If there was one place in the city that exemplified the changing times that always occur, it was at the old mansion where the city’s most powerful leaders assembled on a semi-regular basis. A sprawling manse of old wealth passed down from generations before, it was built strongly, with solid timbers and carved stone, enchanted to repel rain and snow as much as hold together against frost and overgrowth.

It was poor fate that the family that called the place home had not thought to protect themselves in the same manner as their ancestral abode. Accidents, poor health, secret wars of influence and wealth between guilds and powerful families, all culminated in the extinction of the family who had so meticulously built and called the manse their home for generations. Now, only their names remained, and as such, they were only spoken about in hushed whispers, lest their ill fortune infect those who dared speak of them out loud.

It was the perfect meeting place as it was, for the family had once been large, and with so many relations, any get-together was going to need enough room. A wide semicircle of chairs hemmed in a large central table, in a spherical chamber that appeared a bit similar to some governmental halls and meeting places. There had been some of those in the extinct families’ past, so perhaps that was where the inspiration came from, and the marble columns, high ceiling, and large spaces for extra tables meant it could seat a great number of Yankton’s influential citizens, or at least their representatives.

As it were, the original annual meetings had quadrupled in frequency merely ten years previously. At the onset of every season had been the original change, but now, with times as trying as they were, it was impossible to go so long without a meeting of sort. As it was, many of the surrounding grounds contained their own offices and guest quarters for the rich and powerful of Yankton, as travel between different parts of the local countryside and the city often took longer to complete than the time between meetings.

It had only taken a day settling in before Spike received word that the Elements were invited to the proceedings. Such a rapid response to the crisis surprised him, but given how badly things had been going recently, there was no telling just how long it had taken them to decide to expedite such a process.

When he entered the foyer overlooking the great meeting hall, he had reason to immediately suspect the situation was worse than they had originally planned for. The place was absolutely packed with important Yankton elite or groups of representatives sent in their stead. Economic barons of steel, coal and lumber mixed with mercantile monopolists, mining conglomerate heads and representatives of several cottage industries, all under one roof. Why, there was likely more wealth or representatives of wealth gathered under this roof than in the rest of the city combined.

That would definitely explain the garrison outside the grounds, marching around in starkly colored uniforms and armed with the latest equipment of Their Majesties’ Army. Impressive, no doubt, but more than to give a sense of order, they were there to keep the peace, and keep any folks away that got any funny ideas about that many wealthy people under one roof.

At the very head of the tables, high above the others, were the seats for the Elements of Harmony, likely the most distinguished guests of all those gathered. As their escort, Spike led them to these high seats, next to which were several others, already taken by the senior most elected officials of the city proper. Many of these ponies were elderly who had witnessed the city grow and prosper in better times, and as such, had dedicated their lives to not only seeing it remain prosperous, but were the best sources of advice on current maladies that had afflicted Yankton in the past.

After another hour or so of gathering and mild gossip, the doors finally closed, Spike standing well behind the Elements as a great hush fell over the delegates. Anticipation, fear, greed, ambition, hope, Spike could practically smell all of these emotions radiating off this host of Yankton’s elite.

“Esteemed guests, I welcome you to this grand council of Yankton,” Twilight said, speaking up as she rose from her chair. “On behalf of my friends and me, we are honored to have been included as guests of honor within this grand assembly. Even with the princesses having sent my fellow Elements and I to assist with your situation, it is without a doubt a sign of good fortune that we find ourselves arriving at the confluence of such an esteemed gathering, so as to assist with matters far beyond our normal jurisdiction. In due time, I am confidant a series of measures and solutions will be presented, that will not only alleviate the loss of trade and prosperity that Yankton is currently suffering, but also lift this burden from the people of this great city. With a city as grand and storied as Yankton, others will no doubt follow suit, should we find a compromise that satisfies all parties, and brings about a new time of good will and prosperity.”

Spike had to admit, he was more than a little impressed. Twilight’s fear of speeches that he remembered from long ago had apparently been shoved in a box, filled with concrete, and dumped into the proverbial sea. That, or she was much better at hiding it than before.

Perhaps a bit of both.

“Our first speakers are High Overseers Fuse Backfill and Alloy Slab, owners of the Coal Guild and Steelworks of Yankton, and senior members of the Board of Mining Safety and Regulations.”

Mr. Backfill and Mr. Slab were older earth ponies, but by no means were they crones. Middle-aged might have been the better term, given their greying manes and glasses, yet in their eyes they retained a spark of youth, a fire that time had not quenched. Mr. Backfill’s pelt was one of deepest black, much like the coal mines he oversaw, while Mr. Slab was as grey as the steel he produced for the railways. Normally the leaders of two such interconnected industries would have been enemies, given how much one needed the other’s materials in cheap supply, but by pooling their resources instead of bickering, they had created codependent industry the likes of which could support entire lesser towns, should it spread to other locations.

“The miners have been producing more than we can use,” Backfill said, adjusting his spectacles as he gave short, rasping cough. “We have coal sitting around leeching dust into the air, even with the spells in place. We can only export so much to other steelworks and train yards for their furnaces, and in time we’re liable to run out of space unless trade with the Crystal Empire is resumed in full measure. A train route is still underway, but the snags in construction are delaying progress almost as badly as the pirates are. As it is, they cannot heat their homes with personal magic as readily as fairer climates might, given their occasional magic storm that interrupts spell usage.”

A leftover from the days of Sombra’s black magic, no doubt, when he was at the height of his power, Spike recalled.

“As for my mill workers, we too have steel that is being left to gather dust, as we have been unearthing more iron than what we know to do with,” Slab added, his strong jaw set in frustration. “Orders for building materials cannot be fulfilled on the southern coast at current prices if we are unable to ship by sea, nor can dockyards be expanded without the materials necessary. We may still ship by land, yes, but it is far more cost effective to go by water, and damn it all if we haven’t lost a considerable amount of good steel to pirates sinking the ships carrying them!”

“So we have steel that is unused or too pricey to be moved by rail, and coal that cannot be shipped by land to those who have greatest need of it,” Twilight reiterated, turning to her left. “Pinkie Pie? Your family has extensive mining holdings and conglomerations to their name, and thus that leaves you with the most experience in the matter. What say you?”

“The best thing about coal is that you can’t make steel without it, or at least, it’s very hard,” the pink pony replied, thoughtfully tapping her chin. “That, and while our spells can keep it from making everything nasty and dirty to the most extent, we still can’t use our trains without it. Are there, by chance, any other routes that could be used for hauling the coal?”

“Not very many, your ladyship,” Backfill replied. “To absorb the cost of transport through multiple railways, rather than a direct shipping lane, would greatly diminish the return on investment, and sadly, would wind up gouging my worker’s pay. Yankton’s lack of miner strikes has been primarily to our policy of paying them well above what other places might, as absorbing the admittedly minor cost is more beneficial in the long run than, say, dealing with strikes and revolts.”

“Well, the Pan-Oceanic railway system does stop off on the other side of Equestria, and they have a route to the Crystal Empire, but such a distance would amount to a fair bit of delay in shipment, let alone travel costs,” Pinkie Pie said. “My family does have a bunch of small mining towns located along those tracks, many of which produce coal. Would it be okay for you to take the routes through those places, so long as my parents come to a deal for exchanging our coal for, say, some of Slab’s steel?”

“I do not see why it wouldn’t work for the time being, though I would still need to be paid for the steel,” Slab replied. “Covering the cost of additional train cars to carry the steel to these towns is something I can do for now, though eventually it will need to be supplanted with a more permanent arrangement.”

“I concur with Mr. Slab. Hauling that much coal is best for when you won’t need proportionally more of it to move your trains, and it would be likewise ludicrous to make a longer journey, only to burn through some of the coal you are scheduled to deliver, just to make it on time,” Backfill said with another cough. “Provided your family is willing to exchange their coal for Mr. Slab’s steel, I will gladly have my trains pull the extra cars, and then use the traded coal for our own train’s fuel. In this, we don’t burn through our coal, and your coal towns receive steel they otherwise wouldn’t have.”

“Still, this is a temporary measure, only good for the near future,” Pinkie Pie added. “If I am able to secure a deal, we will still have to find a means to swap coal for steel at the current market prices.”

With a few mutterings amongst other delegates near the two High Overseers, many of them either smaller guilds or mills that worked for or were partnered with the two stallions, it seemed the issue had, for now, found a solution. Albeit temporary, true, but temporary was better than none at all.

“Let’s see here,” Twilight muttered, looking upon a long list before her. “Our next speaker is Grand Admiral Mast Drawn.”

“Just Drawn is fine,” the soft-spoken pegasus replied as he stood, looking very sharp in his pressed uniform of Their Majesty’s Navy. Red eyes, a well-groomed black mane, he cut a very imposing figure.

“So then, Grand Admiral Drawn,” Twilight continued. “On our way here, we overheard tales of press gangs needed to fulfill the navy quotas for sailors. Is there precedence for this?”

“Sadly, yes, though usually only during wartime,” the cobalt admiral replied. “Often, when the need for ships outstrips our capacity to man them with sailors and, if need be, marines, larger cities will often employ the destitute, sometimes by force, to join the navy. It is a repugnant practice, I will admit, though it does achieve the results we wish for.”

“Dissent and anger in cities?” Rainbow Dash asked rather pointedly, clearly remembering the conversation with Blueblood some time ago.

“Sailors,” Drawn replied coolly. “We need them now more than ever, to man not only our trade ships, but the vessels protecting them from these pirates.”

“Why not simply create recruitment drives for the more interior towns and cities?” the duchess asked, raising an eyebrow. “My parents have long found that concentrating on recruiting manpower locally affects local cities far more than spreading out the recruitment. After all, you can’t just grab any stallion you see in the same place, or else any leftovers are going to avoid you like the plague.”

“Your parents, heiress, they have significant presence within the armed circles, do they not?” Drawn asked. “Have my correspondences to them been lost, or simply ignored? Such tactics are exactly those I have attempted in the past, but my recruiters find themselves bereft of funding or support.”

“I’ll see to it that they are personally informed,” Dash countered. “The expertise of my parents lies in the Royal Army and the Royal Air Force, not the Navy. I will see what I can do, as they undoubtedly have had many recruits wash out from both branches for one reason or another. Encouraging these ponies to sign up for one last chance at serving princesses and country in the navy should not be a difficult endeavor.”

“Then I shall await their answer, the sooner, the better… your ladyship.”

Dash simply gave a curt nod, clearly holding back some sort of insult. There was a time and a place for that, but here, amongst high society, she had to play the part of the nobility, of genteel blood and upper society mannerisms.

Were it some tavern, she’d have likely told him off with a few choice words.

Twilight was silent for a few moments as well, subtly glaring as the grand admiral sat back down, a cadre of junior officers and captains clustered around him. Most seemed cowed by her stare, though a good number seemed not to notice at all.

“Moving on then, next is… Lady Bolt Veneer, head of the Forester’s Guild.”

A batpony of all things, a rare sight this far north and west, stood, her wings folded to her sides. Her attire screamed “dressed in the carriage on the way here”, but her calm demeanor very much gave credibility to her profession. After all, being in charge of large, burly lumber-ponies meant you had to have a presence that went beyond simply being loud, and her stare was one of direct intensity that clearly brooked no room for argument.

“Compared to our mining associates, production has slowed to a crawl, as many of the ponies who hauled logs down to the docks are no longer needed, as the docks have stopped expanding. Some have moved to hauling cut boards from sawmills for ship repairs and building, but we need less of them than log haulers. Without as much space as the mining companies, and with logs that will go bad far faster than steel or coal will, we have had no choice but to ramp up production whenever we run low of stock, but throttle it back once we run dry on orders.”

“Have you tried using spells to prolong the life of the wood, to repel water damage and pests?” Fluttershy asked. “Our family has long hired unicorns to cast such spells on most of the buildings making up the park and settlement infrastructure.”

“We normally would, but some of our unicorns were picked up by the admiral’s gangs during a lull in production,” Ms. Veneer said, giving the cobalt pegasus a sideways glare. “Even then, our budget is stretched as tight as can be. Wood is always needed, but with how the mills are working, we only need so many to harvest. The mill workers are not afraid of losing their jobs, but the ones cutting the trees and hauling them in? I’ve had to lay off a good quarter of them, and others are just up and leaving for other cities.”

“Have you branched out to woodcutting?” Fluttershy added. “Many homes do not have the ability to burn coal in their furnaces, and fireplaces are still installed in a large number of country towns.”

“Even if we cut back on our lumber production enough to use those same logs to make bundles of firewood, I doubt it would amount to much. Still,” the batpony said with a sigh. “It is something.”

“I also assume you’ve been pressed into the position of practically giving away most of your lumber to the shipyards for shipbuilding as well, correct?”

“Yeah, price is fair enough, but they’re eating up all the good timber I can make. All I have left is only just good enough for homes, and Yankton’s not in a market to expand, most everyone here can’t afford it. Besides, we used to export a lot of our wood, but seeing as we can’t anymore, we’re a bit stuck.”

“But many of the interior towns and villages are growing, especially those located on rich ore veins or along train tracks. Expanding your market outside of the city will surely help, wouldn’t it?”

The batpony nodded. “It would, but hauling the lumber that far makes it cost more, and a lot of those smaller places wouldn’t be able to afford it. I’d have to gouge my prices just so I could sell it.”

“Better that than just letting it sit and rot,” Spike muttered to himself.

“I’m sure an arrangement could be made to have the buyers meet you halfway, if only to cut back on costs,” Fluttershy continued. “My parents have been in correspondence with some spell guilds as to creating better protection enchantments, and they’ve been making great progress. With your permission, I could arrange a meeting with your unicorns to study and master these new preservative spells, if only to help your stock last longer before it begins to deteriorate.”

“I’d appreciate that very much, ma’am,” Ms. Veneer said with a bow before returning to her seat.

As the next round of delegates and upper echelons of society were called forth, this time on the means of food production and distribution to the poorer sections of Yankton, Spike let his eyes wander around the assembly. With so many gathered folk here, many of them coming wealth earned from Yankton’s original silver expansion, it stood to reason that others, with far less scrupulous ideals in mind, would attempt to tag along. That, or eavesdrop, disguised as a servant or whatnot.
Come to think of it, there were a lot of servants milling about this hall. He could understand, given just how many of the delegates would bring their own along with them, but that didn’t account for the sheer number. Most were refilling pitchers of wine or whatever else a delegate was drinking, replacing empty food trays, bringing fresh quills and ink, or just taking orders from the assembled. How many of these servants worked in this old estate fully? Given that it was more of a meeting hall than an actual residence, it couldn’t have been that many…

“Wine, sir?” a voice asked, and Spike turned to find a pegasus holding a platter and pitcher, one full of wine, the other covered in empty glasses.

“Sure,” he said, taking in her appearance. Shorter, cream colored, with a rather hastily-done bun of an auburn mane and a rather cute figure. She looked exactly like many might expect a maid to appear.

“My pleasure, sir,” she said she handed him a full glass. Wines such as this were weak, with barely an alcohol content to them, but they were better than much of the wells in these areas. Being so close to mines had rendered many wells unfit for drinking a generation or two ago, and from what Pinkie Pie had told him, cleaning up the aquifers was a long and arduous task, even with magic to assist.

Hence the wine. It tasted good, he had to admit, and after sipping, looked back to find the maid still there, staring at him a bit oddly.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.

“You’re a dragon.” She sounded surprised.

He chuckled. “Yes, I am. Spike, at your services.”

“I’ve never seen a dragon in Yankton before.”

“I can’t imagine a lot of dragons come through here. They tend to stick to their own lands, I’d imagine, and even if they did, they probably never make it up this far into Yankton.”

He’d never seen a dragon in all his time out on the seas, not even when trading with passing ships. Either dragons didn’t care for the sea like he had come to, or they hired others to do the trading for them. Then again, given how water could nullify the flames of all but the most powerful of dragons, it wasn’t hard to imagine they’d want to avoid a place that could actively weaken them.

Then again, his fire breath was more magical than most, probably due to the circumstances of his hatching. So maybe that was why he didn’t feel threatened by the open water.

“No, I’m afraid not, good sir,” she said. “Most visitors coming our way don’t stay for long unless they have a good deal of business to attend to. Are you with the Elements of Harmony, by chance?”

“Yeah, old friend of theirs, and also what you might call a bodyguard. I'm here to help make sure they keep their heads cool and level as much as I need to make sure they keep their heads at all."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Really? Do they really need protection beyond whatever escorts that are assigned to them, even with their powerful magic and skills?”

“In times like this, it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Spike replied. “Yankton is just one of many places all along the coast suffering from these pirates, never mind all the places further inland that support their industry.”

“Some of my cousins are aboard the navy vessels patrolling these waters,” the maid said in a hushed whisper. “Not of their own free will, I might add.”

“Pressed?’

“Yes, though the gangs at least had the decency to give them a good lump of coin beforehand, as an incentive, to get them on board. Used to work down on the docks, hauling freight, making good coin for their families. Now, with how things are, it’s a sure way to earn coin, but far more dangerous.”

“Yankton is hurting for a lot of things these days, coin included,” Spike surmised. “I imagine that’s why so many ponies have gathered here for this assembly. Hopefully they’ll be able to sort out some immediate issues and get things back into working order.”

“You know it is bad when even the rich are starting to struggle,” the maid muttered. “Imagine what it’s like for the common folk who don't have decades of family wealth to fall back on during the rougher times.”

“I can’t even begin to. I’ve been out on the water for years, often against my will, and right now, I can tell you, these pirates are popping up out of nowhere. There’s more now than ever before, given the reports I’ve seen.” He was silent for a moment. “Just where are they all coming from, anyway? You know if ponies are joining up with them to earn a living?”

“I’ve never heard anything quite like that, but it would make sense. Some ponies just up and leave Yankton, with or without their families. No telling if they’ve just given up, are joining these scoundrels, or are out there trying to find real work and send money back. Some wind up sending it, and eventually the families leave as well, though some stubbornly stay put.”

“Well, hopefully they aren’t joining pirates. That’s not a great way to live a life, especially if you’re trying to provide for family.”

“I can only hope this trouble with the pirates can be brought to an end before things get even worse.”

The dragon scratched at his chin. “I’m not sure how much worse they could get.”

She looked him dead in the eye. “Much, much worse,” she added ominously. “If I were you or your friends, I’d get out of Yankton before things go south. This city is a powder keg, and all your friends are doing is delaying that fuse burning to its rotten heart.” With that, she refilled his wine glass, before scampering off.

Spike didn’t like that. Ominous or not, there was something off about the maid, especially since she’d more or less just told him to leave. That meant something was going to happen, but if she was certain things could get worse, then in all likelihood, things were going to get worse. Only question was, how much so? Strikes at the docks? Open revolts or rebellions? A trade war to try and undercut the pirates? Or open war altogether?

Spike knew that plenty of other nations were itching for some excuse to hunt down these pirates with extreme prejudice, Equestria included. However, laws of the sea and international treaties were tying the hands of many who would see such action take place. If those treaties broke down, and the seas turned into a veritable warzone of pirate hunting, how long would it be before miscommunications and tragic skirmishes took place?

How long before war erupted in earnest?

Power was a curious thing. It had no real substance or material form, yet it could be exerted through them. None were born with it, nor was it an inherent right to have, but all grew to crave it in some form or another, be it over others or over themselves, in a manner. Those who had it often took measures to secure or increase their own amount, yet those without would also attempt to take it for themselves.

On many occasions, those without power took it from those with, and being unused to it, had it taken from them as well, as they knew not how to wield it, nor how to deal with its many consequences.

Sombra knew this all too well.

He’d been a king, although a king doesn’t rule an empire, an emperor does. As king, he held absolute power over his subjects, his will becoming their drive, his ideas their goals, and his sovereignty their only form of order. In his regime, however, he had failed to realize an important aspect of ruling.

Do not be seen ruling,especially with an iron fist.

It was one thing to be ruled from a distant or secure monarch, to be informed of laws through intermediaries and cultural diffusion. It made one feel safer from persecution, more free to interpret or follow the rules, even if those laws restricted them. Sombra had ruled very directly, taking whatever brave souls sought to lodge complaints in his throne room, and issuing declarations through mass spells of communication. His power was absolute, and delegating had been something he hated, as that meant sharing his power with others.

Now, though, after so long, he could see his follies as clearly as a cloudless winter day.

Delegation was key if he was to become more than what he once was. He would need spies, bootlickers, confidants and loyalists under his sway. No matter the rank, no matter their perceived or actual level of importance, all would have a place and a part to play. He would hold all the cards at the end of the day, true, and need to play everyone against everyone else, but that would just be another game to him, something else to master and enjoy.

Deep within the recesses of Yankton’s lowermost levels, some of the original streets that had become tunnels underneath much of the city’s dockyards, he strode, silently, towards his destination. The air was thick, damp, with a tang of saltwater, and the gloom was held at bay only from the ball of fire floating before him, held in place by his magic.

The slick walls were a solid foundation for the city, yet the same could not be said for its downtrodden and forgotten inhabitants. He knew well what that was like, having been forgotten by the world at large so long ago. Yet unlike then, and unlike these weak-minded fools, he could pull himself up by sheer will alone. He’d done it before, reforming his form after being reduced to a shadowy specter.

Underneath the city, in these tunnels, he moved unseen by the teeming masses above. He was unknown to likely every living being in the world, save for a few princesses and their closest confidants. His magical aura, a spell to keep his identity concealed, made him look to be nothing more than a unicorn of mysterious, yet ultimately uninteresting persuasion.

His methods had changed with his persona. Gone were the days of direct action, of control through willful commands and spells binding another’s actions to his will, of days spent threatening recalcitrant servants into performing their tasks. There was no need for such overt displays, when with but a few simple words, a passage of easily replaced gold, and long-seated machinations, he could have anyone doing what he wanted, when he wanted it. He could have entire guilds under his control in a matter of weeks through simple murder, bribery, extortion and all manner of corruption. No information in a city was out of his reach, no amount of skilled labor unavailable to his needs.

Such means of control were by no means new, but what they represented was his future.

Control from the top down had long since proven disastrous for him. His forced abdication was relatively simple, yet the factors that led up to it could have been avoided, had he taken other paths.
Such was his current path. From the tunnel, he came to a door, upon which he knocked three times.

It opened a few moments later. “How’d it go, boss?” an old, rather scruffy pegasus asked.

Entering the cellar of the establishment, one of his many holdings under false identities and intermediaries, Sombra smiled. “Very well indeed, Matchbox. Have the others begun their preparations?”

“Already on it.”

“Very good, I am glad I pulled you out of the gutter you had nearly drunk yourself to death in, you have proved far more useful than you first seemed. Send word to the barflies to begin their rousing. When the time is right, everything is going to fall into place just as I have planned.”

“When it’s all over?” the pegasus asked.

“As to that, Matchbox, do not worry. Your skills will once again earn your family a good living wage. After all, the blacksmiths will be needing a new guild head or three within a week, and what better pony to be put forward than one who knows so much about fire?”

As the smile mirrored his own, Sombra cast his mental gaze upon the layout of the city. Yankton was indeed going to change very soon, and with it, would come a great amount of success for the efforts he’d put into it, and this time, he wasn’t going to be stopped so easily. After all, you can’t be deposed if nobody knows you’re the one running things.

Author's Note

This took way longer than I expected to put out, having been written months ago, but complications on my end and that of my proofreader (all of which are just cool, I have other projects to do during the lull) means that I'm happy with the final product, and hope to put out more soon-ish.