//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 
// Story: Whom the Princesses Would Destroy... 
// by GhostOfHeraclitus 
//------------------------------//

	One hour, six minutes after the Civil Service status meeting, Dotted was standing in front of the library tower that was once the home of Twilight Sparkle. To his right was Leafy Salad. To his left, a castle guard. All three of them wore identical expressions of mute horror. There was goop on the ground. There was goop on the walls. There was even goop hanging from the ceiling in thick ropy strands. Yellow, viscous, and slimy-looking, it gleamed, greasily, in the early morning light. Occasionally, a bit fell off and landed on the ground with a wet sloshing sound. This would invariably make all three ponies wince. It wasn't the suddenness of the sound. You could see the drop coming from a mile away. It's just that when you heard the disturbingly organic slithering sound of it landing on the ground, you were suddenly quite sure you never wanted to hear it again. 

Dotted reached out with his telekinesis and grabbed a scoop of the sticky gunk. He brought it next to his nose and sniffed, carefully. He sniffed again, risking a deeper breath. Then, with great care, he popped a speck of it into his mouth.

"It's custard," he said in completely flat tones, "with just a hint of vanilla. Which leads me, rather neatly, to my next question. Why is the erstwhile home of Princess Celestia's very favorite student covered in four feet of custard? With a hint of vanilla?"

The guard winced. "Target of opportunity in royal food fight, my lord. As I understand it, princess Luna developed a new and exciting spell for the generation and deployment of weaponized custard. In, uh, bulk. It was somewhat more successful than initially predicted," he replied.

Dotted's eyes narrowed. "Apparently. Are you new here," he peered at the guardspony's insignia, "corporal?"

"Uh, yes my lord. Just transferred in from Los Pegasus."

"Well, in that case I might as well take the time to tell you: I'm not 'your lord'. I'm not anypony's lord, grace or honor, for that matter."

The guardspony regarded him with a flat, expressionless stare. You could tell he was thinking about this, and Dotted's estimation of him shot up a notch or two. Say what you will about Shining Armor, but you certainly got a better class of guard these days. A lot less grunt and a lot more thought. Dotted approved. Partly because of his own beliefs and partly because he knew this sort of change infuriated the more reactionary sort of noble. After a while, the guardspony replied.

"Very well. How may I address you?"

Despite the mess and despite himself, Dotted grinned.

"The name's Dotted Line. So you could try Dotted. Or Line. Or 'sir,' if you are feeling especially deferential. How shall I address you?"

"My name is Swift Wing, sir."

"Capital, Swift Wing. Glad to meet you. Now that we've got protocol out of the way, let's get back at the matter at hoof. I estimate that, if pressed, and we are, we could get the tower de-custarded by tomorrow. Is the damage bad inside? Just please don't tell me it's full of custard," Dotted said giving the dripping walls a once-over.

"Oh no, sir, there's no custard in there."

"Good. Good."

"Wouldn't be room."

Dotted's smile didn't so much disappear, as drain from his face. "What do you mean 'Wouldn't be room'?"

"The jam, sir."

"Jam?"

"Yessir. It's full of jam, sir. Gooseberry, sir."

There was a drawn-out silence. Dotted looked expectant and Swift Wing responded with the sort of expressionless impassivity that must be lesson zero in the Royal Guard training program. Leafy, who had missed breakfast today, had long since managed to worm one of the windows open and was now experimenting with adding the custard to the jam. He had that rare, blissful look of a pony whose lot in life could only be improved with the addition of a scone. Finally, Dotted couldn't stand it anymore and, with commendable self-control, asked:

"Why is the tower filled with gooseberry jam?"

"Well, sir, Her Highness princess Celestia beheld the custard onslaught, sir, and, yea verily, did she summon the ancient powers of alicornkind..."

Dotted raised a plaintive hoof. "Enough. Enough. I think I get the picture. Was the East Wing also the site of battle, then?"

"Not recently, sir, no."

"Good. Okay. Now, what we're going to do is," his telekinesis flipped open a saddlebag and fished out a thick file bulging with bookmarks, "we're going to put Ms. Sparkle in suite 7a in the East Wing. As I understand it, those were her quarters before being assigned to this tower. If anyone asks, the tower is being remodeled. Because the floor is unsafe."

"You want us to lie, sir?" The guardspony sounded shocked.

"Not a lie. The floor is unsafe."

"Only because its under several feet of jam, sir."

"Details, Swift Wing, details. Now, Leafy what you need to—Leafy?" Dotted looked up and saw that Leafy had acquired a cloud of exceptional fluffiness and had, for some time now, been experimenting with an innovative new jam sandwich design. "Leafy! Get down here!"

With extreme reluctance, Leafy Salad put his prototype breadless jam-and-custard sandwich away and glided to the ground. "Oh come on, Dotty, I missed breakfast."

"I missed my morning tea, Leafy. I'm running on distant memories of caffeine and rapidly dwindling reserves of goodwill. You'll eat when we've solved this mess. Now, trot on over to the East Wing and have them check out room 7a. We'll need to update the security precautions and move a few items of furniture from this place. The wardrobe, I'm told, contains some personal effects. So get a few ponies to, I don't know, hose it down and ship it to the East Wing."

Leafy launched himself in the air with a swift wingbeat, but then paused, halfway between earth and sky. He gave the desserted tower a look of deep, almost touching, longing. 

"Can't I just...?" he began.

"No! Come on, let's get this sorted and I promise I'll buy you the entirety of Pony Joe's stock," Dotted pleaded.

Luckily, as is so often the case, where appeals to reason and devotion to duty failed, naked bribery succeeded. Leafy brightened up, and, with a few powerful wingbeats, became a rapidly dwindling dot in the distance. There was a moment of silence and then the guardspony spoke:

"Begging your pardon, sir, but who was that pony? You act that way in the guard, sir, and you'll end up reassigned to a post so distant, sir, it'd be impossible to find without a mapping spell and a guide dog."

Dotted gave Swift Wing a mournful look. "That, my dear corporal, is the Permanent Under-secretary of State for the Home Office, the princesses help us all. In his defense, he's a lot more...stable when he hasn't skipped a meal. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to be complained at by the assembled nobles of the land." With these words Dotted Line galloped off towards the Old Palace, leaving a moderately befuddled Corporal Swift Wing in his wake.

The corporal was lost in thought. Mares unexpectedly falling into his hooves, crazy officials, towers entirely covered in custard...Well. Everypony was right. Serving in the palace was completely different. And insane. He resolved to buy his grandfather a number of ciders next time he got leave. And this time, when the old pony starts his crazy stories, Swift Wing is going to be taking notes. 


*    *    *


Over the years, as the post of Cabinet Secretary changed hooves, certain expectations formed about the nature of the cabinet secretary. It would usually be a level-headed mare with the patience and general disposition of a schoolteacher and the most exquisite Canterlot manners. An elegance of dress and deportment was likewise assumed, as well as a classical education in one of the very finest of Canterlot academies. Dotted Line fitted these expectations...poorly. In a lifetime of fitting out as only a short, ill-tempered, northerner unicorn can, it must be said that being Cabinet Secretary was his greatest accomplishment. The appointment was so unexpected that a few courtiers were certain the Princess was making another one of her little jokes. Some days, Dotted wondered if it really was a joke that just got way, way out of hoof.

At first impression he looked like every inch, and there weren't a great many of those, a northerner. Thick, grey coat that resisted even the most vigorous chemical straightening agents. Black mane that overhung the eyes and would, if not strictly controlled, eat combs and terrorize hairbrushes. A low sturdy build that clashed horribly with its surroundings. In Canterlot, everything streamed ever-heavenward, while Dotted clung low to the ground, as if he were afraid somepony would steal it.  

Even worse, the nobles of Canterlot whispered in scandalized tones, his education was entirely inappropriate. Whoever heard of a cabinet secretary with a chemistry degree? Not to mention the sheer scandal of his family. Troublemakers to the last pony with no ancient legacy, no pedigree. Common craftsponies, who came into money running a distillery, of all things. They were, in the opinion of just about anyopony who was anypony in Canterlot, a religiously aberrant and politically unhinged group of lunatics. Living on an island well off the coast near Vanhoover, an island that was so far removed from the glamour that is Canterlot as to be in another country entirely, certainly didn't help. 

As a result, the nobles of Canterlot didn't much care for the cabinet secretary and he, in turn, didn't much care for them. This goes a long way to explain why, as he was sitting in the Disquietingly Green[7] Salon of the Old Palace, meeting with the assembled Council of Lords, he had a pounding headache. There was only one item on the agenda: Twilight Sparkle, and how her arrival would spell Doom For Us All.

"...it is unnatural and unseemly for Her Highness to be so close to a common pony! This visit is merely a devious scheme devised, deviously, to have Twilight Sparkle, if that is her real name, ascend over us and rule with an iron hoof!" said Lord Trottingham, winding down a particularly turgid speech.

"That's not how the Equestrian political system works, my lord. It's just a friendly visit, nothing more."

"Then the princess is to transform her into an alicorn, breaking the First Covenant! Then she will ascend to power and rule over us all with an iron hoof."

"That's not how alicorn biology works, my lord. Just a friendly visit. No transformations. No iron hooves. Some tea. Possibly a scone or two," Dotted replied wearily. This had been going on for a while. He had already given up on lunch and the stark reality of missing afternoon tea was creeping up on him. He could certainly do with a cup of tea and the possibility of a scone. 

As much as he was annoyed by the paranoia of the assembled nobles, he couldn't help but sympathize a little bit. If only Twilight Sparkle weren't so...efficient. At this point, there wasn't a member of the royal house not deeply in her debt. The same royal house that her brother, who occupied a position of no mean political power himself, just married into, in fact. And there were all those rumors about her and the princess being a bit more than just friendly. Dotted shook that thought loose. Decent ponies didn't think about that sort of thing. And the worst thing, the very worst thing about Twilight Sparkle, was that she acted as if she was completely unaware of the political clout she wielded. It had to be an act. It had to be. 

"Perhaps she is secretly the foal of Celestia, born in sin, and destined to flourish as a new alicorn! This visit is an opportunity for Her Highness to acknowledge her! And when she does..." began Lord Trottingham who, it must be said, never let what he privately considered to be a good turn of phrase go to waste.

"...iron hoof, my lord?" Dotted interrupted, mildly.

"Well. Uh. Yes."

"I've met Ms. Sparkle's parents, they are lovely ponies and, and this is important, neither royal nor alicorns. Just unicorns, my lord, same as you or I. And they most certainly are her parents. A moment's observation will show the similarity and a few instructive minutes in the hall of records will show that the birth certificate is in order. The visit is just for talk and tea, my lord. No announcements of any sort."

"Any of those documents could have been forged! And of course she'll be placed with a decoy family she resembles. But that is all beside the point, you don't expect us to believe that someone like Twilight Sparkle is just 'dropping over' for tea, do you?"

Dotted Line was impressed. He could actually hear the inverted commas slotting into place.

"Yes, my lord. That is precisely what I expect you to believe. It is the truth, after all."

"Nonsense! We all know what the true purpose is! It's to continue a shameful practice, a, a dalliance between Her Highness and a common pony taking advantage of privileges that were never meant to be hers!"

Well. They had heard the rumors, too. Possibly started them. And there were...fairly scandalous stories circulating in manuscript or in tiny print runs. Now, normally, he would have found a way to stop them. Even in the absence of a strictly legal framework there were ways of exerting pressure. However, he'd gotten direct instructions from the princess that he's to leave the matter alone with a pointed reminder that Equestria had no law against lèse majesté. And, okay, he'd read a few of the stories. Well, most of them. Purely in the interest of research, of course. Not that he'd want that fact publicized, of course. Which, actually, gave him an idea...

"And where would you get such a preposterous idea, my lord? Items of dragon-penned propaganda, by any chance? I must admit, I am surprised, by your choice of reading material. "

That shut them up. Of course they've read the stories, but they would never dare admit it. Not in front of their peers who, okay, also read the same stories. The funny thing is that they knew everyone else had read the damned things, too. The trick was not to be the first pony to admit to it. Pride's a peculiar thing sometimes.

"Of...of course not. Nonsense! But there is talk..."

"My lord, there is always talk. Always will be. But I assure you, this is a simple visit, nothing more, nothing less. The Princess will make no announcement of any kind, especially not an announcement, oh I don't know, pronouncing Twilight Sparkle her immaculately conceived starchild and the new Overtyrant of Equestria. And we can stay here belaboring the point until Ms. Sparkle has come and gone. But..."

"That she has come, Dotted? That's what we fear. We can only hope for the latter," said Lady Cloudsdale, her tone suggestive. She added what she presumably thought was a sly, knowing wink. Sadly, it was rather more reminiscent of the onset of conjunctivitis.

Dotted gave up on subtlety and channeled all his frustration into a glare. This made the noblemare physically reel back. Dotted wasn't fully aware of this, but when deprived of tea for too long he would adopt the intense air of someone restraining himself, with considerable difficulty, from wanton murder. The Equestrian Civil Service had a small and incredibly informal subcommittee whose chief duty was to endeavor to keep the cabinet secretary pleasantly marinated in tea at all times. For the good of Equestria, in general, and the subcommittee, in particular.

"Right. Lords. Ladies. If no...sensible further comment is forthcoming, I declare the meeting closed. If you are still not satisfied, you are encouraged to petition Her Highness. Such is your prerogative." Dotted allowed about three seconds for somepony to interject and then slammed the gavel in front of him on its stand. He employed so much strength that the head wobbled and threatened to fall off. He stalked out without even bothering to look behind him, ignoring the buzz of conversation. He knew pretty much what the nobles would be saying at a time like this, and it was best not to even hear it, for the sake of his much-abused nerves as much as anything. 

Outside, he took a deep, desperate gulp of air. The palace generally smelled of jasmine and roses or freshly mowed grass, but right now Dotted would have happily inhaled inside of a pigsty. Anything to get the stench of nobility out of his nostrils. He took another breath and nearly choked when he saw an extremely dejected looking Leafy Salad waiting for him.

"Leafy? Aren't you supposed to be getting security for Room 7a?"

"Ran into a bit of a problem there."

"How big a bit?"

"The room isn't there."

Dotted closed his eyes and pressed one hoof, hard, against the bridge of his nose. He stood like this for a few moments, offering a silent prayer to Celestia. He used to be quite religious, back in his, hah, salad days. His whole family was, in fact. In these turbulent modern times they clung to the old ways and ancient certainties all the more fiercely. His faith, such as it was, had long lapsed. Mostly because it's quite hard to keep to doctrinaire religion when you occasionally take tea with your deity. Still, in times of stress, he reverted to the habits of youth. 

Sweet Merciful Celestia, grant me strength so that I may not strike the pony before me dead. It's not his fault and I sort of like him. Besides, his wife would never forgive me. Amen.

"What do you mean, not there? Destroyed?"

"I mean not there. Just...gone."

"How?"

"I think it would be better if you took a look," said Leafy and took off. Dotted Line, earthbound as he was, followed him at a slower pace, cursing the midsummer heat and his thick coat. It was, he thought, much easier to offer prayers of thanks for the sun when he was in his pleasantly mist-shrouded island home. Sincere ones, certainly.


*    *    *


To Dotted's immense relief, Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns was on summer break. Students were right up there with nobles and journalists on Dotted's list of ponies he'd rather not deal with. Thus, the corridor was empty save for Leafy Salad and a group of teachers looking distinctly ill at ease. The corridor was painted an institutional green about halfway up the wall and whitewashed above that. This, he'd heard from a psychology major he'd dated in the distant past, was meant to have a calming effect on the inmates. It always set his teeth on edge. 

The walls were also adorned with modern art, well, decorations would be the only word. Mostly because the objects lacked any conceivable earthly use and thus could only be called decorations, despite the fact that they didn't really decorate all that much, or well. The alternative nomenclature he'd favored during his younger days, namely 'junk', got him into a few drunken arguments with art majors. These days, of course, he was more tactful than that. On good days, at least. Dotted took a good long look at the room numbers: there was room two, four, six... and there was room 7a as large as life.

"Leafy, what are you playing at? There's 7a, right there," said Dotted and motioned towards the door.

"No, Dotty, that's the door. The room is gone."

"Well, where the hay does the door lead to?"

"It leads to...here, in a way," Leafy said and then picked up the pace of his speech as Dotted Line made a beeline towards the door. "They said that it sort of loops back and they warned us not to look because it is supposed to be, and I quote, 'profoundly disturbing.' I...I really don't think you ought to—"

Dotted opened the door.

He was profoundly disturbed.

He found himself face to face with, well, himself. He'd seen mirrors before, obviously[8], but this was different. Everything was reversed, for a start. After a lifetime of mirrors it was disconcerting to lift the left hoof and see your reflection do the same. But what was even worse was that he could feel his own breath coming back at him. Sense the magical presence of another unicorn that was, in fact him. Nervously, he adjusted his chain of office. So did his double. It hung no less crooked than for the original. It was disturbing, alright.

Still, in a previous life he was something of a scientist. A chemist, sure, but discovery was where you found it. So he reached out with one tentative hoof. He and his doppelganger were just about to touch, hooftip to hooftip, when there was a flash, a bang, and, for a brief while, the sensation of speed. Then, for a rather longer while, there was quite a lot of the sensation of pain. When the race of malignant dwarves that had started performing the Anvil Chorus moved on from his poor, battered head, he risked opening an eye. The sight of Leafy and a stricken-looking teacher swam reluctantly into focus. Dotted fought to gain control of his lips and finally managed to squeeze a few words out.

"Poni's Exclusion Principle?"

"Poni's Exclusion Principle," replied the teacher, looking considerably relieved that the chief of the Equestrian civil service didn't die, not quite, on her watch.

With some protesting from his aching joints and bruised back, Dotted got up. He walked, unsteadily, to the door and closed it shut. Then he turned to the remaining teachers and spoke. 

"Fine. This is a minor difficulty—"

"Dotty, the buckin' room is gone, pardon my French. Ms. Sparkle will just have to stay in a guest su—" Salad tried to interrupt.

"Minor difficulty! I am not about to tell the Sun Goddess that we can't arrange a visit by her student. Whatever happens, Celestia will not be disappointed. Now, Professor Abacus, was it?"

Ivory Abacus, Regius Professor of Dimensionally Transcendent Mathematics (Lun.) twitched to attention. She looked around, surreptitiously, and found that most of the colleagues she was hoping would back her up were gone. It was amazing, really, the skill of an academic getting out of an unwanted appointment. A few had been inching away ever since the Secretary showed up, mostly the older ones with experience with this sort of mess. A further few, the younger ones, made up in alacrity what they lacked in experience, and bolted at the first opportunity. And one, a certain Ivory Abacus, was too occupied watching the cabinet secretary pivot through the air to get any distance in. This sort of misfortune really demanded a long, erudite jeremiad from someone of her stature and education. Something in Classical Equestrian, perhaps. She would have to think of something later because, at the time, the only words that came to mind were, "Oh, ponyfeathers."

"Yes, my lord secretary?" she ventured, cautiously. Judging by the precipitous drop in the temperature, that wasn't the thing to say.

"Not your lord anything. I work for a living. Now, you are the head of the Board for Unscheduled Reality Excursions, am I right?"

"That's...how do you know that? That's classified!" she protested.

"Yes. And I do all the classifying. Now, you of all ponies should know. How did this happen?"

"Well, the room was kept as it was when Twilight Sparkle was a student here. Under your predecessors orders. We suspect—uh." She turned around in a vain effort to garner support from her colleagues, and found none. "Ahem, we suspect that it is an old experiment by Ms. Sparkle that, uh, got out of hoof. She was always very skilled at dimensional manipulation, you see, and left unattended a casting grid may develop...eccentricities. This is how we believe the dimensions got torqued. "

"I see. Well, professor, here's what I'd like to do: get the Board together and fix this."

"Fix it?"

"Bring back the room. Untorque the dimensions. Fix it. Surely, a student's abandoned experiment isn't too much for your considerable talents?"

"Well no, but...uh...certainly. We'll get right on it!" the professor replied and with an uncertain nod towards Leafy ran off in search of equipment and absconded colleagues.

"Marvelous. Leafy? How's that wardrobe coming along?"

"You can't be serious."

"Dead serious. Twilight Sparkle is going to be able to sleep in her own room tomorrow or my name isn't Dotted Hieronymus Line."

"Oh, right, your middle name is Hieronymus. I wonder, did you wrong your parents in some way...?" Leafy replied grinning.

"Shush. Wardrobe. Now."