The city of Klugetown greets the ponies with a perpetual dull haze, dust in their eyes, and an acrid taste in their mouths, but the irritants do little to quell their enthusiasm. They stand, gawking at the high-rising shops and apartments built into towering spires of sandstone. The layout is far different from Ponyville, certainly, but even Manehattanites value an occasional view of the sky. From the air it didn’t seem as intimidating, but now that they aren’t dancing down the street with some destination in mind?

Three streets, paved with hard-packed sand and harder-packed citizens, branch away from the Equestrian Embassy. The most crowded leads south to the docks full of boats and airships. Shopkeepers hawk their wares along that route, several of whom display caged feral hawks or bright, flowing fabrics to wear. Everypony is glad Fluttershy isn’t around to see the former. The latter draws Rarity’s attention, and she makes the first move. She weaves her way through the heavy foot traffic, jostled to and fro by the larger creatures considerably less considerate than the ponies of Ponyville, and arrives at the open stall.

The rotund shopkeeper, like many of the other creatures, stands twice as tall as her and three times as wide. His clothes are far fancier than the other’s dirty brown tunics, if they wear anything at all. She has to crane her neck up to look him in the eye, and she would have to stand on her hind legs to see over the counter.

“Excuse me, good…” Rarity pauses, deliberating how to greet the bidepal… Her first instinct is to call it a fish-monster, a miniature leviathan that decided to walk on land, but as appropriate as the appellation might be? Offending the very first native she meets doesn’t sound like the way to endear oneself. She settles on, “Sir. I can’t help but notice your beautiful selection of goods. Is that wool?”

He snorts with something between a sneer and a smile, ignoring her compliment, and waves a webbed claw at his wares. The fabrics are nearly as colorful as the ponies coming up behind Rarity, tightly woven with intricate geometric diamond designs. “Alpaca. Softer than sheep, and quite warm!”

“But we’re in the middle of a desert,” Applejack asserts as she sidles next to Rarity. “Why can’t ya find somethin’ more practical-like?” She looks down the rows of stalls. A vulture-esque creature leers down from rows of horns of every shape and size, an upright turtle drags barrels of a foamy brown liquid, a tall Abyssinian runs some sort of shell game on a small table, and a naked mole rat sells various cooking pans and knives. She gasps at the last one, pointing with one hoof while the other wraps around Rarity’s neck to direct her attention. “Like over there!”

“Alpaca is best for airships and mountains,” the merchant concedes before Applejack can pull Rarity away. “But if you’re looking for desert wear, then look no further than this!” His keen eye sizes up Rarity from front to flank, and he pulls out an off-white set of barding, made to cover the entirety of a pony, complete with turban. “Saddle Arabian cotton, guaranteed to keep you cool during the hottest of days!” He glances at the ponies behind her, smile widening at seeing the two alicorns. “I could have a dozen made by the end of the day, custom fitted for wings and horn! For, say, a hundred Storm Bucks each?”

“Shopping?” Doug groans as he backs up, only to be knocked from behind by a short, long-tusked warthog. She growls at him before adjusting the large jar on her back and continues on her way as he stumbles forward. He dusts himself off with a huff before turning back to Rarity. “There’s no way I’m spending the rest of my morning shopping. Much less window shopping.”

While the shopkeeper’s smile doesn’t fade at Doug’s comment, he stiffens when he sees the changeling standing next to him. She remains remarkably unbumped despite standing in the middle of the road.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Rarity chastises, flipping her mane indignantly. She turns back to the cloth vendor. She pulls a bit out of a bag she keeps somewhere. Everycreature’s head turns at the clink of gold and gems inside. “Now, how many bits to a Storm Buck?”

“Sorry, but we don’t take bits here.” He offers Rarity a fang-filled smile, yet it somehow appears regretful. “Storm King law, you know?” His glances again at Chrysalis, gulping nervously. “It’s ten bits a Storm Buck.”

“You can’t change them here?” Rarity asks with a huff.

He peers down the row of stalls, spotting two stiff-backed Storm Guards. One of them looks at them, grips his spear, and grunts to his partner. The shopkeeper shakes his head.

“I see,” Rarity says, running a hoof along the fabric. A hard look enters her eyes, accompanied by a tight frown. “Now, one hundred bucks for a simple frock? Even Saddle Arabian cotton - if this is, in fact, Saddle Arabian cotton? Forty bucks apiece, and done up in those, those, and those designs.” She points at the patterns ones closest to hers, Cadance’s, and Twilight’s cutie marks.

“Ooh!” Twilight exclaims, eagerly nudging next to Rarity. She starts, “I really like-” before a white hoof forces her back.

“But you are getting far more than just the frock, and I can assure you as to the authenticity of the cotton.” He carefully considers with a greedy smile. “Sixty. One fourth in those patterns, the rest plain.”

“Forty-five,” Rarity counters. “Half plain, half patterned. And I would need…” She counts with taps of hoof against counter, staring up at the hazy sky. “Fourteen. By tonight?”

“Fifty and it’s done.” The merchant reaches a scaly claw forward. “Cash first.”

Rarity shakes her head. “Ah, I’m afraid I do not have enough… Storm Bucks on me. But I will keep that offer in mind. Doug?” Rarity levitates the heavy bag to him, but he doesn’t take it. “Do be a dear and get this changed?” She beams up at him as his hands go to his hips. “Please?”

Doug rolls his eyes at the saccharine display, snatching the bag out of the air. “Fine.”

“Ooh, me too,” Rainbow Dash adds, flying over to give him a small bag of her own. “I wanted to try some of that cider!”

“There ain’t no way it’s close to ours,” Applejack retorts, though she also shoves a bag in Doug’s direction. “But those knives look awful sharp. And a good variety, too!”

“Enough!” Doug says as Cadance also grins at him and offers him a stuffed bag. Many of the pedestrians behind him have stopped walking and mill about, watching closely. “Why don’t you put a giant label on me that says ‘please mug me!’ while you’re at it?”

“Because Pinkie Pie isn’t here?” Rainbow Dash says with a cheeky grin.

Doug huffs before he musses the chromatic mane, drawing a nuzzle and fond smile. He loops the bags around his neck, tucking them inside his armor. “Yeah, yeah. Where am I going, anyway?”

“I believe I can help there,” the Abyssinian smoothly interjects as he slides next to Doug. The human-like cat person stands half a head taller than him, a tuft of blue hair waving almost to his green, shifting eyes. Brown claws flick his ripped red trench coat as his suave smile might charm the cutie mark off a pony. “Capper’s the name, and I can guide you anywhere in this fair city. Just say the word, and I’ll be the friend you need.”

“Excellent.” Doug grimaces at the crowded road. “Any chance you know a less packed route?”

“Oh, sure,” Capper answers with a sly grin. “Backways, alleys, I know this place like the back of my paw. You won’t bump into a single soul the way I’ll take you.”

“Perhaps I might come along,” Chrysalis says with a wary glance at the Storm Guards, now doubled in number and advancing their way. “Make sure you stay safe.”

“Awesome!” Rainbow Dash exclaims, zipping higher into the air as she turns back to the turtle. “Hurry back!”

“This way!” Capper calls as he slips between the cloth merchant and the horn stall. Doug dashes close behind, leaving an irate Chrysalis bumping into the tight spaces they traverse to keep up.

“This is more like it!” Doug exclaims to Chrysalis as they barrel down twisting alleyways and climbing dark staircases. Capper manages to stay out ahead, speeding up every time they nearly catch him. Doug focuses on keeping pace while Chrysalis keeps a wary eye on the shuttered windows above. True to his declaration they don’t run into anyone, though many a creature peeks out from above, especially at the growling racket behind them.

After about ten minutes of running he asks, panting, “Where are we going?”

“We’re almost there,” Capper says as he slows, breathing easily while Doug catches a quick rest. Running in his armor, especially up stairs, takes more out of him than flat jogs. Capper pushes a hanging cloth to the side, exposing a street that looks, in a word, seedy. “Verko’s is two blocks that way.”

Few creatures pass on foot, most dragging or hitched to cage-topped wagons. The cages heading to the various airships parked on the eastern end of the south side of town are all empty, while those coming in are packed to the gills with dull-eyed calves, shorn sheep, and live crustaceans waving bound claws. Unadulterated smells of unwashed flesh and worse assaults them, but it only bothers Doug. He scrubs at his nose, wanting to get away, until he sees a sight far more colorful than the drab browns of the city.

“Hold up. Are those… parrots?” Doug asks.

Or perhaps it isn’t that they are green parrots so much as the female leading her four crate-hauling comrades has the most human-like bust he’s seen, even under her drab, Storm King branded coveralls. They must have heard him, heads turning his way and staring dourly.

“Pirates,” Chrysalis spits out.

Unbeknownst to them, Capper slips away. He whispers to a small naked mole rat, “Psst. Go tell Verko to get ready. That I’m bringing someone who will make my fortune… change.” The mole rat scampers away as Capper returns down the way he came.

“Parrot pirates?” Doug hums to himself as Chrysalis nods. “Wonder what they’re hauling? Stolen goods to fence?”

Chrysalis inspects one of the crates from a distance. “Storm King merchandise.” He looks intrigued and she flashes him a fangy smile. “Why, am I no longer your favorite dictator to support?”

“Something like that,” Doug answers with a wink. He approaches the parrots with a wide grin.

“Sorry,” the female in the lead says, addressing him with a cold, calculating look. “We don’t transport prisoners.”

“Unless you have a valid bounty hunter’s license,” the brawniest of the parrots adds. He looks like he could play a bouncer in one of the seedy bars that dot the commerce district.

“Yeah, even then? No. Not for her.” She points at Chrysalis. “Too risky. Could be a changeling trap. Sorry.”

“She’s not a prisoner,” Doug retorts after their exchange. She raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Don’t worry about her. Name’s Doug. I was just curious what you were hauling.”

“Captain Celaeno.” She sighs as she picks up a clipboard. “Yes, we’re parrots. Yes, we used to be pirates. Yes, we’re hauling Storm King merchandise.” She flicks her head, and the burly parrot at her side lifts the top off one of the crates. He pulls out a Storm King action figure, complete with karate-chop action. A voice comes from inside, the Storm King shouting, “Lightning Bolt! Lightning Bolt!”

“Okay, that’s hilarious,” Doug chuckles, shaking his head. The parrots look decidedly unamused. “How much for one?”

Celaeno checks the clipboard. “Box of two dozen, wholesale? Twenty Storm Bucks. So-”

“I’ll take the box,” Doug says eagerly, pulling out one of the bags. He frowns slightly. “Um, do you take bits? Ten for a Storm Buck, right?”

“Eleven, if I have to get them changed.” Celaeno’s eyes go wide as she sees how many bits he has stashed, then at the two-hundred bit gem he pulls out along with two ten-bits. She tries to push the bits back at him. “Hey, look, I don’t want to rip you off or anything, but-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Doug says quietly, wrapping her clawed hand around the money. “Applebaum goes through toys like nopony’s business. But I did want to ask you a few questions.”

Celaeno stiffens, then glances back at her crew, then to her airship parked in the distance. “Twenty bucks apiece to take you, no questions asked, if we’re going somewhere. More the further out of our way. One hundred if you want to share my cabin.”

“Um,” Doug says, briefly flummoxed. It comes to his notice that Calaeno stands taller than even Capper, which puts her bosom at eye level. It doesn’t help that one claw pulls her dark fabric taut, flaunting the assets that, for some inexplicable reason, the parrot possesses. “Thanks, but I was curious more about what it’s like working for the Storm King. You said you used to be pirates?”

Calaeno shrugs off his refusal. “We prefer the term treasure hunters, and there were a number of places along the Obsidian Cliffs where you could make your fortune.” She offers a wry smile. “Turns out, lots of other creatures had the same idea. And the idea that you didn’t need to find that treasure yourself.” She sighs wistfully. “Those were the days, picking off the Storm King’s privateers. But then after the hippogriffs got hit? There was too much heat, so we moved to calmer waters. Going after sand and paste haulers. Less profit, but less risk.”

“You’re awfully open about this,” Doug says reluctantly. “Aren’t you worried?”

“About what, the Storm King finding out?” Celaeno laughs, more of a high pitched screech. “He knows, and might even give us a bonus for spreading word of his ‘mercy’. We got caught doing something… quite a bit worse to him. Tried to steal one of those.” She points at one of the armored airships hovering high above. “Along with his treasure fleet. Turns out, the Storm King is more competent than we gave him credit for. He caught us almost immediately, and we could only watch as he executed his second-in-command in front of us for betraying him.”

“He what?” Doug asks, astonished.

“Kicked him right off the deck, just like that.” Celaeno’s look is haunted. “What were we going to do after that? Tell him no?” She laughs, but it’s quieter this time, forlorn. “Turns out, I did. He wanted me to plot invasions for him, organize his fleet. But when two cool cats stole his ship out from under him, and I helped them get away?” She shakes her head. “At that point it was work as a cargo hauler for him or take a dive off the bow, and I don’t think he would have let me go through the air with these.” She lifts her cloak to spread her wings, an impressive white and green plumage.

“Wow,” Doug says. He wants to find fault with what the Storm King did, with his treatment of the parrots and hippogriffs. But he seems both extraordinarily lenient, with his treatment of the parrots, and ruthless with his second-in-command. But if all the stories of his ‘leniency’ come from survivors? That’s a bit of a biased group.

“In fact,” Celaeno adds, pointing behind Doug, “one of those cool cats we helped? He’s the one who guided you here.” She chuckles. “Small world, huh?”

“Yeah,” Doug says, but his amusement dies as he sees a dozen burly thugs of all sizes behind Capper. They fan out, not yet pulling out the daggers and short swords at their sides. Doug stiffens, looking around for any escape routes. If Chrysalis allows him to ride her - and sadly she might object - the sheer drop off behind them would allow an aerial escape. But otherwise?

“Sorry about that,” Capper apologizes as he steps up to Doug, acting as if noone is behind him. He places a paw on Doug’s armored shoulder. “Had to lose a tail, if you will.”

A shadow passing over the two gets both to wince, dreading glancing up.

“I think you’ll find,” Commander Tempest Shadow says from above, her tone a mocking high-pitched laugh. “That this tail is considerably harder to lose.”

The unicorn rides a small skiff packed full of Storm Guards, Grubber, and - to Doug’s astonishment - Pinkie Pie. She waves at him as if nothing is going on as everycreature disembarks to an unsteady standoff.

Next Chapter: Ch. 23 - Spirited Response, Part Three Estimated time remaining: 28 Hours, 36 Minutes