Everyday Life With Guardsmares
Chapter 114
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Stellar Seven Purity Ebonshield was hanging as silent and as still as the stalactite to which she was strapped.
Wrapped in a tight-fitting cloak which was dyed to match those same stones, and whose extremities were fixed to her limbs, with a matching cowl over her head, and a full set of leggings underneath, the batpony would appear indistinguishable from her surroundings but for her eyes, which she shut the instant anypony so much as glanced in her direction, lest the reflection of light give her away.
Clinging to the upper end of the rock head-down and tail-up, with a wide canvas belt holding her fast, Ebonshield silently watched the goings-on below in the dimly lit, natural cave which hosted the storehouse of the Rookery of Canterlot. Beneath her lay a room full of barrels, crates, and sacks, with shelves full of mostly-imperishable items, arranged unevenly and with barely sufficient organization to get by.
Spices from the Moon. Salt, sugar, and lime powder. Grain and dried fruit. Beer, wine, oil, and other liquids in kegs. Bars of iron, copper, and lead, sitting on racks.
Manufactured things, too. Cloth, hardware, and tools of all sorts.
In the center of the scarcely-organized chaos, with narrow aisles radiating outwards towards the edges of the room, sat a lonesome but heavy wooden desk piled high with ledgers, attended by a tired-looking Rock mare of the guild of Stockers, Keepers and Clerks. The papers at her hooves mapped each piece of property here to their owners; her job was to ensure that nothing was removed or replaced without being recorded. And her job was also to direct her assistant, a young colt, who corralled and ordered the half-dozen Dustpony laborers responsible for the actual, physical work of storing and retrieving the objects brought or demanded by the customers of the storehouse. If the poor Rocks only knew what lurked not far above their heads, they would be shouting for the Stars.
But for tonight, these mundane things in the main stores were not that which were of interest to her. At the far side of the room from the entranceway into the warehouse, past the manager's desk, and down one of the tight passages which wound between crates and barrels, a section of the room was blocked off with thick bars of iron. A small, swinging gate at the base was the entrance singular, and a Star sat idly in front. And that Star, a young-looking Second -- or perhaps even First -- Hatcheteer, had sitting under their shoulder a long staff, the butt of the shaft braced against the floor, and the tip fitted with a heavy, iron-caged magic lantern, dangling from a short chain. Behind the colt, and behind that barred fence, lay the true objective of this early-morning activity:
The communal armory and depot of the Canterlot Rookery.
The depository made for a curious cache, since the Temples of the Stars kept their weapons and equipment to themselves. But here were kept artifacts which belonged to the Lunars, or to the Houses -- and in particular House Cadena de Vapores, the House of the Reverend Mother Superior Carmen.
Ebonshield’s House.
After all, in the thousand years leading up to the Great Mother's return, the Stars had fought almost exclusively with each other, and so they kept only that which was useful for such warfare. Tools and special devices which would be needed for the eventual war against Equestria had been the province of the Lunars and the Houses which they led. Such a tool or special device as the Stellar Seven now required...
Reflexively, she pressed her left foreleg up against her chest even more tightly, feeling the reassuring bulge of the dagger strapped to the end. She would not let things come to violence, not even if she were to be discovered, but there was still a relief to being armed. The edicts of the Great Mother were difficult to follow, particularly when they went against decades of training, but for Ebonshield, Her word superseded all other rules. In any case, if all went according to plan, neither the watchcolt, nor any of the other ponies in the storehouse would ever know what had transpired at all. She would not even need to leave the stony perch to which she had snuck almost an hour ago, until after everything was all but finished. And that was because tonight, Ebonshield was not playing the role of a thief.
Not entirely, at least.
Her eyes shot to a large wooden pallet covered with a multitude of small barrels. Four of those, labelled as different varieties of vermouth, were brought in today, by Dusts working for a merchant Rock of the Guild of Vintners, Distillers, and Brewers, whom Ebonshield had paid a tidy sum to have them hauled here by a Rock of the Guild of Orchardists, under the conceit that they were not laden with wine, but actually full of almonds and pistachios, the higher taxes and tariffs on which the Orchardist merchant mare wished to avoid. And Ebonshield had paid that Orchardist a hefty fee to store what he thought was some of her own smuggled-down Equestrian liquor, to be resold at a profit on the Rookery's black market at a later date.
Bluff upon bluff; payoff upon payoff.
This was helped in that she was already known to be a smuggler of Equestrian goods: tobacco, avocados, and yes, even some of the liquors of the surface. Unlike the Night Guard, Ebonshield had unfettered access to the palace, including the well stocked storehouse, cellar, and pantry. As for her deception, there was interest mutual for both Rocks to keep their muzzles shut and the keg lids sealed. But if anypony should actually look into the barrels, tomorrow or even later, they would find nothing more than exactly what was stencilled on the outside: red vermouth, from the distilleries of the House Cadena de Vapores, bought on the Moon and imported to the Rookery's Temple of the Shining Stellar Dance a week ago.
Since the 'Maestro Cazador' had been so appreciated by her battle-siblings in the quaternion, Ebonshield had thought that some joyous occasion might merit the imbibing of the speciality of her own House, and decided to keep a ready supply of that liquor -- as well as a few more cases of Maestro Cazador, also stashed in the Equestrian outpost of her Temple. And now she found herself using some of that liquor on behalf of her patron, as well as some of her own funds for the bribes.
Yet overall this experience was still a net gain, what with her generous bodyguard salary and on top of this, her profits as a smuggler. As a result of all that preparation, whether intended for this operation or not, she had four barrels of vermouth to store.
But any would-be inspectors would also find that, curiously, none of the four were full past half-way, perhaps a sign that somepony was being dishonest about the volume of a liquor sale -- a serious offense. An extraordinarily close inspection might perhaps find that two of the barrels had a little hair in them...
Suggested background music: Russell Shaw - 'Greatwood', from 'Fable' [2005]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgiUBD_L-cE
...The same two barrels whose lids were presently moving.
With her chest squeezed tightly against the stalactite by the strap, which made breathing difficult, Purity Ebonshield watched with apprehension as the wooden tops slowly lifted upwards, their occupants surveying the situation around them before emerging from their hiding places. The storehouse's primary Rock was at her table, scribbling away as she described what she did to the apprentice-assistant, while the group of Dust gathered on a nearby stoop, glad to have a moment's rest after what must have been a busy day. That meant the coast was clear for her two initiates, whose kegs were far out of sight from both the central bureau and the Star in front of the gate.
Slowly, but steadily, they rose up and out of the two barrels, naked, but covered in dirt and grime. Ebonshield couldn’t help but grin as she watched them execute her plan, while thinking of the schemes which they themselves had proposed. After all, they were now Firsts of the School of the Shining Stellar Dance; this was only proper that they have the opportunity to come up with ideas of their own on how to burgle the armory. And if those ideas had been any good, she might have used them.
But Carto had thought to sneak in through the ceiling, as Ebonshield herself had done, before swooping down after the storehouse was closed for the morning, slitting the Hatcheteers' throats. The plan was certainly 'clean,' but this would also make obvious that an intrusion was made. She wished for a more subtle infiltration that would not be noticed until some time later -- if, indeed, at all. Furthermore, the task of sneaking in across the ceiling had been slow and laborious, and all four of her legs still ached from the exertion of slowly picking her way from stalactite to stalactite.
Even now, resting on this perch was hardly much rest at all, upside-down as she was and with her breathing constrained by the buckle that allowed her legs opportunity to recover. And she had to stay there for some time yet more, only then to sneak back out the way she came. Certainly, Ebonshield had tools -- such as the padded horseshoes she now wore to silence her hooves, and the special brushes affixed to her leading wing-arms to muffle their noise, and these did help. But, as gymnastically-inclined as they were, this maneuver was still well beyond the physical capabilities of her young students.
Águila, for her part, had proposed to start a fire -- or at least create the appearance of one using smoke-bombs -- and thereby ensure that the storehouse would be evacuated while the heist was completed. This, at least, offered some semblance of legitimacy, but Ebonshield was certain that any sudden fire would be treated as suspicious, and the place would be searched. Then the loss would be discovered, and there would not be such ease to dismiss the item in question for being simply misplaced, or otherwise accidentally unaccounted-for. She had pointed out the flaws in those two paths -- the path of the assassin and the path of the arsonist -- and how they were not generally appropriate to merely steal a thing. No, it was the path of the conspirator, and of the thief, which the two must tread.
For her part, after setting up the conspiracy, Ebonshield would now be the watchful teacher, who inspected the work of her students, who tidied up any mess which they may make, and who collected the spoils of their victory.
Beneath her, Carto had already silently opened up one of the other four casks by slowly jimmying off the deliberately-loose top hoop using a thin prybar, and Águila had begun to siphon vermouth from the barrel into her former hiding place using a black rubber hose. Ebonshield could barely make out the sound of the trickling liquor as Carto sneakily attacked the other container. Once their point of entry had been secured, only then would they move on their objective.
Motion at the entrance caught the Seventh’s eye, and another Hatcheteer entered the storehouse, while the two at the entrance traded places with their own replacements. The timing was good; a shift change after her students escaped their barrels was exactly what she hoped for. It would generate noise and motion that would distract from the activities of her Firsts.
With some energy, the newcomer headed up to the central desk, where the Rock in charge gave a knowing but respectful nod of her head, and the Dust-colts all bowed deeply and obsequiously to the Star. After briefly acknowledging their motions, he headed over to the iron-barred armory, and the fellow he had come to replace.
«Good morning, Rafael.»
The current watchcolt waved a tired hoof, sighing. «Morning, Samuel.»
Samuel glanced around. «Is anything happening?»
Tired Rafael just shook his head. «Not really. Just the usual traffic of Rocks and Dust in and out. And a couple of 'special orders' from here at the start of the night. You know the kind. I guess since you're showing up now, they should be coming back down here soon.»
‘Oh?’
‘Somepony in the Night Guard has loaned something out of the armory?’
That is interesting; Ebonshield had thought that these were being saved for some future operation.
«So they're trying another round of that, are they? I thought they gave up last week. How many are out?»
‘Not only is something being used, but has been used before?’
This was a rumor which she had not yet heard. As far as Ebonshield knew, the communal armory had gone almost untouched since the Rookery's founding; storage for what had been used in the assault, rather than anything required for future work as the Great Mother's Night Guard.
Beneath his black Star-cloak, the retiring guard pulled out his keyring and hoofed the items over to his replacement, who duly accepted them.
«Just two.»
As he fixed the keys to his own waist-belt, the new guard opened his eyes wide in shock. «Two? Hardly seems worth the bother. What are just two Stars going to accomplish?»
A yawn and a shrug accompanied the response. «Not much, I suppose, but I gather that there's been a few close calls with some of the juniors. I guess someone decided to restrict the suits to senior Stars only.»
‘Suits!’
They couldn't be talking about the very kind of item Ebonshield was there to pilfer, could they? If there really were two of them being used right now, and if they had been used a week ago as well, this could mean that they were being inventoried more frequently, and that the theft would consequently be noticed...
... But on the other hoof, by her count, there were well over thirty of them, and this would be easier to put down as a loss to carelessness and a failure to account for all of them earlier.
‘Hmm.’
This would probably work out to her advantage, though the risks were certainly elevated.
As the two Hatcheteers traded places, Rafael hoofed over his light-pole. «Anyways, thanks. May the Great Mother protect you, and all that. Anything going on outside of here I should know about?»
At that, Samuel beamed a grin. «Anything going on? You mean you haven't heard? I would have thought for sure the underphases would be blathering all about it by now.»
«Nopony's come in here for over an hour, and anyways when somepony does come in, the only things they ever want to chat about is the whereabouts of their stuff. Why, did something happen?»
The on-duty Star snorted. «Something happened, all right. That fool Marcos pulled over a dozen Meteors, including some who were topside with the Night Guard, and made a move on his sister just after midnight.»
That got a rise out of the otherwise sleepy looking Rafael. «You're joking. He actually had the balls to follow through on all of his banter, that shadow-spawn?»
Samuel just grinned even harder, shaking his head. «I swear on my House it's true. And here's the kicker: he bloody lost.»
Rafael emitted a confused chuckle. «Now I know you're pulling my wing. Marcos and a dozen Meteors? Against a lone Stellar? Granted she's the Seven; Eight in all but title. I mean I certainly wouldn't want to be one of the dozen standing up against that cunt, and I imagine she wrote out a few names for her Temple's little book, but you can't expect me to believe they didn't down her in the end.»
His partner snorted, still grinning. «No joke, they really lost. Fuck a goat, the Six of Meteors is strung up in the oubliette right now, that little banjo-shitter. Although I should say that they weren't up against just the Stellar alone. She was down here with that biped-monkey-bloke and his little menagerie of Equestrian guardsmares -- which includes a unicorn. They all joined in, and from what I hear they swatted down the Meteors like they were a pack of flies, all without a scratch in return.»
He leaned in, chuckling. «And I wouldn't let the Stellar Seven find out you call her words like that, not when you hear what she did to her brother after the fight: she took one of his bloody eyes right out; just sliced it off like a rotten fig about to spoil the bunch. This was in the Grand Hall itself, if you can believe it -- and the Balladeer was even right there, but as soon as Marcos asks can he please get his eyeball back, the Eclipse starts talking rules and reg, 'Oh it wasn't an official duel or training exercise, can't heal your eye, you fucker, sorry.' He's got some lip to him, he does. But like every Eclipse, he knows how to lick the right arses.»
Incredulous, the off-duty colt just shook his head. «Unbelievable. Better his eyeball than one of his sausage-balls, I guess. But we're just shitting all over the Great Mother down here with this nonsense, aren't we? Edict of Blood, Her Holy Arse. She's going to have to knock a few heads about if She wants that one to stand up. I'd better get some sleep, and just pray to the Great Mother's Almighty cunt that his whole mess blows over by the time I wake up.»
Still chuckling, the energetic new guard waved a hoof. «Sure thing. Have a good day, Rafael.»
«Yeah, you too. Don't work too hard, Samuel. Great Mother, this place doesn't deserve it.»
By the time the two guards' conversation had finished, Carto and Águila had finished siphoning half of the two full barrels into their hiding places, completing the deception of their ingress. If anypony questioned those four barrels, then even if the importer on paper admitted the bribe he took, his story wouldn’t match the facts: he would admit to having smuggled in nuts, but the barrels were just underloaded with wine.
Now, with their tools hidden away in a sack, the time had come for her two young apprentices to actually acquire the item of her desire. The method of this was very simple: they were young, small, and well-trained in contortions. And the bars had been made to block the bulky frames of rebellious Shadows, Dust, or Rocks, not the lithe figures of two outstanding Stellar Dancers.
Picking their way past the storehouse contents, the two Stellar Firsts soon arrived at the edge of the iron fence, along the cave wall. With the new guard, Samuel, snickering to himself as he surveyed the warehouse and settled into his post, blissfully unaware of the thievery going on not forty hooves away from him, little time was needed for them to sneak in, twisting to fit just so between the bars. In this capacity, they exceeded even the Seven, and stepping on padded hooves, they easily made their way to the armor rack and silently lifted up a single white suit of linen armor underlay, concealing it in a burlap sack before escaping the same way they came.
Seconds later, they passed through the fence once more, along with their bundled-up haul. This they left for Ebonshield, piled with a group of otherwise indistinguishable bags not far from the armory itself. And now they retreated back to the barrels to collect their tools, sneaking off to the shelves to hide the used ones while they assembled the final pieces of this trick.
After a few more minutes passed, the Rock at the desk put down her quill, gave a final to-and-fore rock with a blotter to set the fresh ink, and declared the paperwork up-to-date, and the warehouse closed for the morning.
As if in defiance of that order, a pair of Stars dressed as the Great Mother's Night Guard appeared at the entrance to the warehouse. These two weren’t here for the main storage room, however, and they proceeded directly to the armory, without a word to the Rocks or Dust. Even the guard at the fence, Samuel, did little more than nod and watch as the two Stars removed their outer armor plate and then the special linen underlay, before taking the items, opening the gate, and depositing them inside the armory itself.
The whole return of the armor pieces was done in a matter of a minute or two, and the two Night Guard Stars evacuated the area just as a group of a dozen Shadows had begun to slowly filter into the warehouse, their bare coats caked with dirt and dust, carrying brooms and bags, and watched menacingly by the two new door-guards, as well as the armory watchpony. Heckled, teased, and even mildly abused by the retiring Dust, they fanned out and began to sweep the store room's floor of dust and dirt, collecting the debris in their bags.
And Carto and Águila were among them, with the brooms and dust-pans they smuggled in as part of their toolkit.
‘Excellent!’
The wonderful thing about Shadows was that nopony ever bothered to count them. Nopony, certainly not the Rocks or Stars, nor even the Dust luggage-haulers, would be bothered in the slightest if there were a few more or a few less than when the morning cleaning started.
One of the Dust laborers, a bulky-looking colt, even gave a quick swat of the wing at the backside of Águila's head when she passed the lane he was monitoring. «Missed a spot, you miscreant. By the Great Mother, you're so disgusting, you're dragging more filth in here than you're cleaning up.»
As the grimy Shadow she pretended to be, instead of the proud Star she actually was, Ebonshield’s student dutifully took the Dust-colt's blow and insults, bowed her head, and re-swept the area in question, her hoofstep-silencing hoof-pads resembling the scrubbing swabs of a cleaner just closely enough as for any distinction to be moot. The other Dusts similarly abused the Shadows as the cleaning proceeded, taking out their frustrations at being the second-darkest Phase of the Moon upon those a shade darker than them.
«We've worked all night, you lazy fuckers, and we want to go home! Get the job done right, and done quick, or we'll beat it out of you!»
A quarter of an hour of cajoling and wing-swats saw the end of the Shadows and their dirty work, and soon came the lineup at the exit. While the Rock and her apprentice watched, the two Stars at the gate searched each member of the dimmer Phases for theft and then allowed them to leave, getting the Dust done relatively quickly before subjecting the Shadows to a much more thorough shakedown. Of course, Ebonshield’s two apprentices had absolutely nothing on them of value. No weapons, no tools beyond those required to maintain their present appearances, and certainly nothing stolen from the storehouse or armory.
As predicted, neither the guards nor the Rocks noticed that there were twelve coming in and now fourteen heading out. The other Shadows know, of course, but they were forbidden to speak in the presence of their betters, except to answer a question.
And nopony was about to ask them anything.
Not that the Shadows would have spoken up if they were permitted. Their bribe for silence was the cheapest of all; even the giving of this had been trivial, requiring no more than a whisper in a passing street-sweeper's ear and a few paper-padded coins tossed into their garbage-bag, quickly shuffled to the bottom, out of sight and notice. A welcome relief from the complicated arrangements for privacy with the Rocks, for the Shadows were often the friends to the Stellar Dancers.
They were useful allies for entering places unnoticed, and despite the efforts of the Hatcheteers, the Shadows had learned to smuggle things through even the most thorough examinations. More than once Ebonshield had passed some of her Temple's payment into their hooves, along with her weapons and her body whole, and she had yet to see them fail to deliver either her, or her blades, to whatever Mother-forsaken place had been her pleasure to be conveyed.
But for them, she knew, these acts were not just about the money. There was the feeling that they were taking advantage of their social betters -- by sneaking things under their muzzles, and being disobedient where they were supposed to obey. They had a kind of kinship with her and her Stellar Dancers as well, being outcasts of a sort just as they were -- privileged and wealthy outcasts of a high social rank, to be sure, but outcasts nonetheless. And even though to be a Shadow was to either have been utterly disgraced in life, or else to have performed so badly in the mental and physical examinations of the crèche that no other Phase wished to bid for them, many of the Shadows were by no means dim-witted or lame. Inevitably, the strongest and cleverest of them established a hierarchy, and these creatures understood the value of a clandestine alliance with a group of Stars.
The Seven watched as Carto and Águila were at last allowed out of the storehouse, along with the rest of the Shadows. They would sneak away on their own, when the time was right. With the Dust having already departed, the Rocks left now as well, and the three Stars settled in for the long, boring shift of the morning.
The two at the entryway called out to their comrade at the armory. «Alright, Samuel, things are all clear. Let's have a trot around the hallway, shall we?»
«Right! On my way.»
The armory-guard left his post inside the storehouse to join his mates outside.
‘Good.’
As they set off on a brief patrol of the exit corridor, Ebonshield moved a forehoof and unbuckled the strap, falling from the ceiling and gliding down to the ground on silent wings. Moments later, she retrieved the prize-sack hidden in plain sight, strapping the items tightly to her back, underneath her camouflaged cloak. Now, while the guards were on patrol, she hustled forwards on her padded hooves, leaving the storehouse, jumping up into the air and climbing for the ceiling only when she heard the sound of their hoofsteps approaching.
As Ebonshield yet again clung to a stalactite, the three Hatcheteers passed back beneath her, but she was only twenty hooves down the storehouse hallway, and still within sight of the two Stars who took up positions flanking the entrance. Slowly, laboriously, whenever the opportunity arose, she picked her way from hanging rock to hanging rock, in just the same manner as she’d come in; waiting for moments when the guards were lost in conversation, or when their backs were turned to her in another patrol. This was harder now that there were no visiting Rocks and Dust with cargo to store or retrieve, and the guards looked up at the ceiling, of course, but only occasionally, and always they missed her form, hidden in the busy ceiling above.
Almost a full hour had passed when, at last, she rounded the final corner and was completely out of sight. Even so, she carefully picked her way through the ceiling for another hundred hooves, not wanting to make any noise or leave any hoofprints. That ate up another half-hour before she was at last free to go about the Rookery as a proper inhabitant, instead of a thief. But before that, while still clinging to the ceiling, Ebonshield first removed all of her tools of thievery. The camouflaged clothing, the hoof-pads, the wing-silencers.
When at last her hooves touched the ground, she was a black-cloaked Star like any other, with a nondescript load on her back, and in short order, she exited the Rookery and made her way back to the palace.
Exhausted from the long night, she arrived at the door to her quarters.
"Okay, now give me pouty! POUTY!"
Furrowing her brow, she pushed open the door. There was nopony in the common area; the sounds were coming from the bedroom of the Specialist Sparkshower.
"COME ON, SPARKS, I said POUT!"
‘What exactly is going on in there?’
Ebonshield stepped up to the bedroom and leaned an ear up to the door.
"I'm trying!"
"Well, try harder! Look, it's simple, okay? Just imagine you got uninvited to the Gala. Anonymous isn't taking you any more -- you have to stay here all by yourself."
"What?! That's... That's not fair!"
Acting silently, the batpony twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open a sliver. The Specialist Sparkshower was lying on the bed, wearing her cuirass but with her helmet on the covers beside her, looking upset.
"Right! And the reason he's uninvited you is because you stuck your tuft out at him."
From behind a camera floating in the air, the Specialist Glamerspear was waving a hoof and barking orders.
"But I didn't mean anything wrong by it! And anyways what's wrong with sticking my tuft out? Lots of mares stick theirs out! I should be allowed to stick mine out if I want to!"
At this new expression of indignant disappointment, the unicorn smiled and Ebonshield heard a click from the camera.
"Perfect! Hold it just like that!"
The camera whirred and clicked, held aloft by the unicorn's telekinesis, as Glamerspear shuffled side to side, the pegasus following her with a pouty gaze.
"...Okay! That's enough with the armor on, all right? Let's try something else next."
She headed over to the desk where there were spread out all sorts of magazines with photos of mares in very seductive poses.
‘Oho…’
Perhaps it would be worth staying awake for a little while longer.
Ebonshield smiled and opened the door enough to push her head through. "I apologize for the interruption, but do you need any assistance?"
Instantly, the eyes of both Specialists went very wide, and they looked at her in shock.
Sparkshower quickly dismounted the bed. "Uhm, Sergeant, this isn't what it looks like."
"Oh? Specialist Glamerspear is not taking the pictures scandalous and erotic of you?"
They exchanged glances, and she changed her tune. "Uh, maybe, a little, yeah."
Ebonshield smiled even more widely. "Excellent. If you wish for privacy, then I will leave you. But otherwise, if I can be of any help, then I am here."
Sparkshower sighed. "Well, actually..."
‘Yes...?’
"...Do you think we could use your room in about an hour? You've got those super sun-blocking curtains, and I need a darkroom to develop the photos afterwards. I promise we won't make a mess!"
‘Ah.’
Not wanting to show her disappointment, the batpony kept up her smile. "Of course. I will simply put a few things away first, then I will sleep on the sofa while you work."
Artemis smiled amiably. "Gosh, thanks! I'll make sure to open the window afterwards so there's no smell either."
‘Smell?’
Ebonshield was not entirely certain that this friendliness would not eventually get her into trouble.
Exhausted, she deposited the morning's spoils in the closet, removed her armor, grabbed her blanket, and settled down onto the couch in the common room to sleep.
Recommended viewing: Punching the Clock
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kerUbfOQTW0
