Clockwork Alicorn: Steam and Steel

CLOCKWORK ALICORN: STEAM AND STEEL.

The Adventures of Ship’s Boy Thunder Clash and Ship’s Maid Sterling Slopes.

II - The Plot Thickens with Cake

Written by: Dr. Keiser Tangus von Nohugh and Silvertongue Overlord.

The casino was a monolithic thing, an enormous cube slowly pushing its way through the air three thousand feet above the ground. Spinning turbines gave off noiseless thrust while the balloonish blimps mounted on the walls kept the massive building afloat dependably, leaving barely enough room for the house-sized windows. All of the walls outside were faded pink, covered in advertisements for themselves and their sister ships. A huge red bow built of steel and brass completed the “present” theme of the ship, simultaneously providing a source of worry that the unwieldy thing would tip over and unbalance the whole casino.

Clash watched the casino float slowly towards them, adjusting the path of clouds he’d laid out for his companions to intercept its course. He’d thought of carrying them both, but Slopes had argued he would tire too quickly and they’d plummet to their inevitable doom more than half a mile below. Melody had agreed that this would not be in any of their best interests. He had to confess, he was already starting to feel the strain of constantly working the clouds.

Aside from the initial discussion, the three of them were mostly keeping to themselves. They were still shaken by the night’s events, and the scratch on Clash’s neck inflicted by the Changeling kept breaking it’s scab and bleeding. He didn’t tell the two mares about it though, as doing so might indicate he couldn’t handle a little pain. Hours of finding and pushing clouds kept Clash from thinking about the slaughter of the crew. It couldn’t, however, keep his mind from wandering to thoughts of Melody. Clash frowned, a jealous frown he shared with his distant granduncle, Blueblood. Infamous as he was, young Thunder Clash was fortunately too far away in the family tree to inherit much more than his looks. Though he had no way of knowing it, the expression on his face now was the closest he’d ever come to Blueblood’s scowl.

He stared at the casino for a moment more, catching his breath, then flew back to get a particularly dark cloud. He brought it back to the cloud cover he’d stumbled upon earlier, which saved him at least a quarter of an hour of work. He could hear the two mares talking below, idle, boring facts and fictions of the kind used by mares as a barrier against recent tragedy. Gossip that he’d never thought he’d hear come out of his shy, bookish friend’s muzzle was being passed between the two like a teapot... which was another image that didn’t quite seem to fit Slopes. She was opening up to Melody more than she’d ever done for him, even though he’d been her best friend for years now.

A wave of jealous anger passed through him and he lashed out, bucking the large, dark cloud he was moving. Thunder cracked through the sky, making the two jump and interrupting their chatter. Melody glared up at him while Slopes suddenly became very intrigued by the clouds beneath her hooves. Clash gave them a sarcastic salute and flew away to fetch more clouds. He winced as he flew, rubbing his neck where the wound was once again bleeding freely.

He returned to find them chatting again, this time about his behavior. Clash struggled up onto the alcove high above them to rest and eavesdrop. He was totally exhausted now, listening to their private speaking with half-open eyes, barely able to keep himself awake.

“...think he’s alright. He’s acting out a little more than usual, though, I promise he isn’t usually like this.” Slopes said.

“To be fair, you two did just watch your ship go down with the entire crew on it... And when I think about how they came from the casino... those... what were they called?”

“Changelings. They’re shapeshifters who feed off the love between ponies.” Slopes supplied.

“I wonder how they do that? And how they managed to get aboard the casino, my home, so long ago? I mean, I’ve known some of those ponies for years! At least... well, I thought I did.” Melody blinked back tears, and Slopes put a sympathetic hoof on her shoulder, but whatever she was about to say in reply was cut off as a fat drop of liquid splattered across her ear.

“Oh, horseapples... Clash! Can’t you do anything about the rain? We don’t want to get soaked! The last thing we need is a cold.” called the crippled mare.

“I... I don’t think that’s rain, Sterling,” Melody said, staring wide-eyed at the side of the other pony’s head. She reached over and wiped at her mane, her hoof coming away bright red.

They looked up simultaneously to see Clash draped on a cloud, blood from his earlier neck wound dripping through the vapor. “Clash!” cried Slopes, suddenly afraid, carefully wrapping her friend in a levitation spell and lowering him to their cloud.

“Oh, Luna. Look at his neck,” breathed Melody, putting a hoof to her mouth.

The seemingly slight wound Chucklehead had inflicted upon the brave pegasus’ neck had been much deeper than it looked. Clash was pale, his breath coming light and fast as his eyelids flickered. He wasn’t conscious.

“We’ve got to do something! We need to get to the Casino, now!” cried the unicorn, cradling her friend’s head.

“We may not get the chance,” said Melody, staring into the distance. “Something’s coming.”

Sterling Slopes followed her gaze and had to bite back a sob as she saw half a dozen dark, winged figures homing in on them.

Deep within the recesses of his own mind, Clash was dreaming.

“Chucklehead!” shouted a ridiculously well-muscled buck wearing brown leather coveralls. His face didn’t show, covered by a black mask and glowing goggles connected to a leather aviator’s cap that spewed a constant stream of smoke. He brandished a sword that looked very much like Autumn’s, only with hundreds of gears of inscrutable purpose. Chucklehead turned and laughed, dropping the dessicated corpse of a crewpony.

“Well, well! Thunder Clash, we meet again!” said the black bug-fiend. “I have no time to deal with you! My army of ...Feedlings? Feedlings, will take care of you!”

“Doubtful, you fiend! Stand and face me!” he bellowed in a commanding baritone. The buzzing of a million wings struck up a ruckus behind him. He turned to see thousands of... Feedlings... whatever they were called, rise in a slow, patterned assault. A blast of lightning struck hundreds of them down at once.

“Slopes!” he said, putting a hoof to his chest and facing the wrong way. Slopes came down on a cloud, dressed in a skimpy suit of brass armor and surrounded by beautiful mares playing instruments.

“Ho, Clash!” she shouted in her normal voice. It didn’t make any sense for such a large, amazonesque cyberpony to sound like she was fresh out of puberty, but Clash ignored this. Slopes landed on the deck, her brass clockwork legs making large cracks in the wood.

“I will hold them off! Me and my army of... Matrickes!” she said, waving a metal hoof for him to go. As she did, the... Matrickes... turned out to be robotic clockwork gryphons with cannons for legs.

Clash rushed belowdecks, tearing several doors free of their hinges. He saw Chucklehead torturing Melody with the reading of a large book.

“And thusly! A unicorn cannot cast a spell without the proper materials in her or his possession!  The reagents of which cannot be defined here!” he read out loud in a dramatic voice, twirling a thin moustache he’d somehow just grown and cackling evilly.

“Foul demon! Captain Clash will save me! Look... There he is!” she said, looking over at him. “Oh, Clash!”

Chucklehead turned and his dragonfly wings extended. “Foal! You will face my wrath!” he bellowed, charging forward, book raised high.

“Not today, beast!” Clash bellowed back. He swung his sword in the air, slashing through the defenseless Feedling king.

“No! I am killed! Slain, by such a foal!” He plopped unceremoniously on the floor, little red ‘X’’s marking his eyes.

“You’re so brave and strong, Clash!” Melody swooned. Clash caught her in his arms.

“Kiss me, my love.” she said, her eyes sparkling as they stared deeply into his.

Clash needed no second invitation.

        --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

        Clash awoke to discover that he was, indeed, embracing a pony in his lips. Slopes was sitting next to him and pushing on his forehead and chest, trying unsuccessfully to keep the overly romantic Clash from slobbering on her shoulder.

        “Hey, you two alright there?” Melody chided from the corner, holding a hoof to her mouth to hide her giggling.

        Clash stopped gnawing on Slopes to wipe his mouth, throwing her an apologetic look. He looked around, taking in the scene. He was in a hospital bed, covered in bandages. Doctors looking bored or confused studied either Clash or charts showing his vital signs.

        “You feeling okay?” Slopes asked, prodding at the stitching in Clash’s neck. He swatted the hoof away, biting his lip from the pain.

        “What the hay happened? Where are we?” he said, getting out of bed and ripping an IV out of his leg. Slopes wrapped him in a burgundy blanket of magic and laid him back down, struggling to keep him still as the doctor magicked a new IV needle into his other leg.

        “You shouldn’t move around unnecessarily, mister Clash.” A bright red colored pony said, standing straight up after taping the IV in. “It would be bad if your stitching ripped in mid flight, or something else awful happened. That wound barely missed your jugular, and it took awhile to stop the bleeding.” She pulled out a chart and tossed it to him.

        Landing flatly on his stomach, he flipped through the pages, looking only at the pictures. He gave it to Slopes, who read it intently. She set the file back down on his stomach and started explaining.

        “You have severe fractures in two ribs, minor ocular laceration, and...” Clash tapped his hooves and gave an impatient, dry smile.

        She sighed. “Your chest is kinda broken, your left eye had a small shard of wood lodged in it, taken out now, and your head is badly bruised. Your neck and throat are mildly cut and will heal more quickly than the rest of you. It’s a good thing you weren’t hurt any worse, or else you wouldn’t have been flying around at all. As for your other questions, we’re aboard the casino. Some ponies saw the cloud trail you were making, and they came to check it out. Lucky for us it was them, and not the changelings again.”

        Clash rubbed his legs together, trying to rip out the IV again. “I don’t feel anything wrong, my neck hurts a little, but that’s about it.” Again, he was held down by her magic. “Would you kindly let me go, Slip?” he said through clenched teeth.

        Melody threw her two bits in from across the room. “They had to give you a lot of painkillers so you wouldn’t feel it when they fixed you up. You’re not supposed to move until the medics clear you, Clashie.” He winced at the name. “So we’re going to let you sleep for a while, right Slip?” Slopes let the magic fade somewhat, a baffled look on her face.

        “We are?” she asked, turning her new chair to face Melody, who nodded eagerly. “Oh... Alright then, I guess.”

Clash pulled the IV out again, but didn’t move from the bed. Slopes looked a little sullen as Melody rolled her out of the room.

        “By Tartarus, I hate this place.” He spread his forelegs to indicate the recovery room. The two doctors remained, not saying a word to the defiant Clash.

        ------

        “By Celestia! I hate this room with the passion of a million burning suns!” Clash bellowed out, waking a few grumbling patients. They’d provided a book and a ball , courtesy of Slopes and Melody respectively (Melody had informed him there were caches of balls hidden all over the casino, if one knew where to look). He’d tried playing with the ball, but it fell against the wall and didn’t return, and the book was titled The Astronomer’s Astronomical Guide to all Things Astronomy, so he didn’t even bother opening it. He’d been waiting for nearly an hour for the doctors to come and administer another painkiller, without which he was beginning to feel the effects of a bruised skull and a cracked rib.

The nurse brought in a tray of food. Still no painkillers. He grunted at the table, reaching over to it with considerable effort. As he spooned through the dull pink lump of what might have been mashed potatoes or alfalfa mush, he managed to somehow splatter the vile gunk across his leg. He grimaced, reaching for the napkin to wipe it off, and blinked as something fell from the folds of cloth into his lap. He picked it up, a small slip of paper with only four words printed on it.

        “Go to the roof?” he whispered softly to himself, wondering who it was from. His mind wandered away to a mess of incoherent thoughts until he settled on the pony he thought sent it.

        “It must be Melody.” he said, grinning.

        Clash looked around again, taking in every detail for the umteenth time. Magic and steam and clockwork driven machines ran noisily in the background, keeping ponies alive or asleep as they recovered. The floors were spotless and shiny white tile. The walls presented the same boring, sterile color. Immediately, Clash stood to look around the corner, tearing his IV out again with the sudden movement. He suppressed a sharp squeak and turned. Not a single orderly, doctor, or anypony but the patients, who were all asleep. A window provided a little light. The moon was bright and nearly full, and Clash was edgy and too energetic for sleep anyway... so why not?

        He dropped to the floor, creeping on the tips of his hooves as quietly and as low to the ground as possible, a goofy grin plastered on his face. He came up to a large wooden double door painted a dark brown. He cracked it open, peering out into the empty hallway. He wasted no time sidling out the door and creeping along the left wall, reaching the nurse’s office. He glided over the very top of the station, sneaking past the inattentive nurse reading a book.

        As soon as he’d clicked the door open, he heard voices coming towards him. A few flashlights and angry grumbling. Clash could swear he’d even heard barking. He flew to the door adjacent to the one he’d just come through, and blinding light greeted his night vision. Hundreds of ponies talking, laughing, cursing, and playing games at dedicated tables.

        Clash stripped his gown and threw it behind the door. He looked for a few moments at the bustling crowd before moving on to the elevator on the far side of the room. The doctors came out in a pack, spreading out in a fan pattern to cover the room. Clash kept his head down and waited for the elevator doors to open. One of the nurses came over, a suspicious look in her eye, and tapped him on the shoulder as the elevator door opened. He shot in the elevator, smacking the close button. The nurse arrived a moment short, cursing underneath her breath.

        “Mister Clash! You must return to your bed immediately!” came the call, garnering the attention of a few ponies he did not want to see at that moment, including some of the pink-uniformed security. His heart raced in excitement as he reached the top most floor the elevator allowed. He flew to the stairs, barreling past a couple of ponies who were giggling and trying to unlock their room.

        ------

        He slammed the door behind him, panting for breath, and listened for signs of pursuit. Not hearing any, he let out a relieved breath, taking stock of his surroundings. He was on the roof of the airship, and the thin air was barely made breathable by the respiratory spell wards that ran around the edge of the roof. Irritably, Clash started tearing off the bandages that swathed his chest.

        “Feeling confined?” asked a voice from nearby. Clash whirled around, his wings spreading in alarm. He saw a grown mare in pink-dyed leather that did not match her demeanor in the least. On her shoulder were two red balloons and a yellow balloon, making her a lieutenant commander.

        “Who are you?” Clash said, looking around with a cautious eye. He was still wary after his experience with Changelings, and remembering how perfect their disguises were, he felt cold sweat break out on his neck.

        “I’m the mare that had to haul your sorry flank across half a mile of cloud cover.” she said, looking him over with the eye of a practiced drill instructor. “I heard from your friends what you did back on your ship, facing down that rat bastard Chucklehead. You did alright, for a ship’s boy, given how little training you’ve had. Your captain must’ve been damn good for her crew, if her ship’s boy can fight like that.”

        Clash swelled with pride, though he still felt the loss of his captain and crew like a blow to the stomach. “Captain Breeze always did right by all of us, ma’am. She was a good officer, and a good friend.”

“She was still a merchant, and she led you all down an absurdly cushy lifestyle. I said you fought well for a ship’s boy, which isn’t saying much. Especially on a merchant vessel.”

        He bristled at this, shocked into anger by what felt like a rebuke. “I’m sorry, maybe I didn’t have much experience fighting changelings, seeing as my captain wasn’t one,” He retorted.

        “Watch your mouth, foal. I’m bringing this up for a reason. You could have killed that changeling son of a cockatrice if you’d been trained as a soldier instead of an amateur. That’s what I’m offering; A way to protect yourself and those two fillies you’re friends with.”

        Clash calmed himself, snorting heavily. “I’m listening.”

        “You’re learning, then.” The older mare regarded him critically. “You’re a strong young buck with plenty of spirit, and your whole life ahead of you... But that little crippled filly doesn’t have half your strength, and my niece isn’t much stronger herself.”

        The young buck in question furrowed his brow in puzzlement. “Your niece?”

        “Melody. Her mother was my half-sister, Singalong. We’re both daughters of Pinkamina Diane Pie, the founder of Pinkie Pie’s Parliament Party and pioneer of the turbine.”

        “Whoah.” Clash’s eyes widened in amazement. “The Pinkie Pie? Like, elemental Laughter incarnate? I didn’t know she had kids!”

        Dead Reckoning rolled her eyes. “Yes, she had kids. I’m one of them. I didn’t take after her... bubbly side, much.”

        “Clearly.” Clash said, moving to the rail. The giant brass bow shifted and settled, offering a sound of comfort to both of the ponies who spent their times living below deck in ships. She stood next to him, her glazed look unfaltering. Clash took a deep breath.

        “Why us? Why was it our ship?” he asked, staring at a cloud shaped like a tree. Reckoning, taken slightly aback by his moodswing, answered readily.

        “You had something that Chucklehead wanted. I remember him saying you had a “present” for us, although he never said what it was.”

        “Any idea what it was?” Clash said, thinking back to the small steel and bronze box the changeling was carrying away.

“I don’t know. We did manage to salvage some things from the Shore, though. Papers and food, mostly. We figured we’d let your marefriend take a look at them before we filed them away,” she said. “There weren’t any other survivors?” asked Clash. The older mare shook her head grimly. Before he could say anything more, Reckoning gestured for him to follow, leading him further into the leviathan storage facility of the Casino.

        ------

        They arrived in a massive room filled with ponies rushing around, stacks of paper being hooved and magicked around a very small walking space, and noise. The ones they met in the small walkthroughs saluted and squeezed themselves into a corner to allow their acting captain and her guest to pass. They rounded the corner closest to them and were greeted with a massive hulk of planks, metal and rope.

        “The Verdant Shore, or what’s left of it, is being transported to Canterlot for archiving as per naval tradition. The personal effects, however...” she motioned to a unicorn, who saluted and hastily brought out a large chest with her magic. It popped open with a whir, the clockwork lock already broken from years of use. Reckoning pulled out a very familiar gilded sheath, with an ornate pommel jutting from the top.

        “Your captain’s sword?” she asked. Clash nodded, staring in open awe at the blade. The silvery metal had seen years of use from other captains, cutting through pirates and monsters alike, yet unpitted and shining brilliantly. He had spent hours daydreaming about wielding one just like it. “It’s yours,” said Reckoning, startling him out of his reverie. “Wh.. What?”

        The mare grunted in reply, saying, “Your captain had no close familial ties, or at least none she admitted to, and we did find a will in her lockbox. It stated that in the event of her death, the highest-ranking member of her crew would be granted access to all of her personal wealth, as well as her title and holdings, to be divided among the rest of the crewmembers. Congratulations, Captain Clash.” She saluted briefly, and he dumbly returned the gesture. Captain Clash? “Just like that?” She nodded. “Just like that. Now all you need’s a new ship.”

         He tied the hilt back to the scabbard, sheathing the metal in the sturdy, ornate leather. Clash immediately missed the chrome sheen, and the mare that was supposed to wield it. He felt a lump building in his throat. Reckoning tied the other end to Clash's waistcoat. After she finished, she pulled out another item. A belted coat with chainmail armor on the chest and joints... another relic passed down to Autumn. This had quite a story to it, but Clash didn't have time to think of it before a slight pinch in his flank drew his thoughts away from it. Reckoning pulled out the last, and probably most important item to Clash. An ornate box, within which rested an intricate tangle of brass and dragonscale. Many years in his childhood he would obsess over it, even going so far as to dress up as a book character called "Derring Do", and emulate her actions to take it. Usually resulting in a short flogging.

         "These are yours. You may want to hide these away for now, until you can use them." Reckoning said. Clash, whose thoughts snapped like a taut rope, simply nodded. She nodded back, towards the door. "Now, go. We'll start tomorrow."

        The elevator shuddered to a halt, a metallic ring indicating his floor. He felt dangerously sleepy, as if he’d pass out on the floor in the hall. Clash stepped slowly into the room, keeping quiet so as to not disturb the two mares. In the dark. Alone. With each other. His mind went to a different place before turning to thoughts of a soft, plush bed waiting for him.

Melody came out of the room she picked, bouncing over to him. A wide grin plastered her face, with Slopes looking a little sullen following her out. “Hi Clash! Feeling better?” Clash’s eyes glazed, and he turned and picked a room out. Her smile faded slightly from his disregard, and she glared at him. “Where’d you get all that cool stuff?” she said in a slightly less enthusiastic tone.

I'll tell you later. He tried to force the words from his mouth. I’ll tell you later.

He couldn’t. Every fibre of his being shut down, the fatigue draining him of everything he had. Melody shuffled around a bit, inspecting him for something. Her words muffled in his ears, she asked him something. Slopes rolled in, too. He still felt nothing. They looked worried, Slopes inspecting a small, black thorn that Melody had ripped from his flank.

A trap. Those were the words he could make out. Melody’s hair stood on end, and her tail shocked upwards, knocking the shard out of Slope’s unprepared magic. As his eyes could hold open no longer, a black facade of a pony snuck quietly behind them.

        ------

        Clash awoke from his dreamless state, his body still drained of energy. Slopes knew because he wasn’t yelling about how insane they were for touching her. The poisoned chitin she’d inspected was imbued with night magic, a form forbidden to all but the most renegade of sky pirates. It was dangerous. Unbidden and free, not defensive, and borne from hatred. A changeling favorite. She was chained to the large, splintered table.

        Dead Reckoning, although Slopes did not recognize her, walked in. She pulled off her hat and coat, setting them on a colt who bowed and walked away.

        “I think I’ve made my point very clear, don’t you?” she said, patting Slopes’ head like a mother and a foal.

        “What do you want?” she asked harshly, keeping a slight edge to her voice. Reckoning flapped her wings twice and smiled.

        “I want that box. Whatever is in it is important to those changelings, and you two are the only ones I’m going to risk to get it back. Think of it as payment for our services.”

        Melody stood far away, in the corner next to the boxes of personal items from the Shore. Slopes shot her a glare, which Melody gracefully brushed off. “We’re arriving in Canterlot now. I expect you to pay your debts to us.” Slopes again looked to her former companion, this time meeting with an ignorant and melancholy expression.

        ------

        “Are you absolutely sure you’re ready for this, colt? I wouldn’t blame you for backing out.”

        “I’m dead certain.” Clash answered.

        “That’s what I’m afraid of. Don’t get killed, okay? It’d look bad on me... and you’ll break poor Melody’s heart if Slopes were to die.”

        Dead Reckoning stood in front of a table. Splayed out on it was thousands of bits worth of gear. Weaponry, armor, maps, and various tools. A firestarter coated in gold caught his eye first. It was her personal lighter, a gift for his bravery. He unceremoniously scooped it all into his saddlebags, tying them down and strapping it to his back.

        “Good luck.” she said, leaving through the farthest door. Clash waited for a minute as they brought out Slopes in a wheelchair. It was made of brass and painted like a present. As part of his plan, she and Melody were informed that they were to be paying a debt. It saved him from questions and bought her support for his mission.

        As they looked on to the fast approaching city, one thought crossed both their minds.

        Where did they start?

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