A zip line had been connected between the two ships and now, Dim had company. Off to the east, which happened to be Dim’s left at the moment, the sun was starting to turn the sky shades of gold and pink. Captain Melvin stood on the deck, smoking his pipe while rubbing his broad, clefted chin.

“You know what this ship is, don’t you.” Dim did not ask a question, but rather, he made a statement. Captain Melvin did not strike Dim as being an idiot and it was a safe assumption to guess that the canny minotaur knew something.

Puffing his pipe, the captain nodded. Dim shuffled on his hooves, shivering in the extreme cold, but at the moment he was enjoying his pain and discomfort. Blackbird stood nearby and glowered at him, but he did not know what to say to her at the moment because his thoughts were elsewhere. Normally, he found her anger—her fuzzy feminine fury—to be arousing, but at the moment he was too numb to feel anything, both physically and mentally.

“To be honest, I did not expect to find a ship of the Black Hand this far from home.” Captain Melvin shook his head and smoke poured from his nostrils. “This is a Finger ship. I’ve seen others like it. All black construction to inspire fear. The hull is shaped like a claw and so is the lift nacelle. It evokes an image of terror in all who see it and know of the Black Hand.”

The cramped quarters now made sense to Dim, given that the ship had an unusual hull structure. Savage fangs of icy death were biting deep now that Dim had been outside for longer than he should, and he turned to look at the gleaming steel door. Beyond it was warmth and horror.

“Let us go inside and talk,” Dim suggested as he gestured at the door. “The cold is killing me and inside it is warm. Watch out for the bodies, I never bothered to clean them up.”

The common room was a tiny place with a few chairs, a pair of small round tables, a bookshelf, and three corpses with wide, staring eyes. Not long ago, Dim had burst into this room and shouted, “Überraschung, Mutterficker!” Needless to say, all six of the griffons gathered in this room had been quite surprised that somepony was on their ship and he had caught them while they were preparing to board. Three had fled and three had died right away because they hadn’t fled.

The griffons had, in fact, been surprised.

Blackbird, a practical sort, began picking up the guns and the bullets scattered all over the floor, her head darting from one shiny spot to another and her talons plucking up everything valuable. Captain Melvin bent down, grabbed a dead griffon by its neck, lifted it, and examined the limp, staring corpse. Urine dribbled down one dangling leg and the captain snorted in disgust.

“I don’t suppose you’ve checked the freezer,” Captain Melvin remarked as he dropped the body he was holding.

“Ah, I see you are familiar with the advanced refrigeration storage space aboard these vessels,” Dim replied.

“Smartass.” The captain let out a bovine rumble of annoyance, kicked the corpse away from him, and then reached up to rub the spot between his horns, a common habit of thoughtful minotaurs. “All that heat being dumped from the cooling unit is why this ship is so warm. The moment that I stepped in here, I figured the freezer had to be full.”

Dim’s respect for the canny captain grew a bit, and he nodded.

“Oh, this one has coins on him!” Blackbird’s talons were deep inside the pockets of a griffon’s heavy pea-green overcoat. Multiple shinies were retrieved and she held them up in front of her snoot so that she could examine them. “I don’t recognise these.”

“Sovereigns, coins from Istanbull,” the captain muttered as Blackbird began to peel off the heavy woollen overcoat. If Blackbird robbing the dead bothered him in any way, he didn’t show it.

Still in need of a drink, Dim took off for the small galley, the one place he hadn’t yet given a thorough search. He pushed open the door that slid off to one side on brass rails, and then paused in the doorway. Of course the galley was set up for butchery. It was clean, spotless even, and smelled of strong chemical disinfectants. Disgusting primitives these griffons might have been, at least they followed good sanitation protocols when securing their alchemical ingredients.

The kitchen was all white tile and mirrored stainless steel with drains located on the floor. On one wall was all of the implements needed for effective butchery, all of them clean, shining, and maintained. Each one gleamed with fresh oil and the promise of keen blades. In the back, in a half-height space, there was a copper water heater that had a burning blue flame flickering beneath it.

Near the back, close to the water heater, there was a steel cabinet and Dim turned his piercing gaze upon it. His magic, both a pale pink and a swirling amber colour, cast a glow around the handles as he pulled the double doors open. Inside, there were a great many cans, some big, some small; glass jars of all shapes and sizes; and on the top shelf, Dim found what he had hoped to see.

“What do we have here?” he asked himself as he took a few steps closer. He pulled out something labeled ‘Feigling,’ a curious concoction. A drink suitable for cowards? Squinting, he pulled out the stopper, smelled the overpowering scent of figs, and then he tried a tiny sample.

After swishing it around inside of his mouth for a bit, Dim swallowed, and then proceeded to guzzle down the entire contents of the bottle. His ears sagged a bit and his breathing was ragged as he struggled to gulp down some much needed air after he pulled the emptied vessel away from his lips. One rather aristocratic belch escaped and then Dim stood there, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Oh, hey, that’s a nice little pig-poker,” Blackbird said from somewhere behind Dim. “Huh, it’s weighted for throwing. Nice! And it has a wing sling.”

Setting the empty bottle of Feigling down upon the counter, Dim had himself a better look inside of the pantry cabinet. Many of the canned goods were things that Blackbird would no doubt like to eat; sardines, anchovies, oysters, and crab meat. A great many cans of clam chowder had been stocked; again, a perfect meal for Blackbird. He found canned fruit and pie fillings, things that he could eat, and all manner of canned desserts. Griffons had a taste for sweets—who knew?

His eyes came to rest upon a bottle of spirits that had a most intriguing pink glow emanating from its pale green glass. Dim sensed magic, but not harmful magic. Tilting his head, he saw the label. ‘Himbeergeist.’ This was not a word that he was familiar with, but there were many words he wasn’t familiar with, not being a native speaker. Raspberry ghost?

Overcome with Blackbird levels of curiousity, Dim pulled down the bottle, removed the stopper, and had a sniff. The overpowering and somewhat cloying stench of raspberries filled the room, and a luscious, labial pink mist oozed from the curvy neck of the bottle he held. With only a little hesitation, he put the bottle to his lips and tried a sip.

It was like drinking raspberry syrup that had been set on fire. The burn was considerable and he shuddered while making an ‘I-just-drank-schnapps-and-I-regret-it’ face. One hind leg kicked, wobbled, and twitched, all while Dim felt his scrotum draw tight. His eyes fell upon some fancifully-scripted numbers just beneath the name and it read, ‘146.’ It was a safe assumption that it must be the proof.

Then, filled with an overwhelming compulsion, Dim stuck out his tongue, puckered up his lips, and blew a rude, slobbery raspberry. Cross eyed, he watched his own tongue flapping around like a weather-watcher’s windsock and he was powerless to do anything until the magical compulsion had passed.

Cursed by the ghost of a raspberry, Dim stood there making flappy-farty sounds.

“Dim? You okay?” Blackbird asked from behind.

Turning about, Dim tried to respond, but could only blow raspberries. Never one to keep the misery to himself, he held the bottle out to Blackbird and gave it a gentle shake. More of the luscious pink mist rose from the opening while Dim stood there making the most obscene, most disgusting noises. If he had to suffer, then Blackbird had to suffer. It was only fair.

Much to Dim’s surprise, Blackbird was stupid enough to take the offered bottle. He waited, still making rude noises, though it was starting to die down. She sniffed the bottle and Dim’s eyes narrowed with impatience. One sniff was enough to make her shudder and she tossed her head from side to side, slinging her mane to and fro.

Then, with the sort of bravery that only the foolish, the stupid, and those who kept demented companions possessed, Blackbird took a long pull. Right away, his partner trembled, shuddered, and her tail went slashing in all directions. Dim saw regret and Blackbird too, now had the ever-so-amusing and oh-so-delightful, ‘I-just-drank-schnapps-and-I-regret-it’ face.

Then, just as expected, she began blowing raspberries, and Captain Melvin let out a grunt of annoyance.

“I’m standing in a room full of corpses on a Black Hand Finger ship and you two are drinking novelty liquor. Neither one of you are right in the head. Damn.” The captain shook his head and his horns almost scraped the ceiling. “Don’t you feel bad at all for killing these griffons?”

Though Dim could not see his own face, he turned to face the captain with an almost foalish expression, and his mismatched eyes were still glassy from the Himbeergeist’s ferocious burn. The spell of compulsion had passed, leaving Dim free to respond. “I had promised to keep you safe in exchange for passage. These griffons threatened the integrity of my word. Also, I had to keep Blackbird safe.”

“So you don’t feel bad at all?” Captain Melvin stood akimbo with his hands resting on his hips.

“Should I?” Dim blinked a few times, confused, and was tempted to drink another bottle of Feigling to help clear his head.

“If you don’t feel bad, what makes you any better than these butcher birds?”

“Well, I… wait… what do… no… why must… no…” Dim stammered, and try as he might, he could not come up with a worthy response.

Meanwhile, Blackbird stood there, blowing raspberries while somehow also looking concerned about the subject matter. Still holding the bottle in her right talons, she held it up waved it at Dim, a silent request that he take it back. Reaching out with his magic, he did, and then he set the bottle down upon the counter, right next to the empty bottle of the figgy liquor.

“My killing was justified and necessary.” Dim found himself slipping into a defensive tone, and he hated his own reaction to the captain’s question. Still, doubt remained. Should he feel bad? Should he feel remorse? He was just doing his job, just as these griffons were doing their job. In the sky, they had met, the both of them intent on doing their jobs, and ultimately, one of the parties had to fail at completing their task.

It hadn’t been Dim.

Should a pony feel bad about a job well done?

“Both of us could not be right.” Dim could not help but feel that there might be some flaws in his logic, but he wasn’t sure what they might be.

“Killing is fine, when necessary, but you should feel bad about it.” Captain Melvin raised one hand, which trembled a bit, and he pulled his pipe from his weathered, leathery lips. “I’ve killed more than my fair share in my day. Feeling bad about it is what drove me to be a cargo captain. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel some remorse about what I’ve done.” With his thumb, he closed the cap of his pipe with a click and he stuffed it into his pocket.

The entire time that the captain was speaking, Blackbird blew flatulent raspberries.

Unable to think up a suitable response, Dim changed the subject. “What do we do? With this ship, I mean. It seems like a valuable vessel, but also dangerous if the sight of it might cause an attack. What do you recommend that we do, Captain?”

“I’ll have my bulls strip this ship of anything valuable and then we’ll scuttle it.” The captain grimaced, shook his head, and then looked Dim right in the eye. “We’ll leave behind the contents of the freezer, but we’ll take everything else. The engine if we can, the refrigeration unit, valuables, and the contents of that pantry.” Reaching out his beefy hand, he gestured at the cabinet behind Dim.

“Sounds like a plan.” Dim offered a polite nod. “Blackbird will enjoy the work, I think. She’s stronger than she looks and you can trust in her strength. Also, she’s quite good with tinkering. I will also help as much as I can, once it warms up a bit.”

At last, the compulsion spell had run its course and Blackbird slurped her tongue back into her mouth, looking relieved.

Captain Melvin held out his hand in Dim’s direction for a moment, then reached up with it to stroke his chin. “Whatever profit we make from salvaging this ship, we’ll split, even and fair. The turbine is probably worth a small fortune. If you do half of the work, you deserve half of the payment.”

“That sounds even and fair, thank you, Captain.”

“Don’t mention it. Stay here, where it is warm, Dim. Sun is rising and it’ll be a bit warmer soon. Maybe Blackbird can do something with these coats the griffons had. I didn’t think the cold would be so brutal for you. My boss would have my head if something happened to you because of the cold.” With a turn of his head, Captain Melvin addressed Blackbird. “Are you ready to get started?”

“Sure am!”

“Good, let’s go.”

Author's Notes:

Pinkie Pie needs to teach Dim how to throw a proper surprise party.