Canterlot was quite unlike any human city that Maeve had seen, not even taking ponies into account. Built on top of a mountain, space was limited. Most of the buildings were towers, either circular or square, many were quite tall, and there was a confusing maze of walkways all over the city, with sidewalks along the roads and skywalks connecting the buildings at different levels. There was a little bit of a method to the madness, from what Maeve had been able to gather. Shops and businesses on the ground level were new businesses or businesses that were poor, at least, that was what Maeve had pieced together. The higher up one went, the better the businesses available.
Stairs were everywhere and Maeve had wondered how ponies had moved goods from the ground up to some of the loftier shops, until she remembered just how powerful unicorn magic could be. The boutiques and shops at the top of the towers sold everything, from pianos to frilly dresses. Maeve didn’t think it was very practical to sell a massive piano from anywhere but on the ground level, but then again, she was human and she didn’t come from an upbringing that involved a lot of magic.
The ponies of Canterlot were different than the ponies of Ponyville. They were kind, they were friendly, and while some of them looked, they were far too polite (and as Blueblood had mentioned, had far too good of breeding) just to stand there and stare at Maeve. She was seen as a curiousity, just one more interesting treasure to be counted among the wealth of Canterlot. Ponyville had gone quite wrong, between Pinkie Pie and some of the more easily spooked ponies. Much to Maeve’s surprise, she found herself far more comfortable in Canterlot. Not one pony screamed or fainted. Not one pony ran up to her and began trying to grab her, to hug her, to check her out and see what she was.
While Ponyville had the three tribes living together, and from what little bit that Maeve understood, that was important, Canterlot was a world city, as Celestia had called it. While most of the population of the city were unicorns, there were a lot of non ponies in the city. A family of minotaurs worked as silversmiths in an open air shop, pounding out silver teapots, spoons, forks, and knives. Maeve had stood and watched them, holding Fuschia in her arms, standing there for so long that her elbows had begun to ache from holding Fuschia’s chubby, solid little body for far too long. Griffons lived in the city, strange half bird, half cat creatures, who had hands of a sort, just like Maeve, or the minotaurs. There was a large dog creature that Blueblood had called a diamond dog, and he was a haberdasher. Maeve had watched him making felt that stylish hats could be made from.
A dragon roamed the marketplace, not a big dragon, but a little dragon, called a drake. Blueblood had patiently explained that this dragon would never get all that big and that made it very clear for Maeve that this was not a bone crunching dragon, but a gem crunching dragon that worked as a wainwright.
Maeve realised that she was one more oddity in a city full of oddities. She might be a human, well, half human, half elf, all of which was still oh so confusing, but here, in Canterlot, she was just one more odd species. As she roamed the streets, she wished that she had left the castle sooner and explored. She had let her experience in Ponyville colour her perception of this world, and she had missed out because of it. She had done something foolish, and she knew that now. When she returned home, she would need to have a long talk with Princess Celestia.
“It’s funny, it’s all so very funny,” Blueblood said to himself as he took a break with a cup of tea. The unicorn had removed his helmet and was sitting down at a low table with Maeve and Fuschia.
“What’s so funny?” Maeve asked.
Blueblood took a sip of tea, swallowed, and his ears perked forwards. “Why, having a cup of tea in a common cafe, of course.” One eyebrow raised and Blueblood’s nostrils flared. “Why, there was a time in my life that doing this would have caused me to fly into a panic.”
“Huh?” Maeve set down her own teacup and looked at Blueblood. She clapped her hands together, her fingers intertwining, and she placed her folded together hands down upon the table as she sat staring at Blueblood.
Unable to meet Maeve’s gaze, Blueblood stared down at the table, looking at the tray of little teacakes. He had to search to find the words, but no matter which words he chose, all of them made him look like an awful pony. He cleared his throat and decided to just be honest, to let it all out. “I had very high standards. I would only drink the finest teas, usually infused with the finest essential oils, prepared in teapots made from a special clay that only came from one mountain in the whole wide world, a mountain infested with dragons—the unpleasant kind of dragon. The water came from glacial ice untouched by pollution. I drank from porcelain tea cups that had a fine gold lining no thicker than a mare’s fine, silky hair. I had these standards, and if things did not live up to my standards or my expectations, I would become quite unreasonable. In short, I would have never ventured beyond the palace gates in search of a cup of tea.”
“When I was little, I would ask for the crusts be cut off of my sandwiches because I didn’t like them.” Maeve’s fingers unfolded and she lifted her right hand to brush her frizzy orange hair out of her eyes. “My Ma would cuff me and tell me that I was being wasteful.”
“I guess that was the difference between us,” Blueblood said to Maeve, “when I made demands, I was indulged. No demand was deemed too unreasonable. I was seen as cultured, as educated and worldly because I would make such specific requests. I do believe it might have been better if somepony would have… cuffed me upside the ears and corrected my thinking.”
“Funny thing is, I like crusts now. They’re chewy and they’re satisfying because you have to spend so much time gnawing on them.” Maeve drummed her wooden fingers upon the table and watched as Fuschia ate a teacake.
“I don’t know what I like anymore,” Blueblood muttered.
Standing on a skywalk, Maeve looked down and then looked up. There were skywalks below her and above her. She had walked up so many flights of stairs that she couldn’t remember just how far up she was. Her legs were getting tired, again, and she was going to have to be in better shape if she wanted to go out walking through Canterlot on a regular basis.
“I’m getting tired,” Fuschia said to Maeve as she sat down with a plop on the stone skywalk. “I want to keep looking, but I can’t.” The little filly’s features became downcast and let out a forlorn sigh.
“We’ll start looking for a doll and then head back to the castle.” Maeve reached down and patted Fuschia on the head to cheer her up. “We’ll go out again, I promise. I want to see more of Canterlot as well.”
“Okay.” Fuschia heaved out a sigh, wiggled her ears as she did so, and then let out a whining yawn that lasted for several long seconds.
“I do believe that somepony needs a nap,” Blueblood said in a low voice.
“No I don’t!” Fuschia’s chirpy voice sounded indignant. She frowned, her ears still wiggling, and she fought to hold back another yawn. After a moment of struggle, she lost the battle and the yawn escaped, this one even longer than the one previous.
“Looking for a toy store?” a young unicorn mare asked, her eyes wide and almost unblinking. She smiled as her ears perked forwards. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhearing. If you keep moving in this direction,” the mare paused and pointed with her hoof, “three buildings over there is a toy store on this level. They specialise in stuffed animals of all types and species, and can even make stuffed toys that can be made to look like the foal or the recipient they are intended for.”
“Thank you,” Blueblood said, moving closer to Maeve and Fuschia, so he could stand between them and the strange mare. He justified his behaviour with a few quick thoughts, he wasn’t trying to be rude to the stranger, he was trying to keep his charges safe.
“I know who you are,” the mare said, tilting her head back so she could look at Maeve. “Sorceress something or other. You have an very attentive guard. You should have him commended.”
“I am Sorceress Maeve.” Putting on her best smile, Maeve wiped her sweaty right hand on her skirts, feeling nervous. “Commended?”
“Formal praise or recognition for a job well done… it is how the royal guard get promotions and gain ranks.” The mares eyes narrowed and she gave Maeve a stern look. “Too many nobles and those with privilege never give a commendation to the guards that are assigned to them to protect them. Those poor guards give their lives in service, never once seeing a raise or a promotion or even a rise in rank because some inconsiderate oaf never once thought to offer some form of thanks.”
Maeve lifted her wooden hand and rubbed her chin as Blueblood let out a soft cough. Blueblood looked bothered, ashamed even, his ears, which stuck out through the holes in his helmet, were drooping. His tail was sagging. Yep, Maeve could see it plain as day, she had lived around ponies, Red in particular, long enough to spot shame and guilt.
“I mean, I’m a total stranger and he moved between you and I to protect you. He’s very attentive. Most guards are too aloof now, they just stand there like a hat rack. Of course, if more guards got commended, all of them might do their job better. What a conundrum.” The mare lifted her head high and a perplexed expression settled over her face.
“I think I’ve been taking my guards for granted,” Maeve admitted in a low voice. “I just sort of expected them to be there. I never thought about going to Princess Celestia or Princess Luna and telling them that my guards were attentive or good.”
“If you make a mistake, it is never too late to correct it,” the mare said.
“You know my name, but I do not think I have yours.” Maeve took a step closer and placed her right hand upon Blueblood’s back, her right fingertips coming to rest upon the smooth, somewhat cool metal. The mare paused, looking thoughtful, blinking, which Maeve thought was peculiar. She didn’t seem to remember her own name, which was puzzling.
“You may call me Miss Lullabye.” The mare bowed her head for a moment and then lifted it high once more.
Maeve couldn’t help but notice that the mare was now very, very formal. Familiar too, somehow, which was unsettling. Maeve dismissed it as nobles acting however it was that nobles acted, and most of them probably all acted the same, which would explain why it seemed familiar. Princess Celestia’s school taught etiquette classes and most of Canterlot had most likely graduated from her school.
“Miss Lullabye, thank you for your assistance.” Maeve felt Fuschia pressing up against her leg. “I do believe that we must be going. You have been most helpful.”
“You are most welcome,” Miss Lullabye replied. “The little one looks as though she needs a nap—”
“No I don’t!” Fuschia squeaked in protest.
“Miss Lullabye, you have been most gracious, we thank you,” Blueblood said, wishing to get moving soon. There was the stuffy to purchase and the promised cinnamon roll. He suspected that the tiny teacakes were wearing off, he was feeling quite hungry and he suspected that Fuschia was getting crabby for reasons other than just sleepiness.
“You are welcome, Blueblood.”
Freezing in place, Blueblood couldn’t remember if he had given Miss Lullabye his name. Something about her familiarity with him bothered him a bit, but he said nothing. It wasn’t his place to say anything, it was his place to do his job and keep Sorceress Maeve safe. He gave the strange mare a wary stare.
“Goodbye,” Maeve said, lifting her hand from Blueblood’s back and waving.