Chapter 10: Remembrance in a stew
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Time to get to business, I thought. After Albert left, I spoke to Golden Pin to procure some useful supplies for my trip into town. She managed to get me a filled water canteen, a couple newly fashioned leather saddlebags, as well as several packets of hay crackers and a few apples. No weapons though, I thought grimly, as I packed up everything into the saddlebags. I wrapped my black and gold cloak over myself and slung the saddlebags over my back before fastening it.

Let’s get to work. I plan to find out more about this fortress and its defenses, both physical, magical and electronic. But most importantly, to find out the locations of my friends.

There was one particular objective I want to venture out into town for, however. And that is to see for myself how bad things are for the townsfolk, and get my bearings on where exactly in this damned wasteland I am. I raised my reacquired Pipbuck and accessed it to check if the old map I had out on the wasteland was still intact. I breathed a sigh of relief when it was, although the surrounding area was still ink black, signifying places that I haven’t explored. I scrolled through the communication logs and archives, hoping against hope that the technicians could have missed something I could use, or a weakness in the new operating system that I could exploit. But my luck had run out it seems. The system was solid, and my communication lines only showed encrypted channels to three IDs at the moment. Master B.H, Officer D.S, and L.T Ironfist. Other than that it was only able to broadcast openly. Useless if I want to contact my friends I thought, as it would surely attract the guards as well.

I scowled at the screen, and continued to delve deeper into my Pipbuck just to see what kind of modifications I was dealing with. Albert was right it seems. My S.A.T.S had been completely removed. Goddesses damn it! I remembered how much I had relied on my targeting system out on the wasteland, and my confidence in my combat abilities dipped considerably. Not that I had an ounce of fighting skill in my current state, but my S.A.T.S had saved me on so many occasions. I felt so vulnerable without it, like a snail out of its shell.

I lowered my Pipbuck and sighed. Why did Blackheart give this back to me, I wondered. An insult? A show of arrogance insinuating that he could afford to freely give me an advantage? Or maybe….sentimentality? Maybe he knew how much this meant to me and just wanted to make me feel more at home. After all he was from a Stable too. I was puzzled as to why he did not wear his own Pipbuck though. Could it be that the memory of his own Stable was too much to bear?

Despite my rational mind, a small part of my heart leapt at that thought, warm with happiness at the small possibility that he actually cared about me. Maybe he wasn’t all bad. After knowing his past and the kind of hell he faced, I had to admit that the knowledge had shed new light on my previous perspective on him. However, memories of my capture and “induction” by Blackheart was still fresh in my mind, and I knew I would not be forgiving him in my lifetime. Not after what he had done to me and my companions. I was sure that with my Pipbuck attached my leg, my location would be clear for Blackheart to know. He was too evil and shrewd to not install a tracking device in my Pipbuck without my knowledge.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and went outside.
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I walked along the corridors of Castle Blackmire, trying to remember all of the places I was passing by while Ironfist and Dark sky followed and lurked behind me. They knew their orders, and followed me far enough to not seem disrespectful of my personal space. Quite the obedient dogs, I thought acidly, as I walked towards the balcony of the surveillance/astronomy tower, the highest passable point in this fortress. An eagle eye’s view of the entire Castle and its surroundings would be most helpful in helping me get my bearings, I thought as I climbed up the steps.

It seems that my position at this Castle was not kept quiet. Every guard I met with saluted and every slave I encountered bowed to me, muttering honorifics I could not care for. The first few I blushed and tried to make conversation with them, but they were so terrified that they would not even meet my gaze or answer unless I asked something. That made things awkward too quickly and I had to refocus back on my task, so I simply tried my best to ignore the rest and just continued on my way. It seems the maids in the castle were better dressed and seemed more well fed than those slaves forced into prostitution. I wondered why. Could it be they were promoted from the slave ranks? I’d have to get to the bottom of this later. After all, Blackheart DID say I was responsible for the slaves’ welfare, to a certain extent.

I reached the top and pushed open the doors leading outside. The sudden breeze that struck me was a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the castle’s interior, and I took my first ever look onto the wasteland since my capture by Monterey Jack.

It was dusk, and the sun was setting down on the dusty wasteland horizon, giving it a red tint. I breathed in the not so fresh wasteland air and sighed. I could see some kind of flying creatures in the distance, and the desolate wasteland desert that lay before me seemed all too familiar. It now seemed more like home compared to this fortress I was held in. I stared at the horizon, hoping against hope that I could spot some town I knew, or perhaps see the Tenpony tower. My heart sank when there was nothing but desert and radiation for miles around. I sighed. Looking down, I saw wooden houses and settlements surrounding the castle in an orderly grid fashion. Cobblestone paths lead the ways between the houses and I could even see a small courtyard in the town. The tiny bodies of ponies milling around that area hinted at me that the town markets and taverns are most likely there. Small settlements and shacks littered all around the outskirts of the town. There were even farms surrounding the city, but what kind horrible crops they grew from the radiation saturated soil, I rather not know.

I looked down at my Pipbuck to see the location unlocked on the map. Novmare. This must be Golden Pin’s hometown. I felt a small surge of sorrow after remembering her past story. I leaned over the railings carefully to closer inspect the Castle defenses. I was not happy with what I saw. Castle Blackmire was constructed in similar fashion to the Castle of the Crystal Empire, except it was made out of concrete and metal for the exterior and wood and marble for the interior. Teams of snipers and sharpshooters patrolled the outer ramparts, while mortars were set up in regular intervals on the inner ones. Several of the Castle’s tallest towers held arcane sensors that worked as radar and communications, and I could even spot a few several chainguns and sentry bots equipped with cannons set up on the upper balconies. They would work as effective anti-air weapons, if they were anything like the old Stables’ weaponry.

I ground my teeth in frustration and groaned inwardly. It would take nothing less than a well-equipped and highly disciplined army with substantial air support to have even a remote chance of putting a dent in this fortress. This was going to be harder than I thought. I sighed and left the tower to get to town.

But before that, I have a small task to complete here. I turned around and addressed Ironfist.

“Can you show me the way to the Castle kitchens please?” I asked.

“Yes ma’am,” He replied. His voice was gravelly and rough, as well as sounded muffled through his helmet. “It’s in the earth wing and two levels down. Follow me please.”
Ironfist turned and trotted down the stairs, while I and Dark sky followed. He moves surprisingly silent and quick for a pony laden down with explosive ammo and full power gear. I gulped nervously inside. There was obviously much more to him than meets the eye. These are specially trained ponies, I thought with a shudder, while the memory of the group of black armored assassins on the screen with my friends kneeling at their feet floated to the surface of my mind. While their duty is to protect me, I’m pretty sure the order to “subdue” me if I attempted to escape was surely part of the fine print. I have to be careful.
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After following Ironfist for some time, we reached a pair of well-oiled iron doors leading to a flight of descending stairs. “It’s just at the bottom of the stairs ma’am” Ironfist said. I nodded and went on ahead. As I neared the kitchen, I noticed an orange glow at the bottom of the stairs, as well as muffled shouting which gradually grew louder as I approached.

I reached the bottom and stepped inside. The sights and smells that assaulted my senses made me step back for a moment. The huge kitchen was brightly lit, and covered in a smoky haze. Stoves and cauldrons laden with meaty stew boiled over red hot embers, while ovens were getting shoved full of hay bread and fired up. All the while slave ponies bustled around, scrubbing pots and pans, collecting ingredients, chopping them up and combining them together under the instructions of a few slavers. I could see they were exhausted, and too busy with their chores to notice me yet. Some of them were stumbling around and a few ponies couldn’t even use the knives properly with their trembling hooves. All the while a fat and loud pony wearing a white chef hat and uniform stood in the middle screaming at them.

“OI YOU THERE! WE NEED 200 MORE SLICED POTATOES! KEEP THOSE KNIVES CLEAN YOU IMBECILE! WHERE THE HAY ARE THOSE CLEANED BOWLS?! DO YOU LITTLE SHITS NEED A REMINDER TO WORK FASTER?!” He yelled, brandishing a whip.

One slave pony tripped and fell, and the two plates she was carrying dropped and broke with a resounding smash.

All of a sudden, the kitchen went silent with dread. The chef seemed to balloon with unbridled rage. He advanced on the cowering slave pony, with the whip raised. “You are going to pay dearly for this. Do you have any idea whose plate that is you worthless maggot?!” He said menacingly. The whip came down with an ear splitting crack, and the poor pony unfortunate enough to be the target squealed in terror and pain. The obnoxious and cruel chef showed no sign of letting up, and lash after lash came barraging down on the hapless pony who could do nothing more than to cry in agony. Her back was starting to crack and ooze blood.

Seeing this ignited an old familiar emotion within me. Pure, unadulterated rage. I quickly looked around and picked up a table knife from a pile of cutlery, and before Dark sky or Ironfist could react, I threw it haphazardly and with all my might at the cruel slaver. The knife, more of luck than actual skill, flew straight as an arrow and shot right through the chef’s tall hat, impaling it on the other side with a sharp and solid *thuck* in the wood work.

“ENOUGH!!” I screamed out loud.
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I never thought the room could get any quieter. The silence that followed would have put all of Starswirl the bearded silencing spells to shame. You could literally hear mice chittering away from within the walls, nervous about the tense change in atmosphere. Everyponys’ eyes turned and stared at me, including the Chef’s. He stood absolutely still, hoof still raised in the act of drawing the whip back for another painful blow. When he saw which audacious pony was stopping him, his face paled and his grip loosened in fear, letting the whip fall to the floor.

I furiously trotted over, angry hooves pounding the floor. As I walked pass the slaves, they recovered from their shock and bowed low on trembling hooves. The slavers just stood by fearfully, not daring to make a move. I approached the head chef, who regained his composure somewhat and stood at rigid attention, but his face remained pale and cold sweat beaded on his greasy forehead. I stood and looked at him in the eye, glaring menacingly. I was a full hoof and a half shorter, but that did not discourage me. In fact, my murderous expression and knife stunt already did the job well in intimidating him.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” I hissed furiously at the stallion. “Why are you punishing her this severely for a FUCKING broken plate?! It’s a FUCKING plate! Just look at them! They’re practically half dead from exhaustion and here you are hitting them like this! How the FUCK can you expect them to work any better if you’re not helping one single Celestia DAMNED bit?! And you call yourself head chef?! You’re no different than a coward and a pile of shit!”

“M-mistress, t-t-that crystal sliver plate is made in pre-war Canterlot. We d-don’t have many of them left. We mainly use them for esteemed guests and for Master and you. I-if the Master should hear of this…” The pudgy stallion stammered.

“I will explain to Blackheart about this!” I said venomously. “Use my plate if you must for him! But I will NOT stand to see such cruel punishment used for such stupid things!” I reached down and grabbed the whip, tossing it angrily into the oven and slamming it shut before burning it. I turned back to the chef, face inches away from his.

“You’re lucky that knife missed you. Or else I would have already cut out your eyeballs with it.” I murderously said, eye blazing in anger. “From now on, these ponies will work in shifts, half during the day and half at night, and given PROPER rest and enough to eat. They will ALSO work without the threat of those horrid tools.” I nodded at the disintegrating whip in the oven.

“B-but ma’am… W-we don’t have e-enough ponypower to serve the castle like that...” The chef fearfully replied.

“Then recruit more!” I yelled at him. “I know a great many ponies who would rather work in the kitchens than be doing their Luna damned jobs!” I looked to the tired looking ponies, who were staring at me with such respect and fear that I felt bad for my outburst. “All of you will take a rest now. You have my permission to take the food that you need, but don’t waste any. Come back when you are ready to resume work.”

I turned back to address the hapless chef. “If I ever catch you mistreating them again, I’ll order your head on a silver platter, and find another chef to cook it. And don’t think Blackheart can save you. Even if he disagrees I’ll kill you with my own two hooves, I can assure you of that. You know who I am and what I’m capable of.”

I felt a small pang of sadness at my lie. I wasn’t as capable as I was before yet. But HE didn’t need to know that.

The chef’s legs wobbled under his fat body, and it surprised me to see how he was still standing. A dark wet spot grew on his pants near the crotch area. He was literally pissing himself. What a disgrace.

He bowed his head, “Y-y-y-yes Mistress, p-p-please f-forgive me.”

I snorted and turned to leave. A reminding thought struck me about my reason for being here in the first place and I looked back to the chef.

“Oh and one more thing, the food being given to the slave mares in the brothel section. I would hate to think about you having to eat that kind of chow for the rest of your miserable life, wouldn’t you?” I smiled devilishly at him.

The chef just stared for a moment, before feverishly nodding in agreement. “A-as you command, ma’am.”
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I ascended back up the steps into the Castle courtyard with my guards following quietly. I wondered what they actually thought about that whole fiasco. They were no doubt relaying information back to Blackheart about how I’ve threatened to cut off the head of his own chef. A deep pit of fear welled up within me. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. Blackheart would surely punish me if I overstepped my boundaries of authority here, or if not would at least keep a closer eye on me.

But I remembered the lives of Three Bit and the other slave girls, as well as the poor pony whose back would now have scars from that cruel lashing. No, this IS the right thing to do, and to Tartarus with the consequences. I resolved in my mind. I’ll take any torture and rape Blackheart will give me if it meant giving the slaves here better lives and getting my friends out of this hellhole.

As we trotted towards the Castle gates, I looked at Dark sky and Ironfist morosely. “I guess you guys will have quite a report to file with Blackheart tonight. I know your jobs are to protect and escort me. I don’t wish to complicate things like this for you…”

They did not reply for a while. But just as we reached the gates, the clear feminine voice of Dark sky rang out.

“Permission to speak freely ma’am?”

I turned, startled at her sudden change of demeanor. “Yes of course, don’t stand on ceremony with me. Just speak your mind.”

“That was a very brave thing you did.” She said, expression hidden behind her visor. “Not many ponies have actually dared to cross the head chef ever since he got the job, and those who did wished they did not.”

I stood muted. Was that some kind of veiled threat? Or a simple compliment? I wondered.

Ironfist continued. “Pardon me ma’am. While I find your actions noble and with good intentions, I must caution you not to let emotions take control too often. In my line of work and surviving out there in the wastelands, ponies like that tend not to last long. This same unspoken rule applies here in the Legion. For what’s its worth, I think you are different than most of the ponies here at Castle Blackmire. With all due respect, you truly don’t belong here, and shouldn’t be here Mistress.”

I stared for a moment at Ironfist, trying to read his expression behind his pith black helmet.

I smiled gratefully at him.

“Thank you. You're right. I don't belong here."

Author's Note

Eiyo chapter ten. May be a bit slow in the coming days. Christmas holidays and all that.

Merry christmas to all! :D