Chapter One.
Three weeks earlier:
Dustpan stirred in his simple bed having awoken from a pleasant dream, blinking owlishly at the simple wooden clock across the way: The little black pointers informed the sleepy stallion that it was twenty four minutes past five and Dustpan winced. It was just too early to get up, but not early enough to get back to sleep either and he groaned at the cruelness of it all.
Dustpan glanced at the window and saw that the sun wasn’t even up either, giving him even less incentive to arise and face the day. Making a decision, he rolled his covers around himself once again, forming a warm cocoon from which he could watch the minute hand of his clock slowly wind its way to five thirty. As sleep no longer an option he settled for staying warm for a little while longer.
The moment finally arrived for Dustpan to free himself from the comfort of his covers and he put forth a questing hoof to test the floor of his small, plainly decorated room at ‘Star Glancer’s’ boarding house. He felt the rough material of the thin carpet and sighed. Yep; cold
Mustering his courage Dustpan took a deep breath before bursting from the safety of his blankets. The cold air caused his hair to stand on end as goose bumps travelled the length of his pale grey body, not wasting any time the pony bolted for his small shower room.
Once inside, Dustpan hastily saw to his morning ablutions, savouring the warm water as it chased the chill from his bones. Now refreshed and warmed up once again Dustpan moved to the small sink and stared at the face in the mirror.
Two round yellow/green eyes looked back at him from the polished glass; regarding the ruffled grey hairs still damp from the shower and the tangled off-white mane with a critical stare. “Well Dusty it seems you have another fine day’s work ahead of you, best look your best right?”
Wasting no more time in idle chatter, Dustpan towelled himself down before once again braving the chilly air of his room. He looked about his domain, plain white walls, a small desk scattered with a few reminders written on scraps of paper and the chest of draws holding his simple belongings.
It wasn’t much Dustpan admitted to himself, but it was the fruits of his own labours: He earned his own way in the world and was proud to do so. The light of a new dawn was just beginning to filter through the curtains when Dustpan finally placed his cap on his head, closed the door behind himself and carefully trotted along the hallway outside.
Most of Glancer’s lodgers kept more social hours than Dustpan, so he made an effort not to disturb them as a favour to his landmare. Star Glancer was a friendly old unicorn and Dusty quite liked her, she reminded him of his own grandmother gone a couple of years ago now.
Dustpan carefully trotted past the final guest's lodgings before he produced his own key to the front door and let himself out into the chilly approaching dawn of a Canterlot morning. The streetlamps were slowly winking out as the first rays of sunshine began to seep over the surrounding rooftops, Dustpan found himself in an inexplicably cheery mood.
Dustpan liked to think of himself as a “Professional Refuse Manager” in his more confident moments, but deep down in his heart he knew what he was: A garbage pony. Oh it wasn’t a bad job all things considered; where there was life there was rubbish, waste had to be dealt with. Dustpan knew that he had great job security in that regard.
Some ponies have glamorous jobs like the royal guard, or working in the theatre and such like, but Dustpan was happy to have a down to earth job. His needs were simple and the job was too, a little smelly of course, but Dustpan didn’t resent his chosen role in life.
Dustpan liked Canterlot during its early hours, before the main hustle and bustle of the day got underway. It had a gentle peace to it that he hadn’t found anywhere else that cheered him each morning. Not that the city at this time was deserted by any means, it was just that most of the night’s revellers had concluded their fun; leaving the city to Dustpan and his like.
Dustpan waved cheerfully at a couple of passing Night Guard (on their way back to the barracks no doubt) who waved back warmly recognising a fellow pony of the small hours. Yep Canterlot is a good place to live Dusty reminded himself as he approached the door to his workplace.
Dustpan smiled up at the blue and white E.S logo adorning the barn sized wooden gates before pushing open a smaller access door which let him into the main yard, “Ah the good old ‘Equestrian Sanitation’, my home away from home.”
“And what’s got you so cheery this morning Dust?” a stern voice greeted the stallion as he emerged from the small entrance and Dustpan’s ears drooped only slightly.
“Well if I have to cart rubbish around all day I may as well make the most of it ‘Tip-bit’,” Dustpan countered. The salvage yard was populated with heaps of assorted junk, bric-a-brac and cast off carriage wheels.
“Rubbish?” Tip-bit retorted, “This, my boy isn’t garbage; it’s ‘bits’ just waiting to be found.” The old brown pony rested in his battered rocking chair and glared at Dustpan as if he had insulted Tip-bit’s sense of honour by daring to question his methods. For his part Dustpan just smiled all the wider, “Cheer up Tip, I hear that ponies who smile live longer and I plan on being around for as long as possible.”
Tip-bit snorted before mumbling something about “Colts these days” and thrust a crumpled piece of paper in Dustpan’s general direction, “’Clean Sweep’s’ off with the ‘Crunds’ so I need you to handle her run.”
For the first time that day Dustpan felt his cheery mood falter, “Sweep’s rounds? But that’s twice the size of mine!”
It was Tip-bit’s turn to grin, “Well I would get on with it quick then, I hear things get mighty busy in that quarter after midday; so if you want to be done before dusk I’d hop to it.”
Dustpan forced his smile back once again, “Oh okay Tip, but I better get some overtime pay for this.”
Tip-bit chuckled in a non-reassuring manner and simply pointed to Clean Sweep’s awaiting refuse cart. Dustpan eyed Tip-bit in irritation before finally folding and began to hitch himself up to the vehicle. Clean Sweep's cart was your average hauler wagon, bearing four sturdy wheels and high sides to carry its cargo safely: Nothing terribly impressive, but bigger than Dustpan’s own.
After a few minutes preparation, Dustpan was ready to head out and with a final salute to Tip-bit (who mealy rolled his eyes in return) pulled the cart into the awaiting streets of Canterlot.
Not only was Sweep's route larger than Dustpan's, it also lacked in social content. With it being incredibly dull, Dustpan soon found himself bored of the endless back allies and side streets his winding way took him.
His own day normally had Dustpan covering the busy plazas and food courts of Canterlot, where he would pick up the usual cast off food wrappers along with the occasional discarded item of interest. He would chat with the locals, catch up on the news around town and be off work a little after midday; normally cheery and rewarding work for him.
Now Dustpan only had his grumbling self to talk to as he hauled the waste from the more 'behind the scenes' sites of Equestria’s capital: Scrap from the blacksmith’s, wood chip from the carvers and other heavy rubbish that was left over from the industrial district. Even the walls seemed to be sombre here, far removed from the bright sunshine that here only just filtered down between the tall buildings all around.
He saw very few other ponies and all of them were too busy to stop and chat; carrying loads of their own or rushing to some appointment no doubt. With a quickly fading mood Dustpan pulled his now laden wagon towards the final leg of the round; the magic quarter.
Dustpan had heard stories about the magic quarter and of some of the very odd things that needed to be picked up from there. Tales abounded of the strange things that could happen to crews who lingered too long there. Clean Sweep had told stories that would curl your mane and so Dustpan sensibly proceeded with caution down the back streets of Canterlot’s more esoteric institutions.
He had only gone a few junctions when the first evidence of such stories being true came into view: A young mare was standing in the middle of the alley and was simply staring at a blank wall with every sign of intense study.
Dustpan pulled up just short of the pale purple pony and watched in some confusion; she was wearing what looked like a foal’s propeller hat, its lazy spinning blades threatening to catch in her wild violet mane. On further inspection Dustpan saw that her tail was in a similar state, but what really caught his attention was her eyes.
The mare’s eyes were a deep violet matching her mane. That was nothing odd, what did seem out of place was the intensity of her stare; which had the determination and directness of a power drill. Dustpan cautiously waved a hoof before her face, but the pony didn’t deviate from her close scrutiny of the smooth white stone in front of her.
Dustpan clapped his hooves together, but the strange pony didn’t move a muscle apart from the continuing steady rise and fall of her chest. Normally he'd be happy to go around, but a quick glance told him that this wasn't an option here.
With nothing else for it Dustpan cleared his throat, “Ehm, excuse me miss, could you please stand aside so I can come through?” The odd pony didn’t respond and continued to watch the bare wall intently.
Dustpan felt a prickle of annoyance blossom upon his already taxed nerves and called again with a little more force this time, “Miss, please move.” Without looking around the mare raised a hoof to her lips and simply shushed in reply.
Dustpan felt his resolve crumble further, “Look miss I don’t mean to be rude but you’re right in the way, move so I can get past, then you can get back to whatever it is you are doing.” [i[Today had started out so well
The uncooperative mare still didn’t budge, but now her lips moved slowly and the little blades of her hat spun more rapidly. Dustpan took a deep breath, shook his head and began the difficult process of reversing his now heavily laden cart back down the narrow street.
The bulky cart, not designed with such a delicate manoeuvre, pivoted awkwardly and backed into the side wall with a crunch: Scraping the paint off the brickwork and gouging a long furrow in the cart's own frame. Dustpan cursed loudly as the impact sent a shock through his spine and a number of refuse sacks tumbled out onto the cobbles below.
Dustpan snorted and rolled his shoulders before unhitching himself from the wagon, grumbling the whole while. Trotting around the cart, Dustpan ducked his head under the chassis and surveyed the damage. To his mounting anger he saw the rear wheel had buckled and let out another frustrated noise.
With nothing else for it Dustpan began the laborious task of refilling the cart with the scattered sacks along with other odds and ends which had tumbled out in the impact. A couple of the bags had split, spilling their dirty contents across the ground. I’ll be lucky if I get back before sundown at this rate.
Dustpan cursed again before raising his head to glare at the stupid pony who had caused this mess only to find she was gone. The alley way was now completely vacant and Dustpan rolled his eyes before shaking his hooves at the heavens and releasing another cry of total frustration.
It was a very grimy Dustpan who dragged his broken cart back to the ‘E.S’ yard just as the sun was sinking behind the skyline of Canterlot. The buckled wheel had locked up, causing Dustpan to practically drag the wagon the whole way from the magic quarter. He was tired, he was sore and his front hooves were covered in some kind of glowing powder that he didn’t care to name. Overall Dustpan was not happy to see the sight which greeted him when he finally stepped through the main gates of his workplace.
Tip-bit was waiting for him, the old pony’s hoof tapping and a stern look on his muzzle, “Well you took your time colt.”
Tip trotted past the exhausted stallion to review the cart and its contents, “And you broke Clean’s wagon!” Tip pointed out the damaged wood work along with the buckled wheel. As if I hadn’t noticed the broken wheel that added three hours to my journey, Dustpan snarled internally.
Tip-bit bristled before shaking his head in dismay, “Well you can forget about any overtime pay Dustpan, now get these sacks to the correct piles then you can set about patching this wagon up you hear me?”
Dustpan had had enough, it had been a long day and this was the final straw. With a furious look in his normally gentle eyes he threw down his cap before storming off towards the yard’s exit.
“Hey where do you think you’re going Dustpan,” Tip-bit called after the retreating pony but Dusty was through with today.
“You won’t have a job to come back to you hear if you don’t turn around right now Dustpan and finish up here,” Tip-bit shouted and Dustpan finally stopped, panting heavily.
“Right, now get your sorry flank back here and sort these sacks,” Tip-bit instructed. Dustpan turned around slowly and to Tip-bit’s indignation made a very rude gesture before slamming the gate behind him as he left.
The streets were crowed now and Dustpan was forced to push his way through the evening traffic, his anger simmering just below the surface the whole time. Who did Tip-bit think he was? Dustpan had worked for the company faithfully for years now and a little respect wasn’t much to ask was it?
As Dustpan continued along his slow path back home his anger began to cool: Yes Tip-bit was an overbearing employer who asked far too much of his staff, but this was the only job Dustpan had really known. He was happy to do jobs most ponies turned their noses up at, now he’d thrown it away in a moment of frustration.
With a sigh Dustpan turned dejectedly into the street he’d called home for the last four years and ran straight into another pony. Their fore heads met with a painful ‘crack’ and Dustpan sat down heavily as stars danced before his eyes. Shaking his head back and forth while clutching his hooves to his sore skull, Dustpan attempted to focus on the other pony he’d bumped into.
“Hey! why don’t you....” Dustpan began to shout when he saw who’d he had hit, it was the strange mare from the alley beforehoof, “You!”
“Is it me? Not sure, I was here a second ago and was looking for....” The odd pony fixed Dustpan with an intense stare, “Oh there you are, the loud mouth from before.”
Whoever this pony was she didn’t seem the least bit phased by cracking heads with Dustpan and to his mounting unease she watched him with that same riveted attention she’d given the brick wall a few of hours ago.
Dustpan flinched as the bizarre creature in the propeller hat leaned in so close that she was mere inches from his face, “I thought you would be taller.”
He didn’t have any response to this comment and so blinked mutely as the piercing scrutiny continued to bore into him. There was something about those eyes that troubled Dustpan deeply but he just couldn’t put his hoof on it.
“Well that settles it then, time for you to come with me,” Before Dustpan could stop her, the mare grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and began dragging the dazed stallion painfully across the cobbles.
“Hey! Wait what are you doing? Let go of me you crazy hoof brain,” Dustpan shouted as he struggled to shift the iron grip of the surprisingly strong pony.
His captor paused for a moment and looked back into the frightened eyes of Dustpan, “Awww you’re so sweet, it’s been ages since any pony had the manners to call me crazy. Father does everything he can to avoid saying so these days, thinks it will give me ideas.”
Dustpan continued to struggle as his flank felt every painful cobble he was dragged over and looked about wildly for assistance. To his mounting horror no pony seemed to give them the slightest bit of attention and Dustpan cried out in desperation, “Help! I’m being ponynapped!”
The ponies all around them continued on as if nothing were amiss, unconsciously side stepping the pair and creating a clear path through the crowd that was quickly filled behind them. Dustpan turned his head once more to stare at the pony dragging him along, “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m ‘Screwball’ silly, how could you have forgotten?” Dustpan watched as a look of confusion danced across Screwball’s face, “Or have we met yet? It’s so hard to keep track in this odd place; time flows so predictably.”
Dustpan once again felt he was missing a large part of this conversation, “Sorry run that by me again,” he asked with a slight tremble in his voice.
Screwball smiled happily, “Oh you’re so cute when you’re confused like that, now don’t worry I’m sure I’ll get it right this time.”
“Get what right?” Dustpan asked, his head still spinning.
“Why making up for wrecking your life Dustpan, I really am sorry about that by the way,” she explained.
Dustpan was so confused he momentarily forgot the dual pains in his head and rump, “Wrecked my life?”
Screwball had trotted off the main road and was making steady progress along a quite side street, “Yep completely; something about losing your job, your home and the filly of your dreams all in one night.”
Dustpan at least had a vague idea what Screwball was talking about now and felt a little better about things, “Well it was me who crashed the cart, I should have been more careful.”
Screwball stopped suddenly before fixing Dustpan with another one of her stares, “What cart?”
Dustpan felt his grip on the situation slipping once again, “The refuse cart I collided with a wall when I tried to avoid you in the magic quarter?”
Screwball cocked an eyebrow, “You met me in the magic quarter, what was I doing there?”
“No clue,” Dustpan replied honestly, “You were stood in the middle of the street, staring at a wall and no amount of coaxing would shift you.”
Screwball thought for a moment, “Large plain stone wall, just behind the magic academy and well off the beaten track?” Dustpan nodded, that sounded like the right place. Screwball tapped her chin and the blades of her hat spun a little faster, “Nope never seen it or even heard of it. You should take me there sometime it sounds fun.”
The poor stallion covered his face with his hooves as he attempted to stop his brain from breaking down, “But you just..”
Screwball shushed him once again, “It’s all very simple really, cause and effect don’t necessarily go together where I’m from, or even happen in the right order either. Now shut up and let me help you, it’s the least I can do for you okay?”
Dustpan just sat there shaking his head slowly as Screwball released her grip on him and trotted over to a wall. It looked like any other they had passed, but she began tapping it experimentally with her hoof.
Earlier parts of their conversation began to filter back into Dustpan’s lopsided mind and he couldn’t help but ask, “You like being called crazy then?”
Screwball continued her searching, running her hooves across the simple stonework as if looking for some hidden detail, “Oh undoubtedly by your standards Dusty, got a piece of paper to prove it and everything.” She almost sounded proud of the fact.
“Sorry; my standards?” Dustpan asked taken aback, that wasn’t quite the answer he was expecting.
Screwball took a few steps away from the wall with a perplexed look on her muzzle, “It’s not a matter of what I like being called, I am by pony standards completely ‘doo-laly’ and a good thing too, how boring it must be for ponies and thank goodness I don’t have to worry about that.”
Dustpan screwed his eyes shut once again, “You’re saying you're not a pony Screwball?”
The young mare smiled indulgently back at Dustpan, “Of course not, wherever did you get that idea from?”
Dustpan waved his hooves indicating the city, himself and finally Screwball, “Well I’m a pony in Equestria and you look a lot like one too.”
Screwball smiled warmly, “Ah I see how you got confused, I’m a cherry bush this week, but just happen to be disguised as a pony to fit in.”
Once again Dustpan found his mental grip on the situation dissolving in the face of Screwball’s logic. He didn’t have further chance to ponder on this new revelation as Screwball grabbed him by the scruff of the neck once more and dragged the confused pony away from the wall she’d been examining.
Just as he was about to ask what she was up to now, Screwball broke into a full gallop and headed directly at the wall she had been studying, pulling Dustpan alongside. “Wait what are you d...” was all he managed to ask before the world turned a funny shade of purplish/blue and the wall swallowed them both whole.
What followed was a very complicated moment, where Dustpan didn’t know exactly who, what or when he was. One moment he felt himself to be a small pincushion tumbling down a dark hole, the next he was a bird of prey flying above some oddly shaped mountains made from sparkling glass.
This confusion was all over in a flash and Dustpan suddenly collided with a tiled floor in a vast room easily the size of the Royal Theatre in Canterlot. looking around, Dustpan noticed that the dimensions didn’t seem to quite fit; in some strange way that he couldn’t put a hoof on, the far wall seemed closer than the floor that he was sprawled across.
The impressive room was lit by a number of heavy looking chandeliers, with candles which against all probability seemed to be burning in a variety hues and directions. What disconcerted Dustpan the further was that none of the chandeliers hung down at the same angle and now he knew what to look for that none of the other angles in this place seemed to work either.
The tiles were a mish-mash of black and white, but followed a kind of pattern more akin to crazy paving than standard chess board layout which Dustpan was used to. A curving red carpet seemed to snake its way along the floor almost at random, leading to a number of miss-matched doors lining the walls.
Screwing his eyes tightly shut against the insane layout which caused his stomach to lurch, Dustpan heard an unfamiliar voice calling from what sounded to be very far away, “Ah Screwball my dear, you’re back. I was hoping we could review the upcoming party plans and the treatment records for.....”
The voice was deep and carried an air of self assurance that instantly put Dustpan in mind of a circus ring master he’d seen during one of the Canterlot fairs. It was a showpony’s voice and Dustpan knew with dread that he recognised it.
Forcing open one protesting eye Dustpan saw the towering form of a draconequus standing before him. Discord was wearing two odd slippers, a tropically coloured smoking jack and carrying a steaming mug with the words “Worlds best Dad,” written upon it.