“Okay, listen up, you sots.” Standing atop a crate, Jolie wasn’t what one might call an imposing figure, but she had her own sense of command. “After a few weeks trapped on this tin can, we’ll be putting down in Gasconeigh. Lord Chanson Argentée has agreed to be our host. Try not to offend him, ‘cause he’s one of the few interested in saving the world. Pretty much everypony else has their head lodged up their ass.”

This got a few snickers and Jolie waited for them to pass before she continued, “Motte, Bailey, Munro, Blackbird… your job is to stay glued to Prince Dim, the Kooky Spooky. You do your jobs so he can do his job. If harm comes to him, Eerie will probably do awful things to you for failure. The Bard is your translator, so keep him safe too. Bombay, you’ll be the Bard’s first line of defense, as usual.”

“Right,” Bombay replied with a dismissive wave of her paw.

“The city of Gasconeigh has a few laws that might cause some inconvenience to you, so be aware of them. Mares, females in general, are not allowed to be out and about past sundown. This is to try and cut back on the number of rapes in the city. I think it is a backwards attempt, but they, they’re trying, right? Bailey, Blackbird, Bombay… no going out alone just to be cautious. We don’t want to start trouble with the local constables if we can help it.”

“Dim is kinda pretty—”

“Shut your mew-hole, before I shut it for you, Bombay! I will slap the purr right out of you!”

“Right, Capt’n.”

“Dim might make good bait, if we bought him a dress—”

“Blackbird, I will buck your face into next Tuesday!”

“Yeah, I gotcha, Capt’n.”

“I swear, a few weeks on this tin can travelling at the edges of space and it is like IQs just go plummeting.” The little red mare snorted, a powerful blast for her size, and she turned her steely gaze upon everybody gathered. “All of you will be travelling the countryside, spending time with the peasants and nobodies. That’s the best place to start. If anypony knows where the Ascendancy is hiding, it’ll be the the farmers. Also, we don’t know where Scalio and Prominence went off to. They’re around, but they scarpered off to help peasants rather than stay in the city.”

The captain paused when the ship shuddered and one eye squinted while she tried to get a feel for things. Satisfied that the ship wasn’t exploding, she returned her attention to the task at hoof. “Outside the city, remember the rules. No travelling at night. It isn’t safe. I don’t care what Dim is capable of, or what he thinks he can do. Find a farm and get indoors before the sun goes down. Good chance to talk to the peasants and get to know them. Don’t let the peasants be harmed. Do whatever must be done to save them if trouble starts. And let me say it again… stay indoors at night.”

“What strange goings on happen at night?” Dim asked in between puffs on his joint.

“A danger you can’t face, Dim. Even talking about this is a mistake, because it always causes more curiousity. Please, just obey the local customs, okay?” Jolie’s face wrinkled with concern and her eyes gained a strange focus. “Get indoors before the sun sets. If I even tried to explain what was going on, you'd go sticking your long nose into it and get yourself killed. And then Eerie would cause me to suffer in ways I can’t even imagine. Killing me would be a mercy, and Eerie is not merciful.”

“Mercy is not in our nature,” Dim remarked, sending curls of smoke out with his words. “Very well, I shall humour you and share your superstitious fear of the dark.”

“Dim, seriously”—Jolie was clearly frightened now—“the only thing I fear more than what lurks in the Fancy countryside is Eerie. Pâté au Poulet and I both know what is out there. Dim, I am madly in love with Gratin and I want to keep living, whole of body and intact of mind. No fooling around, Dim.”

“Bah!” Dim exhaled a massive cloud of blueish, clove-scented smoke that took on strange, disturbing shapes as it expanded around him. “I have grown fond of you, so I will do as you say… for now.”

“Thanks, Dim, you magnanimous asshole.”

Black smoke rose upwards in impenetrable columns from the coal burning power plant down far below. Gasconeigh was indeed, a thoroughly modern city, a city made from glass, concrete, and steel. A few high-rise towers rose from the middle, impressive monuments to modernity. The heart of the city was built on an island where the river split, separated, and came back together again. Walls could be seen on the island, immense walls, but this was only the heart.

As for the rest of the city, it spread out, sprawling in all directions, with everything being dense and tall. Space was at a premium, with up being the only real direction to go. Airship houses appeared common and hovered over the city. Trains wormed along tracks that wove between tight clusters of buildings. Nothing that Dim had seen could compare to this and he knew that he was looking at a marvel, a wonder of the world.

But from up here, problems could be seen. The further one went out from the island heart of the city, the uglier it became. Steel glass and concrete were replaced with brick. Buildings became rather ramshackle and dilapidated. The various walls that circled the city like rings in an old mighty tree became less and less impressive, with the outer walls being made of trash and building debris. Even as awful as it was, it was still awe-inspiring when seen as a whole.

At least a million or more souls lived down below.

“Look,” the Bard said, pointing over the rail with his hoof. “You can see the pegasus pony quarters… all of the landings and balconies, but no walkways, no skywalks between buildings. The earth ponies live at the bottom, and in the outer circles of the city. Guess who lives on the island in the middle? Go on… I’ll give you three guesses.”

Peering down, Dim scowled as the ship continued its rapid descent.

“There it is, Dim… the tower of story and legend… behold, La Corne D'argent. It was, at one time, the tallest building in the world, but I understand that there are now taller towers in Manehattan. A soaring six hundred and forty feet tall. Look at it… even the cannon batteries are architectural wonders. It has seen at least a dozen battles and it still stands.”

“The Argentée family built it and that is their corporate headquarters. Old family, good, trustworthy. Eerie has investigated them most thoroughly and has found them to be suitable allies. They operate La Société de Moteurs Stirling, and we’ve entered into a profitable tech exchange with them.” Bombay reached out with her paw and smoothed the Bard’s mane away from his face.

“Corporate headquarters is covered in hundreds of gun batteries, by the looks of it,” Dim remarked while he drank in the sight of advanced civilisation. Istanbull too, was a marvel, but for different reasons. The White Hand of Istanbull was of a similar size to La Corne D'argent, but one was a magic structure built by ancients and one was a modern building made by science. He supposed they didn’t compare.

“Hostile takeovers happen,” the Bard replied.

It was cold here, chilly, and the thick, gritty air was acrid. With all of the traveling he had done, Dim had lost track of the seasons—he wasn’t sure what month it even was—and it seemed as though fall was approaching. The river flowing into the city was a delightful greenish-blue in colour, but the river flowing out of the city was a murky, sludgy brown with a dusting of black coal dust along the top. It flowed in the same way that puddling dribbled from a spoon, or thick, tarry diarrhea rolled down the leg. Dim was almost certain that a fleet-footed creature could run across the surface of the river, if they were quick.

Griffons wearing blue uniforms and bearing rifles went flying past, heading in the direction of a flashing, strobing rooftop light. It seemed like as good of a system to signal for the constables as any. On the Grittish Isles, bells were hung by the doors in some of the bigger cities. They were valuable warnings for other citizens to stay away from an area because a crime was in progress.

In short, help rarely, if ever, arrived.

“Here comes the tugs, I think.” The Bard, looking down, had more of his mane whip around into his face. “It feels strange to be home, about to set hoof upon my native soil. I have to say, I think I prefer Istanbull. Crime is better managed and the sexes feel far more equal. This place… Gasconeigh, it is one of the largest cities in all of civilisation, and it should not be. It is ill-equipped to be. In the center of the city, you will find a bastion of modernity. But as you go outward past some of the walls, you go back in time. And out beyond the city? You go back whole eras.”

“Yeah, but these creatures have freedom,” Bombay could be heard saying while the ship descended into the heart of the city. “This is what freedom looks like. No geases. Vive l'anarchie!”

“You can barely spit out those words without sounding as though you choke on them, tart.” The Bard’s sardonic wit was biting and Dim had a fine appreciation for it, almost as if one was sampling a fine, aged wine. “Fancy… the land of laissez faire. The policy of noninterference has brought us to this. Apathy. A near collapse of the remaining city states. A nation in name only. Decay and rot in the very bones of this once great land and—”

“Colonialism and slavery was great?” Bombay tried once again to pull the Bard’s mane from his face but the wind was uncooperative.

The Bard did not respond, but chuckled; a derisive, bitter sound.

Two disgusting primitives stood on the dock, trying to figure out where the coal chute of the Solar Stinger was located. They argued—loudly—berating one another, and Dim allowed himself to take pleasure in their idiocy. This was all the proof one needed to see that unicorn superiourity was a lie. An aristocratic smirk now graced Dim’s face, but a commoner might mistake it for a sneer. This was a city of betters, he could sense it, and it awoke something awful within him.

“Sphinx!” a dock worker shouted and then he went galloping away with several others just behind him.

Dim looked around, but try as he might, there was no sphinx to be seen, only a dejected looking Blackbird, who stood in the high wind, fluffed out. It took a few seconds, but Dim made the connection; the disgusting primitives thought Blackbird to be a sphinx. Unable to help himself, Dim laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“Bonjour, chers invités!” a unicorn surrounded by guards bearing spears said, and right away, Dim began to size him up.

Born poor, or poorish, but clearly the recipient of a lucky break. If not a noble, then newish money perhaps. Well-worn hooves and a lifetime of hard living that showed in the legs. Not a unicorn that had been spoiled or pampered. He was friendly enough and now spoke with the Bard.

“SPHINX!” another pony shouted, and this set off a minor panic, which in turn caused an exodus in the dock workers just arriving.

“I’m not a Sphinx! I’m not!”

Looking around, Dim noticed that there were only unicorns on this dock, and nothing else. It struck him as a bit strange and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Maybe it was nothing but sheer coincidence. Happenstance. Still, something about it was unnerving after his time in Istanbull. Maybe this was about practicality, and magic made things practical. This was, after all, a private dock in the middle of a bustling city.

Then, without warning, the tone of the conversation changed. The unicorn surrounded by guards seemed angry, the Bard seemed offended, and the guards themselves pressed in tighter. Dim, who kept his horn beneath his hat and out of sight, began to charge up his magic while the Bard sputtered with rage.

Bombay, who had her paw dangerously close to her pistol, revealed just a little of the situation when she said, “How dare you suggest that Blackbird and I are pets and must be kept on leashes! And no, Pâté au Poulet will be staying with us, earth pony or no.”

Dim, already weary of the situation, decided that a demonstration was in order, a memorable display of power, a reminder that his affairs were not to be meddled in. He wove his magic into his words and summoned powerful forces of compulsion so that his commands would be obeyed.

“Guards, this unicorn dares to upset me,” Dim said.

The response was immediate; as if on cue, each of the unicorn guards swung their spears around and the dangerous points all pressed against their former master’s neck. A growing puddle of reeking urine appeared between his hind legs and Dim, who held the guards under his thrall, took a few steps forwards.

“You really should mind your betters,” Dim hissed, and the Bard repeated his words, translating them. “Nothing more than some upstart commoner, pretending to be a noble. Tell me, peasant… give me a reason why I shouldn’t throw you off of the edge of this dock?”

The only response was incomprehensible gibbering as the spear points pressed in, some of them drawing thin streams of blood.

“Is this how you treat guests?” Dim asked in a coarse, reedy voice and he began to wheeze a little from the pollution. “Oh… did you think that I’d share your views on superiourity? Is that it? Did you hope to rub shoulders with me and have a chance to lord over others? Did you think that you would somehow endear yourself to me and curry favour?”

Every word that Dim said was translated by the Bard, who was having trouble keeping a straight face. Bombay was glued to the Bard’s side, while Motte and Bailey stood silent, impassive. Dim allowed the Bard to finish before he continued, and he took the opportunity to pull out a clove and cannabis cigarette, as well as his silver stem holder.

“Where is your superiourity now, peasant? Wait, I think I see it. Is it perhaps that puddle that soaks into your hooves? You cannot even manage the security of your own guards. You disgust me.”

Again, the Bard translated, and Dim waited while he puffed away on his joint.

“Guards, see that this peasant is sent on his way with a stern reminder to be mindful of his betters. Once he is dealt with, take me at once to Lord Chanson Argentée.”

When the first spear butt slammed into the unicorn, Dim didn’t even flinch. He didn’t even turn to look. The beating was swift, savage, and brutal. In seconds, the unicorn was beaten down to the ground, and the guards continued to club him without mercy. Pâté au Poulet stepped away so that the guards had plenty of room to do their bloody, terrible work.

Motte, apprehensive and anxious, cleared his throat and then asked, “Dim was this necessary?”

“Probably,” Dim replied without much thought. “I do not suffer offense very well. Blackbird is not a pet. I stand in the company of equals and I will not have them insulted.”

One of the guards lifted up the bloodied, beaten unicorn and departed, heading for the massive aperture in the side of the building. Dim cast a final glance at the upstart, his lip curled back in annoyance, and he struggled against the painful tickle in his lungs. The remaining guards recovered their formation and when they too, began to march for the aperture, Dim followed, hoping that the indoor air would be kinder upon his breathing.

Author's Notes:

Dim's hypocrisy is showing.