The Life and Times of Benjamin Inventor (Part 1)

by Bsherrin

Harvest and After Harvest

Harvest

A mare should never lower the intellectual standard of her conversation in addressing stallions. Pay them the compliment of seeming to consider them capable of an equal understanding with mares. You will, no doubt, be somewhat surprised to find in how many cases the supposition will be grounded on fact, and in the few instances where it is not, the stallions will be pleased rather than offended at the compliment you pay them.

“The Art of Conversation”, The Equestrian Encyclopedia of General Knowledge

On the 1st of Tenth, harvest began. It was a very brisk day as I walked out with Applejack to the orchards to learn how to applebuck, that particular talent which the Apples could do better than any other ponies. Applejack herself could buck a tree and get three, sometimes four bushes of apples at once while Apple Bloom managed two and Big Mac five. Applejack was a patient teacher and I soon managed two bushels at a time which turned out to be my limit.

I’d learned Sweet Apple Acres had 250 acres under plow, 200 as orchard and another 300 either hay, fallow or woodland. Vegetables included beans, beets, broccoli, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, corn (their largest crop after apples), cucumber, kale, lettuce, peas and spinach. Fruits other than apples were pears, apricots, peaches, plums, raspberries, blackberries, figs, paw paws, cherries, walnuts, kiwis and blueberries. 100 acres of the 300 were hay including alfalfa, timothy, orchard grass and fescue. I’d fitted a sickle mower and hay rake to the steam tractor which I hoped would save an enormous amount of work; usually the Apples had to hire at least five stallions to scythe the hay and then stack it.

When I showed Applejack the little tractor could cut and then rake hay, that finally convinced her the tractor might be worth keeping. I showed her how to run it and fill the boiler, then couldn’t get her off of it the rest 2nd, 3rd and well into 4th.

I flagged her down for lunch on 4th and she didn’t hide her enthusiasm as she steamed up next to me.

“Whooo-eeee! Now that’s what I call workin’. LuluBelle and I have finished mowing all the hay we have and we can start raking today! That puts us almost a week ahead of schedule.”

“That’s excell…wait, who is ‘LuluBelle’?” I asked as we headed toward Granny who was waiting with a field lunch.

“Why, the tractor, of course,” said Applejack as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You named the steam tractor ‘LuluBelle’?”

“Why, sure. She’s a trooper, that one.”

“AJ, it’s a machine. You don’t name machines.”

“You do, too! And don’t talk so loud or you’ll hurt her feelings.” With that, Applejack stuck her nose in the air and flounced toward lunch, imitating Rarity exactly. I couldn’t help but start laughing. My best filly had a wonderful sense of humor but I often thought I was the only one who got to see it.

Granny handled the harvesting schedule, hiring the extra hooves and arranging the pick-ups. It was up to the farmers to get their produce to the depot already crated, so the Apples used a very trustworthy middlepony business to handle the sorting, weighing, packaging and crating of what they didn’t keep for themselves.

I went where Granny told me and was often by myself picking beans, bucking pears, picking blackberries or stacking hay. Granny saw to it we all got lunch and we worked Sunup to Sundown and sometimes a bit after since Princess Luna obligingly gave us a full moon during the second week. I barely saw Applejack and when I did at day’s end we were both so tired all we could do was clean up, share a nose rub and then collapse. The canvas cot Granny set out for me in the parlor felt like the most luxurious of beds.

By the third week we could see we were making progress. AJ also used LuluBelle (ridiculous name) to haul produce and since the tractor could haul twice as much as four stallions, that saved time, too. AJ taught Apple Bloom to drive as well which freed AJ to harvest and to organize the hay stacking. The stacking was always the last harvest chore and was one of the least pleasant, so the Apples left it to the last week. That let the hay finish drying as well since the weather pegasi obligingly held off the rain for most of Tenth.

AJ and I had just finished loading a wagon full of alfalfa when a mailpony swooped down and landed right next to us. She had a white blonde mane, was an attractive shade of grey and looked very professional in her trim uniform. I couldn’t make out a cutie mark but the poor thing had a bad case of esotropia.

“Mr. Inventor?”

“That’s right.”

“Special delivery for you, sir.” The mailpony handed over a sealed envelope. “Sign here, please.”

I signed, and then looked the pegasus mare over again. I was certain I could strengthen both sets of eye muscles and uncross her eyes. I didn’t want to stare, though, so I reached in my pouch and handed her a 2 bit coin.

“Thank you…ah, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Ditzy Doo, Mr. Inventor, but most ponies call me ‘Derpy’. And we’re not supposed to accept tips, sir.”

“Bah!” I said, waving off her handing me back the coin.

Derpy gave me the sweetest smile, then softly said, “Thank you, Mr. Inventor.” Applejack had come from around the wagon and Derpy said, “Hey, Applejack. Well, I have other deliveries.” Off she went. I watched her fly away, certain I could help her if I could just figure out whether to adjust the lateral rectus or the inferior rectus…

“Well, what does it say?” asked an impatient Applejack, interrupting my thoughts.

“What? Oh, yes, the letter. Here you are.” I said as I handed it to her. I had to admit I was amused at how we already sounded like an old married couple. Granny had noticed it as well and it tickled her no end.

Applejack broke the seal and quickly read the letter. “It’s from Ma Brickle. The baler’s broken again,” she said, looking up with a worried expression. Brickleback Farm was what the Apples called a “two-fer” which meant it grew just two crops per year, one of which was always alfalfa. The farm was also the only one in the region with an automatic-tie pick-up baler, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship from the New Shire Machine Co. outside of Hoofington. It was also 50 years old and suffering from metal fatigue. The maker had been out of business for almost 20 years so there was no chance of getting another or any spare parts.

“I’ll bet it’s the compressor bar. It was pretty far gone the last time I fixed one of the screws. I talked to Mrs. Brickle about replacing it with a stationary baler but she said she liked that one.”

“The Brickles don’t have much, Hon,” said Applejack, looking down at the letter again. “It’s just Ma with the four fillies. Jedidiah Brickle died in the Griffon War with Dad.”

I felt a small thrill when AJ called me “Hon” without thinking about it, then realized she’d just mentioned her father which she’d never done before. Time for that later, I thought. “Without the baler, then…” I started.

“…they won’t make expenses and might lose the farm,” finished Applejack. “If they have to stack the way we do, they won’t be able to ship hay to Manehatten. You can’t ship stacked hay.”

“Huh, I never thought about it. I’d best go, then. I’ll need to pick up some iron bar stock and my tools. Can you finish here?”

“Yeah, it’s just these last two acres and we’re done with stackin’.” Applejack gave a tired smile and I could tell she was thinking of the Brickles. “I sure am glad we have ya, Ben. We’ve never had a smoother harvest.”

“Delighted to be here, AJ,” I said, making a show of giving a half bow. I stood and started to teleport, and then it hit me all at once like tumblers clicking into place: a way to help the Brickles, give a Courting Gift to Applejack, benefit the farm and make a profit all at once. It was so simple I was amazed I hadn’t thought of it before. I checked to see if the Magic gave me the idea but She was nowhere to be found.

“Hah, I know that look,” said AJ with a grin. “You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps, Beautiful, perhaps,” I answered, distracted enough with my calculations I didn’t notice AJ perked up when I called her “Beautiful”. I shook myself. “I’m off!” I turned to Applejack, both of us covered in sweat, grime and hay, and kissed her as fervently as I could. Surprised, she kissed me back. I waved a hoof, then teleported to the workshop. I raced inside, picked up my tools and some bar stock, then teleported to Brickleback Farm.

I landed on the edge of the alfalfa field where I’d worked on the baler before. Not too far away were Ma Brickle and the four fillies. The youngest who I hadn’t met was the only pony who saw me appear with a slight pop of displaced air. She squealed, dropped the apple she was eating and ran to hide behind her sisters. Spring and Summer, the oldest and next oldest, I’d met when they brought turnips to the depot for the Gala. I knew Mrs. Brickle, a large, sturdy mare in her mid-40s, from the Stable of Commerce, from setting up the original turnip purchase and from some smithwork I’d done including fixing the baler the first time. A good customer.

Ma Brickle spun around when her youngest ran past her. “Why, Mr. Inventor,” she exclaimed. “We weren’t expecting you ‘til later this afternoon.”

“Good day to you, Mrs. Brickle. I’m sorry for the delay but I just got your letter a few minutes ago. I thought it best to hurry this close to the end of harvest.”

“Thank you, Mr. Inventor, thank you so much,” she answered, very relieved. She looked tired and worn with worry lines in her forehead. “I know it costs you t’ pop in and out like that.”

“Not at all, ma’am.”

“Where’s my manners?” Mrs. Brickle said, looking over at the fillies and then back to me. “We’re havin’ an early lunch since the baler broke down. Would you care to join us?”

“Indeed I shall, Mrs. Brickle, as soon as I have a look at your baler. Let me greet the fillies, then I’ll see what I can do.”

I walked over to the young Earth mares who were all seated with legs tucked under. Three rose to greet me but the youngest stayed hidden behind Summer; all I could see was an ear and one wide eye peeking out behind Summer’s left flank.

I gave a half bow. “Miss Brickle primus, Miss Brickle secundus,” I said. “I hope you are well.”

Both were still in harness from pulling the baler and of course covered in good, honest dirt and sweat. Both said “Howdy, Mr. Inventor,” at the same time and started giggling. Spring was two years younger than AJ and Summer was 17; I remembered since Granny put together a birthday package of various teenage filly odds and ends for her just before harvest.

I turned to the next youngest sister, an absolutely adorable dark umber filly with large, clear amber eyes and a shock of tan mane who I guessed was around 12 or 13. “And here’s a Brickle I don’t know. You must be Fall.”

“Howdy, Mr. Wizard! Gosh, that was something, you just poppin’ into our field like that. You’re a real wizard, huh? And you’re a’Courtin’ Miss Apple, like Spring says? Spring says Miss Apple is the luckiest mare in the whole county!”

“FALL!” shrieked Spring, then hid her blushing face in both hooves. Summer giggled even harder.

“And this here’s Winter,” Fall said, dragging the smallest filly who was about Apple Bloom’s age out from behind Summer. “She don’t talk much.”

“Fall, that’s quite enough,” said Mrs. Brickle as she walked over. “Remember what we talked about? And young mares, behave yourselves.”

Fall suddenly looked very contrite. “Yes’m,” she mumbled, staring at her hooves. Summer cleared her throat and stopped giggling while poor Spring lowered her hooves, still red-faced.

I made another half-bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Brickle tertius,” I said to Fall.

“Ohhh,” said Fall, who looked up again, unabashed. “Fancy talk!”

I tucked my hooves under me so I was nose-to-nose with Winter who hadn’t said a word and had her left hoof in her mouth. “Hello, Winter. I’m sorry I scared you when I showed up a few minutes ago.”

“S’right,” said Winter, hoof still in her mouth.

“Oh, Winter!” said an exasperated Ma Brickle. “Take your hoof out of your mouth and greet Mr. Inventor properly.”

Winter’s hoof shot behind her back but she still didn’t say anything, just stared.

I rose to my hooves. “Now, to the baler. Young mares, Mrs. Brickle, I’m going to use magic since we need to move along.”

Mrs. Brickle nodded and the mares all moved closer, fascinated. I unbolted the cover and removed the conveyor chain, then pulled loose the knife and flywheel. Sure enough, it was the compressor bar which was snapped completely in half. I did a quick scan to see if there was anything else. The frame was losing structural integrity along with most of other iron parts. The steel wheels supporting the frame were still fine but that wouldn’t do a bit of good if the baler fell apart. The feeder wheels were exposed, too; stick in a hoof too far and that was the end of your leg. It was the only flaw I saw in an exceptionally good design. The knotters which wrapped the twine looked in fair shape, so I left those alone.

I lay out the compressor bar, then pulled out my bar stock. I shaped the iron into an exact match, checked the integrity by banging it against one of the wheels and then put it in place. I could have used steel but the iron frame wouldn’t have supported it for long. The knife was good steel but also very brittle. I put an edge on it that would slice silk, put it and the flywheel back, then gave the unit a quick turn. The compressor bar worked well, so I put chain back, oiled the moving parts and replaced the cover after cleaning some rust from the bolts and cotter pins. The whole repair took around five minutes.

I turned around to find five pairs of very wide eyes watching me.

“I’ve never seen the like,” said Mrs. Brickle in a quiet voice.

“Is this what you do, Mr. Inventor?” asked Spring, still staring at the baler.

“Usually not in public, Spring, but yes, this is what I do.”

“Why not in public, Mr. Wizard?” asked Fall.

“Fall,” warned Mrs. Brickle.

I raised a hoof and nodded. “An excellent question, Fall. Many ponies have never seen advanced magic or spent any time around unicorns. They fear magic since they don’t understand it. And, truly, just like fire, magic can be quite dangerous. Also like fire, it makes an excellent servant but a poor master. However,” I said, leaning over slightly, “I hope I can count on you and your sisters to tell others they shouldn’t be afraid of magic in the right hooves.”

“I sure will!” said Fall, bouncing up and down. Spring and Summer nodded.

“Excellent, young mares. Thank you.”

I straightened. “Apologies, Mrs. Brickle, I didn’t intend on giving a lecture.”

Mrs. Brickle shook herself. “Not at all, Mr. Inventor. All right, fillies,” she said, turning to the waiting mares. “Back to it. I need to talk to Mr. Inventor, then I’ll join you.” The fillies raced off, all waving good-bye, even Winter. Spring and Summer hitched themselves to the baler and started off. Fall fed the hay into the front chute while Winter handed hay to Fall. They made surprisingly fast progress and were soon far down a row leaving behind neat bales.

“We’ll finish on time now,” said Mrs. Brickle and a few of her worry lines disappeared. “Please, Mr. Inventor, have some lunch,” she continued, pointing a hoof to the field lunch spread out a few yards away.

“Thank you, Mrs. Brickle, I will. Using magic makes you very hungry.” I sat down and tucked in to some delicious cucumbers, apples (I recognized the Sweet Apple Acres’ Pink Mare, one of our best sellers) and mushrooms, one of my favorites. I chased it with cool spring water and soon was full.

“Ah, splendid, Mrs. Brickle, and most welcome.”

“Oh, call me ‘Ma’. Everypony else does,” said Ma Brickle, looking down at the canvas spread on the ground.

“Only if you will call me ‘Benjamin’ in return, or ‘Ben’ if ‘Benjamin’ is too long,” I said. Ma nodded, pleased. “Your daughters are wonderful, Ma. Beautiful, lively and intelligent young mares, every one. You’ve done a fine job with all of them.”

“Thank you, Ben,” she said and shook her head. “That Fall, though…” and didn’t finish the thought.

“Heh, yes. Vivacious to say the least. Still, it would trouble you if she were any way other than she is, I don’t doubt.”

Ma Brickle smiled in agreement, then grew solemn. She reached into her pouch and handed me a small coin purse. “This is what we have, Ben. If you need more, I hope you can wait ‘til after harvest. I…I knew your rates before I sent that letter but we had to have the baler and, well…”

I opened the purse and out spilled two 50 bit coins into my hoof. The average yearly salary in Ponyville would run about 400 bits a year, perhaps a little more. Most likely Derpy the mailpony made 450 bits while farms like Brickleback were lucky to clear 500 a year after expenses, particularly if they didn’t own their land. 100 bits was 20% of the Brickles’ yearly income. If I accepted it, the Brickles would have a very lean Winter indeed. Not to mention a special delivery letter cost at least 10 bits.

I looked at it moment, then put the coins back in the purse. “I have a better idea, Ma,” I said as I handed the purse back to her. I took a deep breath and let it out. “Marguerite Brickle,” I said formally, using her real name which caused her ears to perk, “I would make a pact with you and yours…”

I Prove My Worth Again

Study with care, politeness that must teach
The modest forms of gesture and of speech;
In vain formality, with matron mien,
And pertness apes with her familiar grin;
They against nature for applauses strain,
Distort themselves, and give all others pain.
…
Many there are who, giving their opinion, not as an opinion but as a law, will defend their position by such phrases, as: “Well, if I were ruler, I would,” — and while by the warmth of their argument they prove that they are utterly unable to govern their own temper, they will endeavor to persuade you that they are perfectly competent to take charge of the government of the nation. A mare of real intelligence and cultivated mind is generally modest. She may feel when in everyday society, that in intellectual acquirements she is above those around her; but she will not seek to make her companions feel their inferiority, nor try to display this advantage over them.

“The Art of Conversation”, The Equestrian Encyclopedia of General Knowledge

It was early afternoon when I teleported to the front of the workshop, completely exhausted but very satisfied with my day. I put up my tools and checked myself in the front hall mirror. I was quite the mess, so I took a quick shower and then walked back to Sweet Apple Acres. I found the Apples in the parlor fresh out of their showers. They were all as worn as I but also exhilarated.

“We did it, we did it!” said Apple Bloom after my new family greeted me. “We finished th’ harvest!” This was Apple Bloom’s third harvest and she’d certainly done her part.

“Yep,” said Granny. “You done good, family. And you in particular, Ben. You worked like a true Apple, you did.” Granny paused a moment. “Did you fix Ma’s baler?” she asked, anxiously.

“I did, Granny.”

The Apples cheered but were too tired for more than a token “hoorah”.

“I have something else I’d like to bring to the family,” I said, slightly nervous since this was my first venture on my own for the Apples.

“Eh, we’ll cover any new business and go over the accounts day after tomorr - eeee,ahhh,” said Granny, stifling a huge yawn. That led to a round of yawns from each of us. “For now, get some rest. Food’s in th’ kitchen for anypony what wants it. Me, I’m for bed.”

We all agreed. Applejack said she’d walk me back to the workshop, and I accepted a hug and kiss from Apple Bloom as she headed upstairs. As AJ and I were leaving, Big Mac clapped me on the back and shook my hoof.

“You survived,” he said.

“I did, at that,” I answered, returning the shake vigorously. “Say, do you know Spring Brickle?”

Big Mac stopped in mid-shake. “Why, sure. She’s close to Sister’s age.”

“Sturdy, isn’t she? Could lift me over her head with one hoof, she could. And not bad looking.”

Big Mac looked at me sideways through narrowed eyes, gave my hoof one last shake and then headed for his room.

“Matchmaking?” asked AJ as we headed out the door.

“Just a reminder good mares exist right here in Ponyville,” I said. “I do wonder at times if Big Mac takes them for granted.”

Applejack chuckled as we headed back to the workshop. We’d both already eaten and were too tired for much else. I stretched out in my favorite spot overlooking the gorge behind the workshop and Applejack fell against my right side, leaning against me and propping her head on my shoulder.

I turned my head and gently nibbled her left ear, content just to have her next to me. She made this sort of purring hum which I’d heard her make before when she was relaxed and happy.

AJ yawned again, then said, “What did you want to tell the family?”

“I’ll talk it over with you before I tell the others, if you like.”

“Nah, nah, don’t bother; you haven’t put a hoof wrong yet,” AJ said through a yawn. I felt her shift so she could snuggle closer. “You know…if you want me to stay with ya tonight, I will.”

Whup! Not sure where that came from, I thought. Most likely it was the tiredness talking. In answer, I quoted from The Equestrian Encyclopedia of General Knowledge: “’A gentlecolt does not refuse a mare, but it is recommended the engaged couple avoid any undue familiarity until after the wedding.’” “Besides,” I went on, “as tempting as that is, it would disappoint the family, particularly Big Mac who is even more dedicated to the Courtship Rules than we are.”

Applejack didn’t answer.

“AJ? You’re not sore about it, are you?”

My answer was a light snore; Applejack was fast asleep. I chuckled to myself since I doubted when she woke up she’d even remember us talking.

Such a good mare, said the Magic. Such a good, sweet mare. I love her.

She is, I thought, and I love her, too. And she’s an Element of Harmony.

I know all about that, said the Magic.

Hah, of course you do, I said. I’d forgotten for a moment.

You’ve done well, Guardian, very well. I’m very proud of you.

Thank you, Magic, I thought back, but She was gone again.

Eh, well. I watched the Sun set for an hour or so, then used the last of my magic to hoist AJ onto my back, put her ridiculous hat on my own head and started for Sweet Apple Acres. I passed Lyra who was on her way back from helping her friend Golden Harvest and we exchanged tired waves since Lyra had left her Earth pony friend fast asleep, too.

I got to Sweet Apple Acres just as the Sun was setting which as always reminded me of Sunny. I quietly walked up the steps to Applejack’s bedroom and opened the door. I gently put her in bed, covered her up and hung her hat on the bedpost. The room was spartan with just a bed, a dresser and a nightstand. As I walked out, the setting Sun shone on a battered Stetson in a box frame AJ had hung over the dresser. It was torn and the front was stained a rusty brown. Not dirt, I thought, blood. Bloodstains. I put it in the back of my mind and, yawning, headed to the workshop for some well-deserved rest.

After Harvest

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

“Poems for Harvest”, The Equestrian Encyclopedia of General Knowledge

I woke up later than usual on 1st, well rested and feeling better than I’d felt in some time; apparently farm life agreed with me. I went through my morning T’ai Chi katas and only felt a few muscle pulls. I didn’t have a scrap of food in the house and my icebox was out of ice, so I trotted to the café to have some breakfast. The town was eerily silent since all the Earth ponies were still sound asleep and would be until tomorrow.

Lyra had the same idea as I and I found her at the café enjoying the cool Fall day.

“Greetings to you, Lyra, and a good harvest,” I said.

“Greetings to you, Benjamin, and my thanks,” she answered, polite as always. “Please join me.”

“A pleasure,” I said, seating myself at her table. The chef, a unicorn who was also acting as waiter today, brought me some black tea without my asking.

“Bless you, Pierre,” I said as I drank the strong stimulant. “Oh, bliss!”

“Monsieur Inventor! I have not seen you lately. You used to come at least once a week, yes?”

I switched to French. “You Court an Earth pony, my friend, and see how much spare time you have for sitting at cafes.”

Pierre laughed and Lyra joined in since she spoke French as well I did. I ordered a blend of lettuce, carrots, cauliflower and cabbage with a carrot juice chaser and Pierre went to fix it.

I drank my tea and enjoyed a companionable silence with Lyra, then looked around.

“Lyra, where is Rarity?”

“Hoofington. She always leaves town just before harvest. She can’t stand to get her hooves dirty.”

I laughed and Lyra joined in since that didn’t surprise us about Rarity in the least. Both Rarity and Lyra had been very good about my Courting Applejack. There were a few unicorn mares who had treated me with disdain and at times outright hostility. The other unicorn stallions in Ponyville (including Pierre) seemed fine with it. Part of the Price, I thought.

“Did you help Carrot Top this year?” I asked.

“Mmm,” Lyra answered, taking a bite of her salad which Pierre had just brought. “Same as every year. We grew up together and it’s a tradition. Twilight helped some, too, then had to leave for Canterlot. 1,045 bushels of carrots,” Lyra sighed.

“Magic?”

“Not once. I am so sore!” said Lyra.

“I wouldn’t mind some time at the spa myself, at least as soon as the spa ponies wake up. Odd how the Earth ponies don’t want us using magic during harvest unless it’s an emergency.”

“Tradition,” said Lyra, sighing again.

“Tradition,” I agreed.

With that, I finished my breakfast, wished Lyra a good day and headed for the bank, a branch of Canterlot 1st National. I knew they weren’t open yet but wanted to check their hours since many businesses closed on the 1st of Eleventh, some for the week. There was no Gala, either, since it was an off year.

I trotted up to the door and found a paper stuck over the usual hours: “Open 1st of Eleventh 9 to 12 only”. I had two hours until 9, so I went back to the workshop to a shed I’d built a few months ago. I found the aeroplane, my Most Secret Project, as I’d left it, wings ready for cloth and the steam power plant ready to winch into place.

I installed the engine, then carefully lowered the two water tanks I’d shaped to fit the ironwood fuselage curve. Next, I installed the feeder valves, filled the tanks and then ran the main valve wide open for about 10 minutes. I checked the tank levels and they were even, so that worked. When I thought to check the calendar clock I was surprised it was 9:30. I locked the door behind me and headed back to the bank.

I walked into a deserted lobby. I looked around and noticed Adding Machine, the branch manager, a young unicorn who’d come to Ponyville from Canterlot around same time I did to help open this branch. I waved and he got up from behind his desk.

“Mr. Inventor,” he said, walking towards me with an outstretched hoof. “Greetings to you, sir, and a good harvest.” That was what I liked about Adding Machine; he loved Ponyville and genuinely liked his Earth pony farmer clients. He’d set up my accounts, too.

“Greetings to you, Adding Machine, and my thanks,” I answered, shaking his hoof. I’d gotten to know Adding Machine through the Stable of Commerce lunches. The bank president, Lady Silver von Stroheim-Featherstone, had sent him to represent the bank instead of joining herself. I’d wondered about Lady Silver since she seemed to spend most of her time in Canterlot instead of in Ponyville. Still, nothing to do with me.

We settled in some comfortable chairs in Adding Machine’s office and visited for a few minutes, then, leaning back and staring at the ceiling, I asked, “Adding Machine? Say one pony wanted to pay off another pony’s mortgage but wasn’t a relative. Is that possible?”

Adding Machine looked thoughtful a moment, then said, “Well, Mr. Inventor, you’d have to check with the president, but as far as I know there are no rules against it. I couldn’t tell you the mortgage amount, though, since that would violate the banker/client privilege.”

“Suppose, then,” I said, still staring at the ceiling, “I threw out a few figures and you – who I’m sure are familiar with the Brickleback Farm account – just happened to use the words “higher” or “lower”, just idly passing the time of day.”

Adding Machine gave a quick grin, then leaned back himself and stared at the ceiling.

“2,500,” I said, looking at the elegant coffered ceiling. Very nice work, I thought.

“Higher,” said Adding Machine.

“3,000”.

“Higher.”

“4,000.”

“Lower.”

“3,500.”

“Higher”

Hmm. “3,800.”

Adding Machine said nothing, just continued to stare upward.

“A most pleasant conversation, Adding Machine, thank you,” I said as I stood. “Is her Ladyship in today?”

Adding Machine stood as well. “Actually, she is, Mr. Inventor. A moment, please, and I’ll ask if she can see you.”

I listened in as Adding Machine called the bank president on a speaker tube. She sounded peeved at first until Adding Machine mentioned my name, then her voice brightened considerably and she told him to send me on up. We exchanged a raised eyebrow look, then I headed for the very elegant brass elevator. I took it to the third floor and stepped out onto a hall runner imported from Baltimare. I walked down the hall and knocked on two imposing doors with a large plaque which said, ”Lady Silver von Stroheim-Featherstone, E.O.M., President”.

A perky voice called out for me to come in, so I opened the door and stepped into a palatial office. On the back wall was huge plate glass window which must have cost at least as much as the bank building itself and had a wonderful view of Ponyville. Behind a polished mahogany desk sat Lady Silver. An older unicorn mare, she once was attractive but hadn’t aged well. She also tried to look 20 years younger than she was which led to some unfortunate make-up and fashion choices.

“Lieutenant!” Lady Silver squealed like a much younger filly. “You’ve come to visit me. Oh, how wonderful to see a civilized pony in this backwater.”

“My Lady,” I said, giving a full court bow. “Greetings to you and a good harvest.”

Instead of responding properly, Lady Silver waved off my greeting. “Oh, please, rise and take a seat. Can you imagine? Not a decent pony in town and now all the Earth ponies are asleep! Asleep! Our Earth ponies in Canterlot are so much more civilized, don’t you agree?”

I do not like her, said the Magic.

I sat in one of the velvet wingback chairs in front of Lady Silver’s desk, placed my front hooves together and gave her my best bland courtier’s smile.

“Being stuck here, I’ll wager you haven’t heard the latest! You know Baron Romanowsky, the Ambassador? Well, Lady Witherington told me…”

I do not like her at all, said the Magic. For the first time I could Feel the Magic growing Angry.

I held my smile as Lady Silver ran on and on. Magic, I thought, do You trust me?

There was a pause. Yes, She said. I trust you.

Then will You let me handle this my way?

A longer pause. Yes, my Guardian, I will. But I still DON’T…LIKE…HER! Her soul is small and twisted.

Soul? So that’s how the Magic sees us, I thought. Still, I most certainly wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of the Magic of Equestria. I almost felt sorry for Lady Silver.

Lady Silver ran down after 10 minutes or so and I couldn’t have told anypony a word she said. “So,” said Lady Silver, folding her hooves on her desk. “How may I help you today?”

I leaned forward conspiratorially and placed one hoof on her desk. “My Lady,” I said, in my best low, conspiratorial voice. “I believe you know I’m a Servant of the Crown?”

Lady Silver leaned forward to match my posture, eyes wide and expression greedy. “Yes?” she answered, whispering.

“And as a Servant of the Crown, I oftimes must, shall we say, endure the distasteful?”

“I knew it, I just knew it! I knew a handsome, well-bred unicorn like you wouldn’t willingly have anything to do with these filthy Earth ponies!”

The Magic actually growled in the back of my head.

“Now, now, my Lady, none of that. We must maintain appearances, mustn’t we? After all, Herself is watching Ponyville very closely, very closely indeed.”

“Ooohhhh,” Lady Silver breathed. She was close enough to me I could see her eye make-up which had started to flake since she’d used far too much. Her perfume was a bit cloying and I thought of AJ’s clean, crisp smell.

I went on. “My Lady, I tell you this in complete confidence. The Crown wants this place, wants all of it. However,” I said, “the Crown doesn’t want to…upset…the natives. After all, Herself will need willing workers after…well…after.” I sat back. “So, my Lady, that’s why I’m here today,” I said in my normal voice. “I wish to pay off the mortgage on Brickleback Farm.”

“But what in the name of Equestria would the Crown…”

I raised an eyebrow and looked sharply at Lady Silver.

“Oh…oh, my…um, I mean, ‘What would you want with some shoddy little farm?’”

I just stared out the window knowing Lady Silver would give herself the answer.

“Gold?” she whispered.

I kept staring.

“Not…not alicorn silver?” Lady Silver hissed.

I coughed delicately into my right hoof. A beautiful Fall day, I thought.

Lady Silver’s expression grew even more greedy, then cleared. She opened the speaking tube and blew into it.

“My Lady?” came the tinny response from Adding Machine.

“AM, give the Lieutenant whatever he needs, please,” said Lady Silver brightly.

“Yes, my Lady,” he answered and Lady Silver snapped the speaking tube cover shut.

I stood and gave another full bow. “Others have not exaggerated my Lady’s generosity and…perceptive…intellect,” I said, pausing in just the right places.

Lady Silver giggled like a coquette, a brittle sound which was out of place coming from her overweight, middle-aged frame. As I rose, I thought of the attractive and honest Brickle sisters and how their laughter was so much more genuine.

Lady Silver got up from behind her desk. She offered me a hoof which I kissed, lingering just a fraction longer than propriety demanded and looking into her rather muddy eyes. Lady Silver giggled again, then showed me to the door.

“Please let me know if I can do anything else for you at all,” she said, batting her artificial eyelashes.

“I will come to you at once, my Lady, the moment I…need anything else,” I answered. “Thank you again.”

Lady Silver waved a hoof like a little filly and shut the door behind me. I took a deep breath and let it out again as I walked down the stairs to the first floor where I found Adding Machine holding a red file. With no further ado, he opened it and handed me a slip of paper with an amount (3,804 bits). I reached in my pouch and wrote a check. I handed that to Adding Machine, he stamped the mortgage as “Paid In Full” and then handed me the deed. We did all this without saying a word.

I put the deed in my pouch, and then stood to leave. Rather daring, I reached out my left hoof and put it on Adding Machine’s left shoulder. The gesture meant much more between unicorns than when other ponies used it; magic users were very careful about uninvited touching.

“Adding Machine, if we opened a bank here in Ponyville, would you run it for us?”

Adding Machine’s face showed astonishment for a fraction of a second, and then he covered my left hoof with his right. I felt the slight bond between us strengthen as our magical fields met.

“Benjamin Inventor,” Adding Machine said, his clear sea-blue eyes looking into mine, “it would be my honor.”

I took my hoof down slowly. “Thank you once again, Adding Machine. I’ll see you at the next Stable of Commerce?”

“Until then, sir,” he said, and opened the bank door for me.

I walked out into the beautiful, clear day. I could love that one, said the Magic about Adding Machine.

So could I, I thought back.