Beat to Quarters

Pipsqueak hurried towards the docks, bumping and jostling his way through the busy streets. Choruses of annoyed grumbling followed him as he pushed ponies aside. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing following him.

“Wait just one dang minute, Pip!” The two fillies were hot on his hooves. He responded without turning.

“I have to get my ship outfitted and put to sail. I’ve wasted enough time arguing with you.”

Sweetie Belle appeared at his side and placed a forehoof on his shoulder beseechingly.

“She’s our friend, Pip. I thought you were too.”

He shrugged off her hoof and rounded on her.

“What do you want me to do, Sweetie Belle? The ship she’s on is gone, and if I don’t make sail soon, we likely won’t take a prize.”

Apple Bloom tried to interject, but he cut her off with a chopping motion of his hoof.

“I’m not finished. If we don’t take a prize, I won’t be able to pay my crew, and I could very well lose my ship. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t have very much tying me to shore. A rathole of a flat that I got cheap because it’s next door to a tannery. If I lose the Jenny, I’ll have nothing.”

Apple Bloom had apparently decided he was finished by this point, because she jumped in.

“Why can’t we come with you?”

Pip gave a mirthless laugh.

“Why, because we’re just going to chance upon the ship she’s on in the middle of the open ocean? Are we going to force every navy vessel we spot to heave to so we can inspect them? And you two don’t know the first thing about sailing, even if I was considering taking you…”

Both fillies looked up at him with hopeful eyes. He snorted. Better end this now, Pip, before you do something you’d really regret.

“...Which I’m not! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a voyage to prepare for!”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the two fillies standing in the crowded street.

***

The deck rocked slightly under Pip’s hooves as Mad Jenny plowed through the choppy waters of the Equestrian Channel. He took a deep breath of the pungent salt air and sighed happily. Pip was born with a deep love of the sea, a rare case of hydrophilia that no one could diagnose and he never wanted to be cured of. It'd been nearly half a day since he set sail from Newcolt, and his spirits rose with every mile of ocean behind him.

“Put us on a sou’westerly tack, Breaker,” He said over his shoulder to the helmscolt, “I want to make the Strait of Zebraltar before the navy lads do.”

Breaker spun the wheel with practiced ease, and the ship picked up speed, urged onwards by the late summer winds. Pipsqueak ran his right forehoof along the ship’s railing and gave a sigh as he gazed out over the ship’s frothy wake.

Maybe I was too harsh with them, he thought to himself. Maybe they were right.

“Skipper?”

A voice interrupted his reverie, and Pip turned to find Breaker giving him a surprisingly sympathetic look.

“Thinking about those lassies you left on shore?”

For a second, Pip was tempted to tell the helmscolt of his doubts, get it off his chest and be done with it. Just as quickly, he realized it was impossible. As captain, he couldn’t be seen to second-guess any decision he’d made, no matter what. He gritted his teeth and gave the railing a hard swat with his forehoof.

“No, Breaker, I’m thinking about the juicy prizes waiting for us in the strait.” He flashed Breaker a quick grin, which the pegasus returned, showing off his garish gold teeth. They were interrupted by a cry from the hold.

“Oi, skipper! We caught Scratch breakin’ into the rum stores again!”

Pip rolled his eyes and made his way down to the stairs leading to the hold. The narrow wooden passageway was filled with crew members, each trying to jostle for a better view.

“Gang way! Clear off, I need to get through!” With much cursing and several nasty shoves, he was able to get through the crowd and to the stairway.

Upon entering the hold, he was greeted with a very unusual sight. Scratch was standing next to a barrel nearly as tall as she was. She winked her one good eye at him, and the skin around the purple eyepatch she wore over the other wrinkled in amusement as she gave him a lopsided grin. A couple members of the gun crew were standing watch over her, likely the ones who’d caught her in the act.

And then there was the barrel itself. The bung had been knocked out, but there was no telltale puddle of liquid. Nearing the monstrous cask, he could hear a shuffling noise from inside it, as if a rat had gotten trapped and was scurrying around frantically. He raised an eyebrow at Scratch, who merely shrugged.

He drew his cutlass and began to pry at the lid, eventually being rewarded with a satisfying pop and a clear view inside.

His jaw dropped open and his cutlass clattered to the deck.

Two fillies sheepishly rose from their hiding place.

A moment of heavy silence came over the hold.

“Hi, Pip!” said Sweetie Belle brightly.

***

Scootaloo cursed under her breath as she swabbed the wooden deck, each motion sending a sharp pain through her back and wings. The flogging had continued when she came to, and she’d nearly passed out again before it was over. The ship’s surgeon had cleaned her wounds and dressed them as best he could, but the first day of working on the warship had been a hellish experience.

So much information to cram into her head. As a pegasus, she’d been assigned to the tops, though she wouldn't be flying more than a few feet at a time until her wings healed. She’d learned to climb the ratlines between the masts and adjust the sails’ trim. So many sails! Top sails, main tops, fore tops, topgallants, staysails, jibs. Her head spun just thinking about it. Thankfully, she’d kept her head down and learned to move ‘sharpish, lass’ and avoided any further punishment from the bosun.

Her thoughts wandered back to Newcolt and her friends.

They’re probably frantic right now. I’d imagine Rarity’s putting on a great act of consoling Sweetie Belle. And Apple Bloom… Shoulda listened to her. Stupid Scootaloo and your stupid dreams.

She scrubbed the deck with a fury, as if she could wash away the hatred she felt for this ship, the captain, and the navy. And herself.

“Scootaloo?”

A voice broke through her internal turmoil, and she looked up in alarm. A grey earth pony mare with a lieutenant’s jacket and bicorne stood over her. Her soft purple eyes held Scootaloo’s gaze in their thrall, and Scootaloo stammered, utterly unable to speak.

“Scootaloo? Did you hear me? Your watch was over ten minutes ago, when the ship’s bell rang.”

Scootaloo clambered to her hooves, touching her forehoof to her head in a clumsy salute.

“T-thank you, ma’am.”

The mare nodded and shocked her by extending a forehoof, which Scootaloo shook warily.

“Lieutenant Octavia. I’m sorry to see you aboard under such circumstances, but in these times every mare must do her duty. As I said, your watch is over for the evening. There’s a small gathering on the foredeck, if you wish to attend. Bit of a ship’s tradition.”

Scootaloo nodded, mute, and followed Octavia down the length of the ship to where a large portion of the crew had assembled.

What a strange mare… Nobility, without a doubt. I could tell that posh Canterlot accent anywhere. She acts kind though, not like an officer at all. And what’s her cutie mark about? A musical note?

When they reached the crowd, Octavia directed her to take a seat and beckoned her aide. He carried a wooden box about as long as his foreleg, which he presented to her before retreating back into the crowd. From the box, Octavia retrieved a wooden instrument.

A violin. Blech. Definitely nobility.

Octavia hesitated for a split second, and then drew her bow slowly over the strings. Mournful notes floated across the deck, and the assembled crew sat stock still. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly from side to side, lost in the music.

Scootaloo’s doubt was gone in an instant. The pain from her wounds faded, and she found herself daydreaming of home. She was no longer a prisoner aboard a ship of war, but a filly again, laughing and playing with her friends in the streets of Newcolt, mud-wrestling with Apple Bloom, and driving Rarity half-crazy with her antics. She realized she had tears running down her face, but no longer cared. Indeed, if she had seen the crewmares beside her through the blur, she would have noticed she was not alone.

Scootaloo had heard music before, good music, even great music. She’d never heard anything like this. Octavia seemed to pour her very soul into the instrument, creating emotions from thin air while her long black mane and navy jacket fluttered in the stiff breeze.

The last strains of music faded away and Octavia gave a slight bow. The crew was silent, still lost in the sea of emotions she had taken them to. A cry from one of the mares in the tops snapped them back to the present.

“Sail ho, starboard!”

Octavia hastily set down the violin and assumed a formal demeanor, trotting quickly to the starboard rail. She fished a spyglass from her greatcoat and snapped it open with a quiet snick. Scanning the horizon, she fixed on a white speck in the distance and squinted.

“Scootaloo!”

From her position in the crowd of sailors, Scootaloo quickly jumped to attention.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Octavia beckoned her over to the rail and handed her the spyglass.

“Tell me if you can see the ensign flying on her mast.”

Scootaloo squinted at the grainy image in the spyglass. The foresails of the vessel were clearing the horizon. As she watched, the ship changed course to match that of the Manticore, and the flag flying from the top of her mainmast was easily recognizable as it streamed behind her.

A tricolor.

Blue, white and red.

Scootaloo drew in a quick breath, and snapped the spyglass shut. She looked up at Octavia and grimaced.

“She’s Prench."

Octavia nodded slowly. Her face hardened, and her eyes seemed to blaze with an inner fire. She straightened her bicorne hat before giving a yell that would put a veteran sergeant to shame.

“Beat to quarters!”