the twine that once bound it to the box. Mr. Horn stood a deferential distance away and kneaded the carpet in his claws as he put his thoughts together.

“We never spoke of anything you or I would consider important. It was all basic progress updates. The patron never told me anything regarding the nature of my delivery and it was not my place to ask. It was a little thing though. He said a phrase I hadn’t heard before and didn’t make much sense to me.

Now he had the captain’s attention. “What context was this in?”

“That’s the darnedest thing. I don’t know what context it was supposed to be in.”

The hippogriff paused and stopped clawing the carpet. His next words came slowly. “It was my second letter before I came to Port Archer. By the phrasing, I think he suspected I’d looked at the delivery, and maybe studied it a little more than I should have. He said that the delivery would prove insightful. Then he said something about ‘garden as meant to be.’ And he even asked me what I thought life would be like if the whole world was a garden. I assumed it was rhetorical. So I never answered it.”

The captain scratched his throat in contemplation. “Garden? Why bring that up?”

Mr. Horn rolled his head in confusion. “I couldn’t tell you. This was a peculiar thing to say as I don’t know how it related to anything, and that was before I knew what Grimlock’s note said. At this point, I’m doubly lost.”

The captain furrowed his brows. “Garden…” he mumbled under his breath. “Garden garden garden. It’s a strange question. Both pegasi and griffons possess innate weather manipulation magics, though the pegasi are better at it. Other species can perform it to some extent or another. So this could be a way to ‘make the world a garden’ through careful weather manipulation. I do not see how it has to do with poor Cold Snap’s run in with blood magic or Grimlock’s land of death.”

“So it could be that my benefactor was a pegasus of the supremacy mindset?”

Captain Gideon nodded. “I won’t discount it. We don’t know enough. But you are right. That was an unusual statement. No one would see the reason…” he trailed off.

“Sir?” Mr. Horn asked.

“Not no one.”

“Sir?”

“Damn it all! We’re not as ahead in this game as I thought. And we are in more peril than I thought. Mr. Horn, my good news is that I can tell you who your patron is, but the sad reality is that you’ll wish you were ignorant.”

“Uhh…” Mr. Horn tried to process the captain’s eloquent warning.

Cold Snap’s heart thundered from both the fear of being caught and from the drama playing out inside. Judging by the shuddering breaths beside him, Nebula managed no better. Just who was it that could cause such a reaction from the unflappable captain?

“Captain?” Mr. Horn ventured.

“Not now,” the captain said as he rushed from his desk to check the map tacked to the wall.

He studied the map, mumbling figures under his breath. After an eternity, he turned back to Mr. Horn. “It’s possible.”

By this point, Mr. Horn had lost all patience. “What’s possible?! Who is after us? Talk some sense already!”

The captain wasn’t listening. Instead, he leapt back to his desk and jammed one of those little buttons beneath his brass tubes. “Pilot, maintain course. Engine crew, if we are at standard speed, take us to full speed. Midshipmare, set up continuous watch rotations among the crew, two hour shifts. No one approaches us unawares. Charge the guns.”

A flurry of affirmatives poured through the tubes. Mr. Horn looked like he was about to explode from impatience. “Captain, I insist that”-

“You insist nothing! Action must be taken.”

The hippogriff took a half-step forward. Then he froze. The captain blinked, and the murderous mood vaporized. Cold Snap couldn’t tell what changed. Then he saw the red gem glowing atop the desk. A silver mist formed around it.

Snap felt his fur stand on end as the silver cloud grew. He watched as every speck of dust in the cabin rush to join the cloud that grew and grew. Rays of sunlight coming through the windows caught each mote and lit them like an ephemeral ghost.

Slowly, the cloud grew more defined. It grew legs, tail, mane, and horn. When Snap’s fur finally settled down, a phantom mare stood in the room. She walked. She looked around. She even breathed! It was as if a real pony violated the captain’s sanctuary.

She wasn’t young, but she probably hadn’t yet hit middle age. She was no longer in the prime of her beauty, but she still possessed an allure forged by experience and confidence. Everything about her radiated control.

Cold Snap suddenly realized that he could see her eyes through the back of her dusty mane. They narrowed in shrewd observation, but remained calm above all else. This was a mare used to getting what she wanted without question or compromise.

When he left on this once-simple trip, he never ever would have considered anything like this. To say it was a peculiar experience would be an incredible understatement. He could only hope the world ran out of peculiar experiences before this was all over.

The ghost mare looked at Mr. Horn. “Well, the courier stayed with the package. You were well-recommended indeed, Mr. Horn.”

Then she focused on the griffon. She hummed approvingly and smiled. “And a captain? The scourge of the seas? You have aimed high and accomplished as much as you claimed you would. If only you could aim a little higher.”

Captain Gideon scowled. “Long-speak magic is hardly a subtle enchantment. Only the ignorant would think this gem was anything else. When my crew brought me this ruby, I knew that sooner or later, its owner would come calling. Even so, I should have expected it would be you, Lilith.”

Author's Notes:

The Publisher shook the page. "You can't seriously expect me to accept this!"

The Author shrugged and took another pull on the liquor bottle that looked suspiciously full of something other than liquor. "Don't see why not. I mean, look at everything else you accept."

"Our esteemed publishing house has many standards and criteria for something to be considered acceptable for publishing. and YOU seem to take infinite delight in flouting every single one of them!"

The Author took another pull. "Sorry. I'm drawing a blank. Got any examples?"

"Ugh," the Publisher dragged a hoof across his face.

He pulled out the Author's precious manuscript. Currently, it was covered in frowny faces, brown stains, and green crayon. HR decided that red was too angry. And apparently someone in the proofreading department poisoned themselves after eating a green highlighter.

He sighed. "Look at this atrocity."

The Author leaned in close. He squinted, pulled out a magnifier, frowned, and said simply: "Eyup."

"Now you see what the acceptance department is getting onto me about?"

"Sure do. I misplaced that comma. Commas are hard."

"That is not the issue!"

"The semicolon?"

"Gah! This has nothing to do with your grammatical inadequacies, nor does it take into consideration your obvious misappropriations of archaic practices and culturally unacceptable gaffs and incomprehensible insistence upon creating obviously"-

"Now hold up there, pardner. There's a lot of long, funny words in there. I'm naught but a humble cowpoke."

The Publisher rubbed his forehead, trying to dispel the headache and wishing for alcohol, aspirin, or anesthetic. A combination of the three would solve many problems. "What I and the proofreading department are trying to say is that you cannot simply create a world of machismo, patriarchy, and cultural homogeny and expect it to go anywhere!"

"Why not? It worked for a few thousand years. Homogeny breeds tradition. Tradition breeds legacy. Legacy lasts."

"For good or ill." the Publisher scowled.

He set the pages aside and tapped his hooves. "So, are you going to defend your other statements?"

"Sure! Masculinity is the backbone of"-

"THAT WAS RHETORICAL! Do you realize I could be fired just for thinking those thoughts?"

"Sounds like you're missing some masculinity. Did they ever drop when you were a foal? You ever check?"

Purple suffused the Publisher's face. "What?! Of course. I. GAH! Now I see what madness led you to create such horrific things!"

The Author took another pull on his bottle. "Sorry. You'll have to be a little more specific."

For the first time in a long time, the Publisher felt that old, familiar headache that always came when dealing with this lunatic. "You DROWNED a child!"

"Technically, he wasn't drowned."

"Fine. You almost drowned him!"

"It was in the name of friendship!"

The Publisher blinked in shock. "So what? That makes it all good and kosher now? Mutual drowning. It's what friends do!"

"Well, yeah. That's what my friends would do for each other."

That brought the Publisher's rant to a screeching halt. He sat in total, still silence as he tried to figure out what to do with the lunatic who probably had a whole laundry list of crimes and felonies to his name that the world would shudder if they knew half of. Also, how should he get said lunatic out of his office?

"What kind of friends did you have?!"

It had never happened before. He didn't think it was possible. The Author started crying. The Publisher watched as tears rolled down the Author's face. A small smile hung on his face.

"The best."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Life is good. Slowly working on one invention/business or another. Chapters steadily coming. Trying to figure out how to make guns make money instead of being a money hole. Still stuck on that issue. Started buying cartridge brass from the scrapyard, sorting and cleaning it, and then selling it. Not a bad side gig if you have attention to detail and learn how to tell calibers apart. Have suddenly been stuck with a strange urge to make a Chauchat into an AR10. Or turn an AR10 into a Chauchat. Not sure which.

Dust Motes

The dust-mare held her hoof against her cheek in mock shock. “Why, Captain Gideon,” she said mockingly.

Captain Gideon held his signature flat stare on this old tie to his past. He didn’t yield a smidgimeter despite the unusual situation. The ghost, Lilith, took a step closer. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“I would hardly call our old association friendship. When I left your… pleasant… company, I did so with the implicit assumption that I would spend the rest of my days without ever having to breathe your air again. Truly, I am incredibly disappointed.”

Lilith laughed. It was a pleasant veneer to her razor personality. “Gideon, we worked so well together. It saddens me to hear you say such things. Didn’t we chase the mysteries of Man together?”

Captain Gideon’s level stare morphed into a scowl. “I did so because I was younger and blinded by my own inexperience. I assumed you were someone other than what you really are: a viper. That was why I tolerated your companionship as long as I did.”

“And what? You suddenly lost the zeal for the unknown when we parted? Bold words coming from someone who built a ship on Man’s secrets.”

“At least I did not abandon my name for one of Man’s dead and forgotten ones. Not even my obsession goes that deep,” the captain said sharply.

Lilith smiled. “Admit it. You have a taste for what Man had to offer.”

“What do you want, Lilith?”

“The usual. A nice house, a pleasant life, a few foals, and answers to things so fantastical they were assumed to be legend.”

She turned her gaze to the box. “You want those answers too. Otherwise, you would not have taken the box. We are two kindred spirits even after all this time.”

Captain Gideon didn’t answer for a long time. Cold Snap looked back at his friend. Nebula just shrugged and kept trying to keep his breath under control.

“Five years. I ended our cooperation five years ago. At first, I worked with you because it appeared we had similar goals. We both wanted to know the extent of Man’s involvement in our past and to see if what he accomplished could be brought to the world today.

“As time passed, either those interests diverged, or I grew more mature to see things in a different light. I sought man’s scientific achievements and thought to apply it somehow. Were it not for a war, I would be choosing another path than a warship. You, however, sought their more esoteric knowledge.”

Lilith shook her head. “And you know why. Why introduce the masses to technology beyond their understanding when you can fundamentally change the way they live their lives? Not that I condemn your accomplishments. You have obviously found sources I never imagined. It is not enough though.”

“And what is? Is this life not filled with wonder and beauty as it is?”

“I did not say it wasn’t. I say that it can be better though. Haven’t you read of man’s history? He accomplished grand things. Built cultures and empires unlike any we have seen. They set the stage for everything we could dream of. Compared to them, we may as well be savages playing in the forests,” Lilith said primly.

“I’ve found the noble savage to be of far better company than most civilized types. Your view of their past is gilded. You only see their glories. Those empires were built on blood and chains. Their cultures celebrated the worst excesses an individual can partake of,” Captain Gideon said.

This whole conversation had Cold Snap reeling as revelation led to revelation. These two knew each other somehow, and they had obviously not parted on good terms. What shocked him even more though was this casual discussion of Man. To these two, Man wasn’t a myth, he was a very real figure in the long past. He had history and culture, everything that any nation would have today.

So just how much did Captain Gideon know about this?

Raising an eyebrow, Lilith seemed to ponder the captain’s words. “So what? A group has a battle here and there and they are evil for it? We are no worse.” Look at the war that you are so helpfully participating in.”

Captain Gideon shot out of his chair, his claws piercing whatever lay beneath them. “You know nothing of battlefields. What you call a pitched battle, they would consider a disagreement. Only when the bodies lie thick enough to walk without ever touching ground dothey call it a battle. Their history is written in blood.”

Lilith advanced on Captain Gideon with equal defiance. “And yet you helpfully participate in war?”

“My ship has singly turned the tide of this war. Their recruits wait because no supplies come in. Their warships sink in the dead of night. Their transports founder while the land battles rage. I have shaved years off this war.”

No one spoke. Snap didn’t think anyone breathed. Lilith might have breathed, but seeing she was as close as he ever would see to a ghost, she didn’t count. Then the silence was cut by a low chuckle. Lilith laughed. It was a corrupted, dark laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “Oh captain, my captain. Ever the altruistic one I see. Perhaps I can convince you to be so considerate to my needs?”

“What do you want, Lilith?” Captain Gideon said without a trace of compassion.

The ghost mare tapped her chin. “There is one thing…”

“Other than the box,” he cut her off.

Her eyes widened. “You mean to say you’re trying to deny what I’ve rightfully stolen?”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“No law I’m familiar with nor care about. It’s plain to me that you will not willingly aid me, but perhaps you can find it in your heart to aid others.”

“You lost any chance at my help when your mercenaries attacked my ship.”

She held a hoof out. “Not my decision. I was not informed of the attack until much later. There have been, shall we say, changes in my command structure since the incident.”

Captain Gideon’s face lost about one percent of its scowl and replaced it with curiosity. “I see. And these ‘others’ will somehow aid you?”

The ghostly, dusty form of Captain Gideon’s old...acquaintance?...flashed a small smile of bemusement.Who was she? Friend? Employer? Lover?! Snap shook his head. Whatever she was, she seemed confident about something and was waiting for the captain to come aboard.

She shook her head. “Believe it or not, this comes from a place of benevolence.”

He scoffed. “The only place you would find ‘benevolence’ is in a dictionary.”

Of all the things the griffon had said, that seemed to rile Lilith the most. She glared, grit her teeth, and gave Captain Gideon as fierce a glare as he’d ever given. “Benefiting me and benefiting others is not mutually exclusive. If you want to stop this war and put a stop to more in the future, then you might want to consider helping me.”

She turned away from the captain and began pacing his stateroom. She studied his tools along the walls, the pistol and saber he had hung from his coat rack, and his decorations and attention to detail.

Cold Snap had to guess on the other things as she moved out of his field of view. At times he could only see a leg or tail. Mr. Horn awkwardly shuffled to watch his employer and apparently praying she forgot he existed. Captain Gideon was the calm in the storm and studied the mare just as she did the same to him.

“You are isolated from this war. Victor doesn’t matter to you,” he said.

Snap saw a leg turn as if Lilith faced the captain. “Correct. I don’t care who the winner is. And I suspect you care less about winners and losers than you do about stopping the carnage.”

Captain Gideon nodded affirmingly. “I avoid taking life unnecessarily.”

“On that, we are agreed. Oh, don’t look surprised, Mr. Horn. I find death to be a waste.”

Captain Gideon reclaimed his seat and laced his claws together. “So you want this box. Why?”

“I care not for the box. I want what’s inside it.”

“So,” Captain Gideon said as he leaned back in his chair. “You did have time to make up a copy of everything in the box. Grimlock’s map and the box itself. You couldn’t simply copy the most important thing: that jeweled trinket.”

Lilith returned to view. She passed through Mr. Horn, her spell warping the image around his body. The hippogriff fluffed his feathers defensively and shuddered. Lilith did not notice. “In things like this, everything is important, but yes. I want that ‘trinket’ as you call it.”

The captain considered her statement thoughtfully. His eyes danced between Lilith and what Cold Snap recognized as his journal on Man. Finally, he unlaced his claws and tapped on the journal as if deep in thought.

Cold Snap wasn’t very familiar with much of what was going on. He could make good guesses. The captain’s old relationship and current rivalry with Lilith revolved around Man. Both of them were experts on the subject, but they seemed to have knowledge on Man’s past that the other didn’t. What did Man have to do with the present? Here, Snap couldn’t even guess. Somehow, Man’s past was still very much important here.

“You want to follow Grimlock’s tracks? To find out what he stumbled onto?” Captain Gideon said.

Lilith snorted derisively. “Grimlock was a complete fool. No idea what he found. He was looking for some relic or thing to give him an edge in his thirst for power. I am not a fool.”

“Greed and pride are two deadly sins. You are the master on both,” Captain Gideon prodded.

That caught Lilith off guard for some reason, but she got herself back into the verbal duel. Her tone softened. She focused into the distance as if the griffon wasn’t actually there. When she spoke, her voice had become calm, wistful even. “Captain, I want you to imagine something. You’ve created this ship’s legend for years. You made it the most dangerous weapon in a useless war. Now, suppose that your efforts bear fruit. The minotaur aggressions end, and the Atoli tribes expand their influence across the Zebrican coast. What next?”

“Next?” Captain Gideon had a quirk to his eye that said he followed her logic, but not her conclusion.

“Yes. Next. This war ends, but what happens in ten years? Fifty? What if the Mare in the Moon returns? Sun and stars above forbid that Princess Celestia has a few too many bad days and mobilizes her nation. Will you become an army in the shadows again, or will you be too old to play this game? What if someone other than us learns of Man and replicates everything they knew?”

The captain stared at his journal, undoubtedly thinking of all the secrets inside and wondering which inside would fulfill his warning of blessings and swords. He did not make any secret to Cold Snap in their conversations that he thought Man a very complicated creature, but that they were not something to be admired for everything.

“Lilith, not all war is useless. When an army marches on your homeland, are you wrong to defend it? If another is suffering under cruelty, is it contemptible to bring them relief? Justified war is one thing that will be our constant companion until the final trumpet.”

The mare lifted a spectral leg and rubbed her cheek in thought. “Captain, perhaps I should make myself clearer. All war is useless when you can simply remove the cause for war. What if that army never comes? What if cruelty isn’t even a memory?”

“You’re talking in riddles and nonsense. I can’t help but notice that you haven’t told me what this has to do with the artifact.”

“And I can’t help but notice that you haven’t shown me the artifact either. I know you have it. You’ve let me see the box. Perhaps I should make sure you haven’t damaged it?”

Laying a talon on the box, Captain Gideon scowled. “I have it, and it is undamaged. What else would you need to know?”

Still rubbing her cheek, Lilith raised an eyebrow. “If that were the case, you would not be so defensive about it. You would also not be engaging me in philosophical debate and instead trying to learn everything I knew about it. That’s what you would have done long ago.”

“I’ve grown since then. I can’t say I’m intrigued by whatever kingdom you think you’ve discovered.”

Lilith said nothing for a while. Finally, she approached the captain’s desk and set a hoof on the box. It mushed into the wood a little, but the effect was there. “What they, what Man found, is something much greater than a kingdom. They believed they had the secret to evil.”

“An ominous accomplishment. Not sure I would be proud of it.”

She pressed harder onto the box, and the dusty hoof mushed over the surface even more. “No, we view evil and good as permanent. They didn’t. Something caused evil.”

She leaned closer, until she was nearly touching him. “And they believed there was a way to end it. Don’t you see? That’s what this ‘trinket’ is about. Find the answer, and this war, all wars, end! No more armies. No more guards. It will be like a garden.”

Captain Gideon leaned away from the slightly deranged mare. “What you’re talking about is impossible. And even if it weren’t, who would decide this new right and wrong, you?”

Lilith shook her head. “Not me, Gideon. There will be no more evil, as Man predicted. I intend to see their greatest vision come to fruition.”

“So,” she purred, “Can I count on your help for the greatest feat man ever envisioned? All I need is one thing.”

She jerked her leg, as if sending the box into Captain Gideon’s chest. He threw his claws against it to stop the projectile, but her spectral form never budged it. Instead, Captain Gideon sent the box thumping to the carpet.

The latch broke loose, and it landed on its side, spilling its contents like a broken ship. The glowing artifact pulsed balefully as the entire room fell into stunned silence.

None moved for a moment, so changed had the room been in that one act of trickery. Lilith was the first to break the stillness. Slowly, reverently, she knelt to study the artifact.

Cold Snap gasped too and felt a cold sweat as he saw that damnable thing again, but rather than fall back into the pit Nebula had dragged him from, he steeled himself and focused on the here and now. Whatever happened on this voyage hinged on the next few minutes.

Then the captain moved. With his secret out, he no longer moved like the predator Snap had seen displayed in battle. Now, he moved like a refined gentlestallion recovering his windblown hat. He collected all of the pieces and put them back in the mostly-undamaged box despite Lilith’s meager protests.

Another round of silence fell on the room. The captain gently pushed his potted rose aside and placed the box in a more protected spot.

“How?” Lilith breathed.

“Simple. I took it by force,” Captain Gideon deadpanned.

She pointed to the artifact. Slowly, she got her surprise under control, and with her imperious attitude regaining its former appearance, she continued. “Not how you got it. How did you convince somepony to take that parasite? You surprise me. I never expected you to be so cold.”

Now, the entire tone of the conversation shifted. “What?”

Nothing could quite hide Captain Gideon’s shock. He looked at the box as if it were a snake or hot coal. He retained enough control to not drop his aloof mask. Lilith laughed mirthlessly. “You didn’t know? Then whoever found out has the most abominable luck.”

Tendons bulged on the captain’s claw. Placing his claw on the box and taking care to not rough up the wood, he said almost pensively: “You claim to need me, but I haven’t seen any claim that I need you. So, what might prevent me from staying my course and seeing this to the end without you?”

“What? Aim to become the one who accomplishes what he condemned moments ago?”

“Answer the question, wench.”

Lilith shook her head dismissively. “You are free to try, old friend. I can tell you that it will fail.”

“I do not fail easily.”

“And I know what the box says.”

The two eccentric characters stared each other down, and neither was willing to cede this match. Captain Gideon tapped his ragged journal in thought. Lilith polished her hoof in mock boredom. Cold Snap could barely breath as he watched the silent battle.

“Someone smart would throw you and this ruby off the ship and never look back,” Captain Gideon said.

Lilith flicked her mane, an act that sent dust flying away only to rejoin her a moment later. “And doom whoever is tied to that thing? Your decision. You’re wondering how I can tell? It required blood magic. Man’s magic comes from blood. In fact, this is where the first sacrifice was held. If you’re fine with the symbiote dying, then by all means.”

Nevermind what Nebula said. That thing was going to kill him. A thrill of fear quickened Snap’s ragged breath. He was in far far over his head and drowning.

Captain Gideon ran has claws through his already ruffled head feathers. “Very well. Then you know our destination?”

Snap should have expected her affirmative nod. “I will meet you there captain. I know you won’t cross me.”

The gray griffon frowned. “You have that much faith in my word?”

She shook her head. “Not a bit. I just don’t know where you would get a Man’s blood. Not just any blood will do.”

“And you know such a thing?” he asked doubtingly.

Lilith smiled her cold smile. “Trust me, Captain. I have the situation well in hand.”

Without another word, the gem faded and Lilith’s form dissolved into a thin layer on the carpet. Captain scowled at the pile. “She did that on purpose. Mr. Horn, fetch a broom and throw this over the side.”

Pain shot up Cold Snap’s rump. Nebula had his tail clamped between his teeth and trying to drag him away from the door. Snap swatted away his friend and darted down the corridor. They had just cleared the corner when the captain’s door opened. They took the stairs down as fast as possible and then took a hallway that led somewhere into the mechanical section of the ship.

Once they thought they had run far enough, they collapsed against the wall and tried to catch their breath. Nebula managed to get it back first. “What in the Sun Princess’s name was that?”

Snap shook his head and gulped down air like a drowning pony. “I wish I knew. Actually. Never mind. I really don’t want to know.”

He looked around at the ship, this incredible, impossible ship. Thoughts formed and collided with each other inside his head. “Sorry. I have no idea.”

His friend looked at him like he’d sprouted wings. “Who on this entire world would have the slightest idea what this was about? We’re in over our heads.”

“Not arguing that,” Snap agreed.

One of those collided thoughts stuck around longer than the others. “Captain Gideon.”

Nebula grunted. “So? What about him?”

“He’s known everything. Maybe not everything everything, but more than he’s told any of us. He never would tell us. What else does he know? Does it concern us?”

Shrugging, Nebula stared at a rivet across the hallway. “No idea on any of that, but I agree.”

“Neb, I’m tired of this. I’m tired of someone else deciding things for me. As deep in as I am, I’ll take whatever advantage I can. So, want to help me see what else the good captain knows and isn’t telling?”

Nebula waved his hooves quickly. “Hold up. You mean to tell me that you’re willing to spy on the captain, the sole authority that could feed us to the sharks, and you want ME to go along with it?

He grinned. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t ask.”

Author's Notes:

Something wasn't right.

The Author wandered around the Publisher's office. Normally, he would have gone before the weird pony and presented his manuscript while trying to get him to understand the important things of life. Yet somehow, the Publisher always looked at him with that Fluoride Stare and never seemed to really get where the Author was coming from.

As it was now, the Publisher was nowhere to be found. It was a situation that was becoming increasingly normal. The Author didn't like normal.

The Publisher didn't like the still he'd accidentally left in the broom closet. The Publisher wasn't too pleased to find conspiracy theory mail being anonymously delivered to his office. The Publisher wasn't happy to find his office sandbagged, barb wired, and filled with overlapping machine gun nests. The Publisher REALLY wasn't happy to find that his new and fancy locks to prevent future sandbagging, barb wiring, and overlapping machine gun nests had been picked.

So, until he could figure out where to find the Publisher to deliver his manuscript and try to see him through to the light of reason, the Author would wander.

He could see the Starswirl Hat of No Touching. The Publisher also had a very nice collection of vinyl cartoon characters that he couldn't recognize. "Nice" being a relative term because while the collection itself may be nice, it wasn't what the Author would consider a long term investment like Lugers, heavy industrial machinery, or secrets that the government wasn't supposed to know about.

Buuuuttttt, he'd get that point across eventually.

He found the Publisher's stock of alcohol, thankfully a nice rum instead of absinthe-flavored gin. Could use some improvement though. This one tasted too much like bananas.

He even found the Publisher's secret Nickelback collection. Utterly shameful.

But still no Publisher.

Unfortunately, this all meant that the Publisher was going slightly unhinged. The Author hated to see it happen to anyone, but especially to sensitive folks like him. But he supposed it could happen. He would just have to keep trying and get him to see the light. One day when all the frogs were gay and the climate lockdowns were in place, the Publisher would see the truth.

If the Publisher could even find the Author's hidden Autorbunker. Good luck.

Something thumped above him. The Author looked up. One of those cheap white ceiling tiles had been chipped and was not quite in place. The Author moved the book case over. Vinyl figures toppled, but the Stawswirl Hat of No Touching remained in place.

He lifted up the tile and looked around. Nothing but insulation and dust and way too many empty liquor bottles.

If he was part of a fraternity, it was Tappa Kegga Daily.

Then the insulation coughed, and a white cloud flew out and showered the Author. A little hole showing a miserable looking muzzle remained.

"Ah, hiding in the ceiling, I have found you. Would you like to hear about our great prophet John Moses Browning?"

The muzzle moved. "Who was hiding in the ceiling, you or me?"

The Author's eyes widened and he wished for a Luger.

Halfway Covenant

Scrape.

Chuff.

Scrape.

Chuff.

Cold Snap looked up from his work. He was back in the boiler room. It was hot. It was dirty. It was noisy. He felt sweat rolling down his body in streams, and he knew that he’d be finding black dust in his coat for days. Nebula looked no better.

It was the only place they could talk in relative privacy though. With as many crew as the Yellow Rose had, it was tough to find a place where they could formulate their conspiracies without others listening in.

Given that each and every one of those conspiracies involved Captain Gideon, they needed to maintain secrecy above all else. He wasn’t considering the captain an enemy, not yet. However, the captain had shown that he was after his own ends, and they probably did not have his well-being as a top priority.

As such, both he and Nebula had to take those matters into their own hooves...or hands, if he was going to stay in the Man Theme.

That was why they were in the engine room scooping coal into the fireboxes. Of all duties on the Yellow Rose, feeding the engines was the most hated one. While it had to be done, it was more often than not seen as a bit of a punishment to draw that duty.

That said, the two of them suddenly volunteering for this duty, might be seen as a little odd. Perhaps that was being excessively paranoid, but they didn’t want Captain Gideon to get wind of their plots.

Which is why Nebula and he had purposely done a sloppy job in their duties of cleaning the crew quarters. There had been a bit of a stink, both figuratively and literally, and Midshipmare Blue had come down to see the mess. She’d shaken her head in disappointment, ordered them to clean it right, and gotten incensed when Nebula had given her a bit of lip.

Now, the crew quarters were spotless, and they were in the noisy, uninterrupted boiler room. The chief engineer was nowhere to be found, and the hiss and roar of the boilers covered over anything they would say.

Cold Snap shifted closer to his friend. “Figure anything?” he whispered more out of habit than concern someone could possibly hear them.

His friend said nothing for a while. Finally, he stabbed his shovel into the pile. “Buddy, what am I supposed to figure? We’ve got a couple of crazies that are obsessed with a myth, and they’re going to drag everyone else into their obsession.”

Snap tolerated his friend’s grumbling because he really knew he was right. There lay the toughest part of this plot. Captain Gideon, and apparently this Lilith, held all the cards. All they could do was try to catch up to them. Otherwise, they would be blindsided by every turn.

“So let’s start with some basics. For the remainder of this trip, let’s assume that Man is real; that he is historical, and that he somehow was central to the founding of different aspects of world culture,” Nebula said.

“Fair enough. That’s what they seem to think. We might as well do the same. What then?”

“’What then?’ he says.” Nebula mocked.

Anger flared through Snap hot enough to ignite the coal, but he tamped it out before he lashed out at his friend. Despite his rough words, Neb was just as lost as he was.

The unicorn chewed his lip in thought. “I think what I’d like to know is what is influenced by Man and which was developed independently of them. I’d also want to know at what point they vanished?”

Cold Snap dumped more coal into the furnace. “Why does that matter?”

Nebula frowned and shrugged before going back to digging. “It may not, but there’s a number of things that bother me about Man. Captain Gideon knows more than either of us. That’s obvious. My question is how does a race as developed as Man create and do all these different things and then vanish?”

Snap didn’t know. The captain had indicated that the popular view of them was of advanced beasts. Looking on everything Captain Gideon and presumably Lilith knew, that was not accurate at all.

“That’s something else that bothers me.” Snap started.

His friend stopped shoveling to give him his undivided attention.

“It’s like they are talking about two different creatures. Lilith sees this super race, some pinnacle of existence. The captain doesn’t. It’s almost like he’s ashamed of them.”

“I don’t know him as well as you do. So, I’ll trust you on that one. We still have a problem though. We don’t know anything about Man.”

“And how do we fix that?” Snap snapped.

Nebula looked at him with his trademark look of disappointment. “Snap, we have an expert on the things on board this ship. There is no reason for us to keep theorizing until we know more.”

That put a damper on Snap’s emotions. “Wait, are you saying…”

“Yes. We break into the captain’s room and find out what he knows.”

Only the ever-present rumble of the ship dominated their silence. “Are you insane?” Snap asked.

“I think you would be the one more interested in that since you’ve got the Man-thing keeping time to your heart.”

“So what? He can throw us overboard?”

Nebula laid a hoof on his friend’s shoulder. “And that’s why you do it. Like it or not, you’re too important for them to get rid of you. Besides, it’s much easier to hide one person than two.”

“You traitor,” Snap growled.

“Nope. Just thinking ahead.”

Snap kicked at his shovel, sending the implement clattering across the deck and coal chunks flying against the bulkheads. He wanted to be angry at his friend, but he couldn’t. Nebula was right.

Man was a subject he could not afford to know little to nothing about anymore. He needed an expert’s insight, but the only experts were biased, conniving, and hardly harmless.

On one hoof, he had Captain Gideon, an enigma. He was brilliant, and no mortal could hope to control him. He saw the world as an unexplored toolbox. No one could say what he would do with it, but one thing was certain, were his ideas to become mainstream, they would forever revolutionize the world.

On the other, he had Lilith. Lilith, or whatever she had once called herself, was probably not as intellectual as the captain, but she was the far more calculating of the two. She was far more of an unknown than him in just about every way. What he suspected was that if she had her way, the world would also not be the same again, but for more disturbing reasons.

That was why he was more inclined to trust Captain Gideon. Despite his cold attitude, he had shown himself to be possessed of virtue and morals. Both of which, Snap hadn’t seen much evidence of from Lilith. None of that was to say that Captain Gideon was seeking Snap’s well-being, rather not actively going against it.

Snap gulped as he realized how right his friend was and how much he wasn’t looking forward to whatever came next. To get the two of them possibly out in one piece, he would have to go right into the eagle’s nest. He looked at his friend.

“I can get us in, but I hope I don’t get us thrown overboard.”

Nebula went back to shoveling coal. “I wouldn’t worry about that. The closest you’d come would be getting thrown in the sink.”

Snap knew his best friend well enough to see the joke, but he knew his best friend too well to be fooled by the fake confidence in his voice.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Cold Snap didn’t go on his mission that night. There were two reasons for this. The first was that he wanted to determine as much as he could directly from the captain before going behind his feathered back. At the very least, he would know better what he should be looking for.

The second reason was much more straightforward. He was exhausted. Being cursed and the Captain’s research assistant really didn’t give him any privileges. Injuries were common aboard the ship. None had been serious so far, but they could easily keep the patient out of demanding work, and the surgeon was inclined to removed the injured from duty to prevent compounding the injury. Others like him had to pick up the slack.

By now, the sun was setting, and Snap could see a misty shower trailing across the water in the distance. The crew was winding up their duties except for the night shift. The captain would be doing likewise. He would be overseeing the last duties on his ship and checking the wheelhouse before retiring to his cabin. Breaking in while lathered in black dust probably wouldn’t go over well. Celestia help him if he got coal smudges in the carpet.

So, he ate without recognizing his meal. He slept without joining the crew in their bunkroom antics. He enjoyed restless dreams of fire, trees, and the uncountable dead beneath them. He hadn’t had a single night since Captain Gideon’s island without them. He still wasn’t sure what to make about them. The details were always consistent. There were always two trees that seemed to never burn in the fire, but it seemed like each dream varied slightly in its focus.

It made no sense. He had never seen this place, and he suspected it was a place. After every night, he felt a conviction that they had to go there. For what reason? He wasn’t sure, but he thought it would become a lot more obvious when they got there.

Perhaps he had actually gone crazy a week or so back and he was only now realizing it? Having the same dream over and over again probably checked a few boxes for “loopy.” That said, even if he was crazy, then it didn’t explain why two others were so interested in the place. Lilith made some sense. This place must have been a relic of Man and his magics. Captain Gideon wasn’t as straightforward.

For once, the exhausting work on this ship wasn’t enough to claim him to oblivious slumber. Snap laid in his bunk feeling the ship rock beneath him and listening to the crew snore and mumble in their sleep.

Too many questions plagued him. Too many questions and nowhere near enough answers. Maybe he should be more like Nebula, a little more discerning and prone to question what others told him. However, that wouldn't work so well in this case. While there was a lot to question about the situation, he still had to work with the captain. Alienating himself would do no favors.

Those thoughts bounced and collided all through the night until the chains of exhaustion grabbed him. They did not hold him long. He awoke hours later.

The air held a telltale chill that told him it was early morning. If he had to guess, it was maybe thirty minutes before dawn. The rest of the crew, except for a couple slipping away to prepare meals and assume boiler duties, still clung to a little bit of sleep.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t do the same. Finally, Snap rolled out of his bunk and wandered out on deck. A faint glow lit the horizon, but the sea looked still and unending. Despite the warm latitudes they traveled through, the air held just enough bite to be uncomfortable.

He wandered the deck, cleaning and setting things shipshape as he passed. He passed under the wheelhouse and passed Turret Number One. Soon, he found himself leaning against the anchor capstan and looking out over the ship’s path. On one side of the ship, the world was black with stars still twinkling in the heavens. On the other, the horizon was donning a faint salmon tone with the stars standing against the sun’s advance.

“It is beautiful, is it not?”

Cold Snap jumped at the unexpected voice. He looked over. Captain Gideon sat on the deck. His blue coat spilled around him, and a steaming cup rested in his grip. The captain took a sip of the black beverage inside and looked out over the still world.

“It is peaceful. I find peace to be a beautiful thing. If only more valued food, cheer, and beauty over gold and magic, this would be a much merrier world.”

Snap thought over the captain’s proclamation. He couldn’t help but agree with it. He wouldn’t say that gold was bad, but he’d seen others torn apart by an obsession over gold. Sometimes it wasn’t gold, rather something that they held too much value in. Still, the captain made him think.

“Captain, if you value peace, then why build a warship and arm its crew like demons?”

The griffon chuckled and took a sip. “Being peaceful is a power. It comes from power. If you held the power to trample, to destroy, does that mean that you are obligated to use it?”

Snap watched the sky grow lighter and saw the first edge of the sun reach over the end of the world. He pondered the captain’s words and saw that they held good sense. “No. I suppose not.”

“And that is why being peaceful is synonymous with being strong. You have the luxury of being peaceful if you have the power to maintain it. If you have no strength, be it physical, fiscal, or political, then ‘peaceful’ is merely a euphemism for ‘compliant’ and you are subject to those who hold power over you.”

Snap had never thought in those terms before. Maybe it had come from his family’s isolation from some of the more unsavory types in other parts of the country. Maybe it stemmed from their government being rather distant from them in both the geographical and political sense. He’d never had cause to fear others exercising their will to dominate his until he’d been hauled on board this ship. The thought concerned him.

“It is why I want to make changes. I want others to be independent. Now, I hardly mean to convey that I desire to be the next Grimlock, forcing his way into power by blood and arms. My independence is more peaceful. If I give the gift of knowledge and capability to every tribe, tongue, and nation, then what do they have to fear?

“If I give them the means to build engines to drive their economies, then why should they build cities only on the same crowded river? They may move into the hinterlands closer to more opportunities. If I give them weapons unlike what they’ve seen before, then they may stand against monsters and creatures that refuse to be tamed. If I give all the opportunity to build for themselves, then why must they fear what another might deny? Peace through power.”

The captain stared into the distance, drinking and contemplating his words. In a mood like this, he might be willing to reveal some of those secrets that Snap and Nebula wanted so badly. Before Cold Snap could ask the first one, the captain spoke up.

“The Rose, she was not built to be a warship. When I first laid her keel, I had visions of a ship that could propel herself through any sea and shrug off the tropical doldrums plaguing these latitudes. If you would remember our encounter with the bunyip, her hull is rather thin. Too thin to really be more than a raiding ship. But that was not my goal. It was to be a testament to engineering, and it would plow a new path for innovation.”

“Until?”

“Until the war. Once I saw the navies of the Minotaur Kingdom and the Atoli tribes clash, and their armies move over land and sea, I knew that the Rose had a new purpose. So I rearranged what I could for ballast, and armed her. I could not arm her conventionally, with guns lining her sides. I had neither the crew nor the weight to handle such armaments. I improved. I encased several powerful guns in an iron shell and gave them the power to rotate.

“With that change, the Yellow Rose went from being a peaceful and beautiful merchant mariner to a force able to hold her own against the best, within her limitations of course.”

That caught Cold Snap unaware. All evidence so far had shown no end to the capabilities of Captain Gideon’s brainchild. “Limitations?”

“I know it sounds impossible, but she does have them,” the captain smirked.

He switched the cup to his other claw and flexed a cramp out of the other. “Her lack of armor is a challenge. Her beltline is marginal, hence much of it is below waterline. It suffices because of timber backings and using the coal bunks as sealable chambers in case of localized damage. Large cannons could still force their way through.

“A limitation like that is significant, but it can be minimized with appropriate precautions. Such cannon are uncommon and usually found in coastal batteries. They are also rather inaccurate and fall short of our own guns. The solution is to avoid such engagements unless you can control the distance.”

Nothing was said for a while. It was as if the line separating the young captain from the press-ganged crewmate had been erased. The two watched the dawn as if they were old companions.

“Snap, I must apologize.”

Cold Snap looked over at the captain. He stared into his half-empty cup as if it held some great mystery. The griffon did not immediately say anything else. Instead, he fidgeted with his cup and nearly dropped it in his agitation. Clearly, apologizing was not in his normal routine.

“When we first took you aboard, you and your friend were victims of chance. With your ship sailing away uncontrolled, we could not in good conscience leave you to drown. So you became one of us. It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

Snap tore his attention away from the waves and lightening sky. “You had others?”

He nodded. “One. Midshipmare Deep Blue. Was a young officer on her old ship. By misfortune, we rammed her ship and broke part of it away. It tangled on our rudder, and we dragged it for half an hour before someone noticed it. She had clung to that wreckage like a barnacle.”

He took a sip. “Still, it merits noting that she was not an officer for nothing. I’d swear she had some Man in her. She took to the ship like she was born to it and understood her intricacies faster than many others on the crew. That was a year ago. Now, she is a promising officer once more.”

Captain Gideon set the cup aside. “Cold Snap, my apology is dragging you into something you did not understand and is none of your concern. I expected you to hold to my obsession with Man, to wonder over his influence here and his unsung accomplishments. I know they say that when in Roam to do as the Roamani, but I fear I have jeopardized you by making you privy to the box’s puzzle.”

This was about the bauble and its definitely unnerving reaction to blood. Snap didn’t know what to feel about this. While Captain Gideon was the catalyst to his quandary, Snap was the one to make the final decision to help the captain research rather than spend his time painting or cooking.

“Neither of us knew what would happen. We don’t even know everything about it after all this time. What I can tell you is that something about that thing is magical in nature, blood magic you called it?”

The captain nodded sagely, finally breaking his stare from the rolling waves. “Indeed. The most hideous and repulsive of the magical arts second only to necromancy. It is also incredibly potent, allowing even an inexperienced user to wield great power at the cost of other’s lives rather than dedication to discipline and self-improvement.”

Cold Snap snorted. “I think we thoroughly determined that it uses blood magic, but there’s something else in there, something that belongs with the trees.”

He met Captain Gideon’s wordless stare. “I see them every night. I know without a doubt they are real, and we will find our answers there. If my gut is as accurate as it ever was, then we will find much more than that there.”

Only the sounds of the engines and the rousing crew broke the silence. Nearly a minute passed before the captain picked up his empty cup. “Well, it would appear that you have become quite the oracle. You could get a pleasant stipend in some cities when this is all done.”

When this is all done. In his own way, the captain had promised that they would see this through and he wouldn’t leave him to die. In a choice between Lilith and the peculiar captain, it was no contest.

“I don’t know that I’m that good of an oracle,” Snap chuckled.

At that, the captain adopted one of his rare smiles. “A half-blood oracle then. You’re allowed some misinterpretations then. Come. There is still much to do, and the Rose never sleeps.”

Author's Notes:

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

The world shuddered, as if being commanded from on high. The windows rattled. Papers shifted. A vinyl figure toppled off its perch. The Author rubbed a hoof in his ear.

"You could try turning it down a bit."

The Publisher's eyes widened. "Tut-turn it down a bit?!" he sputtered.

A sheaf of papers thudded to the desk, sending a small tremor through the furniture. Some fluttered to the floor, covering it like leaves in autumn. The Author's gaze followed the pages.

"Yeah. Turn it down a bit. That's all. After all, we are alone."

That one phrase probably rankled the Publisher more than anything else the Author had ever said or done. He instinctively perked his ears and quickly looked around for the secret watcher the Author wasn't acknowledging.

Yet there was nothing there. Not a hide. Not a thump. Nothing at all.

A shiver raced down his neck, and the Publisher desperately tried to regain the edge in this conversation. It was his rant, his! Not a chance he would let the Author steal it away!

"I said what I said. Where. Have. You. Been?"

He reached over and tore a calendar off his desk, a tear off kind showing a donkey caricature. The daily "You might be..." being "If your business professor had to explain supply and demand three times before he let you take the test."

"Right here. You are late."

The Author squinted. "I'm late?"

"Late! For a very important date."

"Don't think I missed anything. I got the two footlongs for $9.11 deal today. So I don't see the issue."

The Publisher's eye twitched. "You missed your deadline by over a week! That's the issue! I and everyone after me has been waiting for your work."

"I've been busy." the author mumbled.

"'Busy'? Do tell."

The Author tapped his chin. "Well, I took a round robin through Oakie land and Barkansaw to get engines, then made a beeline to pick up 'parts', and you remember..." he trailed off.

The Publisher cocked his head. "Remember what?"

"That time I drownded the two cats? Buried them in the mud without remorse."

"Umm...yes?"

"The world is very dry right now."

"So?"

The Author grinned, a terrifying, manic grin.

"I'll fuckin' do it again."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Yes. I'm late. I had to spend almost a week out of town or on the road over the last month. That involved a trip two trips to Oklahoma to buy a used truck, then taking a detour through Hot Springs, Arkansas to pick up aircraft engines. That was two nights sleeping in the back bench of the truck. Fun...

And yes. We haven't had rain in almost three months. I'll be out in the marsh again digging a drainage from one branch to the other to better even out the drainage between the two so that it reverts more to what it was historically. Let's see how well I can get stuck this time.

And I get to argue with a salesman as I'm buying machinery. Ahh, salesmen, the one occupation as useful as a politician. They tell you anything you want and don't know anything important...

I wouldn't call this delay "writer's block." It was just a "life block." That said, I did appreciate the extra time to work on this chapter as the prior one, while I felt it important, had a slight shift in momentum that I had to think my way through to recapture what prior chapters to that had been. I enjoyed the Captain Nemo character I'd made Gideon into, and Lilith really didn't give him the opportunity to be that.

I wanted Cold Snap and Nebula to look for answers in earnest, and she's the force that pushes them to that purpose. Should make future chapters very interesting.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

By now, the sun was slightly over the horizon, bathing the ship and the world around it in ruddy flat light. Distant clouds on the far horizon lit up with the first of the sun’s rays. It brought the Yellow Rose out in sharp contrasting details of red steel and dark shadows.

Cold Snap halted even though he had just started following the captain. He looked around at the magnificent ship and how the light brought out its unnatural angles and lines. Captain Gideon noticed his sudden stop and also stopped to look, first at Cold Snap and then at the ship.

He wasn’t sure why he had stopped. He’d seen the sunrise before, and had lived on the Rose for weeks, and he’d seen the sunrise across the ship almost every day since then. So what was so different about this time?

Captain Gideon recognized his introspection. “She is a fine ship. She’s more capable than anything else out there. Sometimes she just has to remind you just how different she is. Is that right?”

Snap opened his mouth to deny, but then realized the griffon captain had nailed it exactly. When he was first dragged aboard the ship, he realized he was standing on something totally foreign. Nothing was as he recognized. The few things that had some similarity to his prior experience were still eerily different. Every day, the ship seemed to find new ways to show him how different she was.

And somehow, he had become inured to all that. Day in and day out on the ship through both the mundane and the chaotic had eroded the initial wonder and replaced it with casual acceptance. He wasn’t as deadened to it as others on the crew. They complained when some incredible part of the machinery inside didn’t work quite like it was supposed to, particularly in the kitchen near the coffee pot.

Maybe it was the last dregs of sleep dragging on him, but he saw the ship with refreshed eyes, seeing what he had thought of as impossible or even never thought about before at all. He wondered how anyone could become used to a marvel like this, yet he had already done it. The curse of familiarity.

Turning to the captain, he regarded the griffon. The captain watched him with barely concealed curiosity. Snap had to remind himself that Captain Gideon wasn’t much older than him, but he had grown so much more from his constant management of so many lives. Deep down, the captain probably struggled with many of the same things.

“Captain, tell me. Do you ever become used to the ship?”

Captain Gideon cocked a brow. “I supervised every aspect of her construction and put myself to the task many times. I’m more than ‘used to it’.”

Snap shook his head. “That’s not it. I mean does it ever become mundane? Like you overlook how different it is?”

Raising one eyebrow in thought, the griffon resumed his study of both the pony and the ship. His head rocked back and forth between the two as if he could not decide which of the two to consider more. Finally, he refocused on his passenger-prisoner.

“Sometimes.”

It was Cold Snap’s turn to blink in confusion. He knew the captain well enough to be familiar with his speaking habits. The good-ish captain generally used a style of speech that he probably would have described as “articulated and intended to convey precise meaning to all by removing all avenues of misinterpretation.”

At least that was how he thought the captain would say it. More likely he would have a few other words that he had never heard before and would have given him a dictionary to parse out the rest.

To have Captain Gideon say something so laconic and simple was abnormal for him. Doubtless it meant some other thought rattling around his little bird brain just waiting to fly the coop.

So Cold Snap waited. And wait long he did not, for the captain finished his thought. “I sometimes do grow complacent in my surroundings. Keeping the Rose running demands we all live in a world apart from others. You’ve seen the others that crew this mighty ironclad. They are refugees from a world that doesn’t understand them or their motivations. It is an island. When I step off that island into the wild sea that everyone else lives in regularly, it’s like I’ve stepped into a new world.”

The captain snorted and smirked. “If that is how it is, then maybe I’ve stepped into many worlds.”

They walked. Where, Snap had no idea, but the captain was interested in company, and if that was so, then he just might be willing to answer a few questions. What questions? Snap had no idea on that either. However, he was going to get something out of the captain to make sense of this mess by hook or by crook.

“Sooo…” Snap inwardly cursed. The captain would want something a little more confident than that! He tried again. “Why did you leave that world?”

Cold Snap looked over in time to see Captain Gideon hesitate and his eyes briefly unfocus. It passed in an instant. Had he not been watching at that fortuitous moment, he would have missed it. As it was, the captain hummed thoughtfully.

“You grew up in that world. I think you saw some of it’s problems. You might have not recognized them for the glaring faults they are.”

It was Snap’s turn to look doubtful. They took a stairway up to the wheelhouse. The captain continued. “Remember how once you asked my stance on magic?”

“Of course,” Snap answered without hesitation.

Of course, he didn’t, but he wasn’t going to let onto that. It was enough to convince the captain. “I believe I told you that I did not take offense to the use of magic, but I prefer to work without it where practical. It is an incredible tool with possibilities yet to be explored. You and I may only know of it from a theoretical perspective for most schools, but all tribes are able to use some innate magic. Almost all retain the ability to use more formalized methods. Unicorn rituals are the most commonly seen, but both the griffons and minotaurs have clerics knowledgeable in glyph arrangements, and the zebra tribes use various forms of animism.”

“Uh huh,” Cold Snap said, thoroughly lost.

“To some, magic is miraculous and incapable of nothing. I know better. As I’ve hinted, without proper rituals, it does not scale practically to large tasks. While some theorize that hundreds of unicorns working in concert and using gemstone batteries could produce effects unimaginable, it is only theory and not something for common use.”

He shuddered. “Heaven help us all if someone were to weaponize that.”

By now, the sun was well up, and it was starting to warm the ship. The waves picked up in light swells, and there were only scattered clouds. It promised to be a pleasant day with good sailing. At the captain’s words, Snap couldn’t help but shiver.

“Machines,” the captain continued unperturbed, “are a much more practical solution for many challenges. They are unthinking tools. If built strong enough and with the proper selection of materials for the task, then they will function without ceasing if properly cared for. They possess advantages over traditional methods and even magic. A mage or talented spellcaster must prepare and maintain a spell. A team of workers must work around the clock to match the leisurely pace set by a steam digger. How does magic relate to those faults I mentioned?”

He stopped and stared Cold Snap square in the eye. “It is a crutch. Those who use it think that they are exploring a new evolution in their field. Perhaps they are, but in the end, it is technology that will decide how nations rise and fall. If you think steam is ingenious, then electricity will be wondrous. The Rose transmits my commands and illuminates her passages with electricity. With but a little more progress, I can make a machine that will send words across the world without wires, and that is only the beginning.”

Captain Gideon straightened and grasped the latch to the wheelhouse. “This is what Man discovered. Whoever unravels his knowledge first has the power to shape nations and sway kings. Magic is a toy next to it.”

He stepped through the portal and into the dim interior of his ship. Cold Snap stood slack-jawed and watched as the captain faded from sight. The noise of the bridge crew died as he passed; then it resumed.

As Cold Snap followed, he felt the eyes of the crew on him. Contrary to what he first thought, the crew he’d seen here on the day of the first battle was abnormal. Unless the ship was braving a tempest or battle, only a few remained here to guide the ship. As it was, Midshipmare Blue, the pilot, and a few engineers watched him pass.

A few nodded deferentially to him. It was such a strange occurrence. He’d never been one to receive much recognition outside of his own family and their laborers. It made him wonder once more what exactly his place on the ship was. Perhaps whatever position a half-oracle demanded?

In moments, he was out of the wheelhouse and making his way to the stairway. A moment more, and he was at Captain Gideon’s cabin just as the griffon opened the carved oak door.

The captain looked at him, his eyes distracted as if he’d forgotten Snap existed at all. Those sharp eyes of his studied Snap as if working out his next decision. When he spoke, his words came out slow and measured. “Cold Snap, I believe I may have a theory.”

He stepped inside. Snap scrambled to follow before the captain could change his mind. Once inside on the plush carpet, he made himself as comfortable as he could standing in the middle of the captain’s private lair. “A theory, sir?” he prodded.

Gray feathers shifted as the captain fluffed his wings unconsciously. He was nervous, but why?

“I said once that I was studying man through the lens of mythology. Man always held a love for symbolism. Perhaps we inherited our own love for symbolism from him in the long past, or perhaps we just gravitate to it. So,” he pulled out the box, “I began studying this more closely.”

There wasn’t much to see that Snap hadn’t already seen. Trees and whatever other decorative carvings the original maker had graven into his creation. In his work with the captain, he had seen it many times.

“You must realize that when we first recovered this box, I had disregarded the carvings on the box as nothing more than style choices. When you told me of your dreams, nightmares, then I began to reconsider that notion. So, I began looking for what might have a symbolic connection.”

He looked up. “And I found one.”

Snap didn’t feel any surprise. This was Captain Gideon who was talking. No doubt he had forgotten more than many had known. On a ship like the Rose, the impossible was an average day. Learning that the captain had discovered a thread of possibility to tie their puzzle together didn’t exhilarate him. He felt annoyed at how long it took, like wondering why it took a shopkeeper so long to find something in his store.

Obviously, he did not show off that opinion. Instead, he waited to see what the griffon would say. He didn’t have long to wait. The captain waved his claw. “Consider that ridiculous party book. It told all manner of nonsense about Man. However, I theorize that it was right about Man in some regards. Perhaps its writer was a rag publisher listening to someone who knew of Man from a secondary witness. Details of that sort get muddled easily. Coin only adds to the confusion. In this case, Man can be seen as a creature who takes burial seriously.”

That was not necessarily something Snap would have considered. Given their propensity to make complicated machinery, he realized they were intelligent. As such, burial and the deceased would be important too.

“The first marks of civilization are lengths that a culture will go to to both care for the living and tend to the dying. A balance of life and death if you allow me the cliché. We, for all our incredible accomplishments in magical and mundane fields, do not care for our departed in the same reverent way as Man does.”

That was a controversial statement if Snap ever heard one. He had been to far too many funerals and not enough weddings for his young age. It was the curse of being the youngest in a family. In every case, the departed was dearly cared for and wished to travel in peace to the Fields of Harmony. While sad, it was innately understood that they would reunite one day.

“I can tell that you do lend credence to my claims. No matter. Allow me to put it simply: we lay our departed to rest in expectation of meeting them in that rest. Man prepared a way for his ancestors to reach the afterlife. We tend the body. Man tended the soul. To Man, the body was transient. The soul was eternal.”

“So what does this have to do with the box?” Cold Snap asked, trying to nudge the conversation back from this morbid topic.

In answer, the captain held up the box. “But don’t you see it?”

Snap looked closely at the carvings. The lines and swirls, he long ago disregarded as decoration. Instead, he focused on the trees. The two were done in great detail and had retained much of their crispness even after unknown time and owners. None of that did much good as he did not recognize them as any saw timber, spice tree, or fruiting tree he had ever encountered or read about.

The captain produced a magnifying glass. Snap looked again. With the powerful lens, he could see more details. The tree on the left differed from that on the right. Its bark, in as much fidelity as the wood would allow, was rougher, and the branches looked ragged. They held that stumpy look of a tree damaged by ice. The other was lush and strong. It was everything the other was not.

He recognized them. He already saw them every night. Without a doubt, they were the graven image of the trees in his visions, for not doubt the captain was right and he was at least half of an oracle.

“Your point?” he asked dryly.

Rather than take offense at his tart words, the captain only grew excited. “Two trees. One prime specimen. The other a decaying splinter.”

The griffon held up his two front paws, one raised and the other lowered. “Life.”

He reversed the pose. “Death.”

The captain returned to all fours and paced around his desk. “You see, it makes sense when you consider the facts about Man. Everything about him is a dichotomy. One of them may be a benevolent saint. Another is a heartless killer.”

“I think you might be exaggerating a bit.”

Captain Gideon stopped his pacing and returned his attention to Cold Snap. “Perhaps I am. Not everything can be so extreme. What I can say is that his symbolism with life and death is integral to his existence. It was something that impacted every important aspect of life and death. By themselves, these trees are just a coincidence and example of his obsession.”

Snap started to catch on. “But when somepony starts dreaming of them too, and every night…”

He didn’t have to finish. The captain picked up immediately. “Then it is no longer mere coincidence. This is magic unlike any you may find. Magic of life and death are considered sacred for a reason. None other have such far reaching effects. None have their potential. Why else do you think it is of the most taboo of fields? That is why you find the most diverse groups pursuing them.”

“Groups like us?” Snap asked wryly.

“Many things are possible when you try to comprehend the supernatural.”

The room fell silent for a while. Each of the two churned over the thoughts in their heads. The only noise was the steady rumble and creak of the ship as it bulled through the swelling waves. Snap was grateful for the distraction as he found out he was at a loss.

Magic was never his strong suit. It should be expected though. Magic was always Nebula’s thing. It gave him his unique place in the family and village hierarchy. To Nebula, the field of magic was wide open and gave him substantial joy to explore. If he wanted to, he could probably make quite a name for himself.

Not so with Cold Snap. He would listen when Neb talked theory, but wouldn’t get the details right a minute later. He was an earth pony. Magic of his tribe was always innate and tied to the land. Even being cooped up on a ship wasn’t the same away from his familiar plants.

When the captain brought up necromancy and whatever the converse of that wretched act was, he was completely out of his field. From what the captain and others had said, any could practice it. If anything, that was its appeal. Even an unmagical pony like himself could do it.

Could an unmagical Man do it too? A glowing gem seemed to be good evidence of that. If that were so, then was he corrupted by it already? After this many days, would it even matter? He stopped himself before his young imagination could run away. He could have a crisis later!

His focus returned to Captain Gideon. The griffon leaned on his desk, his eyes fixed on a brass cased dial. “Our barometer is dropping. A large, low-pressure system is moving in here. Will promise a deluge, I’m sure.”

The captain had a worn look to him. His eyes were dark and exhausted. He looked like every bit of energy had been sucked out of him by acting as the captain of this vessel, and Gideon was all that was left. The captain knew no fear, but the unmasked Gideon did.

In a moment, Cold Snap had an idea. He didn’t have them often. Neb said he had half-decent ideas half as often as he should, but he could still come up with a good one occasionally.

Captain Gideon did not fear nature. He respected it and gave it proper due. Ponies did not concern him. Navies could not trouble him. One mare could. One mare could bring him answers he sorely lacked.

Lilith left him in a predicament. He wasn’t supposed to know her. If Snap brought her up, he might as well walk up to the captain and inform him that he had been spied on. Shoveling coal would probably be a light punishment.

Snap couldn’t bring it up, but an oracle could. He thought it over. The idea was bold, but it was daring enough to work. Plenty could go wrong. Oh well, the captain himself had said that half-bloods had some immunity to their bad prophecies.

This would be a show. Setup would be all-important. He stared off into the distance as if looking straight through the captain. He put a small sway into his hooves, just off-beat to the ship’s natural rocking to look like he wasn’t in control of himself.

“You are afraid,” he said with an uncharacteristic waver.

Turning slowly, the captain regarded him curiously. Snap didn’t give him the time to respond and break the illusion. “You know your object is close, but you are not certain to hold it. You are afraid of another.”

Whatever consternation the captain might have felt was erased by suspicion. “What are you rattling on about? Are you ill?”

Snap dodged the question. Instead, he pushed further into his fabrication. “She is from your past. You wished her forgotten, but she chases this prize.”

Now the captain looked at him shrewdly. Underneath it, the young earth pony could see a healthy dose of concern seep in. He could almost tell what the captain was thinking. What does he know? How did he learn? Does it change anything?

Snap himself didn’t know all the particulars, He didn’t even know how a seer was supposed to act. Every bit of this charade was improvisation and desperate prayers that the intelligent griffon wouldn’t tear through it. He was in too deep to change it anyway.

“A pale mare haunts your wake closer than you think. She holds secrets yet to speak. What fate will Man have yet to play? Will he build or will he break? His drop of blood will tip the scales.”

Every emotion under the sun warred in the captain’s eyes. He did not move. He barely breathed. He might as well have been a cat pondering the mouse before him. “Mr. Horn talked, the wretch. I’ll have him flogged for that indiscretion.”

“Stay the lash. He holds no blame. Will you act to build your shame? There is a balance. There was a time for death, but now is the time for life. A time to kill, and a time to heal. A time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to love, and a time to hate. A time of war, and a time of peace.”

Cold Snap talked as fast as his mind could make up something new. He hoped that somehow all of this would be ahead of Captain Gideon. Oh, how he wished he thought his idea through a little! He had no idea what he was saying, but he better not stop for breath!

The explosive tirade never came. The captain didn’t react with his standard, impassive logic or his confident command. Genuine shock and fear crossed his eyes. The gray griffon watched the young pony as if he were a total, and dangerous stranger.

All of a sudden, Cold Snap felt that he had made a terrible mistake.

Author's Notes:

"You know what? I'm not even going to ask this time."

The Publisher looked scornfully over his desk at the sprawled figure of the Author. His mouth curled in disdain. His hoof tapped the many many red-inked pages of his tear-off calendar. The jokes ranged from "You believe cattle guards shouldn't have guns." to "Yo mamma blamed your toys for hurting you."

All of the humor was lost upon the Publisher as he watched the sad state of the Author. Thirty-one of those tear-off sheets, each with jokes more inane than the last, lay as an unbending testament to the Author's cavalier attitude to the rules of deadlines.

Four weeks had passed. Four weeks without so much as a peep. Four weeks without a "Hello" or "Happy Nightmare Night, dammit."

One entire month gone, slurped into the unknowable void that was the Author's life. No doubt it would be explained in incomprehensible prattle about ordnance, heavy machines stuck to their wishbone, and the best way to catapult a hog three-hundred yards without turning it into a football.

Once upon a time, the Publisher, in his youthful and naïve days, tried to understand the Author. Everypony had something that motivated them, something that made them get out of bed in the morning. He spent weeks trying to understand him. Just as many weeks of therapy and a refillable prescription on his desk was all the Publisher got out of that adventure.

For his part, the Author traipsed through life as happy as he possibly could be, oblivious to the chaos that he sowed with his every move. However, the wild and unpredictable lifestyle looked like it might have caught up with the Author.

He lay on the floor, his fur covered in bits of dirt and grease, bits of chaff stuck in his mane, a peculiarly purse-shaped bruise on his cheek, a bit bag with nothing but a moth in it, and a saddlebag half on and half off with tools and wires spilling out of it.

"You have a nice time?" the Publisher asked dryly.

He really didn't care what the answer was. It was satisfying enough for the Author to be suffering something for once. He could let the missed deadline slide if it meant the Author had been through the wringer.

And in all that, the Author had the audacity to smile in all this. "The best. I didn't drown the cat; though I tried. I am become death, destroyer of hogs. Camped under the stars of the Sequoias, tried planting sequoias, am waiting on sequoias for reasons. Probably a few other things I forgot."

He reached into his bag. "Wanna replacement 1915 Chauchat spring? I made them myself."

That damnable migraine was coming back. The Publisher reached discreetly for his water bottle that clearly said "Not Vodka" and took a sip. "And I trust you accomplished something useful in that time?"

The Author's eyes widened. "As a matter of fact, I did. I figured out that a 40mm ammo can filled with .45 ACP is as heavy as I care to lift. But the ammo fairy blessed me. I couldn't say no."

"Anything else useful?"

"Hmmm... If you leave hog carcasses around your hay bales, the living hogs won't come bother them so much."

"Anything else useful and less morbid?"

"You're picky."

"Part of the job description."

"Hrmph. Then I just won't tell you about the other writing project I have going."

The Publisher blinked. "Wait. What?"

"Nope. Not telling."

Normally, publishers should feel excited to some extent when hearing that their author associates are starting a new venture. This publisher could only feel a sense of dread.

"Is it going to have"-

"Yes," the Author said.

"Will it"-

"Of course."

"But would it have"-

"The best."

"And should I expect themes of"-

"I write nothing else."

The Publisher's eyes widened. "Oh no..."

When it Rains, it Pours

True to his word, a storm struck the seas not a day later. The sky grew lower, darker, and bleaker. A sharp wind kicked the sea into a boil, and the pilot was forced to deviate from the course to stay perpendicular to the breakers. It only grew worse.

By that evening, the world was black rain. No. Rain implied that it was a steady shower of droplets. This was sheets, buckets, torrents of water poured from the heavens. Just leaning outside the doorway meant getting drenched. The only dry spot was behind several sealed bulkheads, and that was only if you ignored the water sloshing back and forth wherever someone had walked in dripping from the storm.

Cold Snap looked out a small porthole. The water streaming down the glass made it almost impossible to see the sea. It was only the violence of the water outside that he could see anything in the darkness.

It was a wild storm unlike any he had ever seen on the good, old land. It was savage, uncontrolled. Every whitecap was a testament to the power nature held over fragile life. Any ship out there would have to founder or be driven unchecked before the gale.

The only reason the Yellow Rose survived so well was not due to her construction or any more Man-tricks. It was good sailoring. She rode at anchor in a small bay in the lee of an islet. It was a lifeless spit of rock that harbored only pelicans in better times. In this trying time, it was a divine blessing.

There was nothing for the crew to do but to batten down the hatches and ride out the tempest. Every member did their basic duties. Cooking still happened. The engine crew took the opportunity to catch up on their never-ending retrofits and overhauls. The gun crews religiously kept their weapons clean of salt. Other than that, the crew sat around in their berths and whiled away the hours.

In Cold Snap’s case, that meant that he needed to share the cramped space with someone who didn’t think too highly of him at the moment.

“My friend is an idiot. My friend is an idiot! MY FRIEND IS AN IDIOT!” Nebula shouted into his lumpy bedding.

Snap was thankful that because of either the storm or the crew having selective deafness, no one seemed to hear Nebula’s outburst. At the moment, he and his friend were not on the best of terms. That might be understating it a little.

Within an hour of leaving the captain’s cabin, Captain Gideon had made his way to the wheelhouse. He had seen the barometer and felt the shifting weather in his feathers and immediately ordered course shifted to the northeast to make for a small, uninhabited archipelago. The crew, professional and clever as always, turned their bearings thus and put on all steam to make the land before the tempest fell.

It wasn’t his decision that alarmed the crew. It was the uneasy way the captain went about his command. No doubt he had put as best a mask on as he could, but it took more than that to fool his experienced crew. After that, the proverbial dam had a crack in it.

No matter the skill or levelheadedness of a crew, they were still prone to the ancient sailor’s weakness of superstition. Nothing stoked that ancient ember like seeing their captain agitated about something.

Rumors circulated, and by the time the ship dropped anchor in this protective bay, the crew whispered that something may not be quite as imagined. It wasn’t something so understandable as food, water, or coal shortage. Everyone on board knew they had excesses of all three. So what was it?

Cold Snap knew what it was. He had tried to play the captain. He’d tried to use his own sailor’s superstition against him.

“You tried to pretend to be a seer, despite NEVER having seen one. You tried to foogaboo the captain with the most horseapple filled story ever.”

Nebula was no fool. When he heard the mutterings, he paid attention. He didn’t know the captain well, but he recognized discontent when he saw it. While the land-lubbers might say “Where there is smoke, there is fire.”, the Yellow Rose said “Where there is Captain Gideon, there is Cold Snap.”

Nebula knew that whatever troubled their captain, Cold Snap was at the bottom of it. And he was going to badger his friend until he told all.

“Then THAT wasn’t enough. So you had to try start making ‘prophecies’ to cover your own tail!”

At least his friend was keeping his voice down now. If Cold Snap could barely hear his friend’s razor sharp commentary, the crew definitely couldn’t.

Of course, they would see the argument, and using that hive mind peculiar to a sailing crew, would arrive at something close to the truth. It was only a matter of time. Nebula had been the first to piece the puzzle together. That led to him practically cornering his friend and pumping him for every detail.

While Cold Snap slowly pieced together his story, Nebula’s eyes had shrunk to pinpricks, and his breath whistled through his grit teeth. After a minute of this, Cold Snap kept going without needing to be cudgeled into talking and Nebula was practicing aggressive massage therapy on his mattress.

Looking back on it, the idea was beyond ridiculous. Sure, he might expect an imbecile or a drunkard to buy his snake oil story. Captain Gideon? Not a chance.

“It made sense at the time,” Cold Snap weakly protested.

Nebula looked up from his rumpled blanket. Daggers and death danced in his eyes. “Ah. Yes. How could I forget the all-important fact that everything hinged on ‘Huh. Sounds good to me. Hold my cider.’ eh?”

Snap’s ears folded. His face burned in shame. “You done yet?”

“Done?!”

His friend scrambled across the bed and magically pulled Snap’s mane, and the head attached to it, close to his face. “You remember what we said...two days ago?”

“Three,” Snap added automatically.

“Whatever. It’s all about subtlety. Or it was supposed to be. Then you made it about as subtle as a skunk.”

Nebula’s tirade died off to a mutter. Snap stared outside. The dark sea surged angrily. Its white froth barely visible in the dark. Even in this protected anchorage, the ship rocked and swayed. As fast as the rain drained off the deck, the endless torrent replaced it.

He would not want to be on any ship out there right now. If even the Rose dared not tempt fate, then any weaker ship must either find safe anchorage, escape the elemental wrath, or founder.

It made him think of Lilith.

She was another secret among too many secrets. No doubt she was antagonistic to Captain Gideon’s ends. From what he deduced, Captain Gideon did as he did to counter and spite her. It was a most curious relationship between the two indeed.

That wasn’t his only thought. She promised that she would meet the griffon at wherever they were supposed to go. That raised a few peculiar thoughts to add to his troubles.

Where was she right now? If she were to keep her promise, then she had to be somewhere on this sea. That was why he said that nonsense about her trailing Captain Gideon’s wake. That’s how he remembered it at least.

He knew she was coming. Logically, she was on this sea somewhere. However, Captain Gideon was the master of the Yellow Rose. By both his boasting and her own words, there was not another ship like her on the main. So she would be taking a standard sailing vessel to make the rendezvous. Were that the case, then Captain Gideon might as well pull out a chair and have himself a vacation while waiting.

Unless she had something contraption other than the captain’s warship. That would be something well within possibilities for these two. Perhaps she had one that was all engine and no guns?

He shook away his wandering thoughts. Nebula was trying to get his attention again. “We need a backup plan. This ship has a few small rowboats. We can collect some supplies and when we get close to land, we’ll make a run for it. Got it?”

Cold Snap looked outside to the intense storm. He pointed. “You first.”

His friend glowered, and Snap laid against his own bunk. He was so tired. Everything had drained him. All he wanted was some sleep.

One last niggling thought bothered him. Lilith couldn’t know all the details of this contentious cargo at the start of this voyage. She knew exactly what to find in great detail, less the blinky gemstone. She had to learn that somehow. How?

Blackness swam before his eyes. His eyelids drooped, and Nebula’s glowering mumbles faded to nothing. Sleep claimed Cold Snap.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Darkness drifted around him. Rather, he drifted in nothing. There was no light. No sun, stars, or moon. Not a breath of air touched his cheek. Not a speck of dirt touched him. Heat and cold meant nothing here. He was simply adrift.

He did not know how long he drifted in the nothingness.

Then, it was no longer nothing. There was something there in the darkness. Then there was not even darkness. There was light!

He blinked his eyes and felt the first stirrings of a morning breeze. The ground, his familiar and ever faithful earth, lay beneath him. It was wrong. It was gray and lifeless. No green colored it. No birds or beasts claimed it.

That changed

It was hot. Not blisteringly so, or even uncomfortably. It was that temperate sort of heat where everything was warm enough to be delightful. It was the kind of heat that many plants loved without being stressed by the struggles of scorching winds or drought.

That heat was mitigated by the abundant greenery all around him. Shade shifted in the breeze and cast its shadow all across the rich and fertile ground.

Yet still he walked. He knew he searched for something. That something escaped him, but he knew in his heart that he would recognize it when it happened.

He parted brush before him. He passed through clearings rich with grass and flowers. Vines covered with blooms and ripening fruit lay all around him. The very air was filled with the wonderful and competing scents of so many mouthwatering foods.

He walked for some time. His course meandered, but his final bearing remained unwavering. He stepped out of the leafy shade and into a clearing. This one was different. It wanted him. He had found it.

Two trees stood rooted in the dark earth. Both grew vibrant, strong, and towered into the heavens. Their thick leaves didn’t let a spear or dart of sunlight pass, and everything under them was a cool shade.

Each tree bore fruit. Neither had been seen before. He knew that. One held branches thick with heavy purple fruits, their segmented bodies glistening in the dim light. The other held a rather diminutive pink fruit. Each was hardly bigger than a strawberry and shaped like a wide spear tip. These danced lightly on the wind while their purple counterparts barely swayed in time with their branch.

Each of these trees was whole, undamaged, yet he couldn’t fail to recognize them from his dream. Was this them in their beginning?

The purple fruit was high above him. He wished to be taller. The ground shrank away from him as he reared on his hind legs and reached for the tempting fruit. His hand stretched out and with slender, dark fingers, plucked the fruit.

He stared at the hand. He knew it was his, yet had never seen one like it before. Curiosity overwhelmed him. He rolled the hand and wrist around to look in all the details. He knew he was Man. Yet the trash books said nothing like this. Man was not a beast. He was graceful. He was intelligent enough to build civilizations and powerful enough to rip them down.

The sight consumed him. He forgot about his snack, and the forgotten fruit landed with a wet splat by his bare feet. He stared at this new, wondrous body. Marveling at how it moved in ways simultaneously familiar and alien, he forgot all about the world around him. He saw the smooth skin barely glistening with sweat and felt the air ruffle each hair.

Smoke touched his nostrils. He blinked and looked at the cloud growing as if all around him. Pain lanced through his bare legs as fire kissed him. He backed away, stumbling against the second tree. There he saw the source.

His forgotten fruit lay on the ground. Despite looking pleasant and juicy seconds ago, it looked revolting now. It rotted and collapsed on itself. As it did, it burned with incredible heat, torching the grass beside it and setting ablaze greenery at an impossible rate.

The flames spread. Trees became torches, and grass became tinder before it. Before his very eyes, the garden paradise crumbled into embers and ash. Only he and the trees remained untouched.

The fire continued. It burned away all life. The sky grew dark from its smoke. Soon, nothing was left but flames and fumes.

His new body felt the heat all too keenly. It felt like he was being roasted alive. Every breath hurt more than the last. Every breath drew in an agony of sparks and smoke. Every breath came back as a racking cough. His head started pounding, and he felt his vision swirl.

The smoke solidified, becoming those familiar walls and caverns. The fire remained, though the smoke vanished as if blown away by a great wind. Only the two trees remained.

He did not. He still drew breath, but it was a fleeting thing. With his body burned, and his vision going black, death was only waiting for him.

So he lay there for who knew how long. The room filled with the smell of death, the death of everything caused by that one tree. Soon, he would join it.

Something moved in the shadows of his sight. Something was small and green. A leaf danced on the fiery currents. It reflected their light, but was not scorched, even when it passed though them. It descended to him, and he raised himself to touch it.

He had no strength left. He collapsed in new depths of agony. Here, he died.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Cold Snap’s eyes jerked open. His breath rasped over his dry lips. All around him, the ship was dark. He looked all around in the darkness. Quiet and peace dominated the ship. Even the storm wasn’t quite so bad.

Slowly, his racing heart dropped to manageable levels. His skin didn’t feel like it was blistering from the heat, and he didn’t feel like coughing out his lungs. He was still alive.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, enjoying the taste of fresh air...or as fresh as he could get it when the crew didn’t bathe as often as they probably should.

That dream was different. He’d dreamed of the trees and their stone prison before. He’d seen the fire. Never had he seen them in any other light. He didn’t know what it meant. It would be convenient to say “just a dream”, but he knew that these were anything but.

Nebula snored quietly nearby. Snap glowered at his friend. What he would give to sleep like that again! These nightly nightmares were taking their toll on him. He was always tired now. The nights were never long enough, and the arduous work required to keep the ship running never gave him an opportunity for rest.

And he knew well from experience that he was not going to get any more sleep tonight. He bit back a curse. He just wanted things back the way they were, back at home working with his family and enjoying a quiet life. Would he ever get to enjoy a life like that even if he survived all this?

He had to get up. He had to move. Quietly, he slipped out of his bed, slipped on his saddlebags, and groped his way through the dark corridors. Direction made no difference to him. Only the fact that he was moving meant anything. Having to walk by senses and memory made it that much easier to ignore his own thoughts.

Stairs. He took them. Another hallway. He turned. A door. He nudged it open. He jerked as he realized where he was. It was Captain Gideon’s cabin, and it was unlocked.

“As I said, sir.”

The voice made Cold Snap shrink into the shadows. Someone, the engineer, was inside and talking to the captain.

“The seals have gone out on the Number Two engine. It’s foggin’ the room something terrible. Aye, my crew can fix it. No doubt, but we need to get started on it right away and stay at anchor until fixed.”

“We can’t see to repairs as we are underway? The storm should clear enough in two hours.”

That was Captain Gideon.

“No doubt yer right on the weather, but that means we’d be operating on only one screw. We could do it, but our speed will be cut a mite short.”

“An acceptable trade. Show me the situation. I’ll make all allowances I can to assign helpers to you.”

Hooves and claws thumped against the carpeted floor. Cold Snap cringed and plastered himself into a dark corner an instant before the door opened. The two figures silhouetted by the light, couldn’t see well in the dark corridor. The captain held a satchel tethered to a glowing crystal around his neck and cast a pale white light through the darkness.

Moments later, they were gone. Cold Snap shuddered in relief. He then noticed that the captain’s door was still cracked open. Mr. Horn’s words about side investigations rattled to the forefront of his mind. Two could play at that game, and he shoved the door open and slipped inside.

Captain Gideon’s cabin was much like he’d always seen it. Everything was in its standard state of organized yet slightly disassembled. That would make his snooping, no, his investigation more challenging.

A warm glow suffused the room from lights built into the ceiling. It gave enough to clearly see and search by. That left the real question: where to start?

Better yet: what could he be possibly looking for? Mr. Horn had been curious about the box. By now, Cold Snap was an expert as far as this ship went on that chunk of wood. No. He was after something a little more related to the captain. Lilith? Probably. Man? Almost certainly. But where?

Snap started poking around the captain’s desk, opening and closing drawers except for the one containing the chest. It was sundry stuff. Stationary, pins, bits of string and coins that had not made it back to the captain’s purse. One coin looked a little different than the standard Minotaur stater or even an Equestrian bit.

Snap picked it up out of idle curiosity, but started searching elsewhere. He found the captain’s journal on Man. This was already familiar as he had already reviewed it multiple times. He next found the captain’s logbook, this filled with notes on the ship, its maintenance, the crew, and position. Interesting, but not what he was looking for.

Time ticked by, hours perhaps. He always kept a sharp ear on the world outside the door. Then it occurred to him that if the captain came this way, this was the only door in the hallway. He’d be stuck in here! He redoubled his searching, but kept pulling up dead ends.

The sun was over the horizon now. The storm was fading fast. He’d be missed soon even if the captain didn’t come back. He could feel the ship’s engine thrumming as it built up pressure. Looks like the captain was making his departure even with the loss of the other engine.

He started searching even more hastily. He dashed from desk to book case, from chest to cupboard. He found absolutely nothing.

Was he losing his mind finally? No! The captain was hiding something. He knew it! Only, where would he hide something the rest of the crew shouldn’t know about?

What would Captain Gideon do? He’d spent enough time with the captain, he could make a guess. Cold Snap tried putting himself in the captain’s mind.

It would have to be small. That way it could fit into more places. It would have to be camouflaged. That way if prying eyes did see it, then it would be overlooked as ordinary. It would have to be something “informationally dense”.

It had to be a book, or at least a few pages.

It fit all the criteria. The one problem was that a small book could go just about anywhere.

But it would go in a place that would attract no attention. Where better than a bookshelf?

Snap returned to the books. After a deep breath to calm his nerves, he began browsing the titles. Most were dry, technical sounding books with titles relating to the arcane or the fledgling sciences the captain was so fond of. Their authors ranged from all nations: ponies, griffons, minotaurs, dragons and even names so foreign he had no inkling of how to pronounce them. None of them seemed right.

Snap started browsing the other shelf. Then something caught his eye. The bookcase was built with walnut trim that overlapped on the perimeter of the furniture. What it created was a small cavity on each end where a book could be stored, but not pulled out without removing another book.

On the previous shelf, there was a small book nestled in that hollow. Unless he was looking from a specific angle, he couldn’t see it. It didn’t appear to have a title, and it looked far more worn than the neighboring tomes.

Carefully, Snap worked aside the engineering texts and pulled out the book. It was definitely more worn. He could see scuffs in the binding and smears across the cover. It was soft. Leather.

Flipping through it, he was overwhelmed by the numbers of drawings, notes, and calculations held inside. All of them were in the captain’s clawwriting. This was it. He tucked the notebook in his saddlebag and replaced the books as he found them.

Cold Snap turned to leave before the captain returned to his lair. His eyes swept out over the vast sea.

And the fleet of sails and minotaurian flags bearing down fast on them.

Author's Notes:

"Hey."

The Publisher didn't look up.

"Whaa?" he mumbled into his paperwork.

"Whaddaya call a group of beat up idiots?"

"Me, myself, and I," the Publisher replied.

"Nope. Black-eyed Reees."

The Publisher glowered at his desk. "That was stupid. Even for you."

"Ah, I see I have my first heckler. Want to go to my show? I'm here all week...every week."

"I think I have a conveniently timed doctor's appointment at that very time."

It could be easily stated that the Publisher had better days. He'd certainly had worse. But he couldn't remember any of them at the moment.

While he was glad the Author was back on schedule...ish, he forgot that those endless phone calls, harassing emails, and journeys into the wild hinterlands for his precious manuscripts would be exchanged for tolerating the Author's physical presence.

Again, he was more than happy to make progress on his job and accomplish things in his portfolio, but there were many times that he wished the Author was one of those anonymous contributors.

In fact, he could...what was that smell?

The Publisher looked up, blinked twice, and set his throbbing head gently back on the desk. "What is that smell?"

"What? The sweat of my labor or the jar of peanuts I'm hiding?"

"Neither," which came out more like "Meifer".

The Author's voice swelled with pride. "Then it must be the PVC cement."

"And what are you doing with that stuff?"

He looked up again in time to see the Author's eyes widen. "Why, you can do so many things with it. Glue plastics, use with tire plugs, get high off your gourd, stick things together"-

"Wait. Run that by me again. No. Nevermind. I have things to address with you. Why?"

The Author blinked. "Why what?"

The Publisher leaned back and slid a manuscript over for the Author to review. It definitely wasn't stained with tears, and they most certainly were not the tear of the miserable and condemned to suffer the likes of the Author. They were simply sweat.

"You cried on this?" the Author asked.

Quickly, the Publisher moved to deny it, but even faster, the Author spoke up. "You did! I'm so happy that my work is extracating all those emotions out of the audience that my characters themselves are experiencing."

"That is not what I'm talking about! I'm talking about this whole tree and Eden motif you have going. Seriously, why? Is it some subtle conspiracy theory?"

"Why absolutely not! General Jones has given us very specific orders to not be subtle."

"Ah! It is a conspiracy!"

"It won't be eventually."

The papers threw up a cloud of dust, and the Publisher slammed his hooves down on the desk. I want to know what you're thinking of when you write those tree scenes!"

The Author scrunched his brows in thought. "Think? I don't think. I simply write."

"Well then what do they mean?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out."

The Publisher's eyes blazed. "You'll what?! I'll tell you that I will"-

At that very moment, the Author shifted to look at part of the Publisher's nerd collection. That movement displayed an MP-40 slung along the Author's side. The Publisher lost his nerve for half a second.

"Will what?" the Author asked innocently.

"Will look forward to seeing what happens next."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

No. I do not apologize for the joke. Humor is meant to go places none other dare to go. Besides. I thought it was funny.

And yes, I have an overall plan for the nightmare/vision scenes, but as I'm writing them, I pretty much just come up with them as they flow. That said, I wanted to do something distinct from the renditions of Eden and the two trees planted there. There is little description of them and I wanted to play with their portrayal a bit while getting away from the Adam and Eve association that they have. I think this worked pretty well. I blame Brian Davis and his Dragons in Our Midst series for giving me this obsession with symbolism and parallels.

I also wanted this chapter to show how Cold Snap is learning and maturing. He's taking the initiative to settle his own destiny and future. To paraphrase a movie, a king may move a man, but a man's journey only begins when he moves himself. Thus, he's taking his trusted friend's inputs and tempering them with his own observations. This is also where he's learning how to think analytically like the captain. I hope all that came across like I intended in the story.

Snap has found something important and we will see how he makes use of his discovery. Now they start unraveling the puzzle...before it's too late. Bwahhaha.

Comments and thoughts are an author's crack cocaine.

Taste of War

Cold Snap snatched up the captain’s binoculars and looked through the window.

Sails. So many sails. They rode in with the eastern sun. They snapped and billowed in the breeze. They filled the sky like a flock of ivory birds.

The ships they drove looked no less impressive. Heavy of draft, full of masts were some. Trim and sleek were others. Gilded and painted figureheads showed creatures from all manner of legends pointing their prows ever forward.

There had been more ships at Port Archer. Cold Snap knew that for a fact, but they were mostly tramps and fishers. What bore down on the limping Rosewere powerful military vessels. By the yellow and red pennants snapping in the wind, undoubtedly some jewels of the Minotaurian navy.

Cold Snap feared this. When the captain informed him that their destination lay on the zebra land’s coasts, he knew that the battles between the minotaurs and the coastal tribes sparked all along that rocky coast. The navy may not think twice about attacking a lone, uncolored ship, and the captain’s letter of marque may not mean much to the minotaurs.

He moved closer to the captain’s window. All plans of escape had been forgotten in the moment of impending battle. He saw the distant crews moving like insects aboard their craft. There were many, many of them.

Types of ships were not something Snap had studied on the farm. He barely could tell a schooner from a canoe. Time on board Captain Gideon’s ship had taught him much. He could make out eight ships. A brig and four schooners led the charge like wild cats bounding through the sea while the three lumbering and powerful frigates behind them lagged behind and readied their many cannons.

The Yellow Rose was rushing through her own preparations. He could feel the engines rumbling at an even higher pitch.

Engine. He clarified. They only had one. That was why they were traveling so slowly. With both, they would outpace the squadron even with this wind. That was why they were preparing for battle.

“Gunnery, estimated range and disposition?” the captain’s voice crackled from his desk.

Ice filled Snap’s body. He hadn’t heard the captain come in. He should have left when he had the chance!

His panic subsided. Captain Gideon had not addressed him. In the stress of the moment, there was a slim chance the griffon hadn’t noticed him. And even if he had, a snooper in his quarters was small fry compared to what was outside that window.

He turned. The captain wasn’t there. His confusion lasted a good moment before another voice replied. “Range of eight-hunnerd yards and closing fast. They were on the far side of the islet when we departed.”

It was the captain’s electric voice machine. He had wires running all through the ship to critical areas so he would know of dangers anywhere on his ship. He must have kept it on for the storm.

No doubt Captain Gideon’s pride ship could take on any of the frigates or the whole of the smaller escorts and triumph, but on an open ocean with half-power and this vast foe? Perhaps things may not go so well.

Or perhaps they would hound the steel beast and they would mutually destroy each other. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Our lucky day. Cold Snap thought sourly.

Already, the ships were gaining. Slowly the schooners broke away from the group and into formation to flank the limping ship.

Ironsides. Hammerfall. Glorious Dawn. They swooped around, their chase guns opening in a brief crump of gunfire. The shots ranged far short.

Daring. Repulse. They held back and tacked to bring themselves into a broadside. With a bellow, the ships vomited iron, which splashed across the water. Only one, a ball spent and skipping across the surface, smacked into the Rose’s hull.

The Yellow Rose didn’t respond. No cannons cracked their retort. No burst from the deck sweep. Not a shot from the deck. Why? Captain Gideon was many things, but willing to tolerate such offense? Never.

Apparently, he was not the only one wondering. “Gunnery, what is our own disposition? Why are we not answering them?”

The response seemed far too long in coming. Snap gripped on the optic’s casings until he thought it would shatter. Finally, the gunnery officer’s accent broke through. “Ever’thin’s locked up! Magazines, blast doors, dumbwaiter, ever’thin! We lashed and locked down for the storm. It’s taking time to get ever’thin operation like!”

“How long until you’re firing?”

The gunnery captain’s electric voice crackled under the stress. “Crew’s werking onni. Three or four minutes!”

Snap looked back out at the schooners hounding them and the frigates rapidly growing closer. They didn’t have three or four minutes.

Captain Gideon thought the same. “Wheelhouse crew, gunnery crews, and engine crew: remain at your posts. All other crew: to the armory immediately. Prepare to repel boarders.”

Boarders. What was happening now was just the opening act to a deadly play. The probes, the shots across their bow, the show of force: these were all the first pleasantries in a maritime clash. The roaring cannons came later if the victim did not strike colors and yield.

If the victim did not see wisdom in such odds and surrender, then a deadly melee would settle the matter. Despite never having been to sea before, Cold Snap knew that such a battle would be intense and horrible. If it came down to that, then the captain’s technological edge would mean little in the face of raw numbers. Even one of those frigates probably carried more crew than the Rose.

This was not a battle that could be expected to be won. Wisdom required a graceful surrender with the striking of the colors.

Cold Snap had yet to see a flag on this ship.

Already, he could hear the thundering in the halls of many hooves rushing for the armored vault of the ship where its most precious cargoes were kept and her weapons held in ready store.

He looked through the glasses once more. Now he could clearly make out the hostile crews. He could clearly see the mixed wonder and blood-lust infecting the enemy crew. Never had they seen any ship like this before, and it would fall before their blades.

Blades. He needed a weapon. He looked around hurriedly. The ships were holding distance. No doubt they were waiting to see the unknown ship’s response to their challenge. Their patience would be short lived.

With a quick dash, Cold Snap was out the door and clambering down the stairs after the trailing crew making their way to the armory. There was a line. It passed in a moment, and claws shoved a hatchet, a pistol, and a cartridge pouch in his grip.

He fumbled with the awkward rig and finally managed to get the belt secured around his neck and shoulder. The pistol thumped awkwardly against his side, but he had no time to fret over that. He gripped the hatchet in his mouth and rushed for the bright sunlight and the open air.

Occasional jeers sounded between the ships. Snap burst out of the hatch and then pausing at the sight of the ships arrayed against them. The escort ships grouped closer to flank the Rose. By now, they were close enough to hurl a cable from one ship to another. Their crews rushed hither and thither. Snap didn’t know what to do.

A white flash and a thump sounded from the Ironsides. Instantly, a ball shattered against the ship. Snap felt needles lance his hide from the spalling shot. He dove out of the open and behind the ships loading crane. Another thud and another echoed through the air. One blast rattled the steel he hid behind.

He heard a scream of pain somewhere and uttered a soft whimper. This wasn’t what battle was supposed to be like.

The cannon-fire died. Was it ending?

“Unknown vessel!” a magically amplified voice boomed from one of the ships. “I am Captain Shaving of the Glorious Dawn. I speak for Admiral Rankin File of the Royal Majesty’s Hamaica squadron. You are flying no standard and resisting lawful force in waters of a hostile nation. Reef sail and prepare to be boarded!”

The ships drifted closer. Not all of it was for boarding. They traveled in a fairly narrow strait between the islet and a reef. None of the ships had room to do much maneuvering. If they couldn’t have tossed a rope between the ships, then soon enough they could jump across.

It was only beginning.

He felt for the pistol and pulled it out of the holster. A revolver, he’d heard the crew call them. It was leaps and bounds ahead of any weapon he’d seen elsewhere. Six shots before reloading. He felt like it wasn’t enough.

Snap risked a peek around the crane. By now, the smaller ships realized their prey wasn’t going to surrender, and their cannonfire did nothing to the ship.

“Captain Shaving, your request is heard and emphatically rejected.”

Captain Gideon’s voice crackled over the ship’s wires. He continued. “I offer your ships and your crews this one offer. Continue your way to Hamaica. Cease hostilities and cede this battle without bloodshed and you will enjoy long service to your crown. Do not and your crews will taste destruction by your own hubris. You have eight ships to my one, and I assure you that at the final shot, only one ship will remain. Mine. Continue, or be destroyed.”

The ships sailed in silence until the enemy captain, his pride still bleeding, growled out his fateful answer. “Unknown vessel: you have given poor reply. You have not given surrender. You have given us no choice. Your words will be your damnation!”

At this range, the magical amplification was deafening. It left a terrible pain in Cold Snap’s ears, and he barely heard the enemy captain’s order: “Grapeshot”-

He never had time to finish the order. Before he’d even uttered part of it, the Rose lurched under Cold Snap’s body. Her pilot had thrown everything into a hard-starboard turn and pushed all power out of the remaining engine. Even with her disability, the many-ton ship heaved like a cork and made for the closest adversary.

The crew on board the doomed ship wailed as the battle turned against them without a single shot. They scrambled away from the rail, their weapons clattering forgotten to the deck.

Captain Gideon’s iron leviathan plowed into the ship. Cold Snap winced as he heard the stout timbers crack like kindling. For a brief instant, the Rose rode on the hulk’s bulk. Her iron prow still pierced the doomed ship. The Glorious Dawn was no more.

Before the survivors had cast themselves off the wreck, the battle was joined. Captain Gideon did not dawdle. The pilot immediately reversed the engine. Being powered by steam and iron, it could do something the sailing ships could not: travel upwind.

One flashed past. Smoke cracked from swivel guns, filling the air with a hellish roar and scent. They meant to paint the gray ship red.

Cold Snap quivered behind his cover, his breathing hard and his heart hammering. The loading crane mounted on thick steel and it felt far too thin. Vibrations thrummed through the structure as shot and shrapnel peppered it. It was a testament to the ship’s crew that they held positions. They held their cover and didn’t expose themselves.

They would have to soon. The frigates were coming. They held their fire. Something rocked the ship. With a wild scream, figures leapt from a ship that had grappled itself to the Rose.

Ironsides.

Steel flashed and weapons cracked. Minotaurs wearing leather harnesses and bits of steel armor rushed the ship’s crew. The first wave dropped from a disciplined volley. The second closed in quickly and gained a foothold. Metal clattered as sword met hatchet and gun barrel blocked stroke.

Gunshots broke through the ringing steel. The crew of the Rose were professional and sure of their weapons, but their numbers couldn’t stand. As more of the Ironside’s crew gained the deck, the Rose’s marines were forced back in a dogged resistance.

All this happened in a matter of seconds. First, Cold Snap was huddling behind his crane and praying to the solar goddess that he be spared from the cannon. Next, he stared eye to eye with a young minotaur wielding a sea knife.

He scrambled backwards in time to avoid a vicious slash. An instant later came a second that clanged off the crane. Snap remembered his hatchet and swung. It missed, but his foe staggered out of range. The rest didn’t last long.

The minotaur came back. This time, he waited for Cold Snap’s miss, grabbed the haft, and heaved. Now the two grappled in a deadly tug-of-war over the weapon. The two jerked and jostled for position.

Snap was strong and had good footing, but the minotaur was taller. Snap felt his hooves slide across the timber deck.

It was at that moment, Snap realized something very important about fighting bipeds: They had two hands. One for the hatchet, and the other for the knife. He saw steel flash and instinctively released the hatchet. It saved his life.

While the minotaur stumbled, Snap had an instant to draw the revolver.

It was at that moment, Snap realized something very important about handguns: You needed hands. He barely had the weapon cocked and realized he couldn’t fire it.

So he threw it. The machined tool went flying through the air and connected with the minotaur’s head. In a beautiful display of physics, the pistol rebounded back to the deck with a clatter and the minotaur went overboard with a yelp and a splash.

Magic surrounded the pistol. It jerked up and fired three rapid shots. A body crumpled beside him. Nebula rushed close and shoved him out of the middle of the deck.

“Don’t stand there! They’re everywhere. You need a weapon.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Nebula shoved a saber into Snap’s mouth. He barely noticed the foul taste of the hilt. He nearly dropped it, but not from the taste. Two more ships were nearing to grapple and overrun the beleaguered Rose.

“Got any magic tricks?” Cold Snap asked numbly around the weapon.

“What am I, a warmage?”

The ships grew closer. Snap dropped the sword. “I have an idea!”

He ran to the crane and unhooked it. “Closest ship wheel!” he shouted to his friend.

Nebula blinked and grinned. His magic surrounded the hook. Snap gave a mighty buck and sent the hook arcing over the water. With Nebula’s nudging, the hook landed square on the Daring’s wheel, much to the surprise of her pilot.

The two cranked the winch tight before he could react and his knife only scraped steel cable. With a groaning splinter, the ship’s wheel tore off in a spray of wood. Now without any control, the Daring found herself driven by the wind past the Yellow Rose and away from the battle.

A shadow fell over the ship. The first of the frigates arrived. Dragonfire. Her crew managed the swivel guns and readied their shots on the clusters of Captain Gideon’s crew. They didn’t last seconds before precise fire eliminated every one of them.

Eventually, the admiral would grow tired of this boarding. Already the Yellow Rose had proven to be far more trouble than he expected. Would he try to take the ship and learn its secrets or scourge everything and sail on? The remaining two frigates and the uncommitted brig came in closer.

How much longer before the guns started helping? They wouldn’t be able to stand against the boarding party of even one frigate. Some of her crew fired ineffectually on the Rose. That was just the start. They needed something more.

Cold Snap looked at his friend. For once, Nebula had no smile or confident grin. What could they do against such odds? “Good adventure?” Snap asked.

Nebula said nothing. Then a shallow smile crept across his lips. “The best.”

A shrill whistle wailed high above them. Before they could figure the reason or use for it, the Rose’s crew started withdrawing from their positions to the choke-points of the bulkheads. Familiar low thumps echoed from the ship, and Snap saw a shower of small spheres.

An instant later, they crashed into the frigate’s deck in blossoms of orange flames. The fires billowed and spread like a living beast, consuming rope, sail, and crew alike. The once organized crew scattered in horror. Some of them caught in the blast and their coats burning furiously and others rushing to stay away from their flaming confederates. Those aflame had other ideas and rushed for the sides.

“About to learn a hard lesson, they are,” said an earth pony with scarred and bubbled flesh along his side.

“What’s that?” Nebula asked.

The earth pony nodded towards the ship and the flaming figures leaping into the sea. “Phosphorous burns underwater.”

The Rose’s crew did not delay. They retreated further inside and dragged the two friends with them.

One of the still-distant frigates shouted, perhaps from the admiral himself. It was too distant to make out, but Snap still knew what the admiral wanted.

Sink. Annihilate.

He would lose no more ships to this monster. Smoke billowed from his frigate. It was the last thing he saw before someone sealed the door.

The Yellow Rose groaned. Probably a dozen balls struck her, ricocheted off her armor, and tore through her light metal. It was a barrage that would have riddled another ship. She sat in silence for another moment.

Krumpf. Krumpf. The shots reverberated through the ship. A second salvo shook everything. The guns were finally firing.

Cold Snap broke away from his friend and rushed up the hallway and up the familiar stairs.

Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut. The deck sweep chattered away.

Another salvo shook everything. This time, he heard a distant explosion.

He gained the landing and rushed inside the captain’s cabin. A blast of wind caught him. A shot had torn a hole in the window and left a jagged frame before continuing to the far side where the spent round rolled through Sucat’s bedding.

Outside, the scene was pure chaos. The schooners were all either burning wrecks or just floating listlessly. The frigates were just as bad. One favored a side and was slowly sinking. A second burned all the way to the waterline and sent a titanic plume of smoke into the sky. Barely a timber was left of her. Most of her had either been blasted to the heavens or consumed in the fire when her magazine detonated.

Only two ships remained fairly solid. One frigate and the brig. They were now holding distance and trying to put space between them and the Yellow Rose. If their commanders were smart, they would try to escape.

Cold Snap looked around and reached for the captain’s binoculars. Through them, the frigate looked about the same as what he’d first seen. When he looked at the brig, he frowned in confusion. Striped figures poured out of the ship’s torn deck and viciously attacked the surviving crew. In moments, the deck was clear of all save the zebras. One of them heaved the ship around.

A thunderous broadside swept the lone frigate’s masts and rigging. Before the splinters had all landed, the zebras put on all sail and fled the battle. The frigate’s mainmast stood suspended by its own ropes and swayed in time to the sea.

Captain Gideon’s voice crackled from his device. “All crew, prepare for departure. Bring any wounded to the surgeon for immediate treatment. We resume our heading.”

With that, the ship rumbled. It wasn’t one engine. Now it was two as she was meant to have. With all that power, the Yellow Rose tore into the deep ocean and left the war behind.

Author's Notes:

"I wish I was in the land of cotton. Old times there are not forgotten!" the Author shouted in a ridiculous singsong. For whatever reason, he insisted on spinning around a floor lamp that wobbled dangerously every time he made a circuit.

"You ARE in the land of cotton," the Publisher grumbled over his stack of paperwork.

The Author stopped his off-key caterwauling. "Really?"

He triumphantly thrust his hoof to the sky, making the bulbs in the floor lamp shudder. "It's a Hallmark Christmas miracle!"

A slap echoed through the room. The Publisher had thrown down his paperwork in frustration and was rubbing his temples in that very familiar fashion. "You know Christmas was over a month ago. Don't you?"

The Author pulled his outstretched hoof close to his breast. Somewhere in the office, a tender, heartfelt song started playing. "No. For those who truly believe, Christmas always lives in our hearts...and in the Philippines."

That made the Publisher stop rubbing his head. "Umm, say what?"

"The Philippines. They celebrate Christmas for months. They start in September and put away in February. They call it "Ber months". Why they decided to include January and February is beyond me."

"I ought to haul you to trivia night."

The Author shook his head. "Sorry. I'd be prohibited as an unfair advantage."

"Besides, even if I wanted to, my schedule wouldn't allow it!"" the Author pulled out a tear-off calendar from...somewhere.

Horror began to bubble in the Publisher's gut as pages from the calendar fluttered to the floor. The Author casually tore one after another off as he read through the itinerary of what sounded like the upcoming decade.

"February 16-17: Work the cattle."

A page drifted to the floor, but even before it landed, the Author was reading another. "February 18: Solve the engineering problem of milling cottonseed."

Another page followed. "February 19: Prepare for the apocalypse. All of them."

Page.

"February 20: Crash a gun buyback. Make off like a bandit."

Page.

"February 21: Build 15 guns from parts kits. I CANNOT get behind on those again."

"February 22: Write five books."

Sure, the Author kept talking, but at some point, the Publisher stopped listening. It was something his therapist said was probably an excellent coping strategy. It was better than the Author's solution. That involved whiskey and a can of snuff.

"October 25: Harden my defenses and prepare for the inevitable Balkanization of North America."

The floor was getting hard to see.

With that, the Author took a breather. He looked at the Publisher. "I'm sorry. I'm booked!"

Then he frowned. He picked up the calendar squares and started sifting through them. "Unless I move my plans to test the tesla coils disguised as trees around my place to the previous day and overlap it with plans of warlording in the post-American wasteland. Then I would have enough time to sit in my chair and have a psychotic collapse as I ponder the disconnect between now and the world of my childhood and how the Fallout: Equestria future is more appealing."

Silence reigned in the office for several long seconds. Finally, the Publisher spoke up. "You schedule sleep in there?"

"Say what now?"

Price of Knowledge

There were wounded to bring to the surgeon. Fifteen wounded to be exact. Most were minor. Some limped in under their own power with cuts or scrapes from the battle. Others had to be gently levitated in to avoid upsetting more grievous injuries. Two were levitated, but their injuries could not be made any worse.

The surgeon and his aide worked with incredible skill. Both magical spells and mundane herbage brought from all corners of the world were exhausted in a new battle against a foe far worse than a fleet of ships: death. Yet despite all their skills, they could not claim total victory.

So it stood. The next evening after the battle against the Hamaica squadron, three wrapped bundles lay along the Yellow Rose’s side. Her compliment of crew, both the physically sound and those who insisted on being there on a cot, all waited with a somber silence.

None demanded the silence, but they all adhered to it as rigidly as if Captain Gideon had ordered it. No muttered conversations happened. No subdued laughter echoed off the steel. There was only the scraping of hooves and claws against the timber deck and the endless roar of the sea.

For a family like the Rose possessed, this loss was felt keenly by all. The ship may have brought them together either in its inception or its dark career, but the crew stayed together because of the bonds they shared.

Even Cold Snap was not immune to that. He and Nebula stood in quiet solidarity with the crew, who they realized at some point they started considering as friends. They were all packed together like one sailor mentioned “fish in a can.” Snap wasn’t sure what to make of the comparison, but he understood the sentiment.

Conversely, the area around the three wrapped bodies was open save for a small collection of dignitaries. Captain Gideon stood closest to the funeral. Across from him stood a few of the officers and apparently close friends of the departed.

The ship cruised under her own power. The engines had been stoked and left to burn as the stokers attended to pay their respects. The Yellow Rose was for all intents helpless should someone decide to pounce.

Yet before they began the ceremony, the lookouts had done a careful sweep of the sea and declared it empty. After seeing what Captain Gideon’s crew was capable of, woe unto those who tried interrupting now.

“We are all gathered in attendance,” the captain stepped forward and began.

“We all feel this loss, though some of them were with us a short time. It was enough time to see their colors, to test their mettle, and to know that they could be relied on in every circumstance. Sailors and friends such as these come along far too rarely, and we have been blessed to have so many aboard this fine ship.”

Snap could feel the swell of pride that swept through the gathered crowd. The captain paused and looked out on the vast ocean. Presently, he resumed his eulogy. “These three brave souls fell in a war outside of their making, for it always seems that those responsible for the bloodshed never shed any themselves. They fell bravely and fighting to the last to protect their friends. Some would say that our greatest service to them now is to honor their memory and valor of their actions.”

The captain switched his attention to the three bundles laid upon boards. “I say they are wrong. Three things have been promised until the end of days: war, pestilence, and death. Some would add a fourth: Taxes.”

A muffled chuckle rippled through the crew. Captain Gideon took it in stride and continued as it died off. “Why do I gainsay their claims of glory in war? Quite simply. Anyone may kill. It takes not one whit of skill to destroy what others have created. Anyone may die in service to a cause. Few can create. Few can build. Few can break the chains of war. These three gave far more in their short life than many gift in a lifetime. To consider their legacy in service of this transient war does nothing but disgrace them.

“This may be a time for war, but soon shall come a time for peace. A time to break down, and a time to build up.”

Cold Snap realized with a start that the captain was looking directly at him when he uttered those last words. He felt totally glued to the spot as the captain used his phony prophecy against him. His earlier indiscretion had hardly been forgotten.

“My words grow long and tiresome, yet I still feel as if I have not done due honor to our departed, but I believe this proves an old adage true, that the funeral is for none but the living. Their souls have departed to their final destination either in the heavens or in the pit. What remains to us is to commend their bodies to the place they grew to love. The sea will care for them until she gives up her dead for the final judgment.”

With that, the captain stepped aside. “Ensign,” he commanded simply.

A griffon stepped forward and placed a bugle to his beak. What came forth was a melody soft, slow, and melancholic. It evoked a sensation of loss. It was a wordless dirge. As he played, the officers tilted the boards and let the bodies splash into the water where they settled for just a moment before sinking out of sight.

With their departure, the bugle call ended, and the crew, sensing their dismissal, shuffled away to resume their duties. Cold Snap and Nebula returned to their own tasks, but Snap couldn’t help looking over his shoulder. By now, only the captain remained rooted to the deck. He gazed dully out over the sea and looked like he wished to be left alone.

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Naval cots were a peculiar invention. They were hard, thin, rather irregular things that by all metrics should have been aggravatingly uncomfortable. However, mysterious forces combined in unknown ways to somehow make it possible to fall asleep on one near-instantly.

Cold Snap would have done that a while back if a particular someone would stop pacing, rummaging, and mumbling. Nebula wouldn’t stop for anything and showed no signs of being tired. Never mind that it wasn’t even sunset. He was ready to sleep!

The noise settled for a moment. Snap felt his eyes roll in that delightful way when sleep is immanent. Just a few moments more…

“Hey, where’s that whetstone I loaned you?” something that sounded strangely like Nebula asked.

If he ignored it, he might get more sleep.

“I know you heard me. Where is it?”

In just a moment…

In just a moment, pain stabbed his ear as he felt his head violently wrenched from the sad pillow. “Wakey wakey,” Nebula said.

Sleepiness vanished like dew in the morning. Snap struggled up and pointed at his saddlebags hanging at the foot of his cot. “Looginthere,” he slurred.

Briefly satisfied, Nebula released his hold on his friend and let him flop back to the hard bed. He picked up and began sorting through its contents, humming cheerily as he went.

Humming! To think somepony could be so alert to feel that at this time. For once in quite a while, Snap felt regret at his nighttime spying escapades.

“Umm, Snap? What is this?”

This time, Cold Snap opened his eyes without complaint. A soft magic field surrounded a round disk a little too close to his face. He reached and shoved the thing into a more reasonable focal distance.

Snap felt a little too groggy to be overly concerned about it. “It’s a coin. Money. You spend it for things you want but prolly don’t need. I thought you knew that?”

Nebula scowled. “Yeah. I figured. What country is this?”

“You can read,” Snap snapped back.

“Not this.”

The wheels in Snap’s head finally broke free and started turning. It was the coin he had filched from Captain Gideon’s desk. He hauled himself off the cot and walked past his confused friend. Fumbling through his saddlebags, he produced the weathered book. Thankfully, it had survived the battle undamaged.

His friend also momentarily forgot about the coin. Instead, he watched in bafflement as Snap flipped open the leather cover. He flipped a page. Inside was a mix of flowing notes and penciled sketches. He turned another page. Some of the drawings he recognized as parts of the Yellow Rose. Others were mysteries.

“Is that…” Nebulad trailed off.

In a moment, he magicked the diary closed and shoved both it and the coin inside the bags, out of sight. “Not here,” he whispered.

He threw the saddlebags across his back and started dragging Snap deeper inside the ship. By now, they both were well acquainted with the ship’s labyrinth. In a few turns of the electrically illuminated corridors, they arrived to a door.

Nebula wrenched the door open. It was the same store room they had been held prisoners in a lifetime ago. “Inside,” he commanded.

Once they were inside, the unicorn finally calmed down enough to explain himself. “Okay. Please answer this clearly and concisely: did you steal these from the captain?”

“Well, I didn’t steal them from the captain. They were just in his cabin.”

Nebula’s eye twitched. He huffed. “You know, I can’t even be mad. Yes. I know I wanted you to find out answers from our illustrious captain, but to think you could get this from him without getting us fed to the sharks…”

He stopped and sighed, all his angry energy spent. Now, Nebula looked tired. He grabbed a bundle of cloth and propped the door closed. Next he took a couple spare mattresses and a short chest and made a crude table. Upon this, he levitated the coin and the book.

“Might as well see what all this is about then. Coin or book first?”

“Coin,” Snap picked the simpler of the two.

The disk clattered on the chest as the two friends leaned in for a closer look. It was silver and of average size. That was where the similarities to every other coin he’d encountered ended.

This one was extremely detailed. An eagle spread its wings across the face of the coin. Its claws clutched a branch and arrows, and a wreath ringed the majestic bird. It also had unfamiliar writing, not that many other nations had nothing like it, but Snap had never seen any this symmetrical. To the naked eye, it was perfect aside from the minor scuffs a coin invariably picked up. Undoubtedly, this was machine-stamped.

Cold Snap flipped the coin over. Nebula started. “What is that?”

Snap studied the figure represented on the coin, the flowing hair, the delicate proportions, the flowers worked into a bonnet etched with an unknown word. “A man. Or, whatever a female of the kind is called. Woe-man I think the captain said once?”

Nebula looked away from the coin, skepticism on his face. “Really? Doesn’t quite match what I expected.”

Memories of half-faded dreams surged to the front of his mind, dreams of trees, lush paradise, and fire. None of that had been anything he’d ever expected. “I think when it comes to Captain Gideon, nothing is ever as we expect.”

His friend gave him a playful shove. “Theatrical much? He’s weird. Not going to argue that. At the end of the day, he’s like us. Eats, sleeps, wakes up looking for something. Something motivates him. It’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

“Ok, Sure Lock, what do your powers of deduction tell you about the captain?” Snap shoved his friend back.

“Nothing you would understand,” he said in banter, but then he frowned. “You read any of this?”

Snap wordlessly shook his head.

“Just our luck. Maybe the book? Don’t think we’ll get more out of this thing.”

Ten minutes later, the two had to admit they weren’t doing much better. If the coin was confusing, the book was downright baffling. To call it a journal or diary or whatever did it a terrible disservice.

It was Captain Gideon’s brain. His sketches, materials notes, calculations, and descriptions all populated the pressed pages. He recognized parts of the Yellow Rose either in their current form or a probable past iteration.

Others of the kind were not inherently related to the ship, but could be applied to any ship. There were a number of things that a short month ago, he would have had no inkling of what their purpose was, but now that he’d grasped the technology the captain practically worshiped, he could take a pretty solid guess what they did.

Actually, many concepts surprised him by how peaceful they were. Communications without wires or spells. Machines to apply dusts and mist to crops. A flying machine that looked as if it were powered by a miniature steam engine. A flying machine with dust coming out of it. Sure, there were weapons that had martial applications, but they were a shocking minority. All this and much, much more populated the book.

“Gardens in war,” Nebula said.

“Huh?”

Nebula pointed at the book. “The captain wanted...wants to build things, but he is forced to fight. Look. The notes on the mundane agricultural or even the technological leaps are very elaborate and descriptive. They go into a wide range of hypotheticals on applications. Those of”-

He flipped a few pages, stopping on a new type of gun that used cartridges and a spring-loaded box. “Like these. ‘Self-loading carbine operating on discharge recoil. Straight-wall casing charged with pyroxyl and 150 grain projectile.’ Very blunt and to the point. It was just an idea he had to get out so something useful could take its place.”

Snap had to admit he could see the logic. The captain had confessed his preference for peaceful resolutions where practical. It made perfect sense that his beliefs would demonstrate themselves in his private musings.

And there were plenty of musings in this book. The drawings and engineering notions took up only part of the book. Much of the rest was filled with his inner thoughts and considerations of both his life and that of his crew’s future.

As much as it was his idea, Cold Snap felt rather uneasy about peeking through the captain’s life. He brought this up to Nebula who, despite his own reservations, insisted that this was probably the only way they would get the answers the captain and others insisted on keeping to themselves.

He turned a few more pages and found a wall of text.

So, the war is declared. Stubborn pride and conflicting cultures brought the war between the coastal Atoli and the Minoutaur shipping magnates to a full boil. No doubt their pliable king will be bent to provide his forces to their cause. Such is the way of war.

Ah. War. A more dreadful and cursed word has never been invented. By all reports, the recruiting lines in the port cities of the minotaur territories are swelling as fast as the news can be delivered. The cry of “War!” ring on their lips like a jubilant celebration.

Fools. They know not what they cheer for. These lands have lived in peace so long that any memory of those tribulations has been obliterated. Fact becomes legend, and legend becomes myth save by those long-lived few who have seen those dark days and can never forget.

They see glory, medals, and scars to swagger before their mates. Never the gruesome fact that only combat lays bare. Death awaits. While this war continues, death will follow. As such, it is imperative to stop it with all haste.

Otherwise, this war will continue. In the end, death wins. The subtle epiphany of war is that the dead no longer trouble themselves about allegiances. As my father said, the fallen do not care whether they wear blue or butternut.

Snap set the book down. He’d never seen the recruitment in his isolated area. Even if he had, he wasn’t old enough to join. Even if he was old enough, his parents would have had a fit if he tried. After the last battle, he realized that may not be a bad thing. Of course, now he was a neck-deep in the war and still had no idea what he was doing.

He returned his attention to the book. This time, he noticed that in the pages between the drawings and his introspections, he kept seeing the captain’s notes.

“...current exchange rate on aluminum provides excellent returns. Mages cannot possibly have enough. Insure market remains unsaturated to maintain demand.”

“Received letter from Maxim referencing use of new design less rate adjuster for cost’s sake...”

“Mass-transport of equipment becoming problematic. Limited by size of material and frequency of transit. Ideally seek better transport site. Failing that, I must establish production in secure location and acquire skilled labor to compensate the loss.

What on this green earth were all these about? These were not written in the self-examining style of the prior entry. They were just a difficult to follow thought-on-the-page system of notes that made sense to exactly one person.

“Maintained bearings as described, but location failed to materialize. Similar to Prancersburg/”-Snap blinked at the unfamiliar word and continued reading. “but with no prior markings as usually encountered. Location is likely on sea floor as this region suffered cataclysmic earthquakes during Sombraic War. Will sound depths and send divers to verify theory. I pray it’s not true and I’ve been led on a wild chase. Failing that, I pray it’s blocked. Otherwise, heaven pity whoever looks for it. Depth is eighty fathoms and the water is barely above freezing.”

Snap stopped reading and rubbed his head. If the coin was confusing, this book was way over his head. Nebula patted his back consolingly. “There there. We can always give up.”

That wrenched a snort and a chuckle from the tired earth pony. “Not a chance,” he said with a determined smile.

He turned the page and furrowed his brow at the...thing before him. It was a map of sorts, but not like any that graced the navigator's desk. Instead, this was a collection of lines that connected points of familiar names with other points of absolute gibberish. There were notes about them, but not that he could read them.

“What language is this?” Snap asked absently.

He felt himself slip deep into thought. All his experiences with Captain Gideon of how to approach an otherwise unsolvable problem were whirling through his mind. All he had to do was find the right method and proceed. The room faded from existence save for him and that book.

Ten seconds, maybe eleven tops, passed before Snap had an epiphany. As much as he loved the Yellow Rose, she was not the captain’s ultimate goal. Nebula had been right. Captain Gideon was looking for something. A ship such as this one was the means to search for it. Now it only remained to figure out the “what.”

“Um, buddy?” Nebula said.

Cold Snap returned to the present. His friend held the silver coin in his magic and studied it like particularly confusing insect. “I think it’s this one,” he said as he floated Man’s coin close to the page.

Sure enough, there in plain sight was the script of Man in the Captain’s own clawwriting.

Author's Notes:

"Hello, boys! I'm baaack!" the Author howled.

Total silence greeted his exuberance. Finally, the Publisher sighed. "Where did you get that helmet?"

The Author wobbled his head, causing the ill-fitting helmet to bobble on his head like a cart toy. "I beat up a motormama and stole it."

"A motorbiker?" the Publisher clarified.

"Nope. Motormama. Whole clan of motorbabies riding with her into the sunset. She probably had three chihuahuas in her side car. Yappinest little vermin I've ever seen."

The Publisher stopped his stress-relief doodling. For a brief, yet eternal instant, he felt a compulsive need to comment on whatever the Author was trying to say, but he realized that discretion was both the better part of wisdom and of valor. He said nothing. Instead, he commented on the here and now.

"So why do you have the helmet? Why take it over anything else?"

"Closest I could get to a flight helmet. Those things are 'spensive."

"I gather that means a plane is out of the budget?" the Publisher smiled wryly. He could still get one over on the Author.

"Psh. Nah. We've had the plane for ages."

That gave the Publisher pause. Now he completely forgot about the doodles and a great deal of work...probably some very good and expensive therapy advice as well. "What? A plane is affordable, but some basic personal protective equipment is unaffordable?"

Another brief eternity of time filled the room before the Author blinked owlishly. "What? That was like the easiest thing to get."

It was at this point that the Publisher had enough. He pulled out his company Blabkerry and cleared away a few dozen tabs of a black and orange motif website and proceeded to type furiously. He presented his findings in triumph. "Look. Entry level planes can cost at least 30,000 US dollars. I'll grant that you could find a specimen or two cheaper than that"-

"Less if you buy most of the parts from a Lowes or Harbor Freight," the Author interrupted.

"Of course," the Publisher nodded automatically before he shook himself. "Whatwaitno!"

He slammed his company device onto the ever-present yet ever-changing stack of papers on his desk. "That is not how it works!"

"I fixed a plane with a PVC pipe, a coat hanger, an acetylene torch, and a feed sack once."

"YOUR SKY REDNECKERY IS NOT THE POINT!" the Publisher bellowed before taking a calming breath. "An airplane is far more expensive than a helmet."

"No it's not."

The Publisher began massaging another one of his headaches. "And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Just go to an airport. There's planes everywhere. Some of them even fly."

The Author leaned in close. "The secret ingredient is crime."

"CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT THE STORY?!" the Publisher wailed.

The Author tipped back his wobbly helmet. "No."

He continued. "I refuse to comment on Captain Gideon's seemingly incongruous takes on being an infamous privateer who wants nothing of the war. I refuse to discuss the appearance of facts, names, and inventions that may be retrofutured or achronistic in the IRL world. I refuse to acknowledge Cold Snap suddenly having a euphamism"-

"Epiphany," the Publisher supplied.

"That too. Where the captain is on a secondary mission with his beloved ship in a worldwide race against his shadowy past associate Lilith who no doubt is still coming after them at this moment eventhoughshehasn'tofficiallydoneanythinginseveralchapters."

He straightened the helmet...again. "I think that about covers it."

Before the Publisher could say anything to toss that word salad, a huge, very angry, din filled the hallways outside his office. The Author's eyes went wide. "Motorbabies!" he cried and dove headfirst through a window.

____

Real note:
You lucky lot get a chapter a few days early. I have a World War Two reenactment this weekend and wanted to get this chapter edited and authornoted before I disappeared for several days pretending to be a fallschirmjäger. After that I return to a life of rural drudgery building fence in a marsh and fixing absolutely everything.

PS. I went a little memey in the references in both the chapter and Author Notes. The motormama/baby shtick is a vague reference to American Dragon.

PPS-43. Nice.

PPPS. I actually have fixed an airplane with all those things before.

Fishing for Answers

Cold Snap sat in befuddled silence.

What else was he supposed to do? He had his understanding of the world rocked from the instant he was hauled onto this ship. Seeing the captain’s secrets took that rocking world and capsized it.

The boat...ship...rocked beneath him on a nearly glassy sea. Bits of kelp floated in the water, and seabirds whirled around the ship picking at anything they thought might be food. Land was close. It just wasn’t close enough.

Snap performed his duties methodically. As long as he was working, he could pretend to be calm. If he pretended to be calm, then he could pretend that he had a grip on the situation around him. The truth was he was scared silly. That book burned a hole in his sensibilities.

Returning it would prove challenging as either the captain had been in his cabin or Nebula or himself were committed to duties. Besides, he rationalized it by saying that they didn’t know enough yet and they may not get another chance to read the journal.

In many ways, that was true. They had only read a fraction of the book. What they had read was a blend of uninformative glimpses into the captain’s psyche and equally uninformative and more bewildering tangents that would take smarter ponies than themselves to understand.

As it was, they had barely enough time to put away their mess in the storage room and get back to sleep before their next day of duty. Still, that cut their sleep short, and Snap was feeling a little groggy by mid-afternoon.

So for now, the book lay hidden behind a rack of bedding materials that had never been used by the dust on them. It was safe enough there. The room wasn’t used very often to begin with which made it appealing for the two conspirators. There was no regular inventorying of of equipment like on a real military ship. The crew were relatively honest types who didn’t prowl through their mates’ belongings with the implicit understanding that their own property would be sacrosanct.

That didn’t stop Cold Snap from engineering wild ideas of how the captain would find out about the book. He had visions of the captain needing that blue sheet with that bone-white fringe and going down to the storage closet because it had to be THAT blanket. Not the blue one with the pink trim and then he would pull them out which would cause the whole stack to spill forth like the sea and drown the captain in linens and lint except for a damning book that floated on the top which would make the captain-

What would the captain do? Cold Snap’s feverish imagination ground to a halt with that question. It was easy to say that the first officer of the Yellow Rose would invent some terrible punishment for whoever violated his privacy.

However, he knew the captain a little better than that. This wasn’t his normal way. Sure, there would be an interesting punishment as sure as the Equestrian princess raised the sun and moon. He was not motivated by wolfish desires, nor did he ever rule with brutality.

His battles might be swift and terrible, but that was only when his wrath was brought to boil. Otherwise, he used reasoning through all his actions. What he would do when...IF...he found his missing book was anyone’s guess.

Until then, he would still research, not snoop, through Captain Gideon’s inner thoughts. There were answers in it. He absolutely knew it.

He also felt a conviction that the answers were important. Inexplicably, knew he was running out of time. He felt it every time he lay down to sleep. He knew it every time he paused his work. It was a persistent, nagging thought that spurred him to find that one key fact that would set all the pieces of this puzzle in their right place. He would be up tonight and pouring over the journal.

He yawned. Assuming he could stay awake that long.

********************************************************************************************

He had no way to prove it, but Cold Snap felt that being out in the open air helped keep him awake and alert. Perhaps it did. Certainly it was more conducive to a late night than being inside the stuffy ship.

To her credit, the Yellow Rose had excellent ventilation. She could blow air like the corridors were the open sea. Despite all that, it wasn’t the same. When out here, Snap felt as if he was on the edge of discovery, like a new world waited just beyond the horizon. Inside, he could only share air with another hundred and some-odd others.

So, he sat outside. The wind blew briskly from the north west. In these lower regions, the wind lost most of its chill and was instead pleasantly cool in these near-tropic environments. The powerful ship hardly noticed the headwind and powered through it like it did everything else.

Where he sat was a bit of a sheltered area that kept him out of the gusts, and there was a small, amber light close by. It seemed odd that the ship would have such a light in its collection of tools, yet after considering his experience on the Golden Hound, Snap realized that all sailing ships regularly ran some light to avoid collisions in the dark. To any observer, this was just another ship moving quickly…against the wind.

Tonight wasn’t much of a risk for collision. They hadn’t seen another ship in days, and the clear sky illuminated the sea in bright starlight and moonlight as if it was the broad day. All Snap had to do to see the most incredible sights he’d seen in his life was to look up.

Look up, he did not. He had seen these stars many times, if in a little less glory. Now, he hunched over the journal and read in the light of the amber faux-lantern. Slowly, he flipped through the pages, piecing details together as best he could.

Captain Gideon had a fascinating mind. Each page demonstrated some level of mastery in one or another science. Metallurgy, construction, mechanics, and the natural world all occupied his varied thoughts. Among them were even dabblings into the magical fields of alchemy, enchanting, and runes. That said, these were much less covered than the more “hard” sciences.

Still, it was quite impressive for a griffon to grasp such subjects that Nebula would have taken an interest in. Their lesser degree matched perfectly with the captain’s actions. Snap thought back to something the griffon said. Magic could be a crutch.

Having seen the workings of the Yellow Rose for-

Actually, how long had he been on this ship? Snap frowned and momentarily forgot about the book. He couldn’t quite remember. Doubtless Neb could tell him down to the second, but he had lost track of a mundane thing like time in all the organized calamity that seemed to plague this ship.

Snap blinked away the woolgathering thoughts and turned the page. Another sketch, this time of a self-propelled cart with great teethed iron wheels and below that, some form of engine that relied on a liquid fuel rather than steam.

He turned another page.

Lilith.

Well, well, well. If that wasn’t something he was looking for. Snap tilted the book to catch the most light.

Some days I know not what to think of my past. No life is complete without mistakes, and she is mine.

I never knew her name, not her given name. She never called herself by anything other than that epitaph to Man. At the time, I thought nothing of it. To someone inexperienced and seeking answers however they might come, such a vain fantasy was a small thing to ignore. If she wanted to adopt such an apocryphal name in spite of its connotations, who was I to stop her?

Would anything have changed if I had?

Night and day I have wrestled with this question. Should I have been so eager to help on her peculiar crusade? Should I have sought to redirect her attentions to something more pragmatic? No answer comes to me.

When I first met her, she was little more than an eccentric, an outlier in the world she knew best. I sympathized. Sympathy is the first step to madness. Together we explored and traded knowledge. I do not understand where our companionship fractured.

All that I understand is that my actions benefited her incalculably. She always held this interest in what the history and myths of man held. When we met though, it was as if I ignited a passion within her, burning brighter than magnesium fire.

Simply knowing Man’s past was not enough for her any longer. She needed to embody it. Recreating his accomplishments became her vision. She dove into everything about that creature, and I could not stop her.

Could not. Would not. They are irrelevant now. It’s been three years now since we last saw each other. If possible, I would have that continue until my dying day.

Somehow, I know that cup will not pass from me. For me, there is no balm in Gilead.

For both of us, eccentricity made us impassioned. In the ensuing years of this war, I have sought to use my knowledge to its utmost to benefit others. This ship I steam upon now is the first of her kind, a proof of how our lives can be revolutionized in a most wondrous fashion. Soon enough, I’ll pack her cannon in grease and store them away. It is what my soul desires.

What has her impassioned soul become? What has she done? Every now and then I hear supposedly wild tales that inevitably point to something we discovered. She is doing terrible things to advance her vision. What happens upon our certain meeting?

Redemption is something to offered freely. There is no obligation for it to be accepted. After all, the road to damnation is marked with gleaming signposts.

Cold Snap blinked and set the book aside. He turned the details over in his mind. Who was Lilith? His early assumptions of employer or lover were not accurate. These two were friends...once.

After that, the sky was the limit for what happened next. Still, it seemed like she was once one of the town weirdos that was tolerated because she was harmless. Somehow Captain Gideon of the Hail clan changed that.

Perhaps it wasn’t purposeful. However, he had been the catalyst in their reactive relationship. With that relationship shattered, Lilith was running amok to build her vision. If only he knew what the vision was.

He wrinkled his snout. On second thought, it might be better if he didn’t know what she imagined. It might help him sleep at night.

As these thoughts whirled through his head, Snap set the book down, leaned back, and watched the moonlit waves. Nothing came of his musing save for a smidgen of a migraine, and nothing would come of it unless someone came forth with answers!

Time seemed to stretch with nothing to keep him company other than the sounds of the night and the rocking of the ship. Gradually, they eased his troubled mind.

His eyes shot open.

Cold Snap looked around. He’d been dozing. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been that way, but something had shaken him from his stupor.

Clink-scrape.

There it was! Something metallic struck something else. Sure the Yellow Rose was made of iron, but Captain Gideon ran a tight ship. There wasn’t anything making a sound that wasn’t meant to, and nothing on the deck at this time of night that made such a sound.

Cold Snap gently shoved the captain’s journal into his saddlebags and crept forward. The sound came from further aft. That would be either near the main entry hatch or the rear turret. Making his way carefully through the dark, he heard a few other sounds, light crystalline scraping sounds, the tap-tap of something striking the deck, and gentle metal clinks.

He passed the main hatch and worked his way to the Number Two turret. His eyes worked through the darkness. Then he saw a shadow move. It was hunched near the railing.

Snap watched the figure’s silhouette. It wasn’t a pony. All the proportions looked wrong for that. Then again, it could be a trick of the angle. It seemed to be watching the silvery glint of a fish leaping from wave to wave.

Then the figure shifted just enough for the light to play across its feathered head and the smooth transition to fur below its winged back. A griffon? There were several in the crew other than the captain. He saw the tufted ears. Only one on this ship matched that description.

“Mr. Horn.”

The hippogriff jolted. His head twisted in the moonlight. He nodded briefly in greeting. “Cold Snap, a late evening for you too? I’d say it is actually. It’s well after midnight now. What has you up?”

Cold Snap approached. “Couldn’t sleep I guess. Lot on my mind.”

He stared into the rippling water washing away from the hull. Then Mr. Horn cleared his throat. “I can’t blame you. The last...well, the whole time on this ship has been challenging.”

In the moonlight, the hippogriff looked as if he was commiserating. It was a tiny bit frustrating. He wasn’t fragile, just out of his depth. If his time on this ship proved anything, it was that he was good at adapting.

“Has it been bothering you much? Any changes?” he asked.

Mr. Horn didn’t need to specify what “it” was. “When people aren’t asking about it, I can usually forget about it.”

The hippogriff winced. “Apologies.”

Snap waved a hoof. “No. That was out of line. Sorry. Really though? It’s like it’s there, but it isn’t. Once I got my head wrapped around it a little, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I made myself think it was. It’s given me dreams. I don’t know what to make of them, but the trees are always there. Sometimes they burn. Sometimes they burn later. Sometimes”- he shuddered- “sometimes I burn with them.”

Mr. Horn shook his head. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t imagine it would to that.”

“Wait till I get going,” Snap chuckled ruefully.

“There’s more?”

“Not much. Ever since I messed with that stupid thing, I feel like I have to go somewhere. I want to go home, but I have to go there more. Problem is that I don’t know where there is. Just...that way, sorta,” he said as he pointed vaguely at the bow of the Yellow Rose.

“I wouldn’t call it intelligent, but it has a will of its own. It feels lost and confused. So it makes me feel that way sometimes. Maybe that’s why it wants to go back? It was taken from the trees and belongs with them?”

Mr. Horn blinked. “That’s quite a statement. Forgive me if I don’t envy you.”

“Not to worry,” Snap smiled.

The hippogriff’s sides rippled with low laughter. “You know, you sound like him, the captain I mean.”

Snap thought about that for a moment, then gave his own laugh. “I guess so. When I get home, I’ll have to have a coat and hat for how dandy I’ll be talking.”

The two chuckled good-naturedly.

“Who’s Lilith?” Cold Snap asked with the swiftness of a knife.

Immediately, the good mood evaporated. “Yes. I know about her,” Snap said quickly.

For a brief moment, the other figure hesitated. In the faint glint of his eyes, Snap could see the wheels turning. Mr. Horn debated playing the fool and denying. That moment passed quickly. “How do you know about her?”

“These days, I have a knack for knowing things for no reason. Being tied to some myth by Man’s blood magics apparently has at least some benefits,” Snap said glibly.

The hippogriff looked out to the sea and the stars wheeling above. The silence was pregnant, and Snap was patient.

“I don’t know who Lilith is.”

Anger flashed through Snap’s young body. Then Mr. Horn’s next words cooled it. “No one does. Everyone wears a mask. You and I wear small ones. Captain Gideon wears his own. Lilith wears hers. The difference is that I don’t think hers ever comes off.

“She never told me much of anything important. I met her twice. Neither time would I consider it a pleasant experience. However, I have ears. My business is listening and reading between the lines. It’s kept my life on occasion and my purse full often.”

“I thought you’d said you never met her. You told the captain you did everything through correspondence,” Cold Snap said with skepticism lacing his voice.

Mr. Horn bristled. “I didn’t lie. I told him I didn’t know my client. I don’t know who Lilith is. You can meet somepony and never know anything important about them. Secondly, I did use mail to communicate on this ill-fated venture. That was simple obfuscation.”

“Who’s the one talking like the captain now?” Cold Snap jabbed.

Mr. Horn frowned. No retort came. His feathers ruffled and he smoothed them with effort. “No one seems to know where she’s from. Her ideas are strange though. They’re foreign. That may not mean anything to you, but I’ve traveled in most every country worth seeing and some that aren’t. Not one of them thought like her. I think that bothered her more than she wanted to let on.”

More silence filled the air. It was several minutes before Mr. Horn spoke again. “Some who knew of her thought she was crazy. I don’t think that she is. Her mind is just otherworldly. That’s the only way I could describe it. The world we live in is the strange one it seems.”

“So she wants to make this world like her imagined world? That’s why she wants the box?” Snap asked.

“Between you and me, I think the box is near useless at this point. It’s these trees on it and in your dreams that matter. She said to me to imagine the world like a garden. Evil would be stripped from it in a heartbeat. And just like that, all our problems would be solved. What do you think?”

Snap mulled it over. “It sounds too good to be true. There’s more than that.”

“And you’d be right. I did a little digging on the sly. You were closer than you’d like joking about Man’s blood magics. Myths say that death was the first and greatest offense against harmony. That death tainted everything, changed the world, and we still feel it to this day.”

In that moment, Snap’s thoughts were a whirl. Pieces were falling into place, and he wasn’t liking the picture. “She wants to rewrite the world?”

He sat back on his haunches. The enormity of the situation settled in his gut like one of the Rose’s shells. She would reach the trees, and they would be her mechanism to eliminate evil, or whatever her perverse definition of evil was. And he knew with utter certainty that these trees had changed the world before. All it would take was a death to make it happen.

“If one death started it, what does a whole ship of sacrifices do?” Cold Snap asked in horrified wonder.

At that utterance, Mr. Horn froze. “And I thought the captain could be morbid,” he said with a shudder.

He gave Snap a playful shove. It felt pitifully forced. “Perhaps you should sleep. I’ll keep watching the flying fish.”

As he thought about what he’d learned of Lilith, Cold Snap wondered if he could ever sleep again. One thought managed to surface in that mental tempest. Nebula would never forgive him for turning him into a sacrifice!

Author's Notes:

-inhale-

-exhale-

"I'm ready."

The Publisher said it with such conviction, such force, that he knew that for once in his life he was finally ready to handle a day meeting with the Author.

Every time he had deigned to meet the Author, he invariably came out scarred and shaken from the occasion. Mortal minds were not meant to tangle with such madness and leave unscathed.

Even things that should have been minor had been twisted into incredible acts of disturbance that the Lord of Chaos would have been most pleased with. That is to say nothing of the times the Author chose to reach his full potential.

If he had to guess, the Author never used more than 3% of his power, man.

Surprise guns? He could handle that. Wunder-inventions? Piece of cake. Conspiracy theories? Bring them on! A work-life balance that made Japan look like a Tahiti vacation? No sweat.

Today was the day that he would not let the Author get one over on him. He took one more deep breath for good measure.

He was ready.

He reached over and tapped the intercom on his desk. A few clear and brown bottles had to move before he could reach it, and they were quickly stowed in the drawer with their siblings.

"Igor, please send him in."

"Yass, masster," the speaker crackled with a hint of organ music.

He still couldn't figure out how you got a sound out of liver. Igor did. It was Igor's problem, not his.

Igor was not the best suited for the job, but he was the best the hiring agency could produce with the Company's requirements. Simply put, Igor was a diversity hire.

He could barely communicate intelligently. Just hearing the brute talk was almost enough to make the Publisher wish for the Author's ramblings on coming economic collapse or the perfect ratio of gasoline/oil/Styrofoam or the best way to redirect a river without the river authorities finding out.

Almost.

However, for all of Igor's faults, (s?)he was a boon to the Company. If one could only look past the stitching and the slightly misaligned features, there were no fewer than six different pony tribes.

Six different tribes all for one paycheck! The Company couldn't have asked for a better value to offset that peculiar homogeny in their maintenance department.

So, for all the headaches Igor brought, the Publisher would gladly deal with them. Besides, he was ready for the Author.

"I'z sent them in, Masster."

The Publisher blinked. Them? He felt a familiar chill working into his spine. He gathered his wah to prepare himself again.

Too late. The door slammed open. "Hah! Boom Baby!"

The Author stood in the doorway, the door hanging precariously by one hinge. He was dressed in his usual attire. That meant lots of grease, carbon, and dirt mixing together in some trailer park avant gard camouflage.

The Publisher held his ground and his nerve. So far, this was nothing he hadn't seen before. After the earlier conspiracy mail event and the cow that somehow ended up in his office, he could take most anything.

"Sup," the Author said as a paper bomber flew through the air and crash landed in a burst of manuscript.

"Good day yourself," he replied, not bothering to worry about the late submittal...again.

"It'll be a good one. I'm just here hanging out with my friend for the day."

The Author had friends? What a shock.

"C'mon. Say 'hi', G!"

"Why do you insist upon calling me that ridiculous name?" said an unfamiliar voice outside the door.

"Come on. He's all right."

"If you insist. I will pay my respects to your friend."

"Friend" might be stretching the truth a bit, but in the interest of business, the Publisher would go along with it. He was ready for today.

A gray griffon with a blue seacoat and a pair of revolvers strapped to his breast stepped through the vacated door. "I bid you a good day. Perhaps we can discuss the peculiarities of these modern literatures your establishment produces?"

"Eep."

The Publisher was not ready for today.

*************************************

IRL note:
Had a second reenactment in Austin recently. Again, tons of fun. Got to shoot an original MP44 (STG44) and a reproduction FG42. At least the Germans had fun toys. Go to your local museums. They're fun.

I'll be sitting in a motel for the next few days. Hopefully I'll be able to get a head start on the next chapter instead of studying for a government test.

Looking forward to experimenting with this new development in both the story and Authors notes. (Dammit. I capitalized Author...)

Making Cold Snap fish for all these answers has been challenging as I want him to reason out as much as possible and develop without everything being handed to him. So, he WILL draw some bad conclusions with his thoughts. I ain't specifying which ones though. That said, he's reached the point where answers and information come much more rapidly, especially since they are nearing the end. I'm curious how this has been coming across so far.

As always, your comments and likes are my crack cocaine.