The Foreign Account

Chapters

I

In the antiquated metropolis of Canterlot, among the clusters of independent structures not anchored to the main base, perched, or perhaps clung for dear life, Lord Goldenhoof’s Building Commission. Utterly juxtaposed to the gleaming spires of the central city district, it was a building noted not so much for its design or architectural aesthetics as for its prodigious length. If any questioned why such an unornamented extension held such fascination for Lord Goldenhoof they kept it to themselves.

In the 20th year of Princess Luna's return, Mind’s Eye was a senior clerk at the Commission.

A perfectly content middle class unicorn, it had not been too long since he had found and brought the most lucrative of all contracts to Lord Goldenhoof, granting the commission exclusive rights to maintenance of the Feather road.

Recently struck by a flurry of weather related incidents due to apathetic pegasi storm brigades, the long and only major supply chain linking Canterlot to the griffon capital demanded the constant attention of construction crews and created excellent profits from paranoid merchants looking to get their wares across in whole pieces.

Mind’s Eye was not a particularly ambitious unicorn nor a hard worker, so it concerned him little that Goldenhoof had not given him anything to do afterwards.

Whenever the small pompous aristocrat happened upon Mind lounging behind his desk he would often say, “You’re a valuable asset to this commission, keep up the good work.”

Initially Mind was worried that he should at least appear to be doing something but as the months passed on and his bank account grew steadily he merely replied, “Thank you, I will.”

Thus Mind spent most of his time at the commission recalling the years gone by at other institutions and original desires to pursue magical research. When he discovered that colleges did not admit mediocre applicants free of charge and the necessary investment of effort on his part would be massive those desires rapidly crumbled. Mind was now middle aged and earning a respectable salary for someone not actually doing any work.

There was however the future to consider, Mind would soon have to plan for the day of his retirement, and not get paid for not doing work. Perhaps, he thought, out of consideration for the millions of bits being generated by the Feather road contract, Lord Goldenhoof might offer him a partnership, or at least a share of the profits. Mind’s Eye was no good at asking about things like that, if his experience at previous commissions was any indicator, he would be informed that his usefulness had been outlived and subsequently taken off the company payroll.

Over the course of the week Mind contemplated his admittedly avaricious request. How to phrase his words in such a way so as to achieve the most beneficial result, for him that was. Surely Goldenhoof would acknowledge Mind’s accomplishments, though they numbered few, and realize the shy unicorn should enjoy a higher position of authority. One day, just as Mind had worked up the courage to speak to his superior the Lord unexpectedly moved things along.

“You truly are a credit to this commission,” the stubby little thing said, then paused. “Do you have a moment? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Mind nodded eagerly and followed Goldenhoof into his hideously decorated but enviable office space.

“Celestia blesses us for your presence at this Commission,” the pudgy fellow squeaked grandly. “It may not have seemed like it, but we were having quite a difficult time before you came along. We had some impressive projects for certain, but only minor successes and too many setbacks. Far out east for example, our presence on Papua New Whinny to improve routes of travel for commerce has so far yielded underwhelming results. Every year I put my best pony, Full Throttle, in charge of operations yet despite staggering investments of time and money the trade routes only get more bogged down. Now with your very, very profitable Feather Road contract, the Commission is in a much better position to properly address such issues. I think it’s time you were rewarded.”

Mind’s Eye was on the edge of his seat, anxiously waiting for the Lord to finish.

“I’d like you to take over the New Whinny account from Full Throttle.”

Mind’s anticipation sank through his seat and feebly curled up on the floor. “M-my Lord, I-I couldn’t..”

“Nonsense!” The Lord chirped, “Full Throttle will be more than pleased with his final paycheck, despite how heart wrenchingly difficult the New Whinny contract was. With the right attitude you should find his position to be a suitable challenge.”

All Mind’s Eye could do was sit there in shock and try not to hyperventilate as Goldenhoof pulled a massive box of documentation out from under his desk.

“Here is all the important records and information you’ll need concerning the Commission’s presence on New Whinny. You’re a fast reader,” he guessed, “you can read it all en-route.”

Mind looked confused, “en-route? You mean to…”

“Papua New Whinny of course!” The Lordship slurred out in a fit of giggles. “What a funny chap you are, where else could you possibly be going?”

Mind attempted to find his voice but what came out was little more than a stupefied stutter, “but, my Lord, New Whinny is far off the Equestrian mainland, how will I get there?”

Goldenhoof smiled regally, “I’ve arranged your transportation off coast via ferry from Eastward Dockyards. I couldn’t expect you to swim there now could I?”

Being Goldenhoof it would come as no surprise if that were his expectation but he did not stop there. “Getting to the Dockyards I’ve left to your own initiative. With the same cunning prowess you fetched the Feather Road contract it should be foal’s play to hitch a balloon ride at a fair rate. But the choice is your own. I myself will be heading out shortly for the New Whinny capital, Port Maresby. I expect to see you there within a week.”

With that Goldenhoof trotted out the office but not before flashing a friendly look at the disorientated Mind.

“Happy travels.”

***

The next morning, saddlebags overflowing with paperwork, Mind’s Eye departed for the Eastern Dockyards. With some modest effort and gold bits he had managed a ride with a rather snarky earth pony balloonist and three hours later arrived at the east coast. Finding the designated ferry had been of little challenge. The smallest, most run down hunk of metal that qualified as a vessel only by the most generous application of the term was the most Goldenhoof would spare. The captain, Mind had unfortunately discovered, did not intend to sail straight to Port Maresby but to the northern tip of the island where the long trek to the capital would commence. Nothing short of two hundred bits would change the ferry’s course, so Mind begrudgingly took his seat and off they went.

As the boat rocked and swayed against the current Mind took it upon himself to sift through the paperwork. It was quite the record, nearly four decades worth of the Commission’s work dating back to before the return of Nightmare Moon. Apparently settlers had arrived on the island around fifty years prior and realized the potential for cultivating exotic fruits, much to the chagrin of the indigenous zebra population. A merchant by the name of Bargain Hunter had hired the Commission early on to devise a more efficient and organized travel network across the entire island. Several million bits later, statistics showed that harvest was arriving in Port Maresby consistently behind schedule.

Shortly afterwards, the royal council in Canterlot took a brief interest and hired several independent contractors, Goldenhoof included, to clear green space, build roads and bridges, drain swamps and do everything a monarchy believed would help improve the situation. According to current figures, the result of this was that it took over a month for the goods, thoroughly rotten, to arrive.

Every so often Mind wold look up, see nothing but open water then return to his reading, he hoped that the trip would take longer but soon enough they clambered up on the rocky shores of Papua New Whinny. Mind’s guide, a rather stoic looking Pegasus, was waiting not too far off and after short introductions, Guile was his name, they departed for the jungle edge.

After a short hike Mind recognized the superfluous design of a Goldenhoof Commission centre nestled in between the trees. Although difficult to make out amongst the heavy foliage and swarms of blood coloured flying insects, Mind noticed upon further inspection a cluster of smaller formal looking buildings, most likely a census and excise office.

While making their way through the dense brush, uselessly waving their hooves at the clouds of insects, Mind also saw that the main building was right next to a large river of unusually blackish water from which massive bubbles sluggishly rose. A bridge sturdy in appearance only stretched out across the swamp, which Mind also observed, covered a large area beyond the trees.

Guile rapped on the door to the office and an irritable official quickly opened. “Hurry! Get inside or you’ll let all the bloodbuzzers in!”

“Bloodbuzzers? You mean they drink pony blood?” Mind worriedly asked.

“If you’re fool enough to stand around and let them,” came the testy reply, “Now get in!”

No further encouragement required he stepped inside, the door hastily shut behind him.

“State your business.”

Mind told him and added that if they didn’t spend all their money on alcohol they could stock up on insect repellent.

The official sneered, “you should be more concerned about how you’re getting across the swamp. Tide’s coming up and the path to Port Maresby will be blocked for two weeks if you don’t get a move on.”

Mind took him for his word, although a wait of two weeks was preferable to what inevitably lay ahead, and hurriedly left the building. Guile was already flying across the swamp, not opting to sit and wait.

Mind galloped after him over the bridge. Although it would have been nice just to teleport or levitate over to the patch of reeds on the other side, his skill with the craft was heavily lacking and a short jog over a rickety set of planks was decidedly better than accidentally falling into the flow of tar.

Never having been in good shape Mind stopped halfway to catch his breath, the saddles of Commission materials weighing down heavily upon his back. The dark river water lapped at the planks, coagulating like a thick gluey paste and having washed over Mind’s hooves, stuck him to the spot.

Panic stricken, he fumbled about trying to loosen the tight grip of the black mud but to no avail. Guile was still floating ahead, closing in fast on the reeds of the opposite side.

“Help!” Mind cried out. “I’m stuck!”

Guile kept going as if nothing had been said. “Yes sir, you need to lose weight.”

Mind’s Eye knew he was a few pounds over and had meant to exercise more and eat less, but in his current predicament there existed no diet in Equestria that could offer timely aid. But upon reflection, Mind realized that the Pegasus intended he drop his bags of documentation, for Guile was no longer carrying much of the supplies he had with him previously.

With a sigh, Mind threw the bags of Commission notes into the glop, and felt the plank under him rise a third of an inch, sufficient to free him from the mud's clutches. With an agility born of extreme fear, Mind began leaping after Guile, dropping onto every third plank, and springing up before the river gripped him.

In twenty three leaps, Mind’s Eye crashed through the reeds onto the solid ground behind Guile, and found himself in the jungles of Papua New Whinny. He could hear behind him a slurping sound as the bridge, and his saddlebags representing forty years worth of Commission affairs, was consumed by the rising flood of dark filth, never to be seen again.

II

Mind’s Eye emerged from the mud and reeds, exhausted from his brush with adrenaline, the smashed remains of red Bloodbuzzers adorning his face and coat. Looking behind him, he saw the remains of the bridge engulfed by the black sludge of the rising river, barring passage for at least two weeks. His saddlebags of vital Commission documents were likely thoroughly dissolved by now and swept away with all the other rubbish. He hoped he could recall the names of his contacts in Port Maresby.

Guile was striding purposefully forward through the reeds, waving ineffectually at the swarms of Bloodbuzzers. Mind hurried after him.

“Celestia smiles on us, we’re in luck.” The Pegasus said, which given the circumstances seemed to Mind an extraordinarily odd thing to say, until he saw exactly what Guile was referring to.

Twenty-one old wagons, each a conglomeration of rotten wood and rusted iron, sat sunk in the soft earth ahead.

“The caravan is right on time.” Guile smiled.

A crowd of zebras, dull and gray, the sort of sullen manual laborers common in outer territories, idly hung about the area. One had pulled a wagon away from the others and was emptying from it a festering purple jelly into the muck, which from the smell Mind guessed to have been blackberries at some point in the distant past.

Mind took a look at the other wagons, half hoping to find a lavishly decorated open spot with his name on it. Four of them were empty enough to hold a few occupants and had been crudely fitted with planks to sit making for an uncomfortable ride. The rest were overflowing with vegetation, meats and fruits of bizarre shape and colour all in varying stages of corruption.

“How long ago were these harvested?” Mind asked the zebra who appeared to be in charge.

"At the end of the cold season obviously.” He replied churlishly.

If ‘cold season’ was the local term for Winter, the goods had been in transport for a little over two months. Clearly, Mind thought, there were issues with transportation that needed to be resolved quickly, but that was his purpose here as a representative of Lord Goldenhoof’s Building Commission after all.

It turned out that their destination was indeed Port Maresby and yes they said, Mind could ride with them.

After some pointless meandering about, the zebras pushed and pulled the wagons back into formation, detaching the front wagon and hitching it to the back for reasons left unknown. The workers moved with dispirited lethargy and after forty minutes Mind was able to take his seat. He figured he’d get friendly with some fellow travellers and sat in the wagon where one Griffon and three Earth Ponies, their coats as dull and matted as the zebras themselves, were waiting.

One pony absent from their ranks was Mind’s guide Guile, who had not taken a seat on one of the wagons but on a rock to the side of the road. Mind looked quizzically at the Pegasus who in response pulled out a hairy carrot and started munching on it.

“The deal was I get you to the caravan and meet you in Port Maresby.” He said solemnly, earning an even more confused look from Mind.

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

Mind thought to protest but the chain of dilapidated old carts had slowly started forward and with too little time to argue Mind elected to stay where he was.

His fellow travelers grunted at Mind's extensive questioning, clearly annoyed as if the diatribe made the ride even worse than it already was. The Griffon turned out to be a merchant based in the capital and two of the ponies were residents of the island, although Mind didn’t manage to pry their occupations out of them. The last pony was a trader of sorts but offered any further details sparingly. A handler of sensitive cargo, Mind thought.

The cart they were in rocked back and forth along the trail, as though someone on the outside was pitching boulders at it, and jerked suddenly upwards causing each rider to clear their seat by a full body length. Mind opted to look outside and immediately recognized the atrocious state of the road, covered in potholes that resembled massive pitfalls and waves of weeds that made it feel as though they were riding against a fierce ocean current. Mind also noticed that the lead driver wasn’t terribly concerned with avoiding the rough patches or how it might compromise the structural integrity of the wagons.

“This is the commerce road?” Mind asked incredulously to nobody in particular, “what of all this uncontained vegetation? Doesn’t anybody look after this place?”

The Griffon answered him, “it’s solid ground, somewhat. The zebras eat parts of it and we set fire to it sometimes, but it just grows back twice as thick.”

A cold noxious wind, stinking of rotten sulphurous compounds picked up from the wretched swamps blew across the caravan making Mind’s eyes water. Mind peered out at the dense canopy of trees which prevented most of the sunlight from ever reaching the ground along with the thick obscuring haze of fog and mist which danced across the endless, featureless expanse of reeds. Long shadows periodically flitted across the landscape, and when Mind looked up, he saw they were being cast by long serpentine creatures with thin wings and beaks filled with saw like teeth that could fell trees.

“Amphipteres,” Silver Slider, the pony to Mind’s left whose name didn’t match up very well with his appearance, remarked. “Like everything on this forsaken island, they’ll pounce as soon as you stop moving, give you a bite and come back to feast once the toxins kick in.”

Mind trembled, he hoped they’d reach the port city before nightfall. Just then it occurred to him that the sun was in the wrong side of the sky.

“Excuse me, sir?” Mind called to the wagon master. “You said we were headed to Port Maresby, yes?”

The wagon master nodded.

“Why then are we going north, when we should be going south?”

There came not a reply but an augmented sigh.

After confirming with his fellow travellers Mind concluded that they were all indeed going to Port Maresby, although none seemed too concerned of the circuitous route being followed to get there. The hard bench and constant bumps of the road were hard on his back and neck but the rhythm of the caravan in addition to the hypnotic waving of the reeds gradually lulled him off to sleep.

***

Mind’s Eye awoke some time later, the darkness of the outer swamp so deep that he was uncertain of their location. The caravan was not moving and Mind was beneath a bench, behind some small boxes. He could hear, outside the wagon, a hissing clicking sound and voices speaking a dialect unknown to him.

While peeking out between someone’s legs Mind caught a glimpse of glistening scales, razor sharp claws and long jaws filled with rows of jagged teeth. He quickly scurried back underneath the bench, their beady black eyes had not fallen on him yet.

The legs in front of Mind began to thrash wildly before their owner was violently pulled from his seat. Mind crouched further back to put as much distance between him and the imminent threat as possible, hiding from danger was one of the few skills he possessed.

Shortly after there was the sound of struggling followed by a hideous scream, followed by silence.

The routine repeated itself three times, each scream with a different accent and timbre but each one conveying the same articulate message. Terror and pain, horrifying pain. Mind tried to swallow but his mouth was bone dry, he instead whispered a prayer to himself.

The agonizing silence stretched on for seconds, minutes… years.

And then the caravan started moving again.

Mind carefully crawled out from under the bench, Silver Slider gave him an amused look.

“There you are,” he said. “I was certain the tengus had taken you.”

“I b-beg your pardon?”

“Tengus,” he repeated, “large nasty things with four arms and two legs. The short ones are nine foot and have a vicious temper. Come from the inner swamp now and then but they prefer to stay there, so they’re particularly peevish out here. A posh unicorn like you is just what they’re looking for.”

Mind never thought of himself as posh in any way. If anything, his dirty mud and Bloodbuzzer covered coat seemed middle class at best. “What would they want with me?”

“To mug, obviously,” the earth pony smiled. “And to kill. Didn’t you see what happened to the others?” He frowned for a moment as if struck by an unpleasant thought. “You didn’t try anything from the boxes down below did you? You know, the white sugary stuff?”

“Goodness no,” Mind grimaced.

Slider stifled a sigh of relief. “You just seemed a bit off. First time to Papua New Whinny, I presume?”

Mind was about to answer when the rain began.

A foul corrosive downpour of yellow-brown liquid battered the wagons with the accompaniment of thunder rumbling off in the distance. Silver worked to pull the cover across the wagon they were in, glaring at Mind until he helped with the arduous task.

Mind shivered, not just because of the freezing rain but at the thought of the already rotten produce in the other wagons being subjected to the same horrendous precipitation.

“We’ll have shelter soon enough,” Silver said, pointing ahead to what Mind hoped was the gates of Port Maresby.

He had never been to such a far off equine settlement but assumed it to be well-kept with shops and homes resembling the streets of Canterlot, with all the comforts and amenities of Canterlot.

The jumble of leaf huts half sunk in the mud was decidedly less.

“What is this?” Asked Mind, appalled at the sight in front of him.

“Hornoka,” replied Silver, pronouncing the odd name with a bit too much cheer. “Looks like you were right after all. We were going north when we should have been going south.”

III

Mind’s Eye, a senior clerk of Lord Goldenhoof’s Building Commission, was supposed to be in the thoroughly urbanized city of Port Maresby, meeting and discussing with clients the plethora of issues present with commerce on the island of Papua New Whinny.

Instead he was squatting in the mud near a collection of ragged leaf huts in the backwater village of Hornoka where he knew nobody. Except for a drug smuggler named Silver Slider.

Said drug smuggler was on the other hand quite jovial, and not at all perturbed of the caravan’s misdirection, even sharing his bucket of small fish with Mind that he had purchased from the villagers. The sardine-like creatures were slimy and crunchy which Mind would have preferred cooked, or dead at any rate, but Silver explained that the fish cooked or dead were deadly poison.

“Oh bother,” Mind whined in between bites of fish, “I should be at the Commission office in Port Maresby right now, enjoying some fine cheese and perhaps a glass of wine.”

“I buy my stuff in the north and sell it in the south,” shrugged Silver. “You have to be more flexible my friend.”

Mind sighed, after the recent downpour his coat was damp with dirty rainwater that left him chilled to the bone. Just sitting here pouting over his misfortune would do no good however, there was work to be done in the capital which could not commence in his current predicament. “My only business is in Port Maresby.” He said resolutely.

“Well, you have a couple of options” the Earth Pony replied. “Most villages on New Whinny don’t stay put for long. If you stay here you’ll have drifted down to the gates of Port Maresby in two or three months. That’d be the easiest choice.”

“That would put me far behind schedule.”

“Your next option,” he continued, “would be to join up with the caravan again. Only this time they might be going in the right direction, and they might not get stuck in the mud, and they might not all get murdered by swamp monsters.”

“Not tempting,” Mind frowned, “Anything else?”

“Ride the roots,” Silver smiled, “The Underground Express. Follow me.”

Mind followed Silver outside the village to the edge of the forest canopy. There, Silver started prodding the wet soil periodically with one hoof until a frothy mass of bubbles arose from the ground.

“Perfect.” He grinned and turned to face Mind. “The Underground Express will take you due South, that’s the post-winter migration. You’ll know you’re near Port Maresby when you begin to see lots of red clay, at that point look for a breathing hole to get out and you should emerge a short walk’s distance from the city gates.”

Mind gave him a confused look, the pony was talking perfect gibberish. “W-What?”

“Here,” Silver took hold of Mind and positioned him on top of the bubbly formation. Mind stared horror-struck at the Earth Pony as he began rapidly sinking into the muck.

“Now remember, wait until you see the red clay. Then just look for the bubbles and push up.”

Mind wriggled but the mud had already enveloped him up to his nose and he could only reply with an inarticulate noise that sounded something like “Oog.”

“And don’t worry about the fact that you’re being digested. You could live in rootworm’s belly for months.”

This was the last Mind heard before the ground swallowed his head, horn and all.

Suddenly Mind felt an all-encompassing warmth surrounding him and the rush of moving quickly forward. He opened his eyes and saw himself covered in a translucent goo that kept him suspended weightlessly among the intricate network of roots and mud. He felt confusion and euphoria in equal measures, like he was soaring across the night sky high above the earth and not beneath it in the Underground Express. Mind wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation but fragments of what Silver Slider said reached his thoughts.

“Red clay…rootworm…you’re being digested…”

The words shook around inside his head, angrily pounding against his cranium trying to penetrate into a place they clearly weren’t welcome. But Mind knew it, he had gone from eating fish to being eaten alive as a means of transport. He was in one of those worms.

Mind’s Eye then made the executive decision to pass out.

***

He awoke in stages, amidst a dream of being held in a mare’s warm embrace. He smiled and opened his eyes only to be greeted with the crushing reality he was actually in.

The rootworm was still gliding madly forward, brushing past exposed roots and rocks with ease. Mind looked around and saw that he was surrounded by the red clay of the earth, at which point Silver’s words resurfaced about being close to Port Maresby. Now all he had to do was find the bubbles.

But there were no bubbles to be seen. Even as the worm rushed onwards, nothing but clay, dirt and rocks entered his view. Mind began to panic, what if he couldn’t find any bubbles? Would he suffocate down here and have his remains digested by the disgusting slimy creature he was in over the course of several months?

Mind began squirming, the increased pressure causing the rootworm to speed up, to get a better look ahead of him. There, not even fifteen feet ahead, rose a slim column of tiny bubbles that penetrated the surface. This was his chance.

Just as the creature passed underneath it, Mind pushed upward with his horn and burst through the worm’s thin skin, popping out of the ground amongst a sloshy pile of red mud.

Two gray zebras were nearby and looked with polite curiosity at the mud splattered unicorn erupting from the forest floor. Mind looked up from the dirt at them and saw one halfway up the tree, the other beneath it with a net into which furry rat-like creatures intermittently dropped from the leaves above. Although not educated in the practice Mind knew fishing when he saw it.

He approached the zebras with a smile. “Excuse me chaps,” he said affably, “I don’t suppose one of you could point me in the direction of Port Maresby?”

The zebras introduced themselves as Zebura and Zolo and looked at each other, puzzling over the question.

“Who is the one you seek?” Zolo asked.

“His name I believe is,” Mind replied thinking back to his long gone files of Papua New Whinny contacts in Port Maresby. “Shaka…Senzangakhona?”

Zebura nodded. “For five gold, show you way, but now we must leave, no delay.”

Mind thought that to be the best business he had heard in the past two days and promptly handed over five bits.

The zebras led Mind out of the forest canopy and onto a rocky, but firm, coastal road. Situated up behind the hills was a glorious expanse of water, the Bay of Tidore. Mind noted the magnificent walled estates whose edges sat perilously close to the cliffs and vast fields of plantations that stretched out onto the deforested plains.

As the side of the road pointing inland steepened Mind could hear the sound of rushing water from within, which Zolo explained was the Pongola River that flowed to inner Papua New Whinny. As Mind looked all around, admiring for the first time natural beauty that didn’t jeopardize his life, he caught himself thinking, “this is pretty.”

Closer inspection of the fields presented a shocking reailty. The ragged serfs tending the fields were malnourished and their few crops were as rotten as the produce present on the caravan. The thin weak zebras were near-death, and seemed more like ghosts than sentient beings of rational thought, it made Mind shiver.

After two or three hours of walking Mind could still see the regal accommodations tiny forms in the distance. He was tired, and horrified, of the infrastructure and environment of the island and utterly irritated with the inefficiency of everything. What should have been a short hike turned into a laborious trek unheard of in modern settlements.

“How much further?” Mind asked the zebras who looked at one another as if they never expected the question to come up.

“Shaka is near?” Zolo pondered. “Or far?”

Zebura shrugged ambiguously. “For five gold, show you way, but now we must leave, no delay.”

“You don’t even know, do you?” Mind cried. “If you had told me that up front I could have asked somebody else!”

The sound of hoof beats against the pavement up ahead became noticeable. Someone was coming.

Mind started towards the noise to hail the traveler, and missed Zolo’s reveal a glowing gem which spat a green orb of magic at him. Mind felt it though, the touch of ice across his spine locking it in place causing him to tumble to the ground unceremoniously, he was paralyzed.

Unfortunately for Mind, even though his body was unresponsive he could still think and witness everything going on around him. And the last thought that went through his head at that moment was, “Damn.” For Zolo and Zebura were, like many zebras on the island, cunning and opportunistic, and no friend of the unicorn.

The zebras shoved Mind to the side of the road and stood in the centre at attention. Over the bend came a zebra not like the two others. His coat was shining radiantly, matching the cloak draped behind his neck which drifted in the wind with a serene grace. “Greetings brothers!” the zebra regally addressed Zolo and Zebura, who bowed in response.

“Greetings Shaka Senzangakhona.” They said, “what is milord’s business on such a fine day?” Zebura added.

“No rest, no rest,” the Shaka sighed flamboyantly. “A she-worker of mine recently gave birth to twins. Twins! Fortunately there’s a trader in town for those and she didn’t put up too much of a fuss. Then, there’s this fool of a unicorn from Lord Goldenhoof’s Building Commission who I’m supposed to meet with in Port Maresby. I’m sure he’ll want the grand tour before opening the vaults for me. Such a load of fuss.”

Zolo and Zebura sympathised and exchanged farewells before watching the Shaka depart. Afterwards they headed back to retrieve their hostage.

However, gravity being the same on Papua New Whinny as everywhere else in Equestria, the unicorn, Mind’s Eye, had continued to fall down the slope where he'd been left and was presently in the Pongola River, drowning.

IV

Mind’s Eye was drowning, and he didn’t think much of it. Face down in icy water, unable to move any of his limbs due to the paralysis spell the zebra peasant had lobbed at him, Mind was not so much dragged below the waves as he was carried along by the fierce current. The Pongola River was a crashing torrent of white water which pushed boulders along with ease and had no difficulty sending the small disoriented unicorn on a bumpy spinning ride.

Mind figured that soon enough he would perish, and that would be better than being on Papua New Whinny. He wasn’t particularly concerned when cold water began to fill his chest and a deep darkness encroached upon him.

For some time Mind felt to be at peace. The aches and pains in his joints were gone and no longer did thoughts of torment enter his mind. Until the pain came back to him and he began coughing violently, spewing water up from his lungs and belly, Mind was rather comfortable.

“Oh, bother. He’s alive now, ain’t he?” A voice said.

Mind wasn’t quite sure that was true, even when he opened his eyes at looked at the face above him. It was a zebra, her face thinner than what Mind had seen and painted with various markings that formed an intricate pattern stretching across her whole body. There were several others present as well who bore similar features and complexions.

“I don’t suppose we should kill you now, should we?” The zebra smiled and from the look on her face Mind could tell it was no idle suggestion.

“Thank you,” Mind said weakly and staggered to his hooves. The other zebras cautiously watched him and although they never said it out loud, Mind could tell they were clearly disgusted at the sight of him.

“Can you tell me if I’m near - well, anywhere?”

The female zebra let out a hearty laugh. “No, you’re in the middle of nowhere and near everywhere.”

Mind sighed, the concept of space and navigation was foreign to the zebras it seemed. “Oh, I see. Well who exactly are you then?”

“We are the Perissodactyla tribe,” the zebra replied. “My name is Zwide.”

Mind introduced himself. “I’m a senior clerk for Lord Goldenhoof’s Building Commission. I came to this island with the intention of resolving issues with commerce but I’ve lost my agenda. I haven’t met with any of my contacts, the Shakas of Port Maresby…”

“Pompous, assimilated, aristocratic, slaver hypocrites.” A smaller Perissodactyla with yellow paint muttered with some feeling.

“…And now I’d just like to go home.”

Zwide smiled, her face curling upwards like a party host about to send off an unwanted guest. “Zqutu will guide you.”

Zqutu, it seemed, was the bitter little creature in yellow, and none too excited at his given task. With surprising strength he hoisted Mind up and for a second the unicorn recalled when Silver Slider had placed him in the sinkhole leading to the Underground Express, only this time the zebra shoved him onto a paper thin raft bobbing in the water.

Mind eyed the craft suspiciously as he boarded and was all too certain it would crumple underneath their combined weight. Mind seated himself at the front and Zqutu came on afterwards without incident.

“This is how you travel?” Mind asked.

“We don’t have the broken wagons and dying oxen of our brothers on the outside,” Zqutu replied, rolling his tiny eyes. “We don’t know any better.”

The small zebra sat down at the back of the craft and used his whip-like tail to propel it forward. They glided across pools of slime that stank from centuries of putrefaction, over waste and debris carelessly dumped in the river and under bridges that at one point may have been steel and iron but were now merely rust.

“Everything on the island flows towards the south.” Zqutu said.

While sliding across the water, Zqutu explained that the Perissodactylas were one of the many zebra tribes inhabiting the island. His group lived in the interior of the island, preferring it over the outside. Mind was lucky to have been found by them, the monstrous Tokolosh or savage Tengus would have killed him on sight.

There were other creatures too to be avoided. Though there were few natural predators in inner Papua New Whinny, the scavengers that rooted in the garbage seldom shied away from a living meal. Amphipteres circled overhead, like the ones Mind had seen in the North.

Zqutu fell silent and stopped the raft completely, waiting for something.

Mind looked in the direction Zqutu was watching, and saw nothing unusual in the filthy water. Then, he realized that the pool of green slime in front of them was mobile, and moving with speed, from one bank to the other. It sluggishly rippled across the front of the raft, up into the reeds and disappeared. Mind winced as he saw piles of bones float up to the surface where the ooze had passed through.

"Ectoplasmer," Zqutu explained, cautiously propelling them forward once more. "Big word. It'll strip all your flesh by the second syllable."

Mind, not terribly impressed with the sights and smells that surrounded him, thought it a good time to compliment his pilot on his excellent vocabulary. It was particularly impressive, given how far from civilization they were.

"They tried to erect a Temple near here, in Ulundi, twenty years ago," Zqutu explained, and Mind nodded, remembering reading about it in the files before they were lost. "They all perished quite dreadfully of swamp fever in the first month, but they left behind some excellent books."

Mind was going to inquire further when he saw something so huge, so horrifying, it made him stop, frozen.

Half submerged in the water ahead was a mountain of spines, lying on nine-foot-long claws. White eyes stared blindly forward until the whole creature convulsed and lurched, the jaw of its mouth jutting out, exposing tusks clotted with gore.

"Swamp Leviathan," Zqutu whistled, impressed. "Very, very dangerous."

Mind gasped, wondering why the zebra was so calm, and more, why he was continuing to steer the raft forward towards the beast.

"Of all the creatures in the world the rats are sometimes the worst," said Zqutu, and Mind noticed that the huge creature was only a husk. Its movement was from the hundreds of rats that had burrowed into it, rapidly eating their way from the inside out, bursting from the skin in spots.

"They are indeed," Mind said, relieved, and his mind went to the New Whinny files, buried deep in the mud, and the four decades of work it represented.

The two continued southward through the heart of New Whinny.

Zqutu showed Mind the vast complicated ruins of the Kambula capitals, fields of ferns and flowered grasses, quiet streams under canopies of blue moss, and the most astonishing sight of Mind's life—a great forest of full-grown crystal trees. They never saw a living soul until they arrived at the edge of the Commerce Road just east of Port Maresby, where Guile, Mind’s Pegasus guide, was waiting patiently.

"I was going to give you two more minutes," the Pegasus scowled, dropping the last of his food onto the pile at his hooves. "No more, sir."

The sun was shining bright when Mind’s Eye sauntered into the equine city, and as it caught the morning dew, it lent a glisten to every building as if they had been newly polished for his arrival. It astonished him how clean the city was and how few beggars there were.

The protracted edifice of Lord Goldenhoof's Building Commission was the same as it had always been, but still the very sight of it seemed exotic and strange. It was not covered in mud and the ponies within actually, generally, worked.

Lord Goldenhoof himself, though singularly squat and squinty, seemed immaculate, not only relatively clean of dirt and scabs, but also relatively uncorrupt. Mind couldn't help but stare at him when he first caught sight of his boss. Goldenhoof stared right back.

"You are a sight," the little fellow frowned. "Did you get dragged backwards through Papua New Whinny? I would say go home and fix yourself, but there are a dozen ponies with problems here to see you. I hope you have solutions for them."

It was no exaggeration. Nearly twenty of Canterlot’s most powerful and wealthiest ponies were waiting for him. Mind was given an office even larger than Lord Goldenhoof's, and he met with each.

First among the Commission's clients were five independent traders, blustering and loaded with gold, demanding to know what Mind intended to do about improving the trade routes. Mind summarized for them the conditions of the main roads, the state of the merchants' caravans, the sunken bridges, and all the other impediments between the frontier and the marketplace. They told him to have everything replaced and repaired and gave him the bits necessary to do it.

Within three months, the bridge at the northern excise office had disappeared into the muck for the last time; the great caravan had collapsed into decrepitude; and the main road from Port Maresby had been swallowed up by swamp water. The zebras began once again to use the old ways, their personal rafts and sometimes the Underground Express to transport the produce in smaller quantities. It took a third of the time to arrive in Port Maresby, none of it rotten.

A unicorn philanthropist was the next client Mind met with. A kind-hearted pony, horrified by the tales of zebra mothers selling their children into slavery, he pointedly asked Mind if it were true.

"Sadly, yes," Mind replied, and the unicorn showered him with bits, telling the clerk that food must be brought to the island to ease their suffering, and the schools must be improved so they could learn to help themselves.

Within five months, the last book had been stolen from the deserted monastery in Ulundi. As the Shakas went bankrupt, the slaves returned to their parent’s tiny farms. The backwater zebras found that they could grow enough to feed their families provided they had enough hard workers in their enclave, and the buyer’s market for slaves sharply declined.

Ambassador Mbuyazi, concerned about the rising crime in northern New Whinny, brought with him the contributions of many other expatriate zebras like himself. They wanted more guards on the border and commerce routes, more magically lit lanterns posted along the main roads at regular intervals, more patrol stations, and more schools built to allow young zebras to better themselves and not turn to crime.

Within six months, there were no more Tengus roaming the roads, as there were no merchants traveling them to rob. The thugs returned to the fetid inner swamp, where they felt much happier, their constitutions enriched by the rot and pestilence that they loved. Mbuyazi and his constituency were so pleased by the crime rate dropping, they brought even more gold to Mind’s Eye, telling him to keep up the good work.

Papua New Whinny simply was, is, and always would be unable to sustain a large-scale, cash-crop plantation economy. The zebras, and anyone else, the whole of Equestria, could live in New Whinny on subsistence farming, just raising what they needed. That was not sad, Mind thought; that was hopeful.

Mind's solution to each of their dilemmas had been the same. Ten percent of the gold they gave him went to Lord Goldenhoof's Building Commission. The rest Mind kept for himself and did exactly nothing about the requests.

Within a year, Mind’s Eye had embezzled enough to retire quite lavishly, and Papua New Whinny was better off than it had been in forty years.

END