//------------------------------// // Day 79: Tampuli // Story: Around the World in 81 Days (And Other Problems Caused by Leap Years) // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// High in the mountains, above the banana plantations and the lush jungles, rose the city of Tampuli. Built tens of millennia ago by a long forgotten civilization, its stones were so perfectly formed that they clung together without mortar. Every window was host to a carefully polished crystal that acted as a mirror, that even the deepest of buildings were lit by sunlight and without need for candles. Its streets were wide and elegant, and every time it rained, natural channels swept them clean. Three of the seven greatest mystic sites in the world were within its walls. For centuries, the llama had made their home in Tampuli without modification, content to live in the structures they’d found abandoned. That had changed in recent years, however. So long as their business partners retained the lucrative banana trade, the Guild showed its appreciation to the llama by lavishing their capital city with gifts. They built theaters, a university, countless libraries, an express rail line to the coast, a new sewer system, and electrical lighting for the streets. They paid the finest scholars from around the world to come and lecture and paid the tuition of the children of influential leaders. They refurbished the great mystic sites and restored the ancient temples to their original condition. Twilight didn’t want to see any of it. She went to her hotel room and didn’t come out. She told Spike to go see the city on his own. Which, in a sense, he did. “A pleasure to meet you, Spike,” said Chapter Master Cobblestone, her servant pouring each of them a cup of hot chocolate. “To what do I owe the occasion?” She was a little earth pony, slight of build and quiet of voice, her Guild pendant resting overtop the bundled scarf she wore to keep out the cold. By contrast, her office was huge, with a single massive window on one side overlooking the mountain slopes and an extensive book collection on the other. The desk in the middle was made of marble and polished smooth. Spike waited for the servant to go, and only once they were alone did he answer: “I need to get one pony from the Feathered Serpent Hotel downtown to Canterlot Palace in the next thirty-six hours.” Cobblestone snorted. “Well, that might be doable, with a fast ship and a time machine so you can catch it last month. I’ll provide the ship, you provide the time machine?” “It was my impression,” Spike said, his voice tight, “that you were in the business of solving problems. Granting wishes, as it were. This is my wish. I want you to make it come true.” “I’d help if I could.” Cobblestone shook her head, sitting back as she sipped her drink, “but what you’re asking is simply impossible. The fastest military courier in the world would need three days to make the trip.” “But you research new cutting-edge airship designs,” Spike said, locking eyes with her. “I’m sure you have something that’s faster than the fastest courier currently out there. And you also have access to a ready supply of llama mystics. Stuff the ship full of them and have them accelerate the propellers or enchant the wind or bend time or whatever it takes.” “An experimental craft? At least a dozen of the finest mystics in the world? Right after a declaration of war, when those things will be urgently needed by the army? Not to mention that technology and magic rarely combine well.” She let out a grunt. “Very difficult.” “I have observed that, properly motivated, you excel at solving very difficult problems. Pretend the Equestrian treasury wrote you a blank check to solve this one. Then stop pretending.” The blank check hit the desk, shoved her way. She stared at it for a long time. “Why,” she asked, “do you care? I read about Princess Twilight’s wager in the papers, but I’d assumed that was all called off now. Current events kind of stole her thunder.” “Why do you need to know? I’m paying you, aren’t I?” His tone hardened into borderline hostility, his eyes narrowing. “If a check doesn’t make the point, I can go to the bank and come back with a wagon full of cash.” “That will not be necessary.” Cobblestone raised her hoof, her voice still gentle. “And normally, you would be quite correct. But in this particular case, I do actually need to know why you want it.” “Winning the bet will make Twilight happy.” Cobblestone shrugged. “Then what you want is simply impossible and I cannot help you for any amount of money.” She spread her hooves apart, bottom sides up. “That’s not true,” Spike snapped. “You lied first,” she replied, smooth as ever. Spike hesitated. His eyes went down to the floor. His claws came together in his lap. His claw tips touched. “Because…” He needed a long time to find the words. But find them he did. “In two days, Twilight is going to lose the bet. And I have no idea what I’m going to say to her when that happens.” He swallowed. “She’s already lost everything else.” “Who cares?” Cobblestone asked, her eyes narrow and her tone probing. “It was a meaningless bet in the first place, and you said it yourself: winning it won’t make her happy.” “It’s not about happy.” Spike drew in a shaky breath. “This trip meant so much to her. This was her proving she could be a real princess. This was her proving she could make the world better instead of just being Celestia’s shadow. And it all blew up in her face. And, yeah, sure, she doesn’t know what she’s doing. And we messed up a lot of things. And she has a lot to learn. But…” He sniffled, his eyes heavy. “I’m so worried that we’re going to get back to Ponyville, and she’s going to crawl under her library and never come out. And she’ll never be a real Princess because she doesn’t think she can be. And the world won’t ever get better. She matters, and if she gives up on the world, that matters too. And…” He swallowed. “I want her to win something. Anything. Just so she doesn’t give up.” The Chapter Master nodded, pressing her hooves together. She thought about it for a long time, the seconds ticking past in silence. Finally, she pressed her hoof down against the blank check and returned it to Spike. “What you are asking for,” she said, “cannot be purchased with money.” “That’s not the same thing as it being impossible.” His voice was tight, but a firmness returned to his words. “Give me a blank contract, I’ll sign the bottom. You can fill in the terms and conditions later. Just as long as Twilight gets what she needs.” Cobblestone did give him a blank page, and he did sign it. The paper burst into flames and vanished into a curl of smoke, not even ashes left behind. “The Guild,” she said, “does maintain a private express service that should suffice for your needs. Bring Twilight and yourself to the Garden of Things to Come. A porter will help you find your way.” Then she sipped her hot chocolate and summoned the servant to show him out. Twilight didn’t understand why Spike wanted them to go so badly. She definitely didn’t understand why he was packing their bags. The Garden of Things to Come was certainly famous as a mystic site, but it was of no interest to either of them. It was just a garden planted next to a crack in the mountainside that constantly spewed steam and sulfuric fumes. The llama believed that inhaling the vapors allowed them to see the future, or the spirit world. Equestrian scholars thought differently. Several of the substances in the fog cloud were powerful hallucinogens. No magic was required for it to make ponies see things. The garden was surrounded by a high stone wall to keep the fog contained, leaving it accessible only by a single archway on the side of the city that faced the slope and the open air. Spike dragged Twilight every step of the journey there, begging, pleading, cajoling, and talking over her protests. Her temper shortened, but he managed to get her to the gate, where the fog cloud spilled out of the arch and off the side of the mountain. There were no porters there. Just llama and tourists and seekers of wisdom, their eyes dilated and their minds elsewhere. Some laughed. Some cried. Some curled into balls and wouldn’t stop screaming. It was not far from the archway to the edge of the city, and a long drop awaited anypony who threw themselves over the rail. Next to them stood Twilight and Spike, their suitcases all around them. “See?” Twilight let out a sharp breath. “There you go. Bunch of tripped-out tourists. We came, we saw, got the postcard. I’m going back to the hotel. Let’s go.” She turned to leave. Spike dropped the suitcases and ran inside. “What? No! Spike!” Twilight shouted. “Spike it’s dangerous in there what the heck are you doing!?” Her horn came to life, but before she could focus on him, he vanished into the fog. “Spike!” He could hear her calling. He could hear hoofbeats as she charged after him. Around him were flashes of a garden, revealed ever so briefly in the swirling mist. To his right was a bench and a row of flowers. To his left was a series of flowering trees, being tended by llama gardeners in gas masks. There was a wrought iron table where two llamas sat, laughing at something only they could see. He plunged on ahead. It all vanished behind him. “Spike!” Twilight called again. He pushed over a garden box. Through a line of bushes. “Spike!” “Holy horsefeathers, Spike!” a male voice called. Turning, Spike saw Wanderlust—the pony from the pegasus express who’d helped him so long ago in Griffonstone. He was sitting back against one of the tall shrubberies, half shrouded in mist, dressed in a beat-up brown jacket and cap. “Hey, Spike! Over here. Remember me?” “Wanderlust?” Spike froze. “You’re the Guild’s private express?” “Sorry, kid. I ain’t been in the express business for awhile.” He leaned out, looking far and off to his left, and said, “Private Dive! Get your butt over here!” As he shifted, Spike could see him more clearly. His jacket had a formal cut and many pockets, and there on his shoulder were three chevrons. “You’re an officer,” Spike said, his tone suddenly dull. “Yeah, I know, right?” He laughed. “They’ll give anybody pips these days. Really scraping the bottom of the barrel.” From the left, a young pegasus appeared. He was barely an adult, if that, dressed in a ragged and mud-caked uniform. Wanderlust gestured him over at Spike. “Look who I found.” “Oh, wow. Good to see you again!” Power Dive reached a hoof out, and he and Spike shook. “I’m Power Dive. We met on the Friendship Express, remember? I was with my mother. You introduced us to the Princess?” “No. No,” Spike said. “I swear, this won’t happen. I’m going to come back to Equestria, and then I’ll go to Griffonstone, and I’ll find you both before you can get drafted. You’ll never go to war. You’re Equestrians. You can come home.” “Ah, come on, kid. You know us better than that. This is our home. Besides, if I wanted to play it safe, I’d never have left Equestria in the first place.” Both of them looked up suddenly, watching something Spike couldn’t see. “That’s the signal. Come on, let’s go. I’ll see you on the other side of the field.” Each of them pulled out a weapon. Some variant on the steam-powered crossbow Spike had not seen before. “Bayonets on, featherbrains!” Wanderlust called. “On my signal, up and over the top!” Knives were affixed to the end of barrels. Spike could smell sulfur. Wanderlust pulled out a cheap whistle on a chain around his neck and put it between his lips. Then he drew in a deep breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs: “OUT OF THE TRENCH!” Blowing his whistle as loud as he could, he scrambled up the shrubbery behind him and over the top. Power Dive followed him. All the others followed him. Spike never saw them again. “Spike!” Twilight’s voice echoed out of the fog. He turned back towards her and ran, calling out her name in turn. The garden around him began to twist and melt, dark things taking form in the fog. He heard shells scream overhead. He saw soldiers digging holes in which they would be buried. The air was thick with the smell of musty hay. “Gas gas gas!” one of the gardeners screamed, sprinting past. His gas mask was useless. Mustard gas burns all permeable membranes, not just the lungs and eyes. Spike watched the gardener flail and scream, watched him fall and spasm on the ground as chemical scars and pus-filled blisters spread from his hooves, spread from his genitals, appeared under his tail and along his belly. “Spike!” He crawled towards the source of Twilight’s voice, slugs whizzing through the air around him like buzzing insects. He passed the llama at the wrought-iron table, but it had become a nest of razor wire, their bodies slashed and their uniforms bloody where they had tried to crawl through. He rolled into one of the garden boxes to try and get past the wire. The mud came up to his shoulders. It got everywhere. It carried everything. Rats were in the mud. Insects. Lice. Shrapnel. Poison from the air. Acid from the rain. Oil from the engines. His scales were rotting off. He screamed at the top of his lungs. Then, purple light surrounded him, and he was pulled up out of the muck. The fog thinned, and Twilight appeared, beating her wings furiously to clear the air. “Oh my gosh, Spike!” she hugged him tight to her chest. “Never, ever do that again! What the heck were you thinking!?” “I…” He struggled for words. “I was…” “Nevermind. You can tell me when we’re out of here.” She pulled him onto her back and spread her wings, taking one hard flap to carry them up and out of the fog. Her head cracked hard on a metal ceiling. Then both tumbled back down to the ground, landing not on dirt or stone, but on a wooden floor. Lifting their heads, they found themselves in a train station, shrouded in fog, a train waiting on the platform ahead. There was a porter there to help them  up. A young pegasus. “Your Highness.” He helped Twilight to her hooves, then Spike in his turn. “The express to Canterlot is boarding. This way, please.” The train left the station a few minutes later.