//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 — Journey Into The Past 
// Story: The Egg Thief 
// by OleGrayMane 
//------------------------------//

 
Despite the fitful night, I awoke refreshed. My appetite returned, and I felt ready for anything once I got washed up. I burst out of the apartment and bounded down the stairs to the street. A combination of morning sun and crisp air completed the cure.

I'd been a sap the other day. Sure the birds were dead, but they'd been dead long before my grandfather was a foal. Heck, even the ponies that added them to the collection were dead themselves. And before somepony shoved it down in the subbasement, the collection had helped science. Hundreds of students must have used it to learn about nature and earn degrees. I felt a little sorry for the birds, but they were things now, not living creatures. They might be a little creepy, but I needed to a professional and not let it bother me.

And after all, it wasn't like we were running out of birds, were we?

I felt positively chipper by the time I caught up to Wry on the castle grounds. Then we descended into the forsaken hole, and anxiety was waiting for me. Door number six loomed, and I fumbling with the keys, praying that none of them would work. If I couldn't find a key, I'd tell DeCamp the deal was off. I'd get the hell out of there and never come back.

While Wry was working to open his room, and despite my hopes, a key turned in the latch of door six. I couldn't bring myself to open it. Wry came over and stared at me, standing patient and silent. He put his hoof on the door and gave it a shove. The room lights flickered.

“Dammit,” he said. Another day in a room filled with orderly rows of cases awaited me.

Wry's face began to implode. “This is a load of—” I think he used every profanity he knew. If I'd been listening, instead of gazing glassy eyed into the room, I'm sure I would have found he'd invented a few new ones for the occasion.

I shook my head in disbelief, but I should have known it would be like this. If the guy wasn't just an entomologist, he wasn't just an ornithologist either. Before I'd run out of rooms, I'd find he was fifteen more flavors of ologist.

Wry wound down and said, “Listen, you take a break. I'll do this one and you try an odd room, okay?”

The offer sounded inviting, but I wouldn't admit defeat. I couldn't. This was my job, and I had to do it even when I hated it. That's what jobs are all about. That's why they pay you. And while Wry appeared sympathetic at that moment, I knew he'd never let me hear the end of it. I resolved to endure another day of dead animals rather than being the butt of his jokes for an eternity.

“No,” I stated.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I can handle it.” I nodded and inhaled deeply. “I've got a system.”

I took a clipboard and left Wry to his room. Opening the first drawer held as much dread as opening the room itself. I bit my lip and eased the drawer open.

Eggs, each with a little hole where somepony had removed the insides. Trays of eggs from all types of birds. I recognized some of the scientific names from the previous day. But the eggs were more like the bug collection than the cemetery in room four. Each drawer had its list, and I could use my system. I didn't even have to count. So I turned off my brain and started copying.

If it had to be something dead, eggs weren't too bad. The spiders, beetles, and moths were interesting because they were new, and honestly, I couldn't feel bad about them being dead. A bug is a bug, and I've never liked them. The birds got to me. But I could think of the eggs as funny shaped rocks, not living things. I worked hard rationalizing their fate. If they'd gotten the contents out through those little holes, it means they didn't kill anything, right? They were probably never alive in the first place.

Drawer after drawer, case after case, I copied the ancient manifests onto my forms. Before I knew it, I'd finished. The whole room complete in less than a day. I must have worked like a machine and skipped lunch. But if I had, why hadn't Wry called for me? He wasn't the type who missed a meal, and he usually liked company. I wandered into the corridor in a daze.

I stuck my head into room seven where he was working and hollered, “Hey, what time is it?”

He pulled out his pocket watch. “Eleven forty-five. You wanna break now?”

How the hell did I finish a room in less than half a day? I'm nowhere near as fast as Wry. I must have missed something.

“Uh, just checking. Give me a few more minutes.” I went back to room six and double checked the cases and their labels. Before I'd gone over a dozen cases, my eyes were swimming. Everything matched, but it didn't make sense. Exhausted, I gave up, and Wry and I sat in the corridor and took our break.

“Gee, your system really works,” he said. “You're gonna help me now, right?”

“I must have zoned out or something. I'm going to double check it all. No way I did a whole room in half a day. I'll take my time and—”

Somepony was coming down the stairs and we waited in the dim light, not uttering a sound.

We heard a voice call out “Hullo?” before a face appeared in the doorway. It was DeCamp. “Ah, gentlecolts. Enjoying your midday repast?”

“Just taking a lunch break,” Wry said.

“I was about to take mine,” DeCamp said, “and thought I might check on your progress before the weekend.” We didn't respond. “So, how goes it?”

Wry's professionalism kicked in. “We're nearing completion with the inventory on the first six rooms,” he reported before handed DeCamp one of his clipboards.

DeCamp glanced through a few pages, way too fast to be reading. He stopped and looked at Wry. “A summary perhaps?”

“The three rooms I've inventoried contain furniture and household goods of approximately eighty to one hundred years old. Some are in marginal condition, but almost all are salable. There's some artwork of dubious quality, and if it hadn't come from the castle it wouldn't fetch much.”

“I see.” DeCamp's nose twisted up like he smelled something unpleasant.

“But it has come from the castle,” Wry went on, “and that's probably going to put a 20-25% premium on what you'd otherwise get.” He smiled at DeCamp. “So, you're in luck.”

The attempt to placate him failed. DeCamp turned away from Wry and directed his piercing eyes at me. “And you?”

“The rooms I've inventoried contain the collection of some naturalist. Insects, birds, eggs. That sort of thing.”

“Interesting.” DeCamp sounded genuinely curious. It wasn't quite the response I'd expected given how he reacted to Wry. “And how much do you think it will fetch?”

“Probably nil.”

DeCamp's face trembled. “Are you telling me you've found nothing of value in three days?”

“Technically, it's only been two-and-a-half days—”

“Such impertinence!”

“—and I never said it wasn't valuable. Can you imagine anyone paying for a bunch of dead birds and bugs?”

His scowl deepened.

“I can't either. But I do think the collection is extremely valuable, in a non-monetary way.”

DeCamp clenched his jaw, and I swear I heard his teeth crack.

“It would make for a generous gift to the Museum of Natural History, wouldn't it? The papers love stories about unusual scientific discoveries. And when it's presented, there'd be an excellent photo op for the undersecretary—and yourself of course. I expect the picture of the two of you with the museum directory will look splendid at the top of the Arts and Culture section in the Sunday edition.”

There wasn't a sound besides the three of us breathing. DeCamp's face was flush with anger, and for a moment, I feared he was poised on the brink of violence. Then his eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. He appeared to be applying a cold calculus to the proposal, yet his stormy look remained. At last, he contorted his lips as his tongue appeared to excavate some food stuck between his back teeth.

“Do you have a degree, Mr. Stone?”

“Yes, sir. Medieval Equestrian Literature.”

“Such a shame.” He sniffed. “You should have specialized in Public Relations.”

Wry snickered. DeCamp cast a frosty glance at us both as he left.

“Let's pick up the pace, gentlecolts,” he instructed as he climbed the stairs. “I expect more progress when I visit you next.”

Once DeCamp was out of earshot, I swung at Wry for laughing. “Thanks for the support there, buddy.”

“Hey, I'm still on your side. Remember, I omitted to tell him his came-from-the-palace premium is going to be eaten up by the cost of hauling this junk out of here. And getting it cleaned up.”

“And don't forget Rapid Fire's cut.” I grinned. “That should leave him with—what—about half of nothing?”

Wry grinned back. “Maybe five-eighths.” We chuckled and returned to our lunch.

Afterwards, Wry went back to his room, and I resumed double checking my list. Despite having DeCamp rattle us, my head felt clearer after the break. I had the weekend to look forward to, and thoughts of a couple of days away from the subbasement kept me going.

I was making good progress, when towards the end of the row along the back of the room, I noticed the difference between six and the two previous rooms.

In the other rooms, the cases were abutting in the corners, but here they didn't come close to touching. That left a gap large enough for a slim pony to squeeze through. The dead space in the corner was dark and I'd missed the door the first time through.

Unlike two and four, six had a back half.

I slipped into the corner and tried opening the door. It was locked. I went back to get the keys and share the news with Wry.

“Hey,” I yelled as he dug around in room seven. “I figured out what I missed.”

“What was that?”

“A door.”

“What?”

“There's a second part to room six. I missed a door in the back.”

Wry gave out a long, knowing Ah.

“We'll have to check for doors hiding behind junk in all the rooms.”

“Righto,” Wry said.

I grabbed the keys. The one that opened six didn't open the hidden door so I checked the others. I'd almost exhausted them all when the mechanism turned, but the door didn't open. I shoved it with my shoulder. No luck. Finally, I kicked it, but only succeeded in making my leg hurt. The door remained stubbornly stuck, so I went to get Wry.

“You think it will finally be something good?” he asked. “Maybe they hid some fine wines or aged cognac back there. You know a bottle or two might have to disappear, especially before Friday night.”

I chortled at his optimism. “We can dream, can't we.”

The two of us squeezed into the cramped corner. There was little room to maneuver, and our only option was to throw ourselves against the door, hoping to muscle it open. Even then, it wasn't like we could get a running start. We counted to three and put out shoulders into it. It gave a little, so we tried again. With a loud metallic complaint, the door unwillingly opened.

The back part of the room held no cognac, no jewels, no fabulous artwork, not even beat up furniture. It held more cases. Wry wandered away mumbling while I shook my head. There was nothing left to do but get to work.

But the cases were different from the ones in the front half of six. The drawers were about twice as deep as the biggest ones in the bird morgue. Like the drawers full of bugs back in two, all of them were the same height, with eight to a case. And even with the lights fully illuminating them, the wood was noticeably darker.

The case construction seemed cruder than what I’d found in the other rooms too. Instead of a pair of brass pulls, each drawer had a single wooden one that spanned two-thirds of its width. But what was most important to me was that nothing was labeled. I’d have to assign my own numbers to everything.

I pulled open the bottom drawer of the first case. Well, I tried to pull it open, but it didn't want to budge, just like the damn door to the hidden room. It took both hooves to get it open.

The contents were nothing like I'd seen before.

They were eggs, but not like the ones in the front part of the room. The drawer held a dozen eggs, each about the size of my head. I tapped on one. The shell felt like stone. And no two were alike, each varied in color and pattern. Some were brown with yellow swirls, then the reverse, while others ranged from green to dark blue with complementary or contrasting spots.

I reasoned that they must have come from the same species, simply because of their size. I mean, how many giant birds were there in Equestria? Plus, the old naturalist wouldn't stuff things in a drawer at random. He was too methodical. At that point, I looked for a list of the drawers contents. I rummaged around and didn't find a thing. I tried another drawer. Still nothing. Why would they forget to inventory these? Things got stranger when I lifted one of the eggs.

It weighed lot more than I expected. A lot, lot more. That explained why the drawers felt like they were stuck. And that weight wasn't only from the shell. A quick examination showed there were no holes, no evidence somepony extracted their contents. Whatever came in those thick shells was still there.

I scratched my head. Why weren't these cataloged and why weren't they empty?

Maybe, I thought, they weren't eggs after all. Maybe they were a display for an exhibit or an art project. Museums have art projects for the little fillies sometime, don't they? These would end up being egg shaped rocks painted as part of some education program. That could explain why nopony would have bothered inventorying them.

I convinced myself I'd go to the next case and find the real collection there, complete with a full manifest.

But no, it contained only more giant eggs. The third, the fourth, the seventh, and the fifteenth case were all alike: twelve huge multicolored eggs per drawer, uncatalogued and unemptied. Fifteen cabinets with eight drawers each—over a thousand eggs in those alone, and that wasn't even a third of the row!

Before I got too anxious, I stepped back to collect my thoughts. Why, the situation wasn't bad at all. So what if there wasn't an inventory? I'd number the cabinets and drawers, check to make sure they were full and do some multiplication. It wouldn't take more than two or three hours before I'd be done. And identifying the species and figuring out what they were worth? No problem there: Birdsong.

Yeah, I told myself, this is going to be easy.

And it was. About twenty percent of the cases were empty, and the last drawer that held any eggs was only half filled. I grabbed one from the last drawer and took it to show Wry.

“Whoa,” he exclaimed. “I'd hate to meet mom in the dark. Who laid that ridiculous thing?”

“No idea. That's why I'm off to the museum.” I jammed the egg into my saddle bags and put them on. “I need to see about the list of bugs from number two anyway, and I'm sure Birdsong's going to flip when she sees the lists from four and six.”

“No doubt.”

“I'm off.” I waved to Wry as I hit the stairs. “Hey, you have a good weekend and stay out of trouble.”


—❦—


When I got to the museum, April sat defending the desk. She watched me enter, her eyes narrowing as I neared. I got into firing range, and before I could speak, she snapped at me.

“Dr. Birdsong is busy and can't be disturbed.”

“But I—”

“You'll have to come back Monday. Good day.”

“I have something she'll want to see.” I pulled out the inventory of birds from room four and tossed it on her desk. It landed with a thunk.

She let it sit like it was toxic to the touch, all the while directing her chilly glare at me. Then her eyes fell upon the first page and she pulled the clipboard towards her. Her jaw dropped as she flipped to page two. Before she'd hit page three, she snatched the list and trotted away.

All I could do was yell out, “Hey.”

“I'll have her here in a moment.” She was true to her word.

Birdsong was all smiles as she walked over. “Where did find all this?”

“In the room next to the bug collection. And wait till you get a look at the next one.” I presented her with the inventory from the front half of room six.

She flipped through the pages while shaking her head. April watched us closely, fiddling unconvincingly with paperwork. I still needed to show the gigantic egg to Birdsong, but I didn't want to do it in public.

“I've got one more thing, but—er—can we go somewhere more private?”

Her response was delayed as she continued reading. “Sure,” she murmured. “Just follow me.”

April's eyes followed me as I trailed after Birdsong. For once, those eyes didn't look so frosty.


—❦—


Birdsongs’s office was a cracker box of an affair, dominated by shelving packed with folders and papers jutting out at all angles. I figured somepony with a Ph.D after their name would have a bigger place, something at least as large as the one Wry and I shared. She didn’t, but at least her windows were clean.

She managed to squeeze behind her desk and made some space on its cluttered top before sitting down to absorb the inventory of room six. As she perused the entries, she occasionally put on a thoughtful expression or nodded.

After a few minutes, she completed the last page and said, “This is quite a collection you have here, Dusty.”

“All the credit goes to old professor whatever his name was. My job's just to clear it out and try to make a bit or two.”

“I can help with the former but not with the latter.”

“Yeah, I understand.” I wore a sheepish grin as my eyes roamed around her office.

“So what did you need to show me?”

When I extracted the egg from my saddlebag and held it up for her to see. Birdsong's hoof went to her throat. I set the egg on her desk. She didn't budge until it started to roll. The two of us raced to prop it up with some nearby books.

Birdsong examined the egg the way a fortune-teller peers into a crystal ball. Her hooves skimmed across its surface, poring over every inch. She finished her eyeballing and put an ear against it. Then she tapped it several times. I grew impatient when it appeared that she was about to repeat the entire process.

“So what laid this monstrosity?” I asked.

“I'm not positive and I wouldn't want to get your hopes up.” Her tone was serious yet tinged with doubt. She paused and stroked the egg. “There is somepony who would know for certain.”

I figured she meant a senior colleague at the museum, somepony right down the hall. “Well let's go see them.”

Birdsong looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It wasn't quite six. “No, not tonight. By the time we get there, she'll be asleep.”

“Asleep? Where the heck is she?” The streets could get congested on a Friday night, but you could still get across town in less than forty-five minutes. It didn't make sense that somepony would be in bed before seven, and on a Friday night no less.

“She's out in the country in a rest home. It takes about ninety minutes to get there.” Birdsong reached into a drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper, and scribbled down an address. “Meet me here tomorrow at ten sharp. The Professor's lucid after her morning nap, but you can't get much out of her after lunch. She gets groggy and dozes off.”

“The Professor, eh?”

“Yes, Professor Hitchinpost. You remember her—from the university.”


—❦—


The pleasant Saturday morning cab ride to Shady Glade Retirement Home cost me more than I expected. I held the boxed egg on my lap and had plenty of time to recollect about the Professor as the scenery moved by. Even those of us who weren't in the sciences knew the name Edwina Hitchinpost, and we dreaded it. Everypony had their science requirement, and in addition to the advanced classes, the university assigned Professor Hitchinpost the introductory courses in chemistry, natural history, and geology. I'd taken geology because, well, Stone you know. It made sense at the time.

Professor Hitchinpost wasn't the unlikable type at all. She loved her subjects and worked hard to get us to share her enthusiasm. We feared her because she expected us to learn. Her tests were legendary, straight grading, no curve. If the book covered it or if she mentioned it in lecture, you'd better know it or you'd be back to see her next semester. I escaped Geology 101 with the hardest won C in my life.

The cab got me to Shady Glade by nine fifty-five. Birdsong sat waiting for my arrival.

“Let me do the talking. Okay, Dusty? Sometime she's confused, but she always remembers me.”

“And how is it she remembers you? I'm sure she's had an awful lot of students over the years.”

“She was my adviser,” Birdsong said. “Then my mentor in the Ph.D program. She kept me going when I thought I couldn't take it any more.”

“Ah.” I walked by her side as we climbed the porch stairs and halted before the front door. “But that wasn't that long ago, was it? How'd she end up here so soon?”

Birdsong's look was a strange mixture. Sadness? Yes, but something more. Embarrassment? A tinge. I believe I caught a trace of fear. But whatever the combination was, talking about the Professor made her noticeably uncomfortable.

“Her arthritis slowed her down and she ended up it a wheelchair while I was still in school. The year after I graduated, her mind turned on her. She's not gone, but occasionally things get—muddled. Then she gets angry or—frightened.” Birdsong stopped and looked down the row of empty chairs on the porch.

“She doesn't have family nearby, so I come out and see her a couple of times a year. I owe it to her.”

I had nothing to say, so I nodded. She looked at me and offered a fragile smile.

I grinned back. “I understand.”

“Thanks. It's really hard sometimes.” Birdsong took a deep breath. “Let's hope she's with it today.”


—❦—


Birdsong signed us in at the desk and we took a flight of stairs to the second floor. We walked down a long hallway towards the Professor's room. The home oozed the cheery façade places like that always put up. A colorful little sign announced some pony's birthday, and dainty vases of dried flowers stood in front of pictures of outdoor vistas. But the residents sat in their rooms, silent and alone.

When we stepped into the Professor's room, she was as inanimate as any of the others, looking out the window and into the trees. She heard us and turned her wheelchair around. Her face lit up when she saw Birdsong.

“Oh! My little Birdie's flown back.”

Birdsong gave her a hug. “So good to see you again, Professor.”

“No more professor nonsense, hmm? Edwina will do.” She pointed towards the window and waggled her hoof. “I was just observing a pair of nesting Sialia Curra… Curro… Curri…” She closed her eyes and became perturbed.

“Currucoides,” Birdsong said. I recognized the name: bluebirds. I'd inventoried twenty dead ones two days prior.

“Yes, yes, exactly.” The frustration in Edwina's voice was directed at herself, not Birdsong.

At that moment, the old professor spotted me. She clapped her hooves together and cried, “Oh, and you've brought your husband today.”

Birdsong floundered. Seldom have I had such sport by remaining silent. I'll have to recommend the technique to Wry, but I'm certain he'd scoff. Ten seconds passed before I decided to rescue Birdsong by correcting the old mare.

“No, Ma'am. I was a student of yours. Dusty Stone. You taught me geology.”

The corner of her mouth scrunched up and her eyes narrowed. “Convex fold of strata?” she blurted.

“Uh…” It was my turn now, and I flailed for the answer as they watched. But Professor Hitchinpost taught me well, and somewhere in a forgotten corner of my mind, I tripped over what looked like an answer. “Anticline?”

“Good enough.” Edwina's head bobbed thoughtfully. “Antiform would have been a better choice, unless you possess x-ray eyes.”

Birdsong defended me from further grilling by engaging Edwina in small talk for a while. Then she revealed the purpose of our visit.

“Mr. Stone has brought something for you to see, Edwina.”

“Hmm?” She turned and looked at me.

I placed the box on the table by the window and extracted the egg, resting it in the lid to prevent it from rolling away. As I stepped back, I surreptitiously watched Edwina's eyes.

Without the slightest change in demeanor, she rolled her wheelchair to the table. She examined the egg's exterior with a precision I hadn't thought she'd be capable of in her enfeebled state. Her hooves rode over the surface with not so much as a tremor or hesitation, and with that phase complete, she barked out an order.

“Miss Birdsong, my glass. Bedside. Top drawer.” Birdsong dashed to the bedside stand and pulled out a large magnifying glass. With the glass held close to her face, Edwina doubled her scrutiny.

“Genuine,” she mumbled after combing the egg's surface. Eventually, she put the magnifying glass down and uttered, “Intact”.

She tried righting it so its pointy end was up but failed. “Assist me, Mr. Stone,” she commanded. I got it situated. Like Birdsong, she put her ear against the egg and gave it a rather severe rap. Her pupils widened, and her face glowed brighter than when she'd seen Birdsong enter the room.

The Professor spun her chair about, her eyes locked on Birdsong. “Inhabited?”

“I thought so too,” she replied.

“Children,” the old mare proclaimed, “this is an extreme privilege for us all. You are in the presence of perhaps the rarest and most scientifically valuable item in all Equestria.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” I cleared my throat. “But what is it?”

“A dragon's egg, of course.”

Her pronouncement convinced me she'd lost it. I looked to Birdsong for confirmation, certain that Edwina's failing mind got it wrong. Instead, Birdsong nodded yes.

At that moment, my respect for the old naturalist and his staff went up exponentially. Snatching eggs from hawks and eagles was one thing, but taking them from the largest and most dangerous creatures in the land? Wow, they liked to live dangerously in the old days.

“You must tell me, Mr. Stone”—Edwina's tone was accusatory—“how you came into the possession of such a rare item.”

“I'm an appraiser for an auction house, Professor. It's from the collection of a naturalist in Canterlot. I brought it to Dr. Birdsong for identification.”

“I knew you'd be able to confirm it, Edwina,” Birdsong said. “I couldn't be sure since I've only seen them in textbooks. But you'd at least seen the empty shells.”

“You've seen them before?” The words leapt from my mouth before I'd realized it.

“Oh, yes, several times. You see—”

Normally, the minute an old pony starts a story, I contemplate leaping from a window. But that morning, I restrained myself.

“Many years ago, when I was even younger than Birdie, I was part of a research program created by the Princess. Oh, we were so proud to work for her. She has such a beautiful heart, filled with kindness for all creatures, you know. I remember the first time I saw her, when she explained to us newcomers what she wanted. Each word she spoke was like a song, a glorious melody. I've told you that, haven't I, Birdie?”

“Yes, Edwina, many times.” Birdsong's tone was almost soothing.

“Oh, yes, so sweet and pure. The Princess told us how concerned she was about our fellow creatures, especially the dragons. Yes, even the dragons, ferocious beasts that they were. It spoke so much of her gentle nature that she could love even them.” She halted and her eyes misted up. We waited for her to continue, but reverie had carried her off.

“Tell Mr. Stone about the program, Edwina.” She ignored Birdsong's suggestion. “Edwina—the program?”

“The program, of course. The dragon population had been dwindling for hundreds of years, and the Princess needed to know why. She wanted to help the poor things, but they were so hostile and secretive. If only they would have let us help them. But the silly things wouldn't, so the Princess created the program.

“Each April, she'd send the royal guards to locate their nesting spots. Once they'd find a nest, they'd organize a team to observe and send reports back to the Princess. That was our job. We'd gather our equipment and head out as fast as we could.

“Oh, we'd ride those terrible old trains. So slow and bumpy and they never got us quite close enough. We'd hike into the mountains, sometimes for days, to set up our observation posts, making sure we were hidden from those sharp eyes of theirs. Once we were close enough, we'd spend hours counting and describing them, mapping where they placed their nests. We'd climb into the valley at night and signal for the guards to fly our reports to her highness. Oh, those nights! It's bitter cold in the mountains at night, you know. And the food was terrible, nasty hard biscuits that ground your teeth down. But we didn't care. Not a bit. We were young, and we knew we were helping the Princess—and the dragons too.”

“But dragons are practically extinct,” I said. Edwina looked crestfallen.

“They were so rare back then, but now…” She shook her head. “Their population had fallen so low that they weren't viable any more. I don't know what we could have done to save them. Something was wrong, but we never found out what it was.”

She became particularly animated, shaking her hoof at us. “Many times, we would see the adults fly off, with no little ones. None. They'd just… just… abandon their nests for no reason. They couldn't have spotted us, we were too crafty.

“Afterwards, we'd climb into the caves, hoping to find an empty shell, something to prove we'd missed a hatchling.” Edwina paused and looked out the window with a gaze fixed on a far away time and place. “In all those years, only five teams found any evidence of a hatch. Only five…”

She gestured for Birdsong to fetch a glass of water from beside her bed. She sipped from it and continued.

“The Princess looked so disappointed. You could see the sadness in those beautiful eyes of her's. It broke my heart to fail her so. We wanted to help so much, we truly did. Finally, three years went without finding a single spot where they nested. The program ended.”

For a moment, I wanted to tell her about what lay hidden beneath the castle all those years without anypony knowing, but instead I asked a question.

“Professor Hitchinpost?” She looked up at me with a watery gaze. “When you and Birdsong talked about the egg, you used the word inhabited. What exactly do you mean?”

“Exactly what the word means, Mr. Stone.”

“So there's a…”

Edwina's head waggled vigorously and I feared it would become detached.

“She means it contains a dragon.” Birdsong must have assumed I was a thick as the egg's shell.

“Alive?” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” Edwina said. “That is why it is so precious. It could be the last of its kind.”

The revelation left me dizzy. On Friday, I'd been surrounded by thousands of them. Who knows how many of those were still inhabited.

“So…” I gulped. “It could hatch?”

“No. Not without the aid of its mother.” The Professor drifted off in thought and then added, “Or suitable magic.” The words invigorated her.

“Yes, magic!” A smile flashed across her face. “The Princess might be the only one capable of doing it, but it could be done. Yes, the Princess.” Then her spirits sank as fast as they'd risen.

“What would be the point? One isn't enough to bring them back. Fifty or five hundred rule right, Birdie?”

“Genetics—fifty for diversity, five hundred to cope with change,” she explained. “Nowadays, we think you need even more than that, Edwina.”

“How cruel to be the last of your kind, living your days in loneliness.” Edwina remained motionless in her chair, staring into her lap. “No, the poor thing is better off sleeping, never knowing the fate of its kind.”

I restrained myself again. Maybe I was still stunned to find out I'd been in a room filled with the little monsters, or maybe I didn't believe her. After all, she was a dotty old mare, reliving a distant past. For all I knew, her memory of the program was a demented fiction produced by her failing mind. Yet, Birdsong didn't think so. And there was the strangeness of the collection in that back room, made even stranger now that I knew what they were. I had a lot to think about, and telling Birdsong and Edwina about all those eggs could wait.

The three of us were silent for a long time. I walked over to the table and put the egg back in its box. While I did, Birdsong talked with Edwina. Nothing important, just everyday things to take her mind off the subject of dragons.

They went on for some time talking about happenings at the university and the museum. I figured their visits normally went that way. While they rambled, I sat in the corner with the box at my side. I anchored it with my foreleg, as if the blasted thing would hatch and fly away.

Midday approached and an attendant dropped by to inform Edwina they'd be serving lunch soon. We escorted her down in the elevator, and Birdsong wheeled her into the cafeteria. We took her to her table and said our good-byes.

When I went to shake her hoof, she grasped me with surprising strength. Her eyes bored into mine.

“Take care of our friend, Mr. Stone,” she said with intensity. “It is the most precious thing in this world.”


—❦—


“The Professor sure does love the Princess,” I said as we walked out the front door of the rest home. “I mean, I've got nothing against the monarchy, so long as the trains run on time.”

“She's of that generation,” Birdsong said. “And remember, she worked with her personally. She was young, and that made a real impression. I can only imagine.” She sighed. “I'm glad she still has those memories, and I'm glad she was able to see an intact egg. Thanks, Dusty.”

I shrugged. “Just doin' my job.”

We sat at the base of the porch stairs, waiting for the cab Birdsong had arranged to take us back to the city. I complained since she made me pay.

“You should be able to afford it now,” she said. “After all, you have the most precious item in all Equestria according to Edwina.”

I scoffed. “Is the museum going to find the money for it or will it expect another donation?”

“No way it's going to happen, is it?” She thought some more. “Your client would need special permission to sell something that rare anyway, wouldn't he?”

“I'm sure it's not in his purview unless he's the undersecretary of eggs.” The cab came through the gate and headed towards us. “Anyway… let's wait till we get in the cab.”

“Wheres to, folks?” the driver asked. Birdsong gave him her address and we hopped aboard. We got under way, and I kept quiet until I knew the driver wasn't paying attention.

“The truth is—” I paused and patted the box's top. “The little fellow in here isn't alone.”

“Huh?” she said. “Twins? How would you know? You didn't even know it was a dragon egg.”

I shushed her and nodded towards the driver. “There's more than one of them,” I whispered. Her face froze.

“Yesterday, I was in a room with over eight thousand of these.”

She covered her mouth.

“Yeah. Not so rare now, eh?”

“Dusty, that's fantastic! That's more than enough to bring back their population. We need to tell Edwina.” I blocked her hoof before she could signal the driver.

“No. First, we don't know if they are all inhabited, do we? Next, they don't belong to us. They're on castle grounds, so they belong to the Princess. If they were important to her long ago, I'm sure they're no less important to her now.”

“Then we'll tell the Princess.”

“It's not that easy, Birdsong.” I rubbed my temples. Edwina's story left me with a lot to consider. We'd hoped to find something valuable, but never this valuable. Rare item posed all kinds of obstacles, and the first obstacle that came to my mind was DeCamp.

“You see, Wry and I don't like our client. We don't trust him. Sometimes, when we find valuable items, the clientele get a little greedy—and weird.”

“Then don't tell him. We'll get word to the Princess some other way.” Her zeal for restoring the beasts seemed unstoppable.

“Okay, let's say we do that. We still have a lot of unanswered questions.” My head started pounding.

“Dusty, you're not making sense.” She ended with a nervous laugh. “You've got all these eggs—”

I stopped massaging my head and jabbed a hoof at her. “Exactly. First, I'd like to find out more about the old buzzard who collected them, and then I'd like to know why.”

“He was building a research collection.”

“Of spiders and beetles and birds, but…” I found it hard to explain why what I'd seen in the back half of the room six appeared out of place. “Okay. So killing thirty-two robins is one thing…”

She pulled back like I'd made a personal affront. “We do that for a reason, Dusty. We need to differentiate between individual variances and differences between species.”

“Fine. Kill sixty-four of them if you have to. I don't care.” I paused. “But eight thousand, Birdsong. Eight thousand.” I watched her defensiveness melt.

She fiddled with her mane. “That is an awful lot.”

“And that's just the start,” I said. “You saw the lists with the birds and the eggs, right? I copied lists from inside the drawers or from the tags on the birds. All the cases were meticulously labeled and inventoried. That's what you'd do right, Doctor?”

Birdsong nodded.

“Not for these guys.” I tapped on the box. “No paperwork. Nothing at all.”

“That is strange—”

“More than strange, it was—” I searched for a word to describe it. “Compared to the rest of his collection, this was a mania, a compulsion. I don't like the idea of killing a bunch of birds, but I understand it. Science and all. But this was like… like a disease.”

“Strange,” she murmured and focused on the passing countryside. “I wonder why.”

“Yeah.” I thought I'd run out things to say, but then it just came out.

“Maybe he had something against them.”


—❦—


The cab dropped me off two blocks from my place. Although I gave the cabbie a decent tip, he continued glaring until I turned over yet another five bits. I guess he figured he deserved extra for making two stops. After saying good-bye to Birdsong, I trudging the remaining distance on hoof. Four flights of stairs later and I'd arrived at my apartment.

I cleared a spot on the table for the egg and made myself a snack. The sandwich disappeared without me tasting it. I watched the box and thought about the events of the morning. It felt wrong to leave my guest sealed up in there, so I took it out. Its colors glowed as the afternoon sun spilled through the window.

Birdsong and the Professor were convinced the dragon in there was alive. Who was I to say different? All I could hope was that it was asleep like the Professor thought. A conscious being trapped in the dark for a hundred years would be insane. An insane dragon didn't seem like the ideal house guest.

No mater how I tried, I couldn't concentrate for what little remained of the afternoon. Edwina's story, the conversation with Birdsong in the cab, the whole affair smothered my desire to do anything. I'd gone to Birdsong to get answers, but now I had more questions. I didn't want questions, yet alone hard ones.

Why couldn't the project have been easy? When Wry got me the job at Rapid Fire's, I thought it would be simple enough. All I wanted was a job that paid the bills and let me relax every now and then, but instead, it was keeping me up at night and ruining my weekends.

Saturday night was approaching. Normally I'd be going out to a club, but instead, I puttered around the apartment until it was either too late or too early to go anywhere or do anything. Damn Rapid Fire and DeCamp. Damn the dragons and their damn eggs.

I damned the dragons and their eggs repeatedly, but before I went to bed, I made sure the egg sitting on my table was okay.


—❦—


I awoke on Sunday at my usual time: right before noon.

After tackling the heap of dishes that mysteriously accumulated in the sink during the week, I contemplated what to do with the rest of my day. I always liked to keep Sunday unstructured on the off chance that Saturday night ran long or got complicated. But without a Saturday night, my day was entirely open.

I'd bought a volume of Coltridge's poetry months back and had been meaning to finish it off. Poetry was a good habit I picked up in school and I've never lost it. The apartment wasn't the proper setting to read the poet's work, but the park was, especially on a spring day. Canterlot might be a busy city, buzzing with ponies, but the park always managed to provide a secluded spot for reading.

Yet, I didn't dare leave the egg alone in the apartment. Certainly it was too valuable—or it might be. That was yet to be determined. Stranger still, it felt wrong to leave it behind. The consensus was that it was a living thing. You wouldn't leave a foal alone in some strange pony's apartment, would you? It wouldn't be right. I tucked it into my saddlebag with the book and headed for the park.

All afternoon I sat beneath a newly leafed tree, while the egg stayed in my bags, hidden from prying eyes. I tried to read the long dead poet, but my mind kept drifting from his couplets and back to the egg. Coltridge would have been alive when the naturalist and his crew were snatching eggs and filling up drawers. The little dragon sleeping next to me might have been their contemporary—if he'd hatched. But the lives of the poet and the naturalist had come and gone, while the little dragon remained frozen in time, trapped inside its shell.

And what of its cousins asleep in their drawers down in the basement? How long had they slumbered while the lives of ponies trotted on? The thought irked me more than the murdered birds. At least the birds had a chance at life, but the dragons never got that.

Sometime in the clear spring sunshine, the book slid from my hooves and I nodded off. At dusk a chilly breeze woke me. I retrieved my book and slipped it into my bags. We went home: me, the dead poet, and yet born dragon.

The egg took its place on the table while I made supper, and we had a little conversation. It would have to go back to the basement, I explained, for a little while longer. But soon it and all its cousins would escape that horrid place. They'd be out of their dungeon and somepony would take care of them properly. I promised the egg I'd make sure it saw sunlight again. It was the least I could do to make up for all the time they'd lost.

I finished eating and tossed the dirty dishes into the sink. The cupboards held plenty of clean ones, so I was in no hurry to wash up. I sprawled out on the couch to work on that book, but it failed to hold my interest. I'd run out of things to do, so I turned out the lights and went to bed.

After all, I needed my rest. Monday was a workday. There would be another room waiting for me down in that basement. I didn't know what I would hold, but I hoped it held some answers.