It was hard to believe a week had passed, but then, to Spike, with years on the water under his belt, it was the barest blink of an eye. The seas were easily manageable, the skies were not yet completely filled with clouds, and the warm breeze that fluttered their sails carried with it the smell of not-too-distant rain, the storm that had been brewing many days before missing them only by a few hours.

Spike yawned from his seat at the bow of the ship, legs dangling over the side as he felt the breeze wash over him. Moving about the ship had given him an innate sense of the ship and her capabilities, and to be honest, he had to say he was impressed. She rode quickly through the waves, yet seemed unimpeded when turning, and though he’d stayed far from the cannon decks, he had a feeling the firepower aboard this ship was greater than what he could see.

Which begged the question, where had Blueblood come up with a ship like this? It seemed far too fast for its size, and yet despite what he guessed to be a larger than average amount of firepower, it likely had a sizable cargo hold. Yet it was given to be the ferry that would deliver his friends to the Changeling Islands, and hopefully, be the vessel that would carry the full ceasefire terms between the changelings and Equestria. Such a ship was more in line with one dedicated to carrying troops and war across the seas, or at least, it was a smaller version of such a ship.

Yet the questions the ship raised for Spike were drowned out by the simmering anger he could feel radiate from the crew. He knew these kinds of ponies. They’d worked on the seas for a long time, knew how to read her, and in turn, depended on moving from port to port, city to city, making money when they could doing whatever they could. Serving on a ship was never easy, as it was a combination of a caravan, a house, a carriage and a warehouse all rolled into one, floating on the sea. All of the tasks that went with such singular entities were the same for on the ship, even more in some cases.

As such, the feeling of unease and anger amongst the crew was all too troubling. Yankton was never a “nice” place, but it usually had been a good place, at least. Sure, there were fights, and squalor in many a place, but it’d been manageable, controlled to a degree, usually whenever times were good and the city could afford to both propose and enact reforms.

Nowadays, it seemed, the city could only enforce what already was, and was slowly slipping away, further into darkness. It was a darkness that seemed to be slowly oozing out of everywhere, like oil from the cracks in a barrel, dripping and splattering across the fabric of society up and down the coast.

Yet the news he had heard from the crew was not good. Yankton was not only falling on hard times, as many places were, but the citizens were growing further and further apart from one another. Gangs were springing up that would never have been allowed years ago, often controlling entire districts. Turf wars were so far bloodless other than the odd death, but as things grew worse, it was only a matter of time before these turf wars turned truly bloody. Gangs like these, they fought over scraps, and would not care who got in the way.

Was this ship sailing right into a trap?

“Spike?”

He turned to see Twilight and Rarity waiting for him, Rarity seating herself on a large crate, placing a pillow down first.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Are… you okay?” Twilight asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t really spoken with us since you told Fluttershy of your… beginnings as a captive,” Rarity said. “You’ve been with us all this week, yet you still keep to yourself, even after promises of the opposite. Would it be wrong to ask why?”

“I don’t know,” Spike said with a shrug. “I just didn’t feel like telling her more than what I had so far. She didn’t take some of it so well, so I thought to let her get used to the idea of it first. It's so much to give out to you all, it gets hard sometimes to remember it all without just breaking down.” that much was true, as Spike's memory had been sharpened like a fine knife, to where recalling a memory was child's play. it also meant anything he'd felt then, rage, regret, pain or nausea... it all came back as well.

“Understandable,” Twilight said. “It’d be traumatizing for Fluttershy to hear of the Isle of Flesh so soon after finding out all you’d gone through up to that point. Information overload, I believe, though learning some of what you’d told her through our knowledge would definitely help bring her to terms with everything. I imagine it'd even be worse for you, thinking about everything. Years to recall, to tell about in mere hours; condensing trauma into such a small time is no doubt hard on you.”

“Something like that, maybe,” Spike said. “It’s just… I don’t know, I feel something else, about Yankton, about this journey.”

“Such as?” Rarity asked as she fiddled with the twirl of her mane.

“Like something bad is on the horizon,” the dragon replied. “Yankton is simmering right now, in a way that I’ve never heard of before. If we show up there, it could be just what is needed to set things off. But it's not just Yankton, though it all just seems to start there.”

“Set things off?” Twilight shook her head. “Things aren’t quite that bad, Spike. They aren’t good, to be sure, but I’m certain we’ll find a way to set things right. Yankton is a troubled city, to be sure, but that’s part of the reason we’re on this mission, isn’t it? We’re here to put a stop to the piracy that is plaguing the cities that depend on shipping and overseas commerce the most. Yankton is one of these, and surely whatever we can do will help matters.”

“Agreed,” Rarity said. “As a secondary task passed down by the princesses, apart from gathering intelligence and more supplies, our stop in Yankton is primarily to get a handle of the situation, and if possible, meet with those in charge of the city, be they political or business leaders, especially whatever members of the city council we are able to convene with. From there, I’m sure we can figure out a solution that will help the city hold over until negotiations have been met, and this piracy plague put to rest for good. The entire coastline is feeling the ills of the practice, not just Yankton. There is more at stake than just one city, and we'll find a solution, we always do.”

Spike wanted to argue with their optimism, but it’d been some time since he’d heard something that sounded so… nice. So, he said nothing, and merely nodded. After all, maybe he was just expecting the worst. The life he’d lived had made it somewhat impossible to do otherwise.

The port of Yankton was not a very old one when compared to others along the coast. It’d been the docks of a small fishing village a mere century before, like any other north of Port Royal, but after the village patriarchs discovered rich veins of silver within nearby mountains, it’d quickly grown as countless citizens moved into the area to seek their fortunes. As the city grew, so too did its influence, and as the silver began to run out, the ruling families had decided to invest their livelihoods into shipping and trade.

As fortune favored the bold, those that immediately went into trade prospered, while those that did not, well… nobody knew if those lines had died out or not, but then again, none of the upper crust cared for their fallen competitors, except in how they could compare and lift themselves above those less fortunate ones. Family lines died out all the time in larger cities like this, dynasties rising and falling with the whims of war and trade as easily as nations and empires themselves did, though somehow with a bit more backstabbing than usual, it would seem. Silver after all had built Yankton up from a mere speck on a local map into a powerful town, but trade had made it strong, had made it grow well beyond what its far-sighted founders had envisioned for it, and many that called Yankton home grew very, very rich from that trade.

Nearby green valleys teemed with sheep whose wool was some of the finest in the kingdom, and desired all across the globe for everything from the latest fashions to the simplest of robes for travelling monks. Icy cold rich rivers, full of fish and eels, were caught, salted and sold to griffin princes and other nobility many leagues to the south. The mountains, into which the uppermost crust of the city spread into, were filled with coal and iron, ideal materials for trade, for building ships, and for creating the railroads, many of which wound their way out of the city's outskirts and into the countryside, like winding snakes of steel and smoke. The vast swaths of forests in the hills outside the city supplied timber for trade and for homes, for ship building and dock renovations, while the forests themselves provided fruits, nuts, berries and all manner of forage-ready goods to be bought or sold.

All in all, a city with such a wealth of resources and available labor should have been absolutely thriving.

Yet, as their ship drew into the docks, it became clear to Spike that it was not. With how sprawling it was, Yankton had developed more districts than some port cities had docks. Everything was built upon everything, with layers upon layers of buildings sprouting up and nestling against one another in tightly packed clusters. Whatever streets that were not purposefully kept wide and clear were so narrow and congested with lean-tos, makeshift shops and groups of beggars, that one would think them to be an alleyway, and not the main route through that district.

The ship sailed past several other, smaller ships, bristling with cannons and guarded by a wide berth of the city’s militia. These ships were pirate hunters, not trading vessels, and it showed, for some were battle-scarred and riddled with holes, some of which were being patched up by dock workers as they passed by.

Their own dock was cordoned off as well by a gate and wall of thick wooden posts, manned by a good number of soldiers wielding both sword and musket. A pair of watchtowers flanked the gates, with no less than three soldiers per station, and from the look of things, the area immediately in front of the gate had been cleared all the way to the nearest city street, with not a soul in sight that was not a soldier. Such security was to be expected for delegates as important and influential as his friends, but to Spike, this overt display of force made him… uneasy. How many of these soldiers were fresh-faced recruits? How depleted were the nearby coastal forts that served as the protection for this city? How bad had things gotten in Yankton for this amount of security to no longer be a courtesy, but a necessity?

“Spike, come on, we’re unloading,” Dash said.

“All right.”

The streets of Yankton were paved with silver, many a tale had said. To an extent, that was true. The cobblestone that lined the proper streets had been paid with the last of the silver from the mines before the veins had dried up. They bore a silvery sheen to them, even when dry, likely enchanted against rain and the constant travel across them throughout the day.

The silver had not, however, made the rest of the city as such. Every road that was not one of the few main roads was narrow, overshadowed by buildings built so close that many connected in impromptu arches. While some were clearly of actual design, many were haphazard, thrown together to try and create an aesthetic that would have been pleasing to look at, were it not shoddy and likely dangerous.

Everypony that lined the streets seemed just like the buildings. Many were packed closely together, likely families or, judging from certain symbols or styles of clothing, members of some sort of gang. Many were filthy, their gazes downcast and their looks grim. What must have been a bright and cheery people in the days of plenty and prosperity had been exchanged for unhappy, sick, poor wretches. The ponies that seemed better off lined not the street, but the upper levels of many a house, looking down from ledges and open windows with pity and revulsion.

Rarity sidled up next to Applejack as their troupe was carried through the streets by a trio of carriages, flanked on all sides by armed guards.

“Did you think things would have become this bad?” she asked her friend.

“I reckon not, but them pirates have nearly brought this city ta it’s knees,” Applejack replied. “Come ta think of it, Blueblood told us Yankton’s been one of the more troublesome cities because of the piracy. Trade’s the lifeblood of these folk, either outta pocket or from the work it provides.”

“My parents have been investing in some of the more profitable ventures within the area, the city included,” Rarity whispered. “Yet I’m worried they’ll withdraw before this pirate mess can be dealt with accordingly. Many families depend on those businesses to keep them fed. I shudder to think what would happen if they were to close down.”

“Nothin’ good, I tells ya,” her friend replied. “My family’s been sellin’ food here at lower rates than anywhere else, just ta help out, and ponies are still goin’ hungry. Somethin’ ain’t right, I tell ya. Ponies here outta be able ta pay fer their food at the prices pa charges and still have a bunch left over, yet half these ponies look weak from hunger!”

“The guards and troops patrolling the streets look well fed,” the unicorn replied as a column marched past, normally bright uniforms tinged with dust and dirt from the foul streets. Indeed, they all appeared strapping and in good health, if a bit haggard and tired in appearance.

“If Blueblood’s been raidin’ the food stores ta feed his soldiers, or them city leaders been doin’ the same…” Applejack muttered, cracking her knuckles in displeasure.

“Come now, Applejack, the prince may be many things, but to stoop so low is something I doubt even he would dream of,” Rarity replied, turning her nose up at his name. “It reeks of corruption and incompetence, and despite what I would normally believe, all evidence points to him being a competent, if rather rude fellow. He would not have secured all of his titles and responsibilities were it not for that, for Celestia does not employ fools.”

“Tell ya what, before we get ta blamin’, let’s see what we can do here,” Applejack agreed. “She sent us here ta help, so that’s what we’re gonna try and do. First things first, when we get ta where we’ll be stayin’, we gotta talk with the others. All of our families’ have stuffed at stake in cities like Yankton and beyond, so I reckon we should be able ta help out somewhere down the line. Fluttershy’s parents practically run all industry outta the Royal Bureau of Land Development, city-wise or not, and Pinkie’s family runs any mine they own like well-oiled machines.”

“Twilight’s family takes care of all the historical and bureaucratic paperwork that flows through the capital, and Dash’s parents oversee the hiring of the Royal Air Force and Army. With all of us working together, and working towards a solution, I’m certain we’d be able to help convince the city’s leaders of the importance of getting Yankton back on its feet. If ponies become so poor that they cannot leave, the who is to say they won’t riot or revolt?”

Never having been in one herself, Applejack had heard stories from her parents of revolts in the past. Miners challenging their owners to form unions, farmers not planting until they’d be assured a good rain season from the Air Force, lack of food making cities practically turn into cesspits of thievery and murder… there were countless instances in the past fifty years to draw from.

Which one would Yankton take, if it were to come to that?

Mathilda was a quick pony. She had to be, to survive her frequent tasks among Yankton’s many dark back alleys and cramped winding streets. Getting wind of news or events before they became common knowledge was vital to the continued wealth of her employer.

Councilman Landon was an important pony in the city. He was, first and foremost, a descendant of one of the original patriarch of the fishing village that had found the silver in the mountains. His wealth was tied to the city right and proper, as his ancestors had been among the first to invest heavily in building and maintaining trade within Yankton.

He also oversaw much of the goings-on of whoever entered or left the city. Many ponies knew him by the fact that he gave out permits for building new residences like they were candy, but would not budge to upgrade those same buildings with whatever amenities were needed after construction, often citing safety concerns. He’d gladly accept the poor and huddled masses into the portions of the city his family owned, citing charity and goodwill, yet would do little to increase their standard of living beyond what they were already experiencing. Certainly, he might try and spin things in his favor by drilling a new well or clearing a street or two, but those were few and far between.

He knew how to play the crowds whilst doing nothing for them. He bore no ill will to them, from what she could understand, but only did so because he cared only for his family, and for the city that brought him wealth and prestige. If his family and thus the city did better because he raised the standards without sacrificing too much wealth, then he would do it.

Such accomplishments were few and far between among most other city leaders.

So, despite his apparent indifference and unwillingness to continually improve the lives of Yankton’s downtrodden, he somehow still did more than most might.

Mostly, what he did otherwise, was to use knowledge for the benefit of his family and the city. He relied on accurate and up-to-date information, such as, the most recent and possibly important arrivals to the city proper in quite some time. Being one of the first to know of their arrival, a good day ahead of schedule, would earn her more money than she’d otherwise see in a month in another job.

Anything to keep her nieces fed. Some may have been near her own age, so sudden and unexpected she was to her own parents, but that didn’t stop her from looking after them. They needed all the help they could get down near the docks, where the riches should flow but only misery and crushing despair were in plentiful supply these days.

She pushed those thoughts from her mind as she darted across the rooftops. The streets, even cleared, were far too narrow, far too filled with those who could get in her way or slow her down for their own reasons. Friends, rivals, even an ex-lover or two, they could all make her pause, and thus be too slow to be of use. Yet, be it day or even worse, night, with the roving gangs… the rooftops were by far safer, though their risk was apparent as well. Hurtling over a smoke-filled gap between two alleys, she came to the base of the largest outcropping of buildings in the entire city.

Weathering Heights was the central location in a vast portion of the city where many of the middle class dwelled. Their shops, markets, homes and warehouses were far less cramped than near the docks, and gave the impression of a respectable, if somewhat dry, upland portion of a working seaside city. Yet, it was often cut off from the less desirable elements of Yankton, so many of the ponies there felt little discontent from the goings-on of the dockmasters and shipyards. They were more concerned with whatever trade and goods flowed into the city by land, and as such, built their wealth where they lived, rarely venturing outside save to the upper portions, where their wares were sought by the richer denizens.

Yet Weathering Heights paled in comparison to the magnitude of buildings before her.

Officially labeled as Seaside Heights on the city maps, the residents knew it as Cliffside, and it was apt. Seeing as the city had grown out and towards the sea, after a century of building, it would only make sense for certain buildings to be placed in more and more confined areas. If they could not go in one direction, they would undoubtedly go in another. Zoning and ordinance laws were far more lenient for those who had the coin to spend and the magical abilities to back it up. So, if someone wanted to build a monstrous assortment of towers and housing in a veritable cliff face rising to the very highest echelons of the city’s richest districts, to both extend said districts further out and make more living area for tenants, and had the money and magic to do it, then why shouldn’t they?

Blowing a small strand of her errant red mane out of her face, Mathilda rushed up to the lowest ledge and with a leap began her ascent. Luckily for her, she’d clambered up this amalgamation of buildings many times in her much younger days and knew practically every handhold available.

It was doing so one day that brought her to Councilman Landon’s attention in the first place. He owned this veritable vertical district, filled with all kinds of shopkeepers, artisans, merchants and even a few guild headquarters. After all, what were the odds he didn’t? He’d told her he’d normally have had such a scruffy, ill-mannered beggar thrown in prison for a week for daring to climb it.

Yet he’d seen in her something useful, even told her so, and the chance at good, reliable money had been too good to pass up: thus, she’d taken him up on his offer.

One of the poorest families in the city, and one of the richest, directly dependent upon one another, one for reliable and current information that kept them ahead in the political and social games, the other for coin that kept food on the table and bought warmth during the colder months.

Ironic.

She shook her head as she continued to climb, through a lattice work of seemingly out of place railings, handles, ropes and platforms jutting or hanging from the sides of the buildings.

The quiet scuffling of papers and the scratching of a long quill were the only noticeable sounds in the study. Overlooking the sea, as well as a fair portion of Yankton, it was a quiet place, the windows closed for once to escape the heat radiating from the sun. The only door leading from the room was flanked by a pair of busts, statues of ponies long dead, for nearly a century in fact, yet their chiseled stony faces seemed just as lifelike as when they had been carved.

Silver had paid for them. Silver had paid for most of the building the study was connected to, as well as the legacy of the family that dwelled within it.

The only occupant, flanked by a pair of bookstands filled with historical, political and economic theory and information, slouched slightly over his desk.

Councilman Landon was always a busy pony, even when it seemed he wasn’t. This was a self-imposed break from the stress and constant workload of securing his family’s future. It was a rush of politics and economic gambling that he lived for, but every now and then, for both his sanity and his health, he needed a break.

Where other pones might go and take a trip to a relaxing villa chateau in the mountains, or a seaside vacation along a tropical beach, he retreated to his study. He did not care that some ponies asked why, nor did he care that few believed him when he said it helped him to relax.

This was often where he’d sit and read while father worked, the comfortable silence a reassuring one. Where many of the other colts would go out to roughhouse in the streets, playing ball or getting into antics by climbing a building they shouldn’t, he’d be here instead, learning by his father’s knee of the family business and how to keep it running.

His father had not said many words to him in his life, and every word from him had been taken to heart gladly. Whether it was from his days spent overseeing a coal mine that corrupted his vocal chords to the point that not even magic could fix it, or the fact that he was likely just a stallion of few words, nobody had ever known other than Landon’s own mother.

Speaking of which, he should send her a bouquet, her birthday was coming up soon and she’d likely swing by for a visit. “Lilies of the Valley, she always liked those,” he muttered, making a notation on a small pad beside him. Normally it’d be filled with what some might have called incomprehensible gibberish, but he knew what he meant by what he wrote. If others could not, then too bad.

His study, the study of his father and grandfather before him, as well as every male head of the household leading back to its very construction, was a bit like himself. To many other eyes, it would seem rather ordinary, perfectly suited for his tasks.

Landon was a stallion at war, and this was is headquarters.

Specifically, he was at war with the poverty in his city.

His runner Mathilda was evidence enough of that. Just her, with the money she earned, was lifting more than three families out of squalor, and without a bit of it being charity. It was pay, pure and simple, and what she did with it was her own business. Luckily, his investment in her had been a wise one, and instead of hoarding it to herself or spending it on frivolous trinkets, she helped feed her family on top of whatever they made.

He kept tabs on them from time to time, and was surprised to learn how many were actually going to finish primary school. From what he understood, very few had before he entered the picture, albeit subtly.

The poverty in the city was growing at an alarming rate. His decisions to let poor into his districts, to build them housing and yet seemingly turn a blind eye to their later woes was not at all what it appeared. Yes, he did not wish to develop the infrastructure in so crowded an area. If he did, then none of the ponies would be encouraged to work hard enough to escape their squalor. If they did not rise above their station, then any improvements he made would only encourage them to stay.

Instead, he catered to the needs in the growing districts, where many of the city’s formerly poor would move once they’d found work that paid them enough to live there. He’d talked with most of the craftsmen and construction overseers on the hiring of those looking to leave their stations, but it only went so far. Everything else he footed whenever he could, be it new wells for drinking water, larger buildings designed to hold families, expanded roads into the city from undeveloped areas to allow for greater flow of goods, schools for the children of ponies who needed to learn how to read and write just as much as their children did… he did so much, yet from behind closed doors.

Many might call him a penny-pincher for not wanting to spend so much in the areas where the poor already dwelled, but he never saw any of them build or finance hospitals, or supply the soup kitchens, or distribute blankets and medicine for those too poor to afford such lofty care. He did this out of the goodness of his heart, but were it not for a shrewd business sense, he’d have gone bankrupt trying to save as many as he could. His family came first, and then the city, but the poor and the destitute…

His family had been that, once, a very long time ago. He did not wish that sort of life on anypony, and would do what he could, when he could, but never at the expense of his family or the city of Yankton itself.

As it was, there was an unhealthy amount of ponies gathering in the poorer sections of Yankton. Half the time Landon wondered where they came from. The countryside was brimming with full farms and overflowing in production, but the pay was not the greatest. So, many a young and single pony, from mountain hamlets and valley cottages to coastal fishing villages and forested cabins, flocked to the cities looking for work, often owning only what they carried.

It did not sit well with him the business of piracy was turning this once great city into one of squalid streets and debauched citizens. The poor would always exist, he accepted this long ago when his father had first shown him the poorer sections he now oversaw, but things were getting worse. Looser morals amongst the populace were leading to fewer and fewer crimes being reported while more were likely being committed, to say nothing of reliable witnesses coming forward or even being found. It was almost as if everypony was keeping their trap shut or somehow immediately forgetting anything illegal they’d seen.

Yet there was more to it than just that. Landon knew shadowy forces were at work in his city, the likes of which he’d never heard of before. Gangs had always been a thing in the larger cities, and Yankton was no exception. Yet… the turf wars were on the downswing. Gangs that would have gladly clobbered one another a few years ago were often seen acknowledging one another and sticking to their own business, often clearly defining their territories in ways that somehow did not violate any city ordinance or law.

That alone gave him a great deal of suspicion. Any chance to expand territory was taken, with great gusto and planning, or at least, it had been.

To add to his suspicion, occasionally, ponies would disappear or wind up dead that were influential among the lower classes; dockmasters, fishing captains, craftsmen, lower-end bankers and even sailors. Those that disappeared were never seen again, as if they had simply vanished into thin air. The ones that did die, however, were often replaced by perfectly respectable ponies that, for some reason, Landon did not trust.

There was just something… wrong with them. They had clean backgrounds, almost too clean in some cases, as he always checked on those sorts of things. The problem was that many came from backgrounds or with skills that had little to do with their current positions, such as a pearl diver becoming a blacksmith and being fairly good at it, or a former fisher going into carpentry. Yet, they not only performed admirably at their newfound positions, many were succeeding in endeavors at a far greater pace or rate of success than they logically should have.

He could have just been imagining things, but something was afoot in Yankton, and from his correspondences in other cities, Port Royal included, much of the same was occurring. Ponies from all walks of the lower and even middle classes were disappearing or, in cases, winding up mysteriously dead. Many deaths were ruled as accidental homicides, likely the cause of drunken fights or muggings gone bad or debts being repaid, but even so…

There was a pattern here that Landon could not see yet knew was there. He only hoped when he found it, that only the right ponies would find out that he had. If there was something sinister going on, then his life would be in danger, and the lives of his family, should he delve too deep, or discover the truth.

He would have to get them out of the city, send them into hiding, if such a terrible conspiracy was indeed unmasked. The capital… Canterlot would be a haven for them, he was sure of it. His correspondences there would undoubtedly take them in if the worst happened to him.

There was a knock at his door. He looked up, his glasses set loosely at the end of his snout.

“Come in,” he called.

A butler graciously opened the door, and with as much grace and dignity as she could muster between panting breaths, Mathilda strode in.

“Councilman Landon,” she said with a polite bow.

“Mathilda, my dear,” he said, setting down his quill and straightening in his chair. Well, it was about time for him to return to his duties anyway. “I take it you have news?”

Keeping a house in good order was the primary responsibility a good butler cherished most of all. Geoffrey was no different. Where there was dirt, it was to be cleaned. Where there was a mess of sorts or something in an ill state, it was to be cleaned or repaired. Should there be guests on the way, or already arriving, then preparing the house for them to feel most welcome and at ease was the order of the day. Be it food, drink, or some form of exotic taste, like incense or an old hookah stashed in the basement, he would see it utilized to its best for the sake of his guests.

Geoffrey had been born into a middling house of wealth, though he had not, like some believed, come from wealth. His family had been servants for several generations after a great forest fire had forced them from their lands and into the city of Port Royal. The mayor at the time had taken them in, and from there, they’d worked their way up to serving under one of the city’s primary council members.

Geoffrey had been born into the councilman’s home from parents who could barely write, though thankfully they could read well enough. Yet, from an early age, his master had taken note of how quickly the young stallion had taken to the lessons under the matronly governess he’d hired to tutor his own children. So, with some curiosity, he’d allowed Geoffrey to sit in on the lessons, should all his tasks for the morning be completed.

The councilman soon realized Geoffrey’s talents for not only reading and writing, which he’d developed at a tremendous pace, but also his skills in running a household. When the young stallion’s parents had fallen ill with an unexpected malady, the young stallion had taken it in stride, seeing to all the tasks and duties of running the household, despite being near half the age of the more experienced staff. Even upon their eventual return to good health, he’d remained in command of the household duties, as the councilman’s request.

So, as he continued to impress and improve his skills, his studies had eventually taken him elsewhere. Many places he visited in his youth, from secluded corners of Equestria to the shores of distant and exotic lands, all when most lads his age were still learning to talk with girls. Before he was yet a stallion grown, he’d already accumulated a vast repertoire of knowledge rivalling many an educated professor, and that skill set only grew as time went on. Skills both known and hidden collected in him like a great deal of treasure within a secure vault, and in time, few knew even a fraction of what he knew and could do.

Had he been born in even a middle-class family, he might have become a professor of great renown. Yet upon returning to his home city years later, to formally take over the duties of his parents, who by now were becoming a bit too old for that line of work, he chose to remain a butler. Albeit, he was a finely-paid one, especially by Port Royal standards, as his finances allowed his own family to leave the servant lifestyle and take up in a cottage industry on the outskirts of the city, spinning wool into clothes for rich and poor alike.

His duty to his family was second, however, for he had no children to call his own just yet, and his position did not allow for the pleasantries of dating. Perhaps, in time, should he not grow too old, he might find somepony to call his own.

Yet, he did feel like he had a child to look after some days, a rambunctiously rowdy child who talked far too much about himself and thought far too little of others.

“Geoffrey!”

Or most days.

“Yes, my prince?”

Blueblood was an odd fellow, to be sure. He took his work seriously yet cared little for proper etiquette unless he was wishing to secure support or funds from a wealthy or influential individual. He’d practically thrust aside his visitors from the princesses, and despite what some might think, Geoffrey knew the Elements of Harmony were by far some of the most capable ladies in the entire kingdom. They’d negotiated ceasefires and peaceful resolutions to more than one brewing war, banished and reformed cults, stopped invasions, brought low countless environmental disasters and tragedies, reformed traitors and villains alike that threatened the very fabric of society, and in case, reality, and had, for the longest time, been part of the first bulwark against the more dire threats to the kingdom.

Simply put, to Geoffrey, this mission of theirs should have had Blueblood’s full support, and from the surface, it did indeed. Yet...

“Another glass of wine, if you will?” the prince asked.

Underneath the apparent facade of willing to play along, Blueblood had plans upon plans of his own. He was nothing if not ambitious, the prince, but Geoffrey knew that should many of these come to light, it would hurt the standing of Equestria in the eyes of more than a few nations. There were meetings he partook in that not even Geoffrey was privy too, exchanges of information and contacts that he was completely in the dark about. Whoever they concerned, and their details, remained a mystery to him.

The ones he did know about, moreover, were the ones the most concerning, as he could not worry about something he did not know.

The Changelings, first and foremost, would definitely retaliate something fierce if it were sprung on them, and while the Crystal Empire would likely pay it little mind, many of its citizens would likely grow worried. A rising army and navy with the power to change the course of naval history, as well as redraw the maps should individuals achieve enough power to do so? Why, it could start a trade war with some, or worse, an actual armed conflict with others.

Yet Blueblood was taking precautions for this as well, both diplomatically and politically. He’d assured and soothed many ruffled feathers amongst the Griffin republics across the sea as well as the Griffin Kingdom to the south, and had told more than a few minor city states that such hearsay had little bearing on the truth. He’d also convinced many local officials across the country to either see things his way or continue about their business as best suited them, offering positions to family members or friends within his vast collection of peons and allies if only to keep them out of his way.

To some extent, despite what others might believe, Blueblood was telling the truth when he told others not to worry. The Prince had no visions of grandeur for conquest or naval supremacy, despite what he might mutter from time to time. No, he wished for peace and prosperity, for that made him rich, and making him rich made you his friend.

Yet he was not so naïve as to believe that peace did not come without a price, nor could it be maintained with platitudes and kind words and signed documents. So he sought security, both for his kingdom and for his bank accounts, and while others might not see it like that, Geoffrey knew the prince would take it in stride. Yet, for the life of him, the butler did not understand why he attempted to keep all this secret from his aunts, the princesses. Surely at least some of this was going to get back to them sooner or later, in some concrete form, would it not?

Would he have to help the prince pick up the pieces if it did? The fallout would likely be severe, both for Blueblood and the nation. After all, a great number of ponies were siding with him in all sorts of these matters and plans, judging from the number of visitors and letters he received. Even if not all were completely on board with it, a great many were still at least compliant with it.

Geoffrey sighed as he poured the prince another glass of wine. It was all so confusing at times, all of this cloak and dagger politics combined with all the secret meetings. Why could things not just be solved more openly?

“Something on your mind, Geoffrey?” he asked.

The butler shook his head. “Just an old stallion musing on some inconsequential matters, sir, nothing to worry yourself about.”

“Ah,” Blueblood replied lamely, before sipping the red drink. “Tell me, Geoffrey, do you find it odd that I am not married?”

Again, the prince continued to surprise him by displaying extremes of both ends. This question had come up in passing before, and the prince had merely been thinking out loud, but this had to be the first time Geoffrey could remember the prince actually asking him. “Some would say you have dallied far too often with unmarried ladies of the lower classes, my prince,” Geoffrey replied. “Yet you do nothing of ill repute that I am aware of.”

“You’d be the first to know, anyway,” the prince replied, lounging in his study’s chair, staring out the window at the city below him. Port Royal looked beautiful when you couldn’t quite smell it. “As it is, there is a young lady who has recently caught my attention, and if you could be so kind as to put out the word, I should like to know more about her.”

“Her name, my prince?”

“A young lady named Charlotte. I believe she works down near the docks.” The prince took another sip. “A spy of mine had seen her talking with my quiet associate, and I would like to know why.”

“I shall do what I can, sir,” Geoffrey said with a soft smile. Ah, a chance to work some of the other skills he’d picked up in his life, and one that didn’t involve looking over a potentially disruptive prince.

How refreshing, to say the least.

Author's Note

Almost five years in the making. The first thing I've published in well over a year. Little to no activity within the fandom, barely responding to anyone, and generally nearly leaving the fandom altogether several times.

Does this make up for my absence? I would think not. If you are upset with me, or want answers, all I can say is that life began to kick my ass something fierce, both in reality, and in my own head. Rest assured, things are much better now.

Will this chapter hopefully be the turning point in my return? I would very much like it to be.

Enough ranting, a few notes on this update.

I've rewritten a few portions of earlier chapters, especially chapters 8 through 10, as I decided I did not like the direction the story was going in. It is now a bit better in my opinion, and along with that, I've deleted all of the un-uploaded, unwritten chapters I had stashed on the site, in a sort of "saved overall future outline" sort of deal. Partially because there was nothing to them (literally), and I always felt a bit intimidated by how planned out I had originally made this story. Now, it'll be a chapter by chapter writing, with a general outline stuck in my head that can be fiddled with as needed, at will.

As for any other stories, this is my official announcement: I am holding off on those until I finally finish this one. Once this one is done, I should expect to return to A Dragon's Journey, as well as a few unfinished projects, as soon as possible.

If you have any questions or comments, let me know, either in this chapter or in a PM.