The next morning was the first day of the festival.
Braeburn yawned, trotting into the Sheriff's office.
Inside, chaos reigned.
Dozens of ponies crowded the small office, all of them shouting over one another to be heard. Just beyond them, Braeburn spied Silverstar, his head in his hooves and ears drooping to the sides.
“Yes, yes, I know what you mean, but I simply must—!”
“I’m not sure you know who I am, sir! My family is the sixteenth richest family in Manehatten!”
“If I wanted to go to the picnic, I’d go to the picnic. I’m looking for the Apple Dunk!”
Squeezing past the mass of ponies jostling for position, Braeburn tapped on the Sheriff's shoulder. “Looks like you need help.”
The Sheriff sprang upward as if suddenly revitalized by his voice. His eyes were rimmed in red, a truly depressed look etched across his wrinkled face. Even his thick mustache seemed to regain his gloss.
“Braeburn! Finally! Where have you been? These ponies have been asking so many questions all morning and I’ve just been swamped!” The Sheriff started, throwing his hooves up in exasperation. “Please help me.”
He smiled guiltily. “Sorry, sheriff, I overslept.”
Silverstar’s mouth opened and a look of utter disbelief came over him.
“You overslept?” the sheriff repeated blandly, then with more vigor, red springing to his cheeks. “You overslept! Braeburn, the first day of the festival, and you’re already slacking! By the Princesses’ royal keisters, you overslept?”
Even with the Sheriff's sudden outburst, the ponies crowding in to get his attention continued their rants, as if each were equally convinced that they had the right to speak before all of the others.
“Would you shut up, you featherbrained nincompoops?” Silverstar yelled over the cacophony, his voice a roar loud enough to match his younger days as a rodeo announcer.
The crowd stilled, their one-way conversations stalled. Surprise, indignant expressions filled their faces. Sniffs and shocked, outraged scoffs spilled through the gathered ponies. Then they began to speak, this time growing louder and more insulting with each voice lifted into the din.
Silverstar’s groan was barely audible as the sheriff lowered his face back into his hooves, defeated.
Patting the poor pony on the shoulder, Braeburn began answering questions and apologizing for his superior’s behavior.
*****
After a hail of almost continual complaints and worries, insults and questions, outraged guests and ponies looking for what they had lost, Braeburn finally finished an hour later. While not all of the ponies had been mollified with what he had told and explained to them, the majority of them seemed to be satisfied when they left the office, if not completely content.
Slumping in the chair he’d pulled up beside the sheriff, Braeburn let out a relieved breath. Muscles in his neck seemed to be pinched and he massaged them with a hoof, ruefully remembering it was his fault the situation had been so difficult.
“I don’t know how you do it.” Silverstar’s voice was muffled underneath his hooves, but the old sherrif brought his head up out of the makeshift bunker he’d made with his forelegs. “I don’t know how you deal with all these... these... blowhards.”
Braeburn chuckled and leaned back with closed eyes. “Practice, I guess, and a little of knowing what they’re going through. They all just wanted to come into town and have fun, free of any little worries. So when something happened that they didn’t like, they needed somepony to yell at.”
Silverstar looked over at him, unamused. “And that somepony had to be us, I take it?”
“Somepony in charge.” Braeburn shrugged and let out a yawn. “It’s worth it in the end, or so I keep telling myself.”
“Well, keep telling yourself that, because I don’t think it’s going to be any better tomorrow,” Silverstar replied irritably. “And don’t oversleep next time. Where were you, anyway?”
“At the orchard,” he replied, bemused. “After I finished all the paperwork, I decided to swing by and check up on Bloomberg.”
Silverstar sighed. “The old tree doin’ alright?”
“Not so old.” Braeburn defended his cousin’s gift. “Bloomberg’s just starting his third bucking season.”
“Could’ve fooled me with how big the durned thing is.”
The ring of the bell that announced another pony’s entrance put a stop to their conversation. Both ponies sat up, ramrod straight, placating smiles already appearing on their faces.
They needn’t have bothered.
“There ya are, Braeburn,” Applebloom accused, rushing forward and climbing up the desk until her forelegs and head appeared over the top of it. “We’ve been looking for you all day. You never came back last night.”
“Yeah,” Babs added from the side of the desk, “we thought yous got eaten by a coyote or somethin’ like that.”
Applebloom frowned over at the other filly. “I thought we agreed it was a Sass Squash.”
“Sass Squashes don’t eat ponies, ‘bloom. Besides, they aren’t even real, any which way ya looks at it.”
Braeburn wisely kept the knowledge that they were, in fact, real to himself. “Sorry, girls. I kinda fell asleep in the orchard last night.”
Applebloom gasped, loosening her hold on the desk as she brought a hoof to her mouth. “Ya mean you went out there in the dead of night, freezing your tail off, and you didn’t even bring us?”
“I’m happy staying in a bed,” Babs put in.
“We would all be so lucky,” Silverstar grumbled.
“Anyway,” Braeburn said smoothly to head off any arguments, “how are the preparations coming along for the grand picnic this afternoon?”
Applebloom’s face grew serious at that and she pulled a map out of the pack. She planted it on the table and unrolled it, pointing at several red-circled areas. “I was thinkin’ these spots would be the best places for today, based on the strength of the sun and the shade the apple trees’ll be giving at this time of day. Now, if ya look here...”
Tuning her out, and confident that Silverstar would catch any faults in her plan, Braeburn thought about Morton.
While none of the rides, like the carriage pulling or hay wagons, had malfunctioned yet, he planned to keep a careful eye out for anypony suspicious. Morton, however, had been content to stay in his tavern, serving the multitude of guests brought by the festival’s week-long affair.
Coincidences like that do happen, Braeburn thought in consternation. If Morton was just in the wrong place at the right time... well, no used thinking about it until I get proof.
Nodding to himself, he became aware that Babs was looking at him questioningly. Her brows were drawn down and he could tell she had her suspicions.
Smarter’n a whip, that one. Grimacing inwardly, he gave the filly a wink and a slight shake of his head. Not now. Maybe later.
The rest of the picnic planning passed quickly. Applebloom’s plans made sense on the whole, even if the mechanics of the exact areas shadows would cover best went a little over his head. Ponies would find the places that suited them, as far as he was concerned. Still, containing the guests to certain areas certainly would make cleaning up after them a great deal easier.
*****
Next on Braeburn’s list was the big fireworks display they were still working on for the first and last days of the festivals. A couple of earth ponies, the Rumbleblast sisters, had rolled up one day, offering up their frankly impressive assortment of explosive delights.
Babs was in charge of them, a slightly manic glee appearing in her eye as she talked with the two sisters. Surprisingly, they seemed to take orders from the filly well. It helped that they worshiped Babs after a few tales of her time back home.
“Yeah, I’ve seen a few shindigs up in Manehatten,” Babs was saying cooly, buffing a hoof on her chest. “Got ahold of a few of the bigger ‘works one time and shot ‘em off from the balcony of my family’s hotel. Surprised the ponies upstairs when that thing took off. Even rattled the windows! Mom and Pop grounded me for a month after that.”
Sparkler Rumbleblast sat rapt, in awe of the smaller filly, her eyes glazed over as if she were imagining the chaos she could make in a big city. Her red and orange hair seemed to explode outward from her head, with a pair of goggles keeping bangs out of her eyes. Her sister shared the look, though her mane was blue and green.
“Did you blow up any trees?” the other sister, Flamewheel, asked, her eyes as wide as saucers. “I heard there’s an entire garden in that big city of yours! Me and Sparkler totally destroyed an entire field of cherry trees this one time in Dodge Junction. Miss Jubilee was right annoyed with us, but we helped her out, replanting and caring for the trees. You know, I even found a way to put gunpowder in a cherry. I call it a cherry bomb! And Sparkler, she—.”
“Whoa, nelly,” Braeburn interrupted with a haunted look, the image of his orchards burning down in flames high in his mind. “Let’s try and keep the fireworks in the air where they belong, alright?”
Babs chuckled. “Don’t worry, cousin, I’ve got this under control. Years of practice in a cramped city teaches you a few things.”
Braeburn hesitated. The Rumbleblasts were doing this for free, and it’d certainly help the town if they charged for the fireworks show. “Well...”
“I cannot wait to blow up the sky,” Sparkler said solemnly, her first words since she’d arrived.
“That’s...” really scary, he thought. “... nice.”
Flamewheel squeaked in delight, prancing and twirling in a little circle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! We haven’t had a job in, like, forever! I mean, you’re not paying us, but that’s soooo okay, because I make all my explosives at home and we have a lot of supplies that never run out and really, if I tried, I could make fireworks out of anything and this is going to be so much fun.”
“...right.” Braeburn smiled halfheartedly and backed away. “Well... good luck. Keep an eye on them, Babs.”
Babs saluted with a snort. “You got it, cap’n.”
*****
With the preparations for the night’s festivities well in hoof, Braeburn returned to his station inside the sheriff's office. There, he continued to offer directions and calm down all of the ponies who walked in, discussing sarcastically how his office could be in an easier place to reach or were distressed that their pet weasel had disappeared.
It was on the last pony’s behalf that Braeburn was forced to search for the animal.
Not that I can complain, he thought with a smile, reveling in the perfect weather between dusk and the evening.
The wind was just beginning to pick up, sending miniature whirlwinds that wended their way randomly across the streets. Even a few tumbleweed rolled across the bare dirt roads.
“Now if I were a no good, dirty, rotten weasel, where would I be?” Braeburn muttered, checking below one of the building’s crawl space.
Something moved in the darkness, too fast to see clearly. The shade moved between the wooden slats holding the building above it. A beady eye caught the last of the light as it stared at him.
Braeburn frowned and took his hat off. “You’re gonna make me go under there after you, aren’t you, little fella?”
The animals remained silent, its steady stare slightly unnerving.
With a resigned sigh, Braeburn fell to his stomach with a plop. I should be able to fit, he thought, straining to get between the ground and the top of the porch above. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten so many pies today...
He sucked his gut in determinedly and just managed to squeeze through to the dark, dampness underneath. Cobwebs caught in his mane.
Please don’t be any spiders, he prayed silently, grunting as he moved forward. A huge cockroach slithered across his hoof and disappeared into the dark. Braeburn shuddered. Bugs. Why’d it have to be bugs?
Still the animal sat in place, his shadow blocking the light that had been reflecting in its eye. It shuffled a bit the closer he came, but otherwise made no move to run about.
“That’s it, fella, I’m not here to hurt you,” Braeburn said placatingly between grunts of effort. “I’m just here to bring you back home. No harm done, right?”
As if in response to his words, the shadow shivered. Then, in a burst of movement, it streaked straight for him.
Braeburn cried out and reared back, blocking his face against the weasel’s sudden attack. In the process, he banged his head against the wood above. Stars exploded into his vision.
After a few seconds of not being mauled by a weasel, Braeburn opened his eyes and put down his arms.
In front of him was the “weasel”, its long tongue picking up the cockroach that had scurried past him a few seconds ago. A crunch later, and one that nearly sent the pies back up Braeburn’s throat, the bug disappeared into the thing’s gullet.
“A lizard.” Braeburn closed his eyes in exasperation. “Of course you are. Why make my life easy?”
The lizard just stared at him, its eyes not holding any answers.
*****
Extricating himself from the crawlspace was just as difficult as getting in. Thankfully, after a great deal of annoyance and a few pieces of fur he’d left on an old, stuck out nail, Braeburn freed himself.
“Welp, that’s not something I want to experience again.” He picked up his hat, dusting it off, and plopped it on his head. “Now... where else would a weasel be hiding?”
Hoofsteps from behind him sounded just before a familiar voice began rambling like a snake eating it’s own tail. “Howdy, Braeburn! That’s how you greet ponies around here right? We just said ‘hi’ back in Hoofington, but I guess ‘Howdy’ works too! It’s almost like ‘How’re you doing!’, right?” She paused for a breath. “Anyway, fireworks are almost ready! It’s going to be so much fuuuuun. Just you wait, you’ll like it. The sky is going to be so pretty tonight. I mean, it’s pretty every night, what with all those stars, but when you add explosions to it, like boom! and bang! and kablast! it gets like ten times better! Oh, hey, I also found a little friend while I was searching for some gunpowder in some water barrells over by the town hall! I think it’s a mouse, but it’s too long, so maybe it got stretched somehow and are you okay? You look like you burned off a patch of your fur. I know what that feels like.”
Only with a great deal of mental effort did Braeburn manage not to slam his hoof into his face. Instead, he turned around and saw Flamewheel smiling brightly at him with a weasel draped around her neck like some kind of living scarf. It’s blue fur matched the pony’s mane. Bright eyes looked around constantly, tiny ears flicking first one way and then the other.
“Well, I guess I can’t really complain,” Braeburn grumbled and eyed the animal, half convinced it wasn’t a real one.
Flamewheel’s smile grew brighter. “What was that?”
Braeburn returned the smile with an even larger one, clenching his teeth. “Said thanks, Flame’. I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for that critter.”
“What, the mouse?” Flamewheel looked down at her new friend. “You mean it’s somepony else’s? Aww...”
“‘Fraid so,” he replied, reaching for the little beast. When he drew too close, it hissed at him, swiping with a tiny, clawed hand. Grimacing, he drew his hoof back. “Actually, you can hold it a little longer. Mind accompanying me to the sheriff's office?”
“Absolutely!” She beamed, then grew serious. “Oh, right, sorry about talking so much. Sometimes I get too excited. I saw you were annoyed by it earlier, but I forgot. So. I’ll stop. Sparkler doesn’t like it either. Neither does Jubilee, or Babs, or... err, sorry.”
Braeburn drew in a breath to explain that it was fine, but he stopped himself instead. “Actually, I won’t lie and say it was fine, but I do appreciate you thinking of me instead of rattling off on another one of your tales. You’ve got a good heart under that bubbly outside of yours.”
Glancing away demurely, Flame smiled. “Thanks. You’re the first pony to say that.”
“No problem!” Braeburn said with a genuine smile. “Now let’s get that critter back to the sherriff’s office before the poor owner goes and kick’s the bucket.”
Startled, Flame gasped. “You mean she’s that worried? What are we waiting for! Let’s hurry!”
With that, she sped off toward the office, leaving him in the dust.
Bemused, Braeburn stood there, blinking away the cloud of dirt.
Then he laughed.