The Minoan Crisis

Dear Princess Celestia:

I sank back into the firm cushions of the minotaur-sized armchair in contentment, stretching my knees and sighing deeply. It felt amazing to finally be off my hooves. After a long day of paperwork, correspondence, appointments, forums, and more paperwork, I could finally take a moment to myself. I was looking forward to a slow, relaxing voyage, with nothing to worry about until our return tomorrow but a social function later tonight with one of the least pleasant politicians in Minos.

It pains me greatly to be the first to inform you of such terrible news.

Of course, that immediately turned my thoughts to what I still had to do. This might be a pleasure cruise by definition, but that didn’t mean it was easy. I still had a job to do here. Still, I wasn’t about to let that thought ruin my moment.

If you check with the South harbor in Minos after eight o’clock this evening, local time, you will find that the luxury trireme Goldshod will not have returned to harbor at her scheduled time.

I let my head fall back against the cushion, idly watching the elliptical sliver of yellowing sunlight creep up the wall, or bulkhead, or whatever it’s supposed to be called on a boat, while I purposefully and happily kept anything of substance from taking the forefront of my mind. To that end, I searched about for little distractions to curiously examine, of which I found plenty. My cabin was roomy enough, especially to a pony on a luxury ship built for minotaurs, but it only had one circular porthole, currently showing me nothing but the boring corner of what was no doubt a grand sunset, over featureless, monotonous ocean.

Standard procedure, which by the application of a little encouragement on your part you may be able to hasten, is to send small rescue craft to search for the missing ship after the first six hours of no contact.

Letting my eyes wander over the furnishings of the cabin while focusing on the feeling of being pulled down into the chair by gravity, I wondered for a moment about my host’s taste in decoration. I had been a guest in similar accommodations too many times to remember in my career as a diplomat, and after a while I had stopped paying much attention to all the different guest rooms. For whatever reason, though, probably just to keep my mind occupied by anything mundane, I paid attention to this one.

After seven days from the time of the scheduled docking, when the ship’s registered supplies are due to run out, she will be declared presumed lost with all hands.

When I first moved to Minos and began my education in hospitality, I had fun examining all the little gadgets and decorative clayspells my hosts would furnish my rooms with, often hidden in unexpected places for the guest to find and enjoy. As I searched this one, though, eager to reignite some of that youthful curiosity, I was increasingly disappointed in what I found. My host for this excursion was a cheap, unimaginative bastard. I got up from my chair to look more closely. Nothing was hidden in the usual spots, and the prominent decorations were bland, commercial products. I had been on a few yachts before, and was used to a little more frugality than what I had come to expect on land, but this was a little excessive. I would have to remember to mention it to Chintz and Elena when I got back. This would make for a couple days’ worth of gossip fuel, at least.

Of course, all of this is a moot point, since through personal inquiry, I was able to confirm this afternoon that the vessel and all hands were in fact lost in some terrible accident, the details of which I am unaware.

Eventually, I decided there was nothing more to be gained from critiquing the furniture, so I went back to the chair. I should have brought a book. I noticed the light coming from the porthole had reached the ceiling, so I decided I had been sitting around long enough, and it was time to do something else. Looking at the very boring heavy clock on the wall (the only thing on that wall, of course), it turned out it was still too early to get ready for the party, which was the entire reason I was on this boat. The thought of watching the last moments of the sunset from the deck sounded much more appealing than anything else I could be doing in here.

I hopped down from the too-big armchair and propelled myself over to the door with a single flap of my wings to give them a stretch. Maybe I would fly a couple circles around the ship, if the crew didn’t mind. Trotting down the hall and up the stairs, I opened the doors to the main deck and walked into a wall of Minoan sea air. I took a deep breath, thinking back to memories of my arrival to Minos and smelling it for the first time. It was different from the sea air in Manehattan or anywhere else I had been to in Equestria; the air here seemed fresher, saltier. I had talked with Whorl Wind about it once, and he said it had something to do with the Wild magic of the Minoan Sea, that made it different than the dead waters around Equestria.

I bring this to your attention because the identity of one of the unfortunate passengers ought to be of interest to you: your ambassador to Minos, a miss Laurel Wreath.

Shaking my head to bring myself back from my distraction to my other distraction, I saw a large figure leaning against a rail at the back of the ship, and trotted over to it with a lazy smile. Looking over his shoulder to see the source of the clopping noise, Alonso smiled back.

The harbor authorities will likely hasten their own efforts without your encouragement when they learn who else was aboard the Goldshodon this excursion, namely the High Elder Alonso Chrontos.

“Feeling cooped up already, Laurel?”

They will want to either recover him or declare confirmation of his death as soon as possible, since his absence presents a major obstacle in administration. The fact that he was your strongest supporter in the High Council might also be relevant.

I just snorted and rolled my eyes at his jab as I reared back to lean against the railing next to him. Over the years, my inability to sit still had become something of an in joke in forum circles. It was partly due to me being the cause of one or two disruptions during important debates, but I like to think it endeared me somewhat to some of the more friendly forum sharks. I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“Maybe,” I finally admitted with a smile, not meeting his eye. “I’m thinking about flying a lap or two so I don’t go completely crazy, but I’m also thinking I should ask permission first. Do you know who would be in charge of that kind of thing?”

“Not really,” Alonso answered, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure you could ask any of the crew, and they could at least point you in the right direction if they can’t grant you permission themselves. It might be more trouble than it’s worth tracking one down and interrupting whatever he’s doing, though.”

“What do you mean?” I looked past Alonso’s huge frame for any sign of a uniform on the deck. My first impression when I came up from belowdecks had been of an uncrowded deck of a ship underway, but Alonso was right; the deck was empty except for the two of us. “That’s odd. Isn’t it?” I asked my companion for confirmation. I really didn’t know very much about seafaring in general. I had assumed that there were always crewmembers doing something or other wherever you went on a ship.

Alonso just shrugged, then he spoke up. “Maybe they’re all in a meeting somewhere. Or maybe they’re short-staffed, so the crew has to help prepare for the event tonight.”

“Must be.” We stood in silence for a bit, watching the sun sink behind the retreating shore. I started to get the feeling he was expecting something, waiting for something. So I took a stab and voiced what was on my mind. “So…” I began, breaking the tension and getting his full attention, “do you think anyone would mind if they were here? You know, if I took a couple laps?”

Alonso smiled again and looked back out at the darkening horizon. “I really don’t know. But I think I’m going to go in and get ready for the party, so if you were to take a ‘couple laps,’ I don’t know how anyone would even know.” He turned his simpering smile back to me for a moment, then turned and headed briskly back to the double doors leading belowdecks.

I watched him go with an appreciative grin, and as soon as the doors closed behind him, I stretched my wings and launched myself into the invigoratingly cool open air.

No one seems to know the details of what business either the ambassador or the High Elder had on the ship or who invited them.The meeting appears to have been a secret. The records of who chartered the vessel have likewise mysteriously gone missing.

I had been flying for a while high above the Goldshod when my blood was frozen by a voice calling my name from the deck. I looked down in mild panic and relaxed a little to see that it was only Alonso. Still without his dress toga, I noticed. I nodded and waved to him, and glided down to land in front of him in the middle of the open and still-empty deck.

“What’s up? I’m not late for the party, am I?”

My smile died on my face when I saw the look on Alonso’s.

“Laurel, there is no party.” He looked scared.

It should also be noted that they  were the only ones actually aboard the Goldshodat the time, though the harbor authorities will have no record of this. I don’t think I need to spell out for you the implications of that fact.

The unexpectedness of the answer relieved some of my growing anxiety. “What? Did we both get the wrong memo or something?”

Alonso shook his head hard, and I noticed he was breathing heavily. “I went to the ballroom to ask a question, but there was nothing and no one there. It’s due to start in fifteen minutes, so I thought there should at least have been some tables set up, but the room was empty. I ran all over the ship, to the engine room, to the bridge, all over. There’s no one else here. It’s just us.”

He stood there, catching his breath and staring at me, and I didn’t know what to think. “But… Really? That can’t be right, they’ve got to be somewhere. Where else would they be if they’re not here?”

Of course, it got better. “The lifeboats are gone.”

I also don’t need to remind you of the tense political climate in Minos these days, but I do feel I should remind you that such an abrupt power vacuum in the High Council has not been seen in seven hundred years.

That gave me pause. “Alonso,” I asked, starting to get really worried, “if the crew is gone, who’s steering the ship?”

“The navigation clayspell steers it wherever we were set to go. We should get back home just fine, even if it’s just us.”

“...Can we check?”

In the interest of future relations between Minos and Equestria, a great deal depends on who is chosen to take Elder Chrontos’s seat on the Council. If I were you, I would prepare a new ambassador and get him or her here in time to make a difference in the upcoming election.

Up in the bridge, I had to admit that it really looked like we were alone on this yacht. Neither of us knew how a navigation clayspell worked, let alone how to read one. It seemed to be doing its job, whatever that was. Since we didn’t know where we were going, we set ourselves to finding out just where we were. We both knew the basics of navigation, so we worked together to determine our location and our heading without too much trouble.

We stayed up into the night, plotting our course as we followed it. We hardly talked. Eventually, when we were both just sitting in the bridge staring at a sea chart, it seemed Alonso had something he wanted to say.

“Laurel, I don’t think the clayspell is taking us back to Minos.”

I didn’t reply at first. I had been suspecting the same thing, but I didn’t want to believe it. Hearing that Alonso thought so, too, did wonders for my morale. “What makes you say that?” I finally asked. “Do you have any idea where it might be taking us?”

He slowly nodded, and pointed to a swirling circular shape in a little rocky archipelago. It was labeled “CHARYBDIS” in large, thin letters.

“The monster whirlpool. We’ve been heading straight for it for the past two hours or so. I don’t think it would make sense to go this way if we were headed anywhere else.”

I looked up at his grimacing face; he looked sickened. “Is there anything we can do to change it?”

His frown didn’t tell me anything. “I don’t know. If I knew anything about clayspells, I might try to change our destination. But I only know the basics. Even if I did something wrong, I suppose we might miss Charybdis, but we might end up in the middle of the ocean and starve to death. Still, I suppose that’s a step up.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Can’t hurt too bad, right? Give it a try!”

The way things are and will be going here, I estimate that election will take place in ten days, on Saturday the 29th.

It turned out Alonso knew even less about clayspells than he thought. Either that, or something had been done to our navigation piece to make it tamper-proof. He couldn’t tell. Our next attempt was to manually turn the ship, or to sabotage the clayspell’s control of the rudder somehow. Even with Alonso’s immense strength, that proved fruitless as well. We couldn’t manage to break anything or even access anything we could hope to break, and when we tried to push or twist anything to try and change our heading, the little clayspell’s magic worked just as hard to correct our adjustments.

Unfortunately, the fastest ship in your service would take at least fifteen days, and that only if she were already outfitted and waiting to leave.

By the time the sun came up, we were both exhausted, out of ideas, and almost out of hope. The rising sun revealed a set of tall, rocky islands quickly growing taller on the horizon. A quick check told us it couldn’t be anything but the monster whirlpool. When the sun was overhead, we could make out what looked like a bank of fog among the rocks, though we had no illusions as to what it actually was. I took an hour or so to myself in the hopes of getting the sleep that I desperately needed, but I wound up crying in bed instead, and then lying horribly awake until I decided to get up and face what was coming.

Alonso wanted me to try and fly away. We could both tell he didn’t put much heart into the suggestion. The nearest land aside from the rocks was much farther away than I had ever flown in my life, and I wouldn’t be able to bring enough supplies with me to last long even if there was a destination in reach. Then he suggested I might rather die of dehydration and exposure on some rock instead of going down with the ship, and I just smiled and laid my hoof on his forearm.

“It doesn’t make any difference to me. There’s no way out of this for me, so I might as well make sure you don’t have to face those last few moments alone.”

“Thank you, Laurel. I’m glad of that.”

This, of course, presents you with a unique problem: a desperate need for authoritative representation in Minos, and no way to get it there in time.

There was no talk of trying to fly him off the ship with me. I couldn’t hope to carry him fifteen feet on my own, and it didn’t look like we were going to come within fifty of any of the rocks.

I was distracted from calculating distances on the chart when Alonso flopped a creased photograph onto the table. I looked at it, then up at him. He had tears in his eyes, and he wasn’t smiling. He was just crying, as badly as I had in my cabin earlier. The picture was of his family, who I had met once or twice. His wife was very funny, and his kids were great. I figured it was my job in this situation to say something, so I did.

“Remember when Georgio plucked a feather out of my wing at the Council Dinner a couple years ago?”

That got a smile out of him. A blubbering, choking smile, but still a positive sign. I was inwardly a little surprised by his behavior. Like most minotaur bulls I had met, Alonso was the epitome of manly toughness. I had half-believed he had never cried in his life, even as a baby. He didn’t seem to have anything forthcoming, so I went on.

“That was my first time around a minotaur kid. And it was obviously his first time around a pegasus. He told me a few months later that he still had the feather. I had forgotten about it entirely until then. I think that’s the whole reason I remember it. Not because he came up to ask me if I was a pegasus and then grabbed my wing and yanked a primary out of it, but because you let him keep it. Or he hid it from you somehow. He never told me. And I never asked you. I was afraid that he was hiding it, and that by asking about it I might give him away.” I smirked, getting misty-eyed again myself.

“His mother let him keep it.” Alonso’s voice startled me out of my trance. I had almost forgotten he could speak, or that I was doing this to cheer him up. “She used it as a lesson about controlling his strength and treating others with respect. She pinned it to his wall, above his desk.” He stopped sobbing and raised an eyebrow. “He was supposed to apologize to you the next time, but I’m not too surprised he didn’t. He always thought his friends didn’t count among the ‘others’ we were always talking about treating politely.”

I smiled wholeheartedly at that. “He thought of me as a friend?”

Alonso smiled as well, though he still hadn’t made eye contact with me. He was still looking at the picture currently covering the compass rose. “I think he did. He met a lot of diplomats and politicians at those functions, but there were a few he and the other two would always gravitate to.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, but I did have something of my own to share. I stood up to leave. “Don’t go anywhere. I want to show you something, too.”

He glanced toward the forward-facing windows, but quickly looked back down at the table. “Don’t take too long. I don’t think we have very much time.”

“I won’t, don’t worry.” I galloped off the bridge and down the stairs to the guest cabins, keeping my head down while still paying attention to the labels on the doors. I still hadn’t been on the ship long enough to be familiar with it. Before long I reached my cabin door, and I was in such a hurry I missed my first attempt at grabbing and turning the handle. I fumbled a bit then got it open, then rushed inside to my chest, unclasping a pocket under the lid and taking out a photograph of me and my mother, on our old back porch in Cloudsdale. I couldn’t help but take a little time to smile at it, our wings over each others’ withers and grins on both our faces. I was only a little shorter than her at the time. She never lived to see me become an ambassador for Equestria, but I thought about her whenever I heard the title.

I was so engrossed in my memories, I didn’t notice that the normal bobbing and shifting of the ship had become more of a steady slant. I didn’t notice anything until the heavy, boring clock on the wall bare of any other valuables fell on my head, and then I knew nothing at all.

I look forward to seeing how you pull it off, and I greatly look forward to seeing your new ambassador at work.

-Your Best Blue Friend