The Writer

My first impression of Southmarket was that it was the very definition of a hub. The guards had not questioned me as they had the subject of my inquiry. One look at the Regulator had sent them back below the junk battlements to hold fierce council with each other.

Ponies did not approach him. Their eyes followed, but never long enough for me to catch them at it. My companion is known here, and I cannot tell if it was respect for his grim countenance and skill or fear of his capacity for violence that kept them from stepping close.

When we were in the town center, he turned to me. “I’ve told you the first part. Is it what you expected?”

I shook my head. “Honestly? Not at all. But that isn’t a bad thing. It’s the truth--it feels like the truth where much of the other accounts felt like only a story.”

He grunted and turned. “Well, the next part is her’s, I think, and I was headed to Southmarket anyhow. You know anything about this place?”

“Not really,” I said, as he strode off through the old streets. “Just that it’s a trading hub in Lunangrad. It’s the only major settlement in the southern part of town.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘bout right. Now that Mondale is gone, double-right. Southmarket, Northmarket, they’re sister cities just shy of bein’ the real thing. They got walls and lights and generators and coal they buy from tribals and pilfer from the ruins. Water they pull up from the warrens and purify twice. Hooch they brew in basements. Short way of sayin’ that this is civilization.”

“So this became the Crusader’s new home.”

“More or less. Whenever he could, he came back here.”

“I’m curious about the timing of the DJ’s broadcast,” I said, frowning. “Had he not heard it at all? Truly?”

“Nah, he didn’t hear it until later. But he knew it had happened. It was Tradewinds who told him the next mornin’, and let him hear it the second time when that crazy bastard repeated his loop.” The Regulator spat. “Idiot. Not her, him. That voice on the radio that thinks he can just make up anything he wants and ponies’ll move like puppets on his string. Fight the good fight? Bullshit. Ain’t nothin’ good about it. Stories about heroes. Heroes ain’t worth a pile of shit, but ponies just might be sometimes. If they’re tryin’.”

He refused to speak after that. We walked until we came to the shop of Tradewinds.

Tradewinds Petrahoofan Emporium. The sign boldly declared its business to the world, or at least to the street, in dark red paint. The storefront itself had been partially restored, and brimmed with a wide variety of goods. I saw everything from Old World guns--Ironshod, of course--to radio units that looked new. The radio unit was more surprising than the guns. Guns were a dime a dozen in the Equestrian wasteland, but radios? Technology that didn’t have it’s end in murder was a treasure.

It was even more impressive on the inside. The Emporium on the store’s sign hadn’t been merely a boast. I found almost everything one could think of: old-world toys, cleaned and set in rows. Guns I had never even heard of, ammunition for every single one I had. Barding, clothes, and the material to fix both. Tools. Computer terminals and food. Tradewinds traded in the wide desires of civilization.

The mare herself sat behind one of the counters, staring holes through Regulator.

“Tradewinds,” he said, and removed his hat.

“Mu’dak,” she replied, with her teeth grinding. I took a step back, suddenly nervous.

“I know you don’t like me none, but--”

“Is not for your sake, kinslayer. It is for sake of Balm that I hold you over the fire,” she growled, cutting him off. “What need? Tired of murder yet? Tired of lying yet?”

The Regulator did not answer her right away, but when he did, his voice was even. “I’m here to deliver this one to ya,” he said, and gestured to me. Those baleful pegasi eyes moved to me, and I cowered. I had heard that pegasi were ferocious, that they were protective of their own, but never before had I seen such restrained rage. This was not just anger. This was murder held back only by… by Balm, I supposed. Balm alone stood between me and being shot full of holes.

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, trying to keep myself from bolting. “I came from B-Baltimare. I wanted to know the truth about the Crusader…”

“You have come to see if the stories are true?” she asked me with a grin that had absolutely zero mirth in it.

“I came to find out the real truth underneath them. I wanted to know who the Crusader really was. Who Balm really was.”

She stepped out from behind the counter and kept walking until she was close enough to reach out and touch. Her eyes skewered me like a bug on a pin, and then she sighed.

“I will be telling you, then. Iron, will you change sign to closed? Would not be wise to greet customers as I am.”

He obeyed silently, and I found myself led through the store into a strange little laboratory. I wondered what it must have been like for Balm, when he first entered.

We passed through a small door and came into a small, reasonable kitchen. I sat, and she made coffee. The Regulator arrived a few seconds after we did and stood by the wall. Tradewinds looked at him.

“Do you think about it, ever?” she asked him.

“Every damn day,” he replied.

“Come and sit at my table.” She gestured, as if to ensure him that the invitation was sincere. “I am not liking you, and I think that you are izmennik, maybe. Traitor, ne’er-do-well. Bad pony. But Balm was your friend. He said you were his friend.”

“He was right about a lot of things. I hope he was right about that one,” the Regulator said, and sat beside me. Tradewinds served coffee and then sat herself, preening her wings. I wondered if it was a nervous reaction with pegasi. I had seen so few of them in my life. What did I know, really, about their tribe?

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” I said as she worked. “If this is unpleasant…”

“Life is unpleasant.” Tradewinds stopped preening and straightened herself. “How much do you know?”

I told her. She corrected a few points, blowing softly on her coffee, and filled in a few gaps. She commented without looking at him that the Regulator had done a decent job telling the tale, to which he made no meaningful reply. I found their interaction… ominous. Balm’s friends having such enmity at each other, staying that wrath for the sake of… of what? His memory? Himself? I had found nopony who could say where the Crusader was. I began to wonder if he might truly be dead.

Neither had ever explicitly said that Balm was gone forever. Yet a sort of hopelessness hung over them as we talked of the Crusader.

It was troubling, to say the least. At the end of the Regulator’s tale I had felt a stirring in my heart. I’d seen the myths and legends already forming and thought--here! This is where it begins.

Author's Note

Second Arc--Minefield