Malignancy

Chapter 2, Part 3:
Laying Out the Carpet

Manehattan, Lower East Side Docks,
Thursday Afternoon (September 21st, Anno Domina 988):

Octavia Philharmonica had been awake for hours, but she was enjoying her spot in the sunlight far too much to move. Lying with her forelegs folded under her head, the bare, worn floorboards of her room were warm and familiar under her belly and chest. Her breathing was slow and deep and the late morning sun on her coat forced her mouth into a dreamy grin. Her idle tail swished in wide, lazy, dragging sweeps across the floor, and her ears swivelled and pivoted of their own accord, following the shouts, laughs, clacking hooves and scratching talons of others moving about the building beyond her room. Down in the bar, Lanky was playing his squeezebox and Sour Talon was harassing the ivory keys of his out-of-tune piano. For a time, Petunia was singing with them, but now Octavia could hear her singing privately for a client in one of the bedrooms on the next floor up.

The sweet scents of roasting pork and frying fish wafted up from the kitchens directly below, tingling her nose with a heady bouquet of fat and protein and smoke. Griffins delighted in cooked meat and, since ponies often complained at the slightest whiff of burning flesh, tended to cluster in enclaves where their pony neighbours were less discerning. The docks, for example, were filled with enough stink to make any argument against the griffin practices moot – garbage and ammonia and brine and bird shit, mingling into the unmistakable harbour smell. Octavia did not eat cooked meat, of course, but adored the aromas, and even the sounds, of meat cooking, of the fat bubbling out of the flesh, of the cartilage crisping and of the marrow swelling and sweating in the bones.

Octavia licked her teeth and yawned. Half way through closing her mouth her eyes snapped open and her head perked up, ears forward. A griffin was coming down the hallway. She waited for him to knock. "Come in." Speaking caused her to yawn again and she stretched her forelegs in front of her, arching her back.

Reggie poked his beaked face into the room. "Sorry, Tavi, did I wake ya?"

"No." Octavia settled herself back down onto the floor and shook out her mane. "You did not. I'm just having a bit of a lie-in. How are you?"

"Not complainin'. Ya feelin' fiddle-fit yet?" Reggie opened the door the rest of the way and padded into the room on paws and talons.

"Very well, thank you. What day is it?"

"F'ursday."

Octavia scoffed. "Well then I truly must be doing well. I slept right through Wednesday."

"Yeah ya did." He looked around the room. "Sure ya don't want a bed or somefink in 'ere?"

Octavia rolled over onto her back and looked at the ceiling. "Thank you, but... it's not how I was raised. I'm comfortable with the floors in here. They're well-worn and smooth."

"Ya might like a bed." His eyes fell on the three closed slop-buckets by the door. He tapped the closest one with a talon and listened to the sound it made.

"No, thank you." She stretched her legs into the air above her, rolling her forehooves on her fetlocks, cracking the joints.

"D'is from today?"

Octavia flopped all four legs to one side and craned her head to look where he was pointing. "Mm, no. Not that one."

Reggie turned and shouted down the hallway: "Plum Stone! Get yor flank in 'ere!" Reggie shouted again, this time with threats and curses, and the sound of hooves came running up the stairs and down the hall.

"Yessir?" said the dark blue colt on the edge of stallionhood.

Reggie smacked him in the back of the head. "D'is bucket's been 'ere since Tuesday! Wot do I pay ya for, you rancid puke pustule!" He smacked the colt again. "Pick that up and gitit outta 'ere!"

The colt leaned down and grabbed the wooden bucket's metal handle. Lifting it, he almost toppled forward and staggered into the room toward Octavia, his eyes going wide with horror as he saw her looking straight at him with cattish fascination.

Octavia waved a hoof at the dirty little colt as he backed away, his sides heaving and nostrils flaring. He rushed out of the room and down the hallway.

"Lazy little git," Reggie muttered, watching the colt scamper away to empty the slop bucket.

"My, but... he has been growing recently."

"Hm." Reggie nodded, distracted.

"You must be feeding him well."

"Hm?" Reggie furrowed his brow and met Octavia's eyes.

Octavia raised her eyebrows at Reggie and clacked her teeth together three times in quick biting gestures, her grin suggestive.

"No!" Reggie waved a claw at her. "None o' that."

Octavia pouted and looked away. "You're mean," she teased.

"Not in my establishment!"

Plum Stone returned and placed a fresh bucket on the floor of Octavia's room, grabbing the next one in turn and running out again.

"Yes, because this place is so reputable."

"I said no."

Octavia caught his eye again. "I will chew your face off."

"Fine," he countered. "I'm charmin' enough to get by wifout one."

"Ha! You wish…"

Plum Stone returned with a second empty bucket and took the third with him as he scampered back out.

"Now, did you want something? Not that I don't enjoy your company, but..."

"Oh, yeah." Reggie's attention snapped away from Plum Stone's coming and goings and back to the matter at claw. "Is you expectin' company?"

Octavia sat up straighter. "No...?"

"Lookouts say that 'orned mank is comin' up Crab Street. She's wearin' 'er purple armour an' all. Doubt she's 'ere for a piece of strange."

Octavia's laughter was dry and mirthless. "You'd best hope not. Trust me, Reggie, never, ever let Fleur de Lys alone with anypony, whore or not. Poor Holystone will be scrubbing blood and viscera off the ceiling and walls for days. Assuming Fleur doesn't get overexcited and burn the whole place to the ground or teleport huge chunks of it into the sea. She's inconsiderate like that."

"I'll take yor word fer it. You want me t' send 'er up or-"

Plum Stone ran in again and dropped off the last empty bucket. Octavia eyed him as he backed away. "Thank you, sweet child," she crooned. He ran out of the room. "Such a well developing little stallion," she commented. "I promise I'll clean up the mess. You know how discreet I can-"

"No!"

Octavia harrumphed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, please send Knight Captain Fleur de Lys up."

"Yeah a'right."

"Could you also have some tea sent up? The Halcyon. And some of Magnolia's favourite biscuits? I'll compensate her."

"Sure," he turned to leave.

"Reggie," she called to him.

He stopped in the doorway.

"Don't antagonize the Knight Captain. Last time she showed remarkable restraint. Well, for her, at least. Just..." she sighed. "Please? Just have everypony keep out of her way?"

Reggie met her eyes. He nodded once.

"Thank you."

He tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Of course, m'Lady."

"Seriously, I will chew your face off," Octavia laughed.

"I look forward to you trying," he lied.

As Reggie closed the door behind him, Octavia stood and dug her brush out of her saddle bag. A few quick brushes through her mane and tail and she was laying out a small rug and table in the middle of the room. Her possessions, though few, were functional. The little table was carved, painted wood, made for picnics on the grass – a gift from her sister, Viola. The rug, silk with intricate floral patterns, had been taken from her mother's study, saving it from the inferno that had marked the end of Octavia's youth. Also in Octavia's rented room were two cellos, eight violins, one double bass, two violas and one rebab. The instruments hung along the left-hoof wall, their cases were stacked along the right-hoof wall. There were more cello cases than were needed to hold her instruments, and these extra cases cycled in and out as "production" work demanded. Her other possessions were small enough to fit inside her saddle-bags – two heavy-duty affairs made of double-stitched canvas. One of the bags bore an embroidered copy of her cutie-mark on the flap. The other bag bore the number 47 in faded white paint, now almost unreadable.

Octavia situated the table so it sat between her spot under the window and the rug, which sat between the door and the table. There was a knock on her door. "Enter."

Magnolia, her layered red mane bouncing with each step, entered bearing a tea-tray in her mouth.

"Please don't step on the rug," Octavia directed as she dug two bits out of her saddle bag.

Stepping around the rug, Magnolia placed the tray on the little square table. "This is my last tin, Miss Octavia – you owe me more than money." She took the bits all the same and slipped them into the shoulder pocket of her dress.

"That's... three favours I owe you?" Octavia splashed water on her face and took a quick drink from the pitcher-and-basin in the corner of the room.

"Sure. Just so you know, I'm cashing those in next time my drunk-ass ex-husband comes staggering in here."

"Noted," Octavia agreed.

Magnolia made a hasty retreat back to the kitchens.

Octavia wiped her face dry with a foreleg and sat in her spot in the sun, her back facing the window. She lifted the lid off the teapot and inhaled. She checked the creamer and was checking the sugar bowl when Knight Captain Fleur de Lys entered. Magnolia had left the door open, and the tall, white-coated, purple-armoured unicorn walked straight in to take her place on the well-maintained silk rug. "Hello, Octavia." She took off her helmet and set it beside her, her long, silky, pink mane cascading down her neck and shoulders in ripples.

Octavia answered by grasping the wicker-wrapped handle of the tea-pot with her teeth and poured for her guest and then herself.

"I seem to have garnered something of a reputation since the last time I was here," Fleur mused aloud.

Octavia took up the tea-cup between her pasterns. She closed her eyes and let the steam wash over her muzzle, inhaled the hot, frothy odour.

Fleur levitated two spoonfuls of sugar into her tea and stirred. One of the biscuits floated in front of the unicorn's face for inspection before she took a tiny bite. "Mm," was the only comment.

Octavia was silent still.

Fleur tapped the spoon on the lip of her tea-cup and set it down on the tray. She floated the cup to her lips, blew on the steaming liquid, and took a small sip.

Only then did Octavia take a sip of her own tea.

"Hm. Not bad," Fleur allowed before taking a second sip. "Where is it from?"

"Knight Captain," Octavia bowed her head. "It is a blend from the Holy Halcyon Empire, Knight Captain."

"Interesting." She took a third sip and then set the cup back upon its saucer. "If you have any questions of a personal nature you may ask them now," Fleur allowed.

Octavia bowed her head again. "Knight Captain, thank you. Knight Captain: is there any news regarding my mother, Knight Captain?"

Fleur took a full bite of the biscuit, chewing and swallowing before meeting Octavia's expectant eyes. Octavia averted her gaze downward. "Yes." She finished the biscuit before continuing. Octavia contented herself to sip her own tea.

"Your mother," Fleur continued. "Was spotted three days ago in Vanhoover, boarding a freighter. There are... a number of options as to where she may be heading from there. We assume she is well. Though, reports… differ. As always. We believe she is keeping herself very busy, judging by how much equipment, and how many supplies, she's been... acquiring. Though none of it appears to be intended for anything expressly forbidden, so you may be assured Knight Commander Caesar will uphold his part of the agreement. You may thank me now."

"Knight Captain, thank you, Knight Captain."

"Good girl. And, speaking of Caesar... uh..." Fleur frowned. "I've just come from a summit of the Knights Council. Her Majesty, in Her infinite wisdom…" Fluer's voice bordered on sarcasm, "has announced that She will be dissolving the Security Directorate entirely... and replace it by establishing at least two new 'ministries'. Neither of which will be headed by Knight Commander Caesar, according to Her Majesty's currently stated intentions, so..." she shrugged. Fleur levitated a thick bundle of file folders out of her purple and blue saddlebags. "So," she continued, sighing. "I've a mission for you."