Tender Blood

“Don’t lie to us. You’re his contact here. I know it.”

Trenderhoof was locked in a dark, damp stone room in an old fortress, sitting across the table from Special Agent Tacitus. They’d given him a cup of coffee three hours ago, and nothing else. He’d been in here all that time, without bathroom breaks. His head pulsed, his eyes burned, he was hungry, and he had to pee. Yes, Trender was a masochist. Yes, he enjoyed pain and discomfort. But only in certain very specific contexts. Only when he felt safe. Did that mean Blueblood made him feel safe? Clearly, Trender wasn’t a good judge of character.

“I’m an Equestrian citizen. I demand to be taken to the consulate,” mumbled Trender. He’d been saying that for hours; it was not going to get him anywhere. The phrase had become a mantra; something to say to keep himself from abandoning hope. There was and Equestrian Consulate in Cluckstantinople. It was a place he could go. It would be better than this.

“A simple, ordinary citizen, who just happened to meet with Prince Blueblood. By chance.”

Trenderhoof shrugged. “I ran into him in the bazaar this morning.”

“Yesterday morning, at this point,” corrected Tacitus. “And then what happened?”

“We had sex, first in public, then in a hotel room.” Tacitus clealrly wasn't interested in enforcing bizarre Turkish sexual laws. He was looking for Blueblood. But maybe if he kept mentioning the sex, they'd send him to a normal Turkish prison, where he could lawyer up and they'd let him use the bathroom.

Tacitus tapped a wingtip on the table. “If you insult my intelligence one more time, there will be consequences. Why is Blueblood here, and what was your business with him?”

Trenderhoof bumped his nose against the table. “Why is it so hard to believe that we just fucked? We’re stallions. We have needs. I know it’s against your culture, but this sort of thing is normal in our country. Whatever he’s doing here, he didn’t tell me about it.” This wasn’t entirely true. He hadn’t given them the line about ‘doing Auntie Tia’s dirty work’, but saying that felt like treason, and Trender suspected that at this juncture letting that slip would only encourage further interrogation, anyway.

Tacitus’ wing shot up towards Trender’s forelock. There had been no actual violence so far in their interview, so Trender barely flinched as Tacitus tangled his wingfingers in Trender’s hair. The gesture was almost tender, until Tacitus slammed Trender’s face against the table. A wave of black stars shot through his skull, followed by the sharp, radiating sting of an injured nose and the smell of wet rust.

“Ow,” said Trender, dripping blood on the table.

“Handkerchief?” said Tacitus.

“Thanks,” said Trender.

“Now that we have that out of the way — Prince Blueblood believes in the superiority and purity of the Equestrian royal bloodline. He’d never violate his principals for something as trivial as sex.”

“Ponies and turkeys are very different,” observed Trender, his voice muffled by the handkerchief.

A knock came on the cell door.

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” said Tacitus. “Would you like some more coffee while I’m up?”

“I’m good,” said Trender. His nose really hurt. He was worried it might be broken.

The two turkeys whispered at each other in the doorway. Trender rotated his ears towards them. It was sad how poorly ponies and turkeys understood each other. One thing turkeys didn’t understand about ponies was that in general, they had pretty good hearing.

“What do you mean he’s here?” said Tacitus.

“I mean, he just waltzed in the secret entrance and demanded to talk with you,” said the other Turkey.

“Tell him I’m busy. No. Wait. Arrest him. Why haven’t you arrested him?”

“We tried to, he just teleported out of the way, and asked to see you again.”

Tacitus ran one wing over his face in frustration. “Keep him talking. I need to get something from my office.” Tacitus turned back to Trenderhoof. Trender acted as though he were absorbed in the pain from his nose. Not a difficult act.

“Pardon me a moment," said Tacitus. "I have some matters to attend to. Be right back, I promise.”

The iron door of the cell slammed. Special Agent Tacitus. Good cop and bad cop, all in one tireless package. Trender listened to his claws tap on the stone floor, receding rapidly. He emptied his coffee cup and crept out of his chair. If he held it open side against the iron door, it served as adequate amplification.

Now that he was no longer focused on his own suffering, he could hear, even with the unaided ear, sounds of wailing and weeping from outside the cell. Wails of despair and anger. A repeated, hollow thump, like someone pounding their skull against a stone wall.

This was a bad place.

Trender tensed as he heard the click of Tacitus’ claws again, but they moved past him to the left.

“Tacitus Arsine,” said Blueblood’s voice, faint but audible, from the left. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Let me say with the greatest sincerity that regardless of the official position of the Principality of Equestria, I’m a deep admirer of your work.”

“What are you doing here? How did you find this place?” said Tacitus.

“You have something of mine. A small toy. I’d like it back please.”

Tacitus laughed. “You don’t think you’re ever leaving this place, do you? Even your aunt can’t help you here.”

“I’m sorry, did I stutter? My toy is a small brown stallion. Bring it to me. I’m warning you — I will not ask you a third time. You’re keeping me from getting what I want, and if I don’t get what I want, do you know what I do? I throw a tantrum.”

A third voice piped up. They weren’t alone. “Awww, is the widdle pony gonna throw a tantwum?” This was followed by the gobbling laughter of several turkeys. The mockery and the laughter were cut off by a wet crunching noise and a gurgling scream.

“Get him!” shouted Tacitus. The next minute and a half was a symphony of screaming, twanging crossbow strings, pistol reports, and some very organic sounding splattering and crackling noises. Trenderhoof winced, hoping none of the screams were Blueblood’s.

“Ha! You’ve dispatched my guards, but you won’t find me so easily dealt with!” shouted Tacitus.

“Tacitus, dear, what is that lovely charm you’re wearing? It protects you from unicorn magic, I suppose?” drawled Blueblood.

“Yes! Your powers are useless against me.” The sound of a revolver being cocked. “I’ll give you a chance to beg for your life.”

“Capital! Tell me, does your charm also protect you against flying office furniture?”

“What?”

There was another scream, and crash of splintering wood.

“I didn’t think so,” said Blueblood.

Heavy hoof-steps echoed down the hallway. The lock on the door whined and snapped, and the door creaked open. Blueblood stood there, somehow clean and calm. He didn’t even seem to have broken a sweat. “Ah. There you are! What’s wrong with your face? I hope they haven’t permanently harmed you; you’re no use to me ugly.”

Trenderhoof was dumbstruck. Blueblood's magic plucked the handkerchief out of his hoof and gently wiped the blood from his nose. “No serious harm. Good. This place is teleport shielded; we’ll have to walk out.”

Blueblood turned and walked away from him. Trender followed. “What’s going on?”

“I told you I was here to do Auntie Tia’s dirty work. She is, bless her immortal heart, a good pony. As a good pony, she’s deeply troubled by some of the things that go on in this world. Such as, in this case, secret government torture facilities. But, as a good pony, she’s also powerless to do what needs to be done to stop these atrocities. That,” he said, flashing a grin back at Trenderhoof, “is where I come in.”

They’d come to another iron door at the end of the hallway. Blueblood flung it open. The room on the other side was full of the aftemath of Blueblood's 'tantrum'. Turkeys lay everywhere, bodies slashed, crushed, twisted, and broken, weapons limp in their cold, dead wings. Maps on the walls detailed a massive, twelve level prison complex, and rows of mug shots depicted some of the prisoners of conscience kept here. All of these things were now covered with blood and feathers. In one corner, Tacitus’ broken body lay crushed beneath a heavy oak desk. Blood dripped from his beak.

Blueblood wrinkled up his nose and sidestepped away from Trender as he vomited.

“Y-you did this?” gasped Trender, when he was done.

Blueblood nodded, grinning like a school-colt on Heath’s Warming Eve. “I can hardly simply assassinate the chief of secret police on the street. That would be gauche. But to complain about me muderering him here, the Turkish government would have to first admit that the place existed, which is hardly in their best interests.” He stepped over to a control panel and tripped an entire row of switches. “There. Auntie will be delighted to know I released the prisoners, and the chaos they cause will nicely cover our escape. Come this way — we need to make it to the roof of the compound before anyone else sees us!”