Traversing the remainder of the Loony Labyrinth had been only a mild chore. Whatever force that manipulated their path into Menlo's had apparently given up its machinations for now. Solving a simple maze was a trifle for Doctor Hooves and a once more fully empowered Trixie.
With her magic restored after such a long and unwelcome parting, Trixie's spirits were higher than ever. It was times like this, Hooves had begun to notice, that confidence of hers was truly and astoundingly unflappable. Now that he could see how happy she was once more, how restored she seemed, he began to fully appreciate just what losing her abilities had meant to her. He could always get another screwdriver, sentimental attachment aside, but the power bestowed by her horn was more than that. In a way, maybe it really was a type of magic, because, without it, she was lesser. There was no other way to say it. Doctor Hooves was not quite sure how to reconcile this conceptual biology with the earth ponies and pegasi breeds of the species, but he knew the same spark existed, if, perhaps in more subtle ways. Could that be what all of this was really about?
For a moment, the Doctor considered just what losing that integral spark of magic might mean for them. To lose what made you what you were and to become . . . something else. Something foreign. Was it really so bad? Was it the change that seemed so strange or was it the profound sense of loss and knowing what was and not knowing if it would ever come back? Then again, he was rather starting to grow fond of the name “Hooves.”
Doctor Hooves gave his noggin a vigorous shake, rebooting the system. Thoughts always got a bit off track when rolling through introspection road. There would be time for that later.
“I think we're here.”
As the Doctor and Trixie made the last turn of the maze and beheld the blessed gap in the wall that heralded their exit, there it was: The Warden's Castle. Now that they saw the building for themselves, they knew it to be a castle in name only, but it was certainly no less imposing. Instead of the massive stone bricks and spiraling towers they had expected, they had seen quite a few castles that day and, honestly, this was a bit of a relief, there stood a singular tower of stainless alloy.
What they noticed about the structure right away was how familiar it looked. Not the scale of it or even the architecture, but the finish of the metal, the sheen of it and the way it looked like one solid piece: It was exactly like the collar they just put on Menlo. While it did appear to be of a slightly bluer hue than the pure silver of the collar, its sheen and absolutely unblemished polish was unmistakable. That could have meant any number of things, including that it would suffocate Trixie's magic once again, upon entering. It could also have meant nothing. Unfortunately, at that moment, they were without the luxury of options.
Beyond the craft of the building, there was very little art to it. The monolith was gargantuan in stature, looming over the walls of the labyrinth. It was a sort of rectangular shape, the short end facing them as its rounded corners stretched back into its long sides, creeping ever backward into the unyielding darkness behind it. Oh yes, the darkness could not be denied. Whether it was a trick of the lighting or something far more tangibly sinister, the dark aura surrounded the castle like a cloak of night. At the crest of the tower, there was a single circular window. At once it managed to be minimalist in design and totalitarian in execution; a tribute to the order a warden was meant to represent.
So why did it feel like a mockery? It was nothing that either pony could quite place their hoof on, but they could not help feeling an odd sense of irony from it. Terrifying irony, but irony nonetheless. Like it was all one big goof; a final insult to any pony taken in by the gentle trappings of the park only to find the horrors of the prison. With that perfect circle of a window at the top, Trixie was reminded of a cyclops she had met in a dream once. Before it had turned into a nightmare.
The more Trixie thought about her time with Sergei the Cyclops, the more something became clear to her: This building, not unlike her dreams, did not make a damn lick of sense. All of the form was there, but it lacked any of the function. Honestly, it was more like a statue, a piece of massive modern art, more than it resembled a building. One final enormous flipping bird to every pony who dared to venture here. Trixie hoped she was wrong, as difficult as that was for her to believe, but there was one specific piece of evidence that she could not ignore.
“Doctor?”
“Hm?”
“You see how it all looks like one solid piece?”
“I noticed that, yeah.”
“So, how do we get in?”
For all its immense size, not a single bit of space had been reserved for a door. From the base to the roof, the castle was marked by that single cyclopean window and nothing more. No hole to crawl through or swingin' saloon doors to barge past. There was no sign of a frame and nary a knob in sight.
“Very good question,” Doctor Hooves replied.
“And Trixie expects the equally good answer is on its way any minute now?”
“I think it's . . . a psychotransfiguratively intermetallic compound.”
Trixie cocked an eyebrow. “You know, it really would save time if you just started saying 'magic,' like everypony else.”
“It's like the psychic paper or the controls in Sonic. More like the collar actually, since it seems to be the same stuff. Basically, it's an alloy that is able to morph itself into another shape when given a psychic command. Really quite brilliant.” His voiced changed slightly. He sounded troubled. “Definitely shouldn't be here.”
“Who is Sonic?”
“Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting you haven't met my screwdriver yet.”
“You named your screwdriver 'Sonic?'”
“Well, it is a sonic screwdriver. Why? What do you call your screwdriver?”
“ . . . Charlene.”
“Pretty. We'll have to all build a cabinet together sometime. Now though, it's time for some serious,” he paused dramatically, lolling his head to both sides for a healthy crack, “thinking.”
Masking his trepidation, Doctor Hooves paraded up to the so-called castle with all the sense of circumstance he could muster. This was definitely probably going to work. Without looking back at his curious companion, he completed his approach, squared his hooves, furrowed his brow, and thought.
To think is not typically something so hard, when one chooses to make the effort, but psychic materials could be another matter. Many of them were wholly innocuous, but the Doctor had quickly learned to trust nothing in Ponyville Pen. There was not a doubt in his admittedly marvelous mind that this was anything but psychic alloy, but that in no way meant he knew what was in store for him. Anyone with the presence of mind and the strength to use it could implant any manner of psychic traps or pitfalls within a conducive enough material. He had once met a man who had a staring contest with a piece of psychic chalk so malicious that he spent the next five days thinking he was a piece of toast. Toast sounded good. No! Concentrate.
Door.
A door appeared.
“Wait, that's it?”
The door didn't disappear.
“Well, that was easy,” Trixie piped up as she moved to join him.
“Would it be cliché if I said, 'Too easy?'”
“Yes.”
“Good, I love cliches.” It had been too easy though. Not only was there nothing waiting to stop him, the metal had been overly receptive to his command. They were expected. Not only that, they were anticipated.
“Trixie thought it was a fine bit of magic for a pony who does not even have a horn.”
“Not magic. Psychic alloy.”
“Seriously?” Trixie asked incredulously. “You are really going to keep this up? You thought at a wall of metal and a door appeared and you are still going to tell me that is not magic?”
“No,” the Doctor replied simply. “What I am going to do is not discuss it with you to begin with. Let's go.” He started his walk once more, heading directly for the newly formed door.
“Trixie hates you,” she muttered under her breath.
“Long as you don't! Let's go!” He emphasized the last two words, making it clear that they were more than a suggestion. Begrudgingly, Trixie obeyed, trouncing after him with far heavier hoof beats than necessary.
As she passed through the doorway the Doctor had made, the gap sealed itself up behind her. She immediately spun around, but the metal was present and unyielding once more. With a gulp, she let herself rejoin the Doctor, only to find herself even more shocked at what she saw.
The Warden's Castle was empty. Trixie had never really considered at what point a building might be considered a statue, but this might have been it. There were no ponies, no furniture or fixings, no other floors or steps leading up. She looked up. Sure enough, that perfect singular window was still there, but between it and her the place was one hundred percent bare.
“Doctor, what is this?”
“Psychic alloy. Are you really not getting this?” His tone was not mocking or playful. It just sounded like he was speaking to somepony completely ignorant. He wasn't being mean or rude or even condescending. The tone merely stated a fact: You're stupid.
“Trixie is so sorry she is not an expert on your dumb 'not magic' future metal!” She could not deny that she was hurt by his blunt manner, but something else was slowly dawning on Trixie. She didn't know something. He loved her not knowing things. He got to lecture her when she didn't know things. Something was wrong. Doctor Hooves was troubled by something.
“Like I said,” he began in that same blunt tone. Once again, he squinted a bit and his brow furrowed. As he did, something amazing happened. Like water flowing into a mold, shapes melted out from the walls. On every side it protruded, crafted from the same metal as the wall it was perched on. It spiraled up and up, growing ever distant and obscured, and finally stopped just below that high window. They were stairs. “Psychic alloy.”
“You did that?”
The Doctor nodded.
“That's amazing!” Trixie marveled. Magic like this was more than just a simple shape-change enchantment. It was truly impressive. If she could somehow get some for her act it would be sure to bring a crowd. Metal was fairly rare as it was, let alone metal that changed shape on its own. It could even—“It really could be a castle, then!”
“No,” the Doctor's reply came, almost as a whisper. At that moment Trixie finally realized he was looking for something. Not so much with his eyes though. His brow was still furrowed and his head bobbed around from side to side, like a pony-shaped divining rod. He was searching for something with his mind.
Without another word, he took three steps to the left, just a bit away from the center of the room, and pressed his hoof down. To Trixie's great surprise, the glistening metal yielded, sinking at his touch.
“This isn't the castle.” The entire structure rumbled. Trixie could feel it shifting and shaking around her, like a terrible earth quake. Each step the Doctor made retracted back into the wall, the wall that somehow looked to be getting longer. With each passing second, the window grew further and further away, reaching up into the sky. At least that was what she thought until her hat, ever so slightly, began to float above her head. Then it sped up. The ceiling wasn't going up. They were going down. “It's just the gate.”