Ch. 10: Sailors Take Warning

Sunfish's eyelids were dangerously drooping as she held her watch in the crow's nest. Only a faint sliver of moon and a few dashes of stars cut through the overcast night sky. Everything else was swathed in darkness as far as she could see, and had been that way since she'd started her shift. Sunfish sighed and lazily pushed her lantern on its hook until it swung on its own, causing bizarre shadows to shift around her. As the lantern swung in and out of her line of sight, something seemed to flicker into life beyond it. Sunfish blinked. A speck of light kept disappearing behind the arc of the lantern. She halted the lamp with her hoof. Yes, there was definitely another light out there. She turned down the flame of her own lantern to see better. A hazy silhouette of another schooner was just barely visible, and the light she'd spotted was flickering on the prow.

"Captain," she called down, unsure if Rum Runner was still on deck.

"See something, Sunfish?"

"Aye," she answered. "Schooner off the starboard bow, 2 o'clock. About 300 yards out."

Rum Runner, who'd been anxiously pacing the deck below, went to the starboard rail to see for himself. He had to adjust to the heavy darkness before he could make out the dim ship and its weakly burning lantern. It was too close for comfort, but its sails were sagging and haphazardly trimmed. It couldn't be moving very fast, if it was moving at all. It appeared to be abandoned, but the lamp on its prow suggested otherwise.

"What's going on?"

Hempy Hooves propped his forelegs on the railing next to Rum Runner.

"I thought you'd hit the hay," Rum said to his guest.

"Couldn't sleep," said Hempy briefly. He looked nervous and his purple ears twitched with every creak of the vessel. "What's out there?"

"Another ship, but we're not sure what it's doing. It's not underway, but somepony must be on it. They've got a lamp lit on its bow. Something must have happened to them."

"What kind of something?" Hempy asked, the pitch of his voice rising slightly.

"Not sure," Rum Runner unhelpfully answered. "I'm going to send out a dinghy to look it over."

"Can I go?" Pele inquired. She fluttered above the two, an eager smile on her face.

"You're up too?"

"I don't like sleeping when I know I could be missing something interesting. I don't sleep much anyway. Why be unconscious when you could be productive?"

That explains the hummingbird cutie mark, thought Rum. He adjusted his tricorne. "You can do what you want. Just make sure to bring that sword thing of yours. Who knows what's over there. It could be a trap."

"What could be a trap? Where?" Cheer Chime, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as Pyroclastic Pele, had managed to sneak in on the other side of Rum Runner. Her cuts had been dressed and a bandage encircled her middle.

"Doesn't anypony rest around here?"

"I rested all day. I'm good to go. Lead me to the trap!" Cheer exclaimed.

"You're staying put," Pele told her firmly.

"I volunteer to stay put as well," offered Hempy, raising a hoof.

"Alright, good," Rum quickly interjected. "I'll round up some crew members and we can get this taken care of."

Soon, the dinghy and its passengers were lowered to the quiet sea. The pirate ship (the name of which was still a mystery to the ever-curious Pele) had been turned into what little wind there was to halt it without anchoring, as a retreat could be called for at any time. Pele adjusted the hilt of her double-bladed weapon, making sure not to release the lock which kept the blades sheathed inside. As she did so, she looked over her comrades. There were three of them, all gruff-looking stallions with earthy pelts and clumsily cut manes. They didn't look about to introduce themselves, so Pele struck up the conversation as they settled the oars in the oarlocks.

"I didn't get your names. I'm Pyroclastic Pele." She grinned gregariously at the group. Her smile was not returned, but at least they answered.

"Triton," said a deep-voiced gray and black unicorn. He seemed to be the neatest member of the outfit; his mane was certainly the tidiest. Pele noted the hefty gun by his hooves.

"I'm Squib," said a stocky brown earth pony. He carried a heavy, long-handled mallet on a belt.

"They call me the Flying Scot," announced the remaining pegasus in an exotic accent. "Ye can just call me Scot, lass." The clay-red and sandy brown sailor winked at Pele playfully. She got the feeling she'd like this fellow.

"Quiet down, Scot," Triton instructed. "We don't know what's out here."

"Don't ye tell me ta quiet down," Scot snorted. "Ye seem ta be the one splashing those oars loud enough ta be heard halfway across the Kelpie."

"No use squabblin'," said Squib. "Only makes more noise. Now shush an' look at that ship. I got a bad feelin' about that thing."

The mystery ship loomed ominously before them. As they drew closer, Pele noticed its name. "The Roseway," she read in a whisper.

"I know that name," Scot said. "That's a seaweeding schooner from Hock Harbor. Almost worked it meself, years ago. Maybe it's been plundered, though that seems strange for a ship carrying naught but seaweed."

Once they were alongside The Roseway, Pele and Scot carried a rope ladder up to the railing for the two grounded ponies to climb. They scanned the deck as they waited. Lines were strewn about messily and seaweeding rakes and nets were left splintered and torn. Aside from the soft slap of the waves and the groan of old wood, the ship was silent. Triton and Squib soon joined them, weapons at the ready.

"What if it's haunted?" Squib whispered.

"Don't be absurd," said Triton. The unicorn walked slowly across the deck toward the cabin doors. "If anypony's aboard, speak up now," he boomed. No answer. The four ponies waited with pricked ears. Triton knocked on the cabin doors with his hoof. After a moment, a faint rustling came from inside. Pele's hair bristled.

"Triton, I think we should get out of here," she ventured. As much as she wanted to know what had happened to The Roseway, she was beginning to suspect a terrible force behind those doors.

At first, Pele thought Triton had listened to her and had turned around to leave the cabin alone. When he gave the doors a mighty, wood-shattering buck, her hopes at a clean escape were dashed. Despite her instinct of self-preservation, a surge of excitement raced through her as she grabbed her weapon.

A dozen undead ponies poured from the cabin almost before Triton's hind legs had returned to the deck. Triton bounded away and whipped back around to take aim. He fired swiftly and calmly, his accuracy impressing Pele. She released the blades of her weapon and launched into the fray, staying clear of Triton's shots. An electric thrill spilled over her as she felt the resistance of zombie flesh against her double sword. She neatly severed several hungry heads before pulling up to assess the battlefield. More of the living dead staggered into the open. She wished the night wasn't so dark. As it was, she couldn't count the monsters as they surged forward. It was clear enough, however, that her group was sorely outnumbered. Despite their skill, it was much more reasonable to retreat than to risk an infection.

"Let's go, come on!" Pele announced, taking charge. She swooped toward the rail, prepared to defend the non-winged ponies as they climbed back down. Pele hesitated and blinked in surprise. The dinghy was gone.

Scot followed her shocked gaze. "Well, there's trouble for ye," he said guilelessly. "And looks like ol' Roseway has lost her own boats to boot. Hold up now, what's that, eh?" Scot gestured with his hoof at an oblong shadow on the water a few yards out from The Roseway.

"That's our dinghy," gasped Pele, nearly dropping her weapon.

A raspy groan caused her to about-face. The rotten visage of a zombie pegasus was mere inches from her nose. She furiously beat her wings to escape as the infected pony snapped at her with surprising speed. Her hind hoof snagged on the railing, slowing her just enough for her attacker to make another move. As the zombie's teeth neared her leg, a flash of steel whizzed in from the right. The monster veered sideways, hesitated for several tense seconds, and then collapsed, a crooked dagger buried remarkably deep in his skull. The Flying Scot retrieved his knife and winked at Pele for the second time that evening.

"Thanks," she said around her hilt.

"Any time," Scot replied in a light, relaxed manner. He squinted at the dinghy below again, this time noticing its passenger. "Well, now that's unusual."

The pony in the dingy wore a tricorne topped by a flamboyant feather, which was the most visible piece of her from Pele's perspective. The mystery mare was swatting at the water with an oar and tripping over her own hooves. At first, Pele thought she was either a zombie or incredibly incompetent at rowing, but then she saw the heads rising out of the shadowy waves.

"Seaponies!" Scot blinked in astonishment. "Me eyes must be deceiving me!"

A sea foam green creature burst out of the water. It had the usual head of a unicorn, but the distorted body caused Pele to retch. It was strangely tube-like and marked by two small fins which couldn't possibly be useful in locomotion, even if they weren't a tattered mess. Whatever the creature was, it had a cutie mark: a golden lyre on what must have been the flank. The indication of identity and sentience made Pele even more nauseous. This really was some sort of pony, and had really lived until she succumbed to the affliction.

"She's not getting anywhere like that," Scot observed. "Whoever that bloody thief is, she's gotten herself into quite a scrape. Let's go!"

Before Pele had fully processed his words, the burly pegasus had redrawn his knife and vanished over the railing. Pele glanced back at the mass of zombies that Squib and Triton were fending off before leaping overboard as well. Blades extended, she skimmed along the sea's surface, targeting undead heads as they rose. Scot swiftly dealt with the lyre-marked seapony that had writhed her way into the dinghy. He heaved the body back into the drink and whistled loudly to signal the two living ponies still on The Roseway. Triton and Squib soon appeared at the railing, their silhouettes barely visible against the night sky. Pele and Scot rose to meet them and hooked their hooves around their shoulders. Squib's weight pulled Pele down faster than she'd expected, but she managed to land him in the dinghy alongside the boat-jacking stranger.

Once all ponies were aboard, Triton and Squib sank their teeth into the oars and began rowing like fiends. The dinghy jolted and heaved forward as infected seaponies knocked desperately at the keel. Scot, Pele, and the unknown mare clipped the attackers as they sprang out of the depths. The ship seemed so much farther away now. Pele lost track of how long they rowed and fought. It felt like an hour, though it had to have been mere minutes. At last, a group of familiar pegasi descended and assisted in hoisting the dinghy up along the schooner's hull.

The last thing Pele remembered was scrambling onto the deck and letting her strained wings relax. Her vision blurred and faded away as a set of yellow hooves came into view.

Cheer Chime nudged Pyroclastic Pele a few times, and finding her despondent, looked back to her companions and shrugged.

"Looks okay, just pooped," the yellow and magenta pony said. She looked toward Triton, Squib, and Scot, whose chests heaved as they tried to catch their breath. "What happened over there? What was in the water?"

"Lass," coughed Scot, "let me get back ta ye on the issue tomorrow, aye?"

"I demand to see the captain!"

The pony in the feathered tricorne struggled against two pirates who were trying to subdue her. Her curly cinnamon mane obscured her expression but there was no mistaking her anger. She wrenched herself free and her now-exposed turquoise eyes gleamed ferociously.

"Whose ship is this? I want to see the captain! Now!"

"Captain Legacy." Rum Runner's voice was low and flat. He eyed the hostage pony with a mixture of suspicion and concern.

Legacy's orange ears fell back. She muttered something harsh under her breath and stepped closer to Rum. Their eyes locked for a few moments before Rum cleared his throat and turned away.

"Check her for injuries, get her some food and water, and put her in the brig," he instructed. Legacy made no complaint, but her nostrils flared fiercely. The pair of ponies who'd held her before guided her below, leaving Cheer and Hempy free to stare at Rum until he felt obligated to say something.

"I'm sure things will be clearer over dinner tomorrow, but for now, would you please take Pele and go to bed?" Rum Runner's tone was that of an exasperated father to his foals. Hempy and Cheer took the hint, gathered up their pegasus friend, and went back to their bunks to gossip about the new prisoner, the ghost ship, and the important implications of tomorrow's dinner.

Rum Runner turned his gaze back to the zombie-riddled seaweeding vessel. From his distance, it seemed calm and stagnant again. The chaos in the water below had died away as well, leaving little evidence of the undead assault. The echoes of the monsters' moans, however, wouldn't leave his mind.

Equestria was in much graver danger than he'd thought.