Purse Strings looked through the bars of the brig's other cell at the little black dog. She was sleeping, just like the earth pony trooper sleeping one off in the other, other cell. Where Mickle Joe kept finding his rotgut was a matter for debate, but Purse was inclined to blame the regimental doctor. He had no evidence that Hawk Eye was selling her stuff, but once a still was put in operation, you couldn't control where the product ended up.

Purse had been the security 'officer' for his last ship, and somehow, he'd thought that this would continue on the Bit, but he'd not taken into account the army's tendency to professionalize all operations having to do, however obliquely, with force. Instead, the new boss had assigned authority over the 'provost' and the brig to a rotating slate of officers, which, in the early days when they barely had any officers at all, meant that the lance corporal assigned to internal security had mostly overseen herself. Which meant that Purse was called in whenever there was something going on, because the officers nominally in charge had real jobs.

But officially, Purse Strings wasn't in charge of the brig.

And yet, look where I am. Just like Cousin Contract, I can't stay out of stir for long.

“Hey, Queenie, wake up!“ Purse barked.

She didn't stir.

“Hey, Fife, where are those keys? Prisoner's asleep.“

“I can poke 'er through the bars with me stick, if you like, gov'.“

“Or you can unlock the door and let me kick her awake, can't you? Put away your stick, Fife. Go bug Mickle if you want to poke at somepony.“

“But Mickle'll not let me into tomorrow's game if I mess wif 'im!“

“Mickle Joe's not hosting any more games at all if he's going to keep stealing the doctor's hooch and drinking himself square-eyed.“

“Ain't no proof it were the hippogriff's juice.“

“I don't believe in the Bit's Nectar. This ship is not even a month old, how did we develop a story that demented so soon? They're just raiding the medicinal gin.“ Frankly, Mickle was in his cell as a way to get him to give up his contraband supply. Whether it was stolen from the doctor, snuck on board from Barkalona, or the operation of yet another still somewhere in the depths of the new ship, they needed to get it under control before someone got knocked up, fell off the side, or started a fight with casualties.

And meanwhile, the little perro he'd been forced to take on board was shamming behind a locked cell door, pretending she couldn't hear Purse and the jailer. Gaoler. However they were spelling it, officially.

With a light 'clunk', the lock opened, and Purse moved into the narrow little cell. Which still was larger than most bunkrooms in the barracks-quarters.

Reina jumped up and plastered herself into the far corner like a trapped cat.

“Donarlielmeucostatnovoliadirresnomésmirantunarondaquemaivaveurepellnicabelldelcavallbuscantpistesque-I“

“Bitch, shut UP!“ Purse yelled, interrupting the little dog's incomprehensible stream of yips. “We both know you speak Equish. Speak the Chairmare's Equish, and spare me that gibber of yours.“

“ButIwannagivemysideofthingsIdidntmeananythingbyitwasjustlookinroundneversawhidenorhairofthecavallookingforcluesthat-“

“Breathe! Slowly!“

The two of them stared at each other.

“Well? Go on?“

“I breathe. Slowly.“

“No, I meant - talk. Don't yammer. I'm not a mind reader, that's my cousin Tarot Card. I wouldn't even know how to read you, you don't have frogs.“

Purse waited, and waited.

“You can start now,“ he prompted. “Less than a hundred words a minute.“

“I didn't - I wasn't - I never even saw the pony!“

“That's not helping. Were you trying to steal her stuff, like she said?“

“No! I just, I didn't even know who she was, you know?“

“First time meeting?“

“Yeah! I mean, there was all this stuff laying aroun' but no cavall! Just stuff! An' I didn't have no business to get up to, noperro tellin' me what to do.“

Purse had been avoiding the little dog, on general principles. And also, having full-to-bursting lockers and holds to work through and get the inventories set down proper.

“Yeah, that's my bad,“ Purse conceded. Idle hooves were the draconequus's playground, after all. “I shouldn't have just left you sit and simmer. I shoulda had somepony - you're some kind of magic, right?“

“What, you mean màgia terrestre- er, dirt magic? Yeah, you know that. You seen me.“

“You're what, twelve?“

“What, my burrow-age? Eleven. I think you ponies say burrow-age-plus-twelve-moons, so… yeah, about that.“

“So you ain't fully grown yet. Who's been teaching you?“

“Eh, you pick things up. Here and there.“

Oh, Celestia, she's never had a mentor. Or a teacher. Or master, or whatever rockhoppers have.

“I shoulda had somepony teaching you to be a proper rockhopper. But since we don't have a rockhopper, best I could do would be - I dunno, some kinda sorcerer.“

“You have a sorcerer?“ asked the little black dog, her eyes wide behind that curtain of black bangs. It was about as close as the little bitch got to 'cute'.

“Nah, but I have a magus. Who caught you pawin' through her shit. I think the officers thought she'd take you under her wings.“

“Pony wasn't winged, was a screwhead.“

“You- look, you can't say shit like that. Don't call unicorns 'screwheads', no matter how screwy they are! That was your mentor who tried to stomp you through the deckplates!“

“Queenie sorry! Per l'amor de la proserpina, estalvia'm!“

“Stop that! Chairmare's Equish! And apologizing to me won't cut it, I ain't the one you need to be apologizing to. Come on, you've had your night in here, that's as much as the regiment wants out of you. Now we go make good with the mare you were violating the sanctity of her shit. Let's go apologize for your shit-stirring. And from now on…

“We're gonna keep your paws busy every hour you're awake an' alive, Queenie. Because clearly you need some supervising.“

The empowering bead was not powering anything. Lyra took it out of its cradle, and fiddled with it, then slotted it back in, backwards, in hopes of something sparking.

Nothing.

Her friend looked up between the struts and rickety connectors that made up the projection rig, a certain sort of damaged, hopeful patience in her purple eyes.

“Just a sec, Lula-baby. I've almost got it running. We'll see what was wrong with you in just a minute.“

Lyra yanked out the empowering bead, and swapped it out for the last of her supply. A bead which she was like, 85% sure that the little diamond dog hadn't touched - they had been deeper in the shelf, still wrapped up in their velvet Peytral Royal bag.

The velvet bags that northern-provinces sipping whisky came in were absolutely brilliant for storing stuff.

Nothing. Not forward, not backwards, not sideways. Nothing Lyra did, could get that damned bead working.

She even tried feeding thaums directly via her aching horn, but the pain put an end to that before she got anything more than a false image of what looked like a dark forest lodge.

“Anything, Lyra? The feeble and confused Trixie is getting a bit anxious, here.“

“Just five minutes, Lula-darlin'.“

“It was one minute, five minutes ago, Lyra. If it isn't going to work-“

“It'll work! I just had it working like a charm a couple weeks ago with Trooper Bob. In front of an entire audience! Twilight could tell you. If, y'know, she was here.“

“I thought it was a charm?“

“Meh, more of a sorcerous tool.“

“Where is the Major?“ Trixie asked, looking around the infirmary nervously.

“Busy keeping this circus in the air!“ boomed a scratchy, griffish voice from behind Lyra. “Somepony has to! How is it coming, Magus Heartstrings?“

“Gilda! Good to hear you. And not well. That damned dog of yours broke my diagnostic apparatus.“

“I thought you said it was an experimental academic jury-rig?“ the griffon asked as she came into view in Lyra's peripheral vision. “Are you sure you didn't just put it away wrong, or didn't keep up on upkeep?“

“No, I'm not!“ Lyra barely kept herself from dashing the nonfunctioning bead against the wall- no, the bulkhead. “I can't be sure of anything, and my horn is killing me!“

Lyra turned to stomp out of the wardroom and yell at the hippogriff doctor working in her office the next room over. “Doc! I give up, give me the good stuff! I'm ready to be spacy again!“

“Nope, nope, nope,“ said the Griffonstonian as she grabbed ahold of Lyra's tail and dragged her back to the table where Trixie and Lyra's malfunctioning testing apparatus laid. “No more drugs for you, we need a thinking magus, not another drunk tearing up the decks of my winds-damned light carrier. We haven't even started payments on the refit!“

“Aw, come on, I wasn't going to get sloshed! Just something to kill this headache, come on, Giiildaaa…“

And that was when Lyra turned around and saw that skinny git of a quartermaster, with the nasty little dog who'd she'd caught breaking her shit, hiding behind the stallion's narrow hindquarters.

“You! You little shit! Get over here so I can take my frustrations out on you!“

The talons were back, or rather, they'd never let up their grip on her tail, so instead of rocketing forward to pound the little furry menace into the deck-plates, Lyra landed on her jaw, the painful tug on her dock and tail adding to her litany of miseries.

“Now calm down, magus. Purse Strings, why is that shameless little perro out of her cell?“ the griffon asked.

“Hiya, Sergeant. She's had her night in stir, Queenie, and she has something to say to the magus, she does. Don't you, little girl?“

“Yessir. I really do. Yip!“

Gilda had grabbed Lyra again, keeping her from her rightful vengeance!

“Go on, Queenie,“ the narrow-flanked ugly male so-and-so standing between Lyra and her target said.

“Missus Magus, Imma really sorry I touched your shit. I didn' mean to break notting. I swear I puts everything back in its place, de veritat! It just, you startle me, I drop that last
meravella...“

“I knew it! You did get into my empowering beads, and my backup gemstones, and everything that isn't working!“

“What, you mean that bag of àgates? I just look inside. They looked OK, if raw. You don' wanna leave those in the crushed velvet, it give 'em a charge.“

“That's the whole idea! They're supposed to be thaumically chargeable!“

“No' if you let them get una càrrega elèctrica, it make for the desnaturalitzat per receptivitat màgia.“

Lyra squinted as she tried to make sense of the tumbled mix of Perronese and Equish. “You're saying that a static electrical charge ruins my beads?“

“Yeah! Eve'tually. Might take un esclat taumic major. Like, I dunno, an engine blowin' out?“

Human Hells take it!

“What is your deal, anyways? Why do we have a pubescent perro bitch on board, sergeant?“

“Magus Heartstrings, let me introduce to you our… new rockhopper, Reina- Reina- Queenie, what was the rest of your name again?“

“Reina de la Negra, as it please your highness.“

Lyra almost smiled at the inappropriate form of address. “I don't think either of us are worthy of a royal address, little queen. You say you're a geomancer?“

“Yes! I have la màgia terrestre. I, how the cavalls say, hop rocks.“

“Coolness! They kept throwing me out of old Land Grant U, and wouldn't even tell me where the EIR campus was located, let alone let me into it! I have so many questions!“

“Ahem!“ the powder-blue unicorn, laying on the table on the other side of the room with Lyra's nonfunctioning apparatus hung around her head like the world's worst hat, said. Like, exactly that, 'ahem' spoken like it was an Equish word. “Could we get back to my diagnosis? Or get Trixie out of this torture device?“

“Oh, geez, Trixie, I'm sorry we forgot you. Hey, you, rockdoggie, come here and tell me what's going wrong with my empowerment beads, or help me get this thing working, we need to…“

Gilda turned away from the reconciling magicians as they bent their heads over the sorcerous mess Lyra Heartstrings called a 'projector'. She grabbed the skinny quartermaster before he said something and interrupted the touching little scene of autistic scholarship, and they slipped out of the medical bay.

Mission accomplished.

The damned stallion looked like he was about to start chatting Gilda up again, so she was delighted when they were interrupted by the other hippogriff on board.

“Fish Eye!“ Gilda said, grinning widely. “I was looking for you! I'd like to talk to you about this goddess scam of yours. Sorry, Purse, we can pick this up later, good bye. Come on, lance corporal, I haven't had time to look at this shrine of yours…“

The two of them left a sputtering earth pony behind them, as Gilda fled bow-ward, and up the stairs of the forecastle.

“Awk! Hi, yeah, Sergeant Gilda, can we slow down now?“

“Is he still in earshot?“

“Uh, no?“

“Then yeah, we can stop. So really, what's the deal with the funny voices? I keep hearing goofy things…“

“I rather take offense at your mockery of my speaking voice,“ the pink hippogriff said in a haunting, unnerving voice. “I am neither a scam, nor a con, nor any other sordid thing your wind-born corrupt mind can conceive of. Make not mockery of the gods, windchild.“

Yikes, Gilda thought.

“Look, Fish, all I ask is you don't ask for money or favors, OK? I don't want to get into an argument with your imaginary friend-“

“The gods are not imaginary friends! We're not friends at all! We are the embodiments of the magical underpinnings of the living world, you blasphemous bird!“

Then the hippogriff mare turned around and started arguing with herself. “Now look, Auntie, we agreed I'd do the talking here. No smiting my superiors! Play nice!“

“I am never nice, little fish. Nice! Bah, you're not good, you're not bad, you're just nice. I'm not nice, I'm not good, I'm just right.“

“Yes, yes, your divinity, you're very, very right. Can I continue?“

“You may,“ she said to herself in a sulky, unnerving voice.

“Great! Hey, yeah, sergeant, sorry about all that. No, I don't take money, and I try not to take favors. Not for the shrine stuff, anyways. Just 'offerings', which trust me, nogriff would ever want to eat. Not even you griffons with your iron gullets.“

“I rather fancy the mortal remains they've been providing…“

“Auntie! Anyways, no exploiting the priestess thing. Honest!“

Gilda looked at the self-appointed hippogriff 'priestess'. “Well, fine. OK. And I'm sorry I insulted your figmentary divinity. It's just… you know that the winds are all made up, right? There are no gods.“

“The fact that your gods of the air haven't blown you off the face of the planet suggests strongly that you may now be right about that, wind-child. I have been looking for my kin, and finding no sign of them here above the waves.“

“Good to hear… you agree. Your figmentariness,“ Gilda said, cautiously. “Did you… did you two want something?“

“Oh, yeah,“ Fish Eye said in her 'herself' voice. “I wanted to take a leave of absence!“

Gilda looked around at the open air, and the open seas below, with no land anywhere in sight. “To where? We're three days out from land, and four from Roam!“

“Auntie A, Hercegnő Gyongyi, and I need to go on flyabout!“

“A vision quest, little fish!“ she corrected herself in her goddess-voice.

“Yeah, that! I already ate everything fishy in the larders that isn't rock lobsters. Auntie A says they're too 'earthy' for the magic, even if they do look like shellfish. We need to go fishing in open waters, me and the princess, and eat up! I'm apparently expecting!“

“Fishing- you're what?“ Gilda yelped.

“Fish, I've told you twice now, it isn't actually an egg. It's just gestating where you'd usually keep an egg.“

“I don't see the difference, Auntie! I'm hungry all the time, you've put something in my inner mare parts, it's growing, and I need to pass it through my other lady parts. Sounds like a magic pregnancy to me!“

“An undignified manner of speaking, and you really should be more circumspect. I will get a worse reputation than Zeus if you keep talking this way.“

“If you're going to keep using my lady parts to make your miracles, Auntie, you'll have to put up with how ponies whisper about you behind our backs!“

“You know what?“ Gilda said, weakly. “I don't think I want to be involved in this conversation. Fish, you aren't actually pregnant?“

“Well… depending on how you look at it-“

“No, she is not. No living thing will come of this, hidden princess of the high stone trees.“

Yeep.

“Uh, so long as one of my troopers isn't knocked up - mostly - I don't care. Do what you want. Just - you're taking Lady George with you? Will you be able to catch back up with us?“

“How many days are you going to spend in Roam?“

“I think they're planning on two days, to deliver the diplomats and touch base before the drive inland to darkest Beakland. But we can't leave if Lady George isn't with us! She's the whole point of the expedition!“

“Well, Auntie A and the princess have ginned up some sort of scheme, which-“

“Fish!“

“-which I'm not supposed to talk about, but we'll catch up to you all in Roam in, one, two, carry the three - five days from now!“

“Uh. Er.“ Gilda blinked at the baffling hippogriff, who she had once mistaken for a younger her. She would never have sprung something as crazy as this on Gleaming Shield! “Yeah, just bring Lady George back to us at Roam. And don't… don't… look, I just don't want you coming back with an egg, or a fledgeling, or a tadpole, or whatever it is that you hippogriffs reproduce with.“

“Oh, no worries about that, Sergeant Gilda! I trust my Auntie Amphitrite!“

The pink hippogriff trotted across the forecastle deck to where a smiling turul had been resting her great head and watching the proceedings.

“Ready to go, Hercegnő Gyongyi?“ Fish Eye asked.

“You know you can call me George or Gyongyike, Fish Eye,“ the big bird said.

“Nah, I'm not royalty. I'm just a little fish!“

“If you say so, little fish. Let's go.“

And the two of them leaped off the port side of the cruising Princess's Bit, and dove down towards the glittering open waters of the middle of nowhere, Inland Sea, as Gilda craned her head over the side to watch them disappear into the distance.

Author's Notes:

Thanks for editing and pre-reading help to Shrink Laureate and the general Company.