Beat to Quarters

“Scoots! Hey Scootaloo, wake up!”

Apple Bloom’s voice cut through the muzziness in Scootaloo’s mind, causing her to crack an eye and peer up from her current position under the table.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine. Jush sleepy.”

The yellow earth pony rolled her eyes and gestured at the angry barkeep.

“The pub’s closin’, Scootaloo. Ah’m glad you enjoyed your birthday an’ all, but we gotta get back to our room. Sweetie left already, and ya’ know Rarity doesn’t like us comin’ in at all hours o’ the night.”

Scootaloo nodded blearily and wiped the grit from her eyes before getting unsteadily to her hooves. She waved away the other pony’s attempt to support her, and began stumbling towards the door. The barkeep, a massive slab of an earth pony, cleared his throat.

“Right, the tab.” Grumbling, Scootaloo fished in her saddlebag and threw a pouch of bits on the floor. Apple Bloom smiled apologetically and helped her inebriated friend through the door and into the night air. The pair began making their way to their rented apartment above Rarity’s boutique.

The salt air revived Scootaloo a bit, and she swung her head around and surveyed their surroundings. The port of Newcolt rolled up the streets after midnight, and she could already see sailors stumbling down the muddy lanes, trying and failing to keep their hooves as they made the long journey back to their bunks. Marines picked up the few who couldn't, clapping them in irons and carrying them unceremoniously back to their ships.

And the ships! She could see their sails towering over the squat dockside warehouses, looking to all the world like a flock of giant white seabirds had made their home in Horseshoe Bay. Scootaloo felt her friend pulling her gently towards their destination.

“Scoots, we’ll watch the ships tomorrow, okay? Let’s jus’ get home and get you ta’ bed.”

Scootaloo gave a piteous whine and broke away from Apple Bloom’s guiding hooves.

“Imma go look at the ships, AB. Jush for a lil’ bit, okay? I promish I won’t wake the queen on my way back in.” Scootaloo didn’t share Sweetie Belle’s high opinion of her sister, thinking her to be somewhat of an authoritarian landlady. Rarity, in turn, treated Scootaloo with thinly-veiled contempt, often referring to her as a ragamuffin, though only when she thought Scootaloo couldn't hear it.

Apple Bloom sighed and let her friend go completely, turning towards the merchant’s district and the boutique. She knew not to get between Scoots and her silly ideas, especially if she’d had a few pints in her. She addressed Scootaloo over her shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll wait up fer ya. Don’t expect me to come get ya if you get locked up, y’hear?”

Scootaloo waved her off and stumbled towards the quayside. She loved going down to the docks, away from the reek of the city center, watching the ships bob calmly at anchor. Though she’d never told her friends, she’d always dreamed of being a sailor. Living a life of adventure, rather than drudging around making deliveries and picking up orders for Sweetie Belle’s tyrannical sister. She sighed and continued on. Moonlight reflected off the black waters of the bay, bathing the quay in a pale light.

Scootaloo felt a familiar calm come over her as she made her way to the railing and leaned on it, supportive as an old friend. She surveyed Horseshoe Bay, noting the new arrivals. A merchant galleon had come into port yesterday, squat and lolling about on a slack anchor chain. Squinting in the moonlight, she was just able to make out the gold and red flag on the masthead, and gave a soft chuckle. Maneiards, worst sailors on the ocean, hooves down.

“Y’like watchin’ the ships, eh lass?” A voice broke through her reverie, and she whirled to find the source. A white unicorn stallion with a sea-green mane, wearing the blue coat of the Royal Navy. He was flanked by a pair of disinterested marines, their muskets slung over their backs.

“I guess… I come here sometimes,” she said warily. The unicorn sidled up to the rail and joined her.

“I used to do the same thing, lass. Where’re ya comin’ from this late at night?” He eyed her with interest, noting her glassy eyes and disheveled mane. “Comin’ from the pub, are we? The young filly enjoys her rum?”

Even through the haze of the alcohol and despite his friendly demeanor, Scootaloo began to feel vaguely uncomfortable, backing away from the navy stallion. Noticing this, he put up a hoof in a placating gesture.

“I never said there was anything wrong with enjoyin’ a drop of the kill-devil now and then, lass. I was a wild colt in my youth, and dat’s for true. I’m Whitecap, by the way, pleasure to meet you…?”

“Scootaloo,” she replied, taking a deep breath and trying futilely to gain back some sobriety, “It’sh my birthday, that’s why we were out at the pub. Celebratin’.”

Whitecap raised his eyebrows and gave the marines a sidelong glance, which Scootaloo failed to notice.

“Yer birthday is it? Happy birthday, lass!” His horn flared to life, and he produced a tin cup and flask from a pocket of his naval jacket. He poured a generous amount of dark liquid into the cup, offering it to Scootaloo with a smile. “Rum’s good enough for common sailors, sure ‘nuff, but a pretty lass like you should celebrate her birthday with a nip of Hiberneighan whiskey, eh?”

She blushed lightly. Her plain features and mousy purple mane hadn’t often earned her much attention from colts, and here was a navy stallion calling her pretty. Her better judgment had long since been drowned in alcohol, and she accepted the cup with a shy smile.

“Thanks, Whitecap.” He nodded and raised the flask in a toast.

“To the pretty lass who loves the sea.”

Her smile grew wider and she threw back the whiskey, feeling an odd clink against her front teeth. She peered into the cup and saw the bit coin lying against the bottom. She fished it out and looked quizzically at Whitecap.

He was no longer smiling.

“Seems you’ve taken the Queen's bit, eh lass? ‘Tis a great honor, volunteering for the Royal Navy. You’ll certainly be seein’ more o’ those tall ships ya like to gawk at, and from closer as well.”

Scootaloo shook her head vehemently, throwing the bit to the ground.

Her head felt full of peat, and words were taking a long time to get from her mind to her mouth.

“I didn’t volunteer! You tricked me! I don’t want to join the navy!”

Whitecap nodded to the marines, who stepped forward quickly, pinning her small wings to her side and grabbing her forelegs in their fetlocks. He reached down for the bit and placed it back in his pocket.

“Deserting already, seamare? I doubt if your captain will approve much. Marines, place this sailor in irons and take her to the Manticore to await the captain’s punishment,” he winked at Scootaloo, who was wearing an expression of shocked horror, “Happy birthday, lass.”

This can’t be happening. Scootaloo cried and kicked as the marines dragged her towards a moored frigate. She screamed once, loudly, before the larger stallion pushed a dirty cloth into her mouth. She was trying to fight, trying to do anything, but her head felt like it weighed a ton, and the darkness pressed in on her from all sides as she went limp between the marines.

Whitecap watched it all impassively, pulling a pipe from his voluminous coat and lighting it with a bright flash of magic. Once he saw the young mare aboard the Manticore, he turned away from the harbor and began the long walk to the Admiralty office. As he trotted down the muddy lane leading towards downtown, he sang to himself quietly.

“Now let every colt, drink off his full bumper

Now let every colt, drink off his full glass

We'll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy

And here's to the health of each true-hearted lass.”