Stale air billowed out from beneath the airship, one of its few functional engines wheezing and sputtering in defiance as it approached the tower. A crane moved lazily towards the airbag, its gigantic claw snatching it up like a diamond dog picking up a loose stone, drawing it in until the ship thumped into place.
In the rusting carriage below, a griffin huffed, content that he had once again succeeded in the menial task of docking the ancient ship. Reaching out with a clawed hand, he tapped the fuel gauge, his satisfaction suddenly as empty as their tanks. Around him were his only awakened companions: dust motes that stirred in the air, disturbed by the soft landing, and the few ticking dials that had outlasted their competition.
He grunted and touched the comm unit that had been unceremoniously cut into the pilot’s console. “Captain, we’ve docked.”
Silence filled the cabin, interrupted only by the port-side window rattling in the winds. Through it he could see the grey and white city of Rook in all of its splendor. He knew his impression would change once they hit the ground; some places were only pretty from above.
“Oh, good, we made it,” a husky voice replied, with an utter lack of enthusiasm. “How much fuel do we have ourselves left, Brief?”
“Tenth of the tank, Captain,” the griffin replied as he reached out and shutdown the engine. His claw hovered over the ignition switch as he wondered if it would even start up again. “We’ll be needing to refuel and make some repairs,” he added.
The captain grumbled. “S’long as we love her, she’ll take us where we need to go. Then again, she does love that gas. Any work lined up?”
Brief stood, stretching his back and wings as he abandoned the console and began walking towards the back of the ship. There, near the doorway into the main room, was a run-down comm device. He grabbed two of the wires poking out of it and touched them together with the tip of his claws. Sparks flew. “No, Captain, no work. We need to find some.”
“Yeah, can’t pay the landing tariff already. And I think we ran outta things to strip and sell. Wonder if we could park and run?”
“Not advisable,” Brief said before letting go. The line went dead with a crackling pop of static.
He opened the door, a burst of air pressure blasting by him and into the thin, long corridor that bisected the ship. From here, he could see all the way to the hatch that opened into the hangar and all the side doors leading to commodities and the bunks.
One of those doors screeched open on rusting hinges and the captain, outlined against the flickering electric light, stepped out of the gaping maw. The earth pony looked down both ends of the corridor and smiled at Brief before tousling his brown mane. “Guess we’ll have to go out and look for work, then.”
“Yes, Captain.”
He rolled his dark blue eyes and pulled on the lapels of his coat. “Don’t forget to keep that ‘Captain’ stuff quiet when we’re out there. Last thing I need is for some poor idiot to get the idea that we have some bits worth taking,” he said as he adjusted the leather belt around his hip, securing the holster hanging there. In it was an old gun, well worn, used too often and scarred by the way it had been used, but it was a good weapon and the captain cherished it.
“Yes, Captain,” Brief said as they began walking down the corridor towards the aft. Halfway there, Brief paused, unlocked a closet door, and yanked out a short, stubby rifle with three rotating cylinders. He grabbed a bandolier and slung it over his wide shoulder, leaving the gun hanging over his back with its barrel pointing to the ground. “Where are we going to find work?”
The captain shrugged, his response to everything that required time to think about. “Wish I knew and don’t you know it. But I figure we could head over to the brothel first thing.”
The griffin sighed, closing his eyes as a jet of warm air escaped him. “Captain....”
“From here on out it’s Ardour, old friend,” the earth pony said, giving his companion a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry, we’ll pull out of this one, somehow. S’long as we love her, this rust bucket’s going to fly.”
Brief nodded and the two stood by the doorway, looking each other in the eye. There was no exchange of camaraderie or love or friendship—they had known each other too long for that—but there was an admission of mutual capability and the knowledge that each knew his place.
Ardour placed his shoulder on the door and pushed.
A chill wind seeped into the corridor, ruffling the griffin’s thick coat and tossing the lapels of the captain’s coat aside. Neither one admitted to being cold as they trotted into the main, and only, hangar of their ship. From above, they could see the entirety of the meager cargo hold, from the rusty cradle that had once held a lifeboat to the wide, winch-operated door at the back.
They ignored the spaces between the plating where daylight poured in along with the cold air and they pretended not to notice the growing scrap heap of now-unusable parts piled on one side. Reaching the back door, Ardour let Brief pass him and wrestle with the exit.
Grinding his beak and grunting, the griffin put all of his strength into the task of yanking back the door lever until it finally popped open.
Rook sprawled out before them.
The city was one of contrasts, both vivid and stark. Both the affluent and the citizens of the Crown lived in the high grounds, a circular half-wall separating them off from the undesirable cold winds of the great lake and the equally distasteful others. Those others lived in the nook of the half-moon, struggling to leech off the city’s heat and health.
There, the bright lights of open fires dotted the blackened landscape, illuminating a layer of mud and smoke spread across the land like mud over a garden.Tents sprouted like strangled weeds, their cloth walls battered by the weak breeze while the citizens of the ghetto moved about, a panoply of colourful unicorns and pegasi, diamond dogs and griffins.
“Place still looks like crap,” Ardour said, licking his lips against the cold. “Come on. It’s still early, but if we dilly-dally, we’ll run out of the time we have before the Crown starts asking for the tariff.” He stepped out of the ship, hooves striking the hard steel grating of the walkway they were on. On either side of them were other airships, most of them modern constructs whose gasbags were hidden underneath the metal plating that coated their surfaces. Aerodynamics was not the forte of these ships.
Brief followed his captain, blinking down through the grated floor and at the ground a hundred metres below.
The architects of the town were smart. From its inception they had built large, tall towers that reached into the sky and were covered in every conceivable docking apparatus. This meant two things of great importance to the Crown: the government could regulate and charge any landing ship, and more importantly, they were the only provider of fuel and safe harbor on this end of the great lake.
He looked up, eyes narrowing as he fixed his attention on the overcast sky above, where blurs of every colour zipped around in a chaotic dance—planes and hovercraft carrying ponies and some light cargo from one end of the city to another—ships small enough that regulating them was too difficult of a task, at least for now.
“Hurry up, Brief. I want off of this thing before the greys show up,” Ardour called from farther down the rails. Brief nodded and flew after the captain.
They circulated around the tower’s circumference and to the great cargo elevator shaft, only waiting a minute before the slow-moving platform reached their level and began to descend. The platform filled the central shaft of the tower, tall and long enough to fit a hundred skinny ponies. As they passed layer after layer of ships, Ardour inched to the platform’s edge and stared out into the horizon.
He was, as his mother would have put it, bucked harder than an apple tree on a Tuesday. He didn’t quite know what it meant, but he felt like it. Above him, he could see the tiny shape of his ship, the faded logo on its side hardly legible enough to read the name of the Sky Clipper anymore, with the ip beginning to look like a deformed o. That at least was a little problem, one that could be fixed with a fresh coat of paint. No, his bigger problems were much larger and, sadly, far more plentiful than running ink.
“You okay, Captain?” Brief asked as he hovered nearby, ever loyal and ready.
“I’m fine, just thinking.” He sighed. “It could all be over, you know?”
“There’s always hope.”
Ardour sat down, then stood back up when his hindquarters touched the cold steel. “Maybe. One last job. One more meal. A few more bits in our pockets. It’s odd. I always thought that hitting rock-bottom would involve more shooting and explosions.”
“That could be arranged,” Brief said, and the two grinned at each other.
“Well, we’ve yet to visit Velvet Vice. There might be some explosions involved,” Ardour said. Brief shivered. “Don’t be afraid. Velvet owes us one, and unless we act like real idjits, then there’s a decent chance that she’ll help us out. Maybe.”
The platform thumped to a stop on ground level. Ponies trotted out while lifting machines rolled in. Others pushed in levits with their foreheads, the levitating aircraft sliding into the platform with a gush of warm, diesel-scented air,
The two trotted off and onto the broad street, eyeing the two directions they could take. One path led to the city within the walls while the other path was dirty and grimy, with cardboard boxes and bits of waste strewn about, leading down to Rook’s massive ghetto.
They started down the lower road, shouldering their way through the crowded landing around the tower and onto the rutted path. Once they cleared the crowd, the road’s population thinned off. Shacks and buildings hardly worthy of the title of “edifice” stuck out at random on either side of them, still being visited by the early morning shoppers. Guards were out in force, all of them earth ponies in gunmetal grey uniforms walking with a stiff, if weary, step along the centre of the lane.
“You remember where Vice’s place is at?“ Ardour asked, leaning in towards Brief.
The cold roads weren't made for the comfort of the unwary. “Yes. Next left, then a ways towards the interior wall. She's next to one of the side gates,” the griffin answered as they took a wide berth around the guards.
They trotted around the corner and past tobacco stores, pawn shops, and low-end gun dealerships. A mixed bag of races greeted them, from diamond dogs that bit at their own hunches to jaunt-cheeked unicorns eyeing them from the shadows of the alleys. At the end of the street was their destination.
Unlike its neighbours, Vice's boutique was clean.
The square, brick building radiated a sort of warmth, a warmth at odds with the imposing grey wall set next to it. It had no gaudy decoration or flamboyant sign, save for a red sash pouring out of one of the windows on the top floor. Two burly stallions stood near the entrance, rifles resting on their wide shoulders.
One of them stared at Ardour and Brief as they approached, eyeing their weaponry before nodding. “Hello, gentlemen,” the bouncer called, voice somewhere between a warm greeting and a cautious reminder that he was armed.
“Hey, we’re here to see Velvet,” Ardour replied, stepping ahead of Brief and standing a dozen paces from the guard.
The stallion smiled knowingly. “Pay day come in early? Or a late-summer bonus? Either way, you’re welcome inside, after you place your weapons in the coffers, please.”
The other stallion pulled the door open and the mixed smells of perfume, wood fire, and mareliness poured out of the house, wrapping itself around the heads of the two visitors. “Welcome to Velvet’s,” the stallion said.
Ardour trotted in first, reaching around to tug his belt off as he did so. Brief, right behind him, was already undoing the buckle of his bandoleer.
A small room greeted them, filled with plenty of sitting room and a framed hole in the opposite wall, beside yet another thick door. A mare was sitting behind the opening, only looking up from her hoof-polishing when Ardour placed his hoofgun on the table. “Oh, a regular,” she purred, setting down the nail file and winking at the captain. “What can we do to you boys today?”
Ardour swallowed. “I need to talk to Velvet, if that’s possible,” he said, tugging at the lapels of his rugged old jacket.
The mare batted her eyes at him and smiled. “That could be arranged,” she said, before snatching their weapons off the table. “But first, we’ll be needing to search you.”
The door opened up and two pretty young mares strutted out, smiling and giggling as they spun around Ardour and Brief, poking and prodding the gentlecolts with a more-than-teasing approach. “They’re clear,” one of them announced once they were done searching the two blushing males.
“All right, boys. You two head on in. Miss Vice is at the end of the great room and to the right. Have fun,” she said, biting her lower lip and winking at them one last time before they walked into the next room.
They found themselves in a parlor. Candlelight splashed against every wall from a gigantic crystal chandelier and played with the minds of the two men as it illuminated a lot of bare fur. Mares were lying on couches or frolicking around the room, while others were trotting out of bathing rooms followed by long trails of steam that caressed their bodies before filling the room with their scent.
Ardour swallowed hard and began walking with stiff legs.
In that day and age, the wearing of clothing had become a custom in more civilised parts. There was no shame, per se, in being au-naturel, but it was becoming uncommon as more and more tried to appear dignified.
Dignity was the last thing on the mind of Velvet Vice’s employees.
A cute, red-headed mare accosted Ardour, rubbing up against him with a muffled moan. “Hello, handsome,” she said. “You know, if you follow me, you’ll be screaming my name all night long.” She leaned forwards, biting at his earlobe before he jerked away. “My name’s Oh Gawd,” she whispered.
“Um, thank you, Miss Gawd, but, uh, I’m here on business,” Ardour said as he pulled away from the mare. Another grabbed him just as easily.
“Oh, but sir, we’re all business here,” she said, coming in to land a soft peck on his cheek.
The captain spun around, noting to his dismay that Brief, his stoic griffin companion, was immobile under the tender care of three fawning mares, a griffin, and a leather-bound stallion with far too much make-up on. “Captain, if it’s possible, I wish to wait outside,” the griffin said.
“Nope, you’re coming with me,” the captain said, reaching through the crowd to grab his companion by the collar. “Move it, ladies and freak, we have to talk to Velvet!” He glared at the mares around him. “Ain’t got the time to play with all of you, no matter how tempting it might be," he said, tactfully choosing to not mention that they were flat broke.
The mares moved away from the two guests and allowed them to cross the room on the wings of cruel giggles and quick bits of gossip. The second wind died off as Ardour looked ahead and at the palatial staircase rising to the floor above. Between the split that cut the stairs in half was a smallish corridor, lit only by a single electric bulb casting its white light on the wallpapered walls.
They walked in, feeling the walls close in around them as they approached their goal. The door to the left had a humble little plaque with VELVET VICE scribed on it. He knocked.
“Come on in, Ardour,” a cold, feminine voice ordered, the captain’s name dripping off her tongue like venom.
Ardour and Brief traded a look before the stallion placed a hoof on the curved handle and pressed, opening the door with a shuddering click. He pushed it open and let his eyes twitch from one extremity of the large office to another. Sitting behind an old desk made of extinct wood was a lithe mare tucked within a swiveling thing that was closer to a throne than a true chair. The queen of whores.
“Hello, Velvet Vice,” he said, taking a smooth step into the office. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon!”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes, well, I was hoping that I would never have to see you again. But life is filled with such disappointments, isn’t it?”
Equipping his best roguish smile, Ardour trotted in and hopped into one of the two seats before the desk, letting his hoof run along the leather armrest. “Nice place,” he said, pointing around the spartanly decorated office.
“It hasn’t changed since you were last here. You remember? The ordeal with Lickety Splits?"
He held back a flinch. “Ah, yeah, how is she?”
“Pregnant.” The mare leaned back into her chair, touching the tip of her two forehooves together. “What do you want, Ardour? I’m a busy mare. I have an army to look over and customers to please. You haven’t come here since... she left us.”
He coughed into his hoof. “Well, I’m here to ask for a favour—”
She barked a laugh, slamming a hoof on the table in glee. “Oh, Ardour! You’re priceless. Now, what could you and your hairy friend possibly need so badly that you’d sink as low as to return to my humble abode? This I must hear. It might make it more enjoyable to kick you out of here if I do so after refusing you.”
“Come on, Vice, we’re not that bad, the two of us. We never treated you with anything but respect.”
Velvet sighed as she leaned into her seat. “Ardour, I lead a kingdom of whores. How much weight do you honestly think we put on respect?”
“A bit?”
“Yes, we’d sell all of our respect for about that much,” she mused, a creeping smile spreading across her sharp features. “Now, answer my question. Why should I help you?”
Ardour sat down hard on the wooden floor, his brown tail sweeping from side to side behind him. “You probably shouldn’t. Even if we guarantee repayment, it’d just be a lie. At this point though, we’d do just about anything to get out of the pit we’ve dug for ourselves. I want to see the Sky Clipper flying again.”
Velvet paused, licking her lips as she broke eye contact and looked around the room. “I hear something very similar from the ponies that work for me. Always on the first day they come in. It’s usually delivered with a few more tears.”
“I can do tears if you want,” he offered.
She grinned in reply. “I might take you up on that, but not right now. Okay, mister Captain, give me your best shot. Tell me, what is this favour?”
“We need work. We need work something fierce. The whole way in we rang up every old customer, every long-time buddy, every scrappy job, and got nothing. We can’t even afford tonight’s tariff at the docks.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Ardour, but you’re just not pretty enough to work in my establishment. Roguish is out nowadays. The ladies want shy and timid, not sarcastic and dumb.” She made a gesture in mid-air with a hoof, as if to a pony at Ardour’s side.
He looked at the empty space beside him, then refocused on Velvet as she pulled in the lacy black jacket she wore around her shoulders. “You know what I mean, Vice. I need real work. N-not that what you and your ladies do ain’t work, that is. I’m sure it’s back-breaking... on their backs, um....”
“Shut up, Ardour. You’re digging a hole that will end with your body at the bottom. I understood what you meant.” She turned to his side again. “Bargain Bin, Honeysuckle, fetch me Crimson Chin. I have a few quick questions.”
Just as Ardour and Brief looked at each other and communicated wordlessly about the mental state of Vice, two mares materialized on either side of the room, their horns glowing with the aftereffect of their cloaking spells. “Yes, Mistress Vice,” they said in unison before popping out of existence.
“I have a few informants in the city; they keep tabs on my customers and the ponies working the corners and alleys. I don’t mind petty competition, but I try to trim out the bad weeds. We already have a rather distasteful amount of renown around these parts. Crimson’s a good mare. She might have what you’re looking for in terms of work.”
Ardour swallowed, trying not to let his sudden joy show as he shifted his weight from haunch to haunch on the plush seat. He heard Brief sigh beside him. “Thank you, Velvet, really. Even if this doesn’t pan out.”
She smiled, showing off a dazzling array of white teeth that had been tenderly cared for by the hooves of expensive professional dentists. “You expect me to not ask for twice as much in return? I know you, Ardour. You might be too honourable to sample my wares without paying, but one day you’ll have some bits rattling around your little purse, and we’re experts at emptying the sacks of silly males.”
Ardour squirmed around in his seat, allowing a goofy smile to cross his features. “Whatever you say, Velvet. You talk big for such a tiny mare.”
“Oh, I can take some big things all on my own. But you’ll have to pay a lot to see that.”
“You sure? Rumour is that you’re a virgin,” he retorted.
“I can be, for a price.”
A mare barged into the room, her crimson mane waving around her delicate features as she trotted a wide circle around the men and stopped at Velvet’s side. She bowed, her rump rising to the air while her face almost touched the ground. “Miss Velvet, you called?”
“Hmm, yes, Crimson. I need to know a little something, but the question is rather vague. These two gentlecolts,” she said as she pointed at Ardour and Brief, “wish to find work in these parts. They captain a small, rusty piece of junk that’s hardly fit to fly. Well, ‘captain’ is a big word. Anywho, they’re looking for work and I was wondering if you knew about something that could be mutually beneficial?”
The mare nodded, frowning in thought as she ducked her head. With a sudden blink, she stood back up and smiled before leaning in towards Velvet. She whispered something into the queen’s ear, only trailing bits of it reaching out to Brief and Ardour.
Velvet nodded, then looked across her room for a moment before replying in the same hushed tone she had been addressed with.
Crimson nodded as she received the message, then bowed just as Velvet finished. “Understood, Mistress,” she said, and rushed out of the room.
Squirming in his seat, Ardour licked his lips and waited while Velvet hummed an off note. “Well, Ardour, there’s something that might interest you. Are you familiar with Two Bits? He goes by the name ‘Sleazy.’”
“He’s only the worst scumbag in pony history. I wouldn’t trust him with a wad of stepped-on chewing gum. Wouldn’t want to work with him either. I’d rather sign up with the Crown navy,” he grumbled, crossing his hooves over his chest as he puffed it out.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “He’s got work that needs your sort of finesse.”
“He can find it elsewhere. I’m not that desperate.”
“The pay’s in six digits.”
He swallowed. “Where can I sign on?”
Ardour was not the kind of pony to be swayed by riches or greed. He was not the kind of pony to place the worth of a bit over that of a friend’s, or even a stranger’s, need. He was also not the kind of pony that would refuse a Goddess-sent gift when it landed at his hooves, especially when he was in such dire need.
“You can’t. Crimson Chin told me that the information’s a little dated, but she did know that Sleazy wants to run an operation involving the transportation of goods. He’s ready to pay top dollar for it too. I’m not sure whether or not the job has already been taken or not. It seems profitable enough.”
“And how do you know all this?” he asked, twirling a small circle in the air to emphasize speed.
She bit her bottom lip and leaned in. “His little henchponies are surprisingly talkative when they sleep.” Velvet laughed as both Ardour and Brief cringed back into their seats, but her laughter abruptly cut off when her mood shifted. “Okay, you two may leave now. You’re a liability wherever you go. Say hello to Sleazy for me, and try not to get yourselves shot. It might ricochet and dent my reputation.”
“Aww, you actually care for us, don’t you Velvet?” Ardour said as he slid out of his seat. “Thanks, and I mean it. We’ll pay you back, eventually.”
“I look forward to it,” she said before adding a roguish smile and a small wave. “Get out of here before I shoot you.”
The two companions walked out of the office and into the cramped corridor, breathing out twin sighs of relief when the door finally clicked shut. Ardour sat hard on his rump, falling into the plush carpet as he wiped a hoof across his forehead and looked over to Brief. The griffin was almost sweating.
“That was interesting,” he said, turning away from Brief and glaring at the lobby room ahead, wherein writhing masses were amusing themselves on the couches, and eager stallions and a few mares were trotting in with foolish grins. He imitated their smile. “Hey, Brief. We have work!”
“Yes, Captain, we have work. Maybe.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He grinned at his long-time friend. “Well, let’s go bug Sleazy then.”
The griffin groaned.
Author's Note
Edited by:
The Misfits
I wanted the readers to know that this story was going to be a bit darker and a bit edgier. That it would be steampunk, and filled with adventure, but that said adventure would not always be the sort with happy endings, that the dark and gritty underworld of this new universe really would be darker and grittier than most.
So, I figured starting with whores would be a good idea.
Now, to make the main character's life a living hell, then give him hope... then rob it away with a gleeful titter!
The two trotted out of Velvet’s little home and into a barrier of cold air. The fall winds were accumulating, descending from heaven in frigid waves that battered themselves against the tossed-together shacks that filled the ghetto.
Others, as the ponies of the Crown called anything that wasn’t a pure-blooded earth pony, walked at a brisk pace along the sidewalks, accustomed to the chill winds but still wrapping themselves with ratty blankets and torn jackets.
As Ardour led the way down towards the centre of the poor village, he carefully navigated through the widest, most crowded streets, keeping his head low and his eye on the shadows. There was little danger for him, part of his mind insisted. No petty thief would try to hit an armed stallion and an equally armed griffin on such a visible road without decent cover. Unless that thief was really stupid, which, considering the local thieves, wasn't too far of a stretch.
Brief looked on ahead for them, his yellow eyes narrowed into slits as his natural predatory sight allowed him to spy on the roads ahead. Then he saw something that made his blood run cold, and he reached out with a clawed hand, grabbing Ardour by the shoulder. He said, "Look."
Ahead of them, eight guards were trotting forward in a loose circle, all of them wielding revolver-loaded rifles on their straight backs. Within the circle were a pair of mares and a stallion, the three of them smiling and laughing while a servant held an umbrella above their heads. The retinue marched at a slow pace, the road clearing for their presence as ponies zipped out of their way and into the welcoming shadows of the alleys.
“Dammit, let’s take a side-route. I don’t need any more trouble.”
“Danger on the side paths.”
Ardour nodded. “You’re right. We could hide on the side until they’ve passed, then keep trekking. Worst case scenario: we find a way through the alleys, despite the danger.”
They split from the wide road and beelined into an alley, stepping over a mound of fly-infested trash before sinking into the shadows and the putrid smells of the ghetto. A rat scurried out of their way deeper within the backroads, but otherwise it was quiet.
The captain trotted to the edge of the alley and peeked out, frowning at the approaching nobles. “They’re not too slow, at least,” he murmured before backing up once more.
“How much do you think it would take to get the Clipper airborne again?” he asked, trying to waste some time.
“Depends.”
He nodded. “On whether or not we want it to stay airborne for long or not.... I meant a quick flight, just something to get us on our hooves again. Say, from here to Bishopi.”
Brief looked at the overcast sky, his beak clicking shut after tasting the air with a flick of his tongue. “Three thousand bits. Minimum. More if we want all the motors to work.”
He looked out of the alley again, just in time to see the nobles passing by. “How was the port-side motor last time you checked?”
“Dead.”
A colt trotted out of a store across the street, the little pegasus stumbling into the path of the oncoming nobles with a limp. One of his wings was wrapped in a bandage, as was one of his legs.
The retinue slowed down, the guards staring at the colt as if deciding whether or not the tiny pony was a threat.
The colt tried to turn around and gallop away, gasping as he saw the small army, but all he succeeded in doing was falling face-first into a puddle of stagnant water, splashing it all over as he tried to climb out of the pothole.
The nobles trotted on, laughing at the pitiful creature as they zeroed in on it. “Oh, look what we have found ourselves here. A poor, poor little colt,” the mare said, venom laced in her words.
“I-I’m sorry, Ma’am,” the colt said, backpedaling away from the mare before bumping into one of the noble stallions.
“You, you,” the stallion began, staring wide-eyed at the water stains the colt had splashed onto his finery. “You swine!” The stallion reared up, delivering a quick, weak jab of his forehoof into the colt’s face.
“I-I’m sorry sir!” the mound of flesh and matted fur said from the ground, shivering as he curled himself up. “I didn’t mean to, please, I’m sorry!”
The noble backhoofed him. “Don’t talk to me, winged filth! You’re nothing. Count yourself lucky that we must make haste, else I would have you skinned alive!” With another swift kick the noble turned and left, swearing under his breath about the vile manners of plebeians.
Those following him spat on the colt as they passed, followed by their guards as they trotted down the road.
Ardour found himself held back by a clawed hand on his shoulder, his nostrils flaring as he glared at the passing nobles. “Reminds me why I hate this sorta place,” he spat. He and Brief watched as the nobles reached the road’s end and turned around the corner. “Should we help the kid?” he asked Brief, licking his lips.
“No, look,” the griffin said, pointing a claw at the colt.
He stood up, grinning from ear to ear as the bandages around his hoof and wing fell off, revealing limbs that were far from damaged. Tucked beneath said wing were both a wallet and a pearl-studded purse that the colt grabbed in his mouth before flying into the shadows between buildings.
“Wow, got to give the kid some credit,” Ardour said, a rueful smile adorning his face. “I’ll betcha Sleazy’s got something to do with that little orchestration. Let’s go meet the bastard.”
They ran out of the alley and found the street filling up again with the meager pickings of stallions and mares and other somewhat intelligent beasts that occupied the less-desirable parts of Rook. As they trekked along, the houses and buildings of commerce degenerated, until all that was left were tin-roofed, single-room dwellings that hardly deserved the title of house. Colts and fillies scampered around the shacks, screaming and playing wild games with little care for their poverty.
Tough looking griffins nodded to Brief, and a few dirty mares poked out of the shadows to wink at Ardour and offer him a good time. He recoiled at the sight of them. They had nothing on the mares that Velvet employed.
“Almost there,” Brief said in his low, baritone voice, dark eyes scanning the maze ahead.
Ahead was a choice of paths, each one closely guarded by armed ponies that all seemed occupied with time consuming tasks. Every few moments, one or two of them would peek up at the newcomers or allow their hooves to crawl over the length of their holsters.
“Well, damn,” Ardour said aloud in a boisterous, carrying voice. “Ain’t Sleazy got a nice welcoming party laid out here, huh Brief?” His voice bounced off tin walls and into the perked ears of the stallions.
“Yes sir, Captain. Nice welcoming party,” Brief repeated, puffing out his chest and making himself taller.
“It’d be a real shame if we never got to meet him,” Ardour added, eyeing the nearest of the stallions.
At his side, Brief nodded sagely. “Real shame.”
Ardour sat down hard, dust shifting out beneath him. “Hmm, seems like I forgots how ta get there. It’d be awful nice if some fine gentlestallion would point me the way.”
“Why, wouldn’t that be just great, Captain,” Brief said. “But where would we find ourselves such a fine gentlestallion?”
“I don’t know, Brief, but it’d be terrible if we’re late to our appointment just because nopony wanted to show us the way there. Sleazy’s goin’ ta be mighty disappointed.”
A few of the would-be guards looked at each other with wide eyes, blinking as their minds raced. One of them opened his mouth before closing it, frowning as he couldn’t form the words. Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, one of the ponies playing cards stood up. “Fine, I’ll lead y’all over to the boss’s place. But you two ought to talk less loudly. Crown’s been trotting ‘round these parts all week.”
Ardour gave the stallion a rueful smile. “Thanks, I welcome the help,” he said, voice now lower and not nearly as dramatic. “What’s your name, sir?”
The stallion trotted into the right-most path. “Name’s Beau, Beau Tie. I lead this sorry bunch of fools,” he said, pointing over his winged back to the group of guard ponies that were returning to their restive state. “And I work for the Boss.”
“Here we are,” Beau said as he trotted ahead and parted a curtain that was hung across their path. “Apple Pie,” he said to those on the other side in a monotonic tone.
Ardour and Brief cringed involuntarily as they heard guns lowering, and they passed through the makeshift barrier.
It was a mansion, of sorts.
A two story tin-walled house had been built with a sign proclaiming the place to be the PITSTOP dangling from a loose chain above the double doors that were its entrance. Dilapidated windows were painted over with black tar, behind which shadows moved in lamplight while, around the front of the building, a sort of courtyard had been erected.
A statue that had once belonged to a fountain decorated the courtyard’s centre. Three ponies reared up, their forehooves joined at the top, where a jewel was evidently supposed to reside. They were all earth ponies, but one of them had an iron spike jammed where a horn would be on a unicorn while the other had a skeletal form of mismatched wings on its stone back.
Around the statue were tables and chairs where all sorts of undesirables were talking and drinking piss-coloured drinks served by skimpily dressed ponies. Others were honing blades at a conveniently placed grindstone or talking to a pony hidden in the shadows, who was displaying wares of dubious legality from within the folds of his trench coat.
“Looks like paradise,” Ardour muttered, glaring at the scene. He sniffed, detecting the faint odour of spent gunpowder and burnt metal that was always present in those sorts of places.
“It’s not too shiny,” Brief agreed, nodding at the building.
Ardour glanced at the place, and then at Beau. “Can we find him inside?”
“Yeah, he’ll be upstairs, prolly. Oh, and don’t mention his size if you like ta walk tall,” the pony said, pointing with his chin to a beggar off to the side. The beggar pony’s legs had been sawed through the shins. “Hope you survive, or not.”
Ardour walked towards the bar, holding himself low and cautious, aware that his griffin friend was only a step behind. Just as they reached the front of the building, the doors exploded outwards and a pair of ponies tumbled out, scratching and clawing at one another in a flurry of violent activity. Others got up and began placing bets while Ardour and Brief ran in.
The inside had fared no better than the exterior. The air was so thick with smoke that they could hardly see across the large room, and their breathing became strained, each breath a labour to take. The sound of old mugs scratching across well-worn tables filled the room, accompanied by the low bass of laughter and the clinking of glass.
He beelined for the bar where a griffin was hiding behind his counter, cleaning off a glass with a dirty towel. “What can I serve y’all?” the bird squaked.
“Nothing. We’re lookin’ for Sleazy. He around?”
The griffin nodded and plunked his mug down on the table. “Might tell ya, for a pence,” he said, never actually bothering to look Ardour in the eye. Instead he leaned onto the table and screamed obscenities at one of his rowdier customers.
Ardour glared at him, then, reluctantly, reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and dropped a single bit on the table. “That’s all you’re getting out of me,” he said, not adding that it was his last coin.
The barkeep swiped the shiny metal disk off the counter then pointed with the tip of his sharp beak towards the far corner of the room. “Up the steps, knock on the big door, then he might let you in,” he instructed before returning to his cup-cleaning duties.
“That was a waste of bits,” Ardour grumbled as they trotted away from the bar and towards the shadowy corner. There, a staircase rose out of the ground and disappeared into the floor above, made entirely of steps that seemed just a little small to Ardour’s eyes. On either side of the steps were dour-faced ponies, a stallion, and an overly armed mare nonchalantly wielding what looked to the captain like a revolver-fed light machine gun. “Hello, lady, gentlecolt,” he said, nodding to each in turn. “I have a matter to discuss with your boss, Sleazy.”
“You Ardour?” the mare asked, leaning up against her weapon.
Ardour and Brief traded a look. Without words they confirmed that neither had been expecting a welcome mat, or even that they were expected. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Ah, good show. Sleazy wants ta see you. Head on up, and, uh, call him by his real name when you’re ‘round him, alright? It’s just simple respect and all that.”
He nodded and made his way up the tiny steps two-by-two, until he reached what some would have tentatively called the second story. The upper floor was designed like a maze drawn by a two-year-old filly on looseleaf. The walls were crooked, corridors jutted out and ended abruptly, the lighting was scarce, and every path led to a single place: a monolithic oak door at the centre of the floor.
More guards were posted along the walkways and corridors, all of them keeping weapons within easy reach as they eyed the newcomers. “I’m starting to have the impression that Sleazy’s little empire has grown,” Ardour whispered to Brief as they gently coasted along, trying not to make any sudden motions.
He licked his lips, studiously ignoring the beads of sweat forming along his hairline as they neared the door. Since the building’s tin walls somehow managed to disperse heat, oil-heaters had been scattered here-and-there across the maze, like pieces of cheese goading the mice along. In a place where the cold was the worst enemy and warmth was a commodity, the tin-walled shack, with its many heaters and few degrees too many, was positively opulent.
Raising a hoof as he reached the doorway, Ardour prepared himself to knock just as somepony within called out, “Come on in,” with a raspy and sly tone.
He paused, then slowly lowered his hoof to the brass doorknob and twisted.
Two Bit was sitting beside a hearth, both of his hooves stretched out towards the fire. This room, unlike the rest of the establishment, was devoid of the pungent scent of alcohol and piss, instead replaced with the scent of lilacs and the woody odour of fine scotch. “‘Ello, Ardour,” Sleazy said, drawing attention back to himself.
He lowered his hooves to adjust the lapels of his too-big jacket as he gave them a gold-tooth filled grin. “How’re ya doin’, mate?”
“Well, I’ve bee—”
“That’s great,” the pony said as he hopped off his seat. “I got wind that you were lookin’ for work. Desperately lookin’. Ah like it when folks think of me as a source of help,” he said, touching himself on the breast as he stopped a few paces short of Ardour. “See, I think of myself as a pony of the people. A helping hoof for those in need. A pillar of the community. I don’t mind giving you a bit of help, old friend.”
Ardour took a step back, frowning at the pony before eyeing the room. “Two Bits. I’ve known you for a long time, a very long time. Back in the day you used to deliver messages for the One-Wing Gang, and I was flying a cheap skiff that only had half a motor. Never in all that time have you been a pony of the people. Now, I ain’t meaning no disrespect, but what’s with the friendly act?”
The short pony arched an eyebrow. “Well well, I was just trying to be nice. But have it your way. See Ardour, unlike you, with your dated thoughts on chivalry and your little noble streak, I’m a thinking pony. I fought and bit and clawed my way up the ranks while you sat around on that fat rump ’a yours. Now I’m the bloody king ‘round these parts.” He took a few steps towards Ardour, poking the captain in the chest from below. “You’d better keep all that in mind if you’re comin’ here to ask me for work, Ardour.”
Ardour bit his tongue and nodded. “Got it, but I don’t feel like being messed with, Sleazy.”
Sleazy grinned. “I won’t mess with you, not while you’re still useful.” He pointed to the fireplace, where two seats were waiting, empty. “Come on, sit down and warm up. Where you’re going, it’s colder than Tartarus.”
Ardour acquiesced and followed the businesspony, his coat warming up the closer he got to the open flames. “Where are we going? Velvet only said that you had work, but nothing about what that work entails.”
“Oh, your job’s easy. I wouldn’t trust you with anything important. No, no, no. You only have to fly off like a little birdie. See, that ugly ship of yours is just what I need for this little... errand. I just want you to drop something off for me. Want to know what it is?”
“Not particularly.”
“Perfect! ‘Cause I’m not paying you to be curious. All you have to do is take the box from here,” he said, emphasizing his words with large gestures, “and take it to the city of Knight. Actually, it’s not even that hard. You can dump it out halfway, right where I tells you to, then fly on to Knight.”
Ardour shuddered, and placed a hoof on either side of the little chair. “Okay, I’ll take it.”
Sleazy nodded, grin never fading. “Ah knew you’d see reason. I’ve already sent out my ponies to put things in your ship. ‘Course, you’ll be needing to bring passengers too.”
“Passengers?”
“Don’t want the Crown getting snoopy and all that, right? Just a few well-meaning ponies that we’ll grab off the streets. Can’t send any of mine; the Crown’s been watching me.”
One of Ardour’s eyebrows perked as he wondered what the little pony could possibly have done to incur the curiosity of the Crown before chalked it off to the pony’s delusions of grandeur. “You’re being real nice, Mister Sleazy.”
“Just call me Sleazy. Only one person ever called me Mister Sleazy, and that’s my wife,” he said, grin growing slyly.
“Y-you have a wife?” Ardour asked, voice rising as the question stuttered out of him.
Sleaze shrugged. “Had one. Killed her a while back,” he said before reaching into the inner lapels of his jacket and yanking out a cigar. He bit off the end and spat it into the fire, where it burned under their watchful gazes. “Anyhow, you ought to be going. Some of mine have run off to that flying wreck of yours. I told them to patch the thing up just enough for it to keep to the air.”
Ardour sat straighter. “You sent them where?”
“The Sky Clipper, or whatever terrible name you gave the hunk of stinking crap. After all, I want the thing to actually get the mission done, can’t have it crashing half-way. I also wanted to make damned sure that you knew where you’re goin’. Had my ponies play around with your charts a little.”
The captain licked his lips and concentrated on his breathing. To any captain, to that day and age, to anypony that took to the air, the maps on board a ship were treasures. It was preferable to lose every life raft on a ship before losing a single page from a log book. With those maps a pony could plot a trajectory anywhere he had been before and know of the seasonal winds and tides. The Sky Clipper may not have been the prettiest of ships, but she had traveled, and she had traveled well. Her logs were full and worth, easily, more than the ship itself.
“Ah, I know that expression,” Sleazy said, cracking a smile as he struck a match and lit his cigar. The smell of it reeked like old mould mixed with the enticing odour of burning sulphur. “That’s the face of somepony who just found out that life’s not always fair. Don’t worry, little Ardour, this one’s more than fair for you.”
With a quick gesture to one of the ponies crammed into the office, Sleazy had a briefcase brought over and deposited at the foot of Ardour’s chair. The two stallions stared at each other, Sleazy with a rueful, knowing smile, Ardour with a carefully blank stare.
Ardour leaned over the case, running the tip of his hoof along the edge until he found its catch. He hesitated. Sure, Velvet had hinted that the bits were many and the job worth it, but the part of him that still held a bit of decency told him that this job was more complicated than it seemed, and with ponies like Two Bit dolling out the bits, those complications were on the wrong side of the law.
Brief took a few steps forwards and placed a clawed hand on his shoulder, his grip tight and warm. “Do as you want, Captain.”
“Isn’t that what I always do, Brief?” he said as he pushed on the tabs. With a pair of sharp clicks, the case opened up on its spring hinges.
Ardour swallowed and tried hard to control his breathing, his eyes slowly turning from the contents to Sleazy. “What’s all this?”
“Can’t recognize a fat wad of bits when you see it? Shame. Guess you’re not the sort that bits would like ta stick onto.” Sleazy laughed at his own joke, and soon his guards were joining him with hollow, booming laughs of their own. “Now, as for how much. That’s two hundred thousand. Half in Imperial Crowns, the other half in Equestrian bits. The bits are worth more, always are, but the deeper inland you go the less they want ‘em, though they could come in handy.”
“All this just for transportation?”
“Yeah, and the fixes we do on your ship are free too. Aren’t we just so generous?” Sleazy’s smile only grew as he took a long pull of his cigar and released a plume of smoke, which trailed up to the ceiling.
Ardour stood up, bringing a hoof down to slam the case shut like a hammer on an anvil. The thump of the briefcase closing reverberated through the room. “Fine, I’ll take your job. But it’s not because I want to. You’re up to something, and I don’t even think I want to find out what.”
“Good, let’s keep it that way. Now go check on that boat of yours. I have better things to do.”
Author's Note
Edited by:
The Misfits
Chapter two!
Or is it three?
Does the prologue count as a chapter?
Bah, who cares?
So, here we meet a few more ponies that have no real importance to the plot. Well, that's not completely true....
Our little adventurers are off to save the princess save the world smuggle something to a faraway land! Woo! Of course, my job is to make everything crash and crumble around them.
Who wants to start a betting pool on whether or not they make it?
