Phillip Songwell

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Suggested background music: Austin Wintory - 'Everyone has a Price', from 'Assasin's Creed: Syndicate' [2015]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8P0nOoetWjM

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"That's it. That's all you've got to do, Songwell. Think you can manage it?"

Phillip Songwell, Foremost Teamster of Bitsmount Silver Mine, was not sure that he could.

"I don't know, Mister Bitsmount. It sounds simple, but what if we're found out?"

Across from him, his boss, Galloway Bitsmount, sniffed his cognac and took a sip. "We won't be found out, Songwell -- not if you stick to the script. Do I have to go over it again?"

Swirling the expensive liquor in its fancy glass around with one hoof, he put the other on the table. "... We'll go in front of Celestia, and you'll tell her it was your idea to reduce the timber allotment. You did it because you were under a lot of pressure to improve the productivity of the mine..."

Mr. Bitsmount held the glass up to the window high up in the ceiling, admiring the color of his drink in what little light percolated through the stained-glass window into the basement tavern.

"... You didn't realize that somepony could have gotten hurt. You didn't realize that that's why there've been so many mine collapses. You're ashamed to know that your decision could have caused disaster. You have trouble sleeping at night now that it's been made clear to you what you've done."

The young mine-owner cocked an eye at him. "... Lay on the emotions thick and heavy, Songwell."

With a frown, Songwell pawed at his mug of ale. "Is that really all it's going to take?"

Bitsmount guffawed. "Pfft! You shed a few tears, Songwell, and watch Her Majesty lap them up. She loves serving as a confessor, hearing ponies regret all the misdeeds they've done. And she loves forgiving them even more. It's not just ponies, either..."

Another long sniff was followed with a quick sip from his boss.

"... How d'you think Discord keeps getting out? She even goes and forgives him, whatever-the-Tartarus he is, instead of keeping him locked up."

"I s'pose that's true." Lifting the sizable mug, Songwell took a gulp of the Ploughpony's Brown Ale. The cool, malty flavor did much to assuage his nerves about this whole affair.

Lying in open court to Her Majesty the Princess!

It was almost treasonable. He got a bit hot under the collar just thinking about it.

Hopefully, nopony noticed.

"Take another drink, Songwell. You look like you're steaming up over there, and the dense air in this cellar can't be helping."

Obliging his boss, he did as he was told.

‘What the Tartarus, he's paying for it anyways.’

And a lot more, too, if he came out clean at the end of this inquest.

"Anyways, after you've confessed and, ideally, broken down in tears while proclaiming your intention to resign post-haste, I'll rush to your side and, reassuring you that forgiveness is the root of all charity, or some other such drivel, ask, nay, demand to be punished in your stead."

It did seem like it would make a striking scene. Songwell could just picture the headlines on the evening papers.

'BITSMOUNT THROWS SELF ON MERCY OF COURT TO SPARE TRUSTED TEAMSTER FROM DONJON'

Likely to set a lot of ponies talking about-and-about what a good chap Galloway Bitsmount the Younger has turned out to be after all, in spite of all those stories of wild and debauched parties coming from his mansion. The prospect of attending -or, Celestia forbid!- perhaps even hosting an event of Songwell’s own with the paycheque Bitsmount had offered him for this did lubricate things quite a bit.

Songwell nodded. "It does sound a right solid plan, sir. I'll manage it."

That put a smile on his opposite's face, and Bitsmount’s starched collar brushed against his coat as he straightened his neck. "Of course it is, Songwell. Oldest one in the book. Cheers."

With his boss' prompting, they both took another drink -- Bitsmount of his hundred-bits-a-glass cognac, Songwell of his five-bits-a-mug Ploughpony's. He'd turned his nose up when Songwell asked for it, but ol' Ploughpony had never let him down. And, anyways, in times of stress, it weren't hardly uncommon for a pony to turn to a familiar brook.

There was still one doubt lingering in his mind, though.

"The way I hear it, though, Mister Bitsmount, it ain't 'er Majesty Princess Celestia we've got to worry about..."

Unwilling to speak such dark words in any degree of openness, even though the pub was half-empty and any sound would have been dampened by the fiddle-player in the far corner, he leaned in conspiratorially.

"... It's the sister who serves as Her Majesty's truth-sayer we've got to worry about, what with 'er strange ways peerin' into dreams an' all."

Galloway Bitsmount, twenty years Songwell’s junior, sneered. "Ah, yes, the bloody blue baby witch..."

Horrified by his use of such a term, even though he might have thought it himself, Songwell glanced around to make sure nopony heard.

Bitsmount waved him off his nervous inspection. "... Why do you think we're meeting in this veritable dive of a tavern, down in the under-tiers near the wharf?"

The Cackling Cormorant was perhaps a bit too nautical for Songwell’s tastes, but it seemed a perfectly serviceable establishment. It was clean, reasonably lively, and -- despite being in a basement -- it wasn't so dim that he couldn't see across the table, nor so smoky as to choke him. But, then again, Galloway Bitsmount was a pony of far more refined tastes than him.

"Why are we meeting here, sir?"

Now it was his employer's turn to lean in close.

"I know a pony."

He scrunched up his upper lip and nodded his head to one side. "... Well, I know a pony who knows a pony... who came to one of my little parties, who happens to be friends with a pony who's had dealings with a pony who has conducted business with a pony who knows a certain pony avowed of special skills..."

Leaning back, he tapped his snout with his free hoof.

"... skills that can help us with that particular problem."

Bitsmount surveyed the drinking-room out of the corners of his eyes.

"... And their representative is supposed to be meeting us here this afternoon."

"I see."

Songwell was not particularly eager to meet anypony who claimed to be able to thwart an alicorn's powers. About the only ones who could had already gone down in history as the worst villains Equestria had seen so far. Discord, The Bitch-Queen of the Changelings, that madcolt from the Crystal Kingdom...

Well, this was perhaps less along the lines of challenging the Princess' rule directly, and more along the lines of simply subverting one of her strange sister's powers.

There was a small clatter from the doorway, and Songwell peered back around the edge of the booth to see a group of four rowdy-looking dockworkers stroll in with their afternoon pay, laughing and barking orders at the innkeeper, who hastened to put himself at their disposal.

As he escorted them to a large booth in the far corner of the room, Songwell saw an old mare trundle in after them. She looked ancient, with a grey mane, wrinkled lips, and a little white cane in one hoof. What was most striking, though, was the poor cut of her cloth.

Songwell’s employer was well-dressed in a crisp suit with a starched collar and neat cuffs. Across from Bitsmount, Songwell had on his nice wool suit with matching waistcoat, and a blue neckerchief for a bit of color. Even those four longshoreponies, fresh from unloading a boat no doubt, managed to look proper in their striped caps and neat vests.

But the old mare, freshly arrived, had clothing that was far beneath even the modest standards of the pub. As she appeared to be heading for a booth nearby, Songwell got a good look at what must have once been elegant finery. There were deep tears in the shoulders of her patterned coat, and from beneath it poked white lace cuffs, torn almost to tatters. Slung around her neck was a collar of fox fur which was matted and riddled with mange. She even had a fascinator pinned to her mane, but its feathers had all withered away to the bone.

Across from the teamster, Bitsmount almost instinctively sneered at the display of abject poverty.

Even Songwell couldn’t help but bury his snout in his beer, lest he appear to be staring. Hoisting his mug, he took a deep draught as she passed by.

Only to almost spit it out in shock as she casually seated herself next to his employer! Galloway Bitsmount looked so repelled by the creature sitting next to him that he couldn’t even find the words to express his disgust.

And now that she was right in front of him, Songwell saw, to his shock, that her eyes were white -- all white!

‘Poor old mare must be blind as a bat!’

With his employer mute, Songwell cleared his throat. "Ahem. Ma'am, I think you've made-"

"Shhht! Hold your tongue!"

The crone's cackling, low whisper made Songwell feel like spiders were crawling up his legs. But all she did otherwise was simply sit and stare forward with her blind eyes.

Songwell exchanged a telling glance with the noblepony across from him.

Could this be the 'representative' he was talking about?

Licking his lips, Bitsmount opened his mouth. "Are you here from... the Fami-"

"Quiet!"

Again the biting whisper that seemed to thicken the air. This was just confusing. She was sitting there, head awkwardly held at strange angles which made it obvious she couldn't see a single thing. This mute shusher couldn't possibly be who they were waiting for.

"Oh, there you are, Granny!"

From behind the bar, Songwell heard the innkeeper bellow at their table.

"Yes, here I is, and I've been waiting to be served now for several-a-minute, chucker-out!"

Trotting over, the barcolt was all smiles despite the insult. "Now, Granny, you seem to have mistaken these fine gentlecolts' booth for the bar, and their bench for a stool. Come now, your usual seat is this way."

He held out a hoof and tried to guide her away.

"What? Rubbish! Rubbish!"

Despite her protestations, she got to her hooves, but once freed from the seat, she turned around and squinted at Songwell and Bitsmount.

Her friendly greeting, accompanied by a toothless grin and a withered-hoof wave, just confused the two of them even more, but, again smiling, the barkeep escorted her gently off to her perch at the brass rail, getting her settled in with a drink, before she left the bar once again to approach Songwell’s and Bitsmount’s table.

"... Why... It's Eustace! And Horace! Oh, but we haven't time to talk now, have we? We'll meet tomorrow evening for cribbage behind the old mill in Mitre Street."

Having spotted "Granny’s" departure from her stool, the barkeep rushed over to Bitsmount’s side of the table, leaning his forehooves on her shoulders to usher away the decrepit mare once more.

"Dreadfully sorry for that interruption, gentlecolts. Please accept my apologies."

Songwell’s employer seemed to be either deep in thought or deep in his cognac, so he answered. "It's no trouble. But who was that?"

The barkeep shrugged his shoulders. "A long-time local patron. Everypony 'round these parts just calls her 'Granny,' though a few will call her 'Granny Nag' behind her back, on account of her age. Don't worry, she's no trouble at all."

"As you say, then."

Dismissing him with a nod, Songwell received a bow in exchange. Bitsmount was still huddled up with his drink, squinting at 'Granny Nag.’

"Shouldn't we keep our eyes open for the contact, Mister Bitsmount?"

He stared up at him. "That was the contact, Songwell."

He scrunched up his snout in confusion. "Beg pardon, sir?"

"Tomorrow, behind the old mill in Mitre Street. Come now, Songwell, you can't have missed that."

It seemed to him like nothing more than the ranting of an old crone, but Bitsmount seemed to be taking it seriously, for he downed the rest of his pricey cognac in a single gulp. Pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his mouth, he nodded at the teamster.

"... Finish your swill, Songwell, and then let's go. We'll meet up tomorrow afternoon."

Taking a long sip of his ale, Songwell peered into the smoke at the strange messenger mare. Sitting by herself, she appeared to be carrying on a conversation with the empty seat next to her. Well, if this was how Bitsmount's contact did business, things were likely to get stranger by the end of it.

But there was going to be a bag of bits in it for him at the end, at least.

Next Chapter: Chapter 33 Estimated time remaining: 32 Hours, 8 Minutes