• Published 5th Nov 2012
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Hope and Changeling - FrontSevens



A novice changeling undertakes a journey back to his own world.

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Chapter 20 - Barreled

Well, what a day.

We had discovered that (at least) two members of our group were changelings. We had also averted a serious train disaster and, consequently, certain death. Currently, we were more than halfway up a mountain to the final destination of our journey. And it wasn’t even lunchtime.

The trek up the mountain was not easy. I had gotten used to walking on flat terrain, sure, but once that terrain was sloped up at 45 degrees and rocks were thrown in, it became rather challenging. It was still doable, though I could only barely keep up with Whole Grain, who was towing a pony-sized load all on her own and showing no sign of slowing down. I’d never felt weaker.

She dragged 6 F 26 by a rope tied around her waist and around his hands and feet. Every time we heard stirring or moaning, she gave him a swift kick to the head. We couldn’t trust him tied up alone before, and we especially couldn’t trust him now. Though, I was a little worried about how much head trauma he was sustaining.

We reached a flat part of the mountain, and I got to take a small break. Ahead and above us was the city of Canterlot, so I presumed. It was basically a giant castle jutting out of the side of the mountain. That was it, our final destination. For a final destination, it was pretty. Pretty and structurally unstable, from the looks of it.

We had a short bout of flat path before one final scale to the city. I took that flat stretch to think. I had been thinking during the time I had scaled up the mountain, too, and things weren’t making any more sense.

Who was that I saw on the train? It was a changeling, certainly. A changeling from my hive, though? Perhaps. I had only seen the male-looking changelings in my hive, but it’s possible that there were females, too. Or maybe my hive was like a fraternity hive, and females lived in sorority hives.

If it was a changeling from the same hive as me, did that mean they were sending out more search parties for me? Was I really that important? I understood that I was a bad example for other changelings in that hive, but if they wanted to discourage everyone from that kind of behaviour, couldn’t they just exile me, or eternally shun me, or lie and claim I was dead? Why did they keep sending out changelings to capture me?

However, it didn’t seem like that changeling’s utmost priority was to take me prisoner. If that were the case, she would’ve grabbed me as soon as she could and taken off. Instead, she expended all of her energy in stopping the train. So she definitely needed me alive. Just like the Sergeant did. So they did have the same mission.

But if she needed only me alive, she could’ve grabbed me and let the train go. It was me she needed, right? Why bother about anypony else on the train? Did this changeling have a sense of morality? That would be a first, from what I’d seen. Or maybe she didn’t want to cause a scene. Train disasters tend to stay in the news cycle for a while. Would’ve drawn a lot of attention.

Bah, all speculation. I cleared all that from my mind and focused on what I knew. Wheat Flour had turned into a changeling. She had spent all of her energy trying to stop the train, and had succeeded, weakening herself possibly near to death. That’s all. It was probably best to leave it alone until we met up with the changeling and Fairweather and got some answers.

We started scaling another steep part. This one was rockier than before, and I had to watch my step so I didn’t slip. The going was slow, at least for me. Whole Grain seemed to have no trouble at all, even with the extra weight.

I looked at Whole Grain for a second and paused. How did she feel about all this?

She was Wheat Flour’s sister, after all. Really, I would’ve expected her to be much angrier about all of this. This changeling had been impersonating someone she had loved. And now she seemed to be withholding any sort of emotional reaction from me. She hadn’t said a word to me this entire climb.

Maybe she knew something I didn’t. I called out to her. “Whole Grain?”

She ignored me, continuing to climb up. Doing my best to catch up with her, I scrambled up the rocky hillside. “Whole Grain, I have a question.”

She stopped and looked at me with dead eyes. It was like she was tired, but I knew she wasn’t. She was a much faster climber than me, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat. Taking one long blink, she slowly opened her mouth. “Ask, then.” It was the first thing she had said to me since we had gotten off of the train.

It was clear that she didn’t want to talk. I got nervous, but I was curious. I clambered up to catch up with her and caught my breath. “Did you know?” I asked.

She didn’t take her eyes off of me. “Did you?”

I looked down. She made me feel ashamed for asking. “No,” I said.

“Good. Me neither.” She turned around and resumed climbing. I followed close behind. We were a few short yards from the top of the hill.

Well, that meant neither of us had seen it coming. I was relieved, almost, that there was no obvious hint that Wheat Flour was a changeling. Whole Grain had lived with Wheat Flour her whole life, so if she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, then I wouldn’t get blamed for not noticing, either.

We reached the crest of the hill, and there it was: Canterlot. We were but a hop, skip, and a jump away. I felt a surge of energy, my legs shaking and forgetting that we had just climbed a mountain. I was one pony princess away from going home.

As we came closer, I spotted a pink pony with light blue hair. Civilian life was a good sign. I waved at her as I approached. She waved back, slowly.

I bounded down to her and smiled. I admit, I may have been a little too excited when I said, “Excuse me, do you know where in Canterlot the hospital is?”

Her face contorted in fear, her front legs rearing up as I came closer. Her first instinct was not to help me, nor was it to even reply. It was, instead, to turn and run away, yelling, “Guards!”

Darn it, no. We couldn’t have that. “Wait!” I said, “Come back!”

But it was too late. I looked down at myself, and realized I was still a changeling. How could I be so stupid? I should’ve changed before I got here, before I came to a city that was just attacked by changelings not days ago. I should turn into a pony—Copper would be as good a choice as any.

Though, that wouldn’t do any good. That pink pony would come back with guards and point at us and say “He’s a changeling! Don’t let him fool you!” Maybe they would go easier on me if I surrendered and told the truth from the outset. Remaining a changeling would be best.

I glanced back at 6 F 26, crumpled on the ground with a rope tied around his legs. Maybe she wouldn’t come back with the guards. Maybe it’d be only guards. And then, if I was a pony, I could say, “Yes, we found the changeling. In fact, we’ve captured him for you!” And then we’d hand him off to the guards and be on our merry way to Canterlot. I liked the sound of that plan. I closed my eyes and changed into Copper.

But she did see more than one changeling. What if she told the guards she saw “changelings”, plural, and then the guards see only one, and they have to take both Whole Grain and I just to be sure they didn’t miss any, and then they find out I’m a changeling? Again, not lying sounded better. I changed back into a changeling.

Though, there was still hope for escape. If we turned back now and hightailed it to another town, and I remembered to remain a pony this time, we could get a new chance to hand over a changeling and stay innocent. Copper Flash.

But we couldn’t run. Not with a changeling to drag with us. Changeling.

Well, the changeling body was sore from all the mountain-scaling. Might as well be a pony for now. Copper.

Wait, I had wings, duh! Changeling.

…If only I knew how to use them. Copper.

Ow, Copper’s head hurt. Changeling.

Ow. The changeling’s head hurt, too. Wait a second…

I closed my eyes and changed back to Copper. Except, when I looked down at my arms, they were still my hole-filled changeling arms, not Copper’s smooth black arms. I tried again, squeezing my eyelids extra hard this time. No dice.

What was going on? Why couldn’t I change anymore? I tapped my horn a few times, like a stuck wristwatch. Then I tapped it harder, until it sent a sharp lightning bolt of pain into my forehead. Yelping, I recoiled, but the pain subsided in a few seconds.

“All right, there?” Whole Grain asked. I stood up and faced her. She sounded disinterested and spoke in monotone. I wasn’t sure if she said it to me, since she wasn’t even looking in my general direction.

“Yeah,” I said. I dusted myself off and inspected my horn. I couldn’t be out of changeling magic. I couldn’t. How does that happen? Magic couldn’t just run out like that. Could it?

It was then I realized how little I knew about the workings of magic. How long does it last? Is there a limit to how much I can use per hour? Did horns overheat? Where did magic come from, anyway?

I waved the questions away. I couldn’t waste my time concerning myself with the origins of magic. Right now, I was a changeling who couldn’t change, and I wouldn’t be able to fix that on my own.

I panicked. Not because I wanted to be a pony at that moment—I had already debated over that. The problem was that I liked having a Plan B. Something to fall back on, in case things got hairy. It’s saved me before, and now I didn’t have that option. I needed my magic back.

And there was somepony in particular who would know just what to do. But not somepony. Rather, some…changeling. Somechangeling. Somegeling. Some… A changeling. Who would know what to do.

I strode over to 6 F 26 and stood over his head. “Hey, wake up.”

“Mmm?” he said, his head tilting up. He smiled as he looked up at me, eyelids mostly closed. “Mmm, yeah, hey.”

I rattled his head with both of my hooves. “Hey, 26, buddy, wake up. I need you to tell me how to get my magic back. Can you do that for me? Huh?”

His mouth hung open in a smile, like a dog. He pawed at my face and touched his hoof to my nose. “Shhhh. Huh. Huhhuh huh.” His laughs were low, lazy guffaws.

He was currently two eggs, one orange, and a bowl of oatmeal short of a complete breakfast, but I couldn’t accept that right now. “6 F 26, listen,” I said, leaning down closer to his ear. “Tell me how to fix my magic. Right now. Please.”

“Hmm yeah? Huh huh huh.” He grew disinterested in me and looked up at the sky.

“6 F 26!” I shook him harder, glancing towards the city and at the guards standing in front of us. I turned back to him. “Tell me how I can change into a pony again! Or I’ll…”

Guards standing in front of us? I turned to look.

Yep, guards standing in front of us.

~ ~ ~

They chained all three of us together—Whole Grain, me, then 6 F 26—and led us in a line into the city. I had tried to talk our way out of it many times. This was a misunderstanding, I’m not like other changelings, she’s not even a changeling, but yeah, that guy is, you can take him, we’re just here to see the princess, we promise not to kidnap her, and so on. However, these guards were professionals. My pleas fell upon deaf ears. Well, not deaf, I’m sure: just really disinterested.

Canterlot was nice, though. It had a fairy tale, Disney-esque charm to it. Each building looked like a mini castle all on its own, what with towers and arched windows and canopies over the front. They took on purples, blues, greens, whites—very lax and rich colors. So did the ponies. All seemingly high society types. And all unicorns, I realized. Not a normal pony or winged pony in sight. This made me the only pony in the city who couldn’t use magic. Oh, except for Whole Grain.

The guards were unicorns, too. And I was surprised how guard-like they were. I was expecting security guards with police uniforms, like I’d seen in Vanhoover. These were legit guards, though. They wore golden armour, and Mohawk-helmets like Roman soldiers. They spoke very little to us, and when they did, it was usually an order barked in a curt, gruff voice.

Along the way to Canterlot’s prison, we were met with many jeers. Small crowds began to form at the sides of the streets as people stopped to watch and boo. Some threw stuff at us, like pebbles or food. Someone hit me in the face with a tomato. A waste of three perfectly good bits, I thought as I tried to lick it off of my cheek.

There was still a chance I could escape, right? I’d escaped from a prison before. Granted, a changeling had been there to bail me out. And now I was fresh out of changeling powers. And this city just faced an invasion of changelings, and had probably finished conducting a changeling inquisition… Which made me stop to think.

I was a terrorist. Changelings had invaded not days ago, putting Canterlot on high alert. If ponies reacted to such events in the same way humans reacted to events like Pearl Harbour or 9/11, they’d do more than confiscate a bottle of water at the airport. What were my chances of seeing the princess now? Asking the guards to take me to see the princess would be like an affiliate of a terrorist organization asking to see the president.

I sighed. Getting to the princess would be more difficult than I had thought. We were really done for, weren’t we?

Whole Grain might’ve felt the same way. Her head drooped, and her heavy footsteps dragged on the neatly-trimmed grass. She hadn’t seemed tired from climbing, so either she knew how futile our predicament was, she was putting on an act for whatever reason, or this was usually her naptime. Or none of the above. I’ve been wrong about her before.

Shortly, we reached our destination. We were funneled into a white, official-looking stone building. We entered into a small foyer, with a humble desk and a barred door. True to the castle theme, the walls were stone and all painted white. There were a few plaques and coats-of-arms hanging on the walls. Other than that, it was fairly plain.

They took all the bits out of my arms, which I had almost forgotten about. I was surprised they had survived this far open to the air, until I noticed how much work it was for the guards to remove them. Whole Grain had really jammed them in there.

The guard at the desk nodded to our captors and handed them a ring of keys, and used his own ring to unlock the barred door. We were led through there, into the main block.

The prison was nice-looking. Clean, well-maintained, and painted a uniform shade of white, much like a modern human prison. Also, unlike the jail in Vanhoover, this one was big. There were many cells, all packed tightly and efficiently together. Lots of light shone through a large window at one end of the prison, and each cell had its own little barred window.

But then they led us past those cells and brought us downstairs. Downstairs doesn’t look quite as nice as its upper brethren. The sunlight from above faded as we made the long descent. The rock walls, entirely without windows and cavernous in shape, were lined sparsely with torches. The walls were crumbling in places, and it smelled damp and dank down here, like… a rusty swamp. I’ve never come across a rusty swamp, but if I ever do, I wouldn’t be surprised if it smelled like that dungeon.

We weren’t alone down in the dungeon. In the stone-lined cells with rusty metal doors, there were several other changelings. Some of them were asleep when we got there, but more were awake and noticed our arrival. No one talked—just stared. They stared at us through the bars with their blue, eerie eyes. I could’ve sworn they were glowing a little. It was unnerving, so I gazed straight ahead and pretended I didn’t notice them.

One by one, the guard unlocked our chains. Whole Grain was first, and once free, the guard shoved her into the cell. She tumbled to the stone floor and lay still. That was rude. I got the same treatment, as did 6 F 26, who floundered into the cell and ran into the wall, laughing low as he sunk down to the ground. The door slammed behind us, echoing through the long, dark, empty hall. I shivered. Partly because I was anxious, and partly because it was chilly in there.

The clip-clop of the guards’ feet faded down the corridor, leaving us alone. Whole Grain was slumped on the ground, and had barely moved from the spot on the floor she was dumped in. “Whole Grain?” I whispered. “You all right?”

She didn’t respond. “Whole Grain?” I said, louder this time.

I heard her reply in a soft voice. I bent down to her to listen. She wasn’t talking, I realized. She was singing. Softly, and to herself, but I could hear her quite well in the silence of our cell.

“Sad little colt without a friend,
Lives up the hill and ‘round the bend,
Sad little colt, come on and play,
Down by the cove on Horseshoe Bay.”

“Whole Grain?” I said. She lifted her head, and she looked more tired than ever. Her eyelids drooped, her ears wilted, her mouth hung open and turned down in a frown. Slowly, she got to her feet and continued. She paid me no mind, gazing down at the stone floor, singing half to herself.

“Run, little colt, around the shore,
Run ‘till your happy little legs get sore,
Run, little colt, run around all day,
Down by the cove on Horseshoe Bay.”

6 F 26 started to join her at “happy little legs”. It was unintelligible, as it was obvious he didn’t know the words, but it was sort of a drunk following-along of the general tune. I didn’t feel any urge to sing along with them. I reached out a hoof to Whole Grain, in an attempt to console her.

She turned her face to me, and our eyes met. I retracted my hoof as a result. She was angry, now. The tears in her eyes were well past the point of welling and streamed down her face. Her brows were knotted in fury.

She turned to the door of the jail cell, slowly, like a massive rampaging rhino, straining to divert its momentum. With all of her might, she gripped the metal bars, heaved, and yelled at the top of her lungs:

“Come, little colt, and swim in the bay,
Where your new friends swim and laugh and neigh!
Come, little colt, we’ll splash and play,
Down by the cove on Horseshoe Bay!”

I watched it all unfold in silence and shock. She gasped for air, wild with rage… but the emotion started to drain from her face. She licked her lips and tried to start the next verse.

“Brave little colt…” She trailed off, choked up. Holding on to the bars, she collapsed onto the ground. She sobbed quietly, the only sound in the pin-drop silence of the prison.

Slowly, I approached her. I was afraid to touch her. From the looks of it, she was completely broken. I’d never seen Whole Grain like this before, and her sudden rage paired with her violent tendencies and her dislike of changelings could end up in catastrophe for me. But, on a whim, on the basis of recent events that she might not decide to kick me in the face, I approached her.

I reached out and gently lay a hoof on her shoulder. With each pained sob, my hoof jolted up and down. I rubbed it back and forth, trying to comfort her. I had no idea what she was going through, but I wanted her to be okay. For all she’d done for me this trip, I hoped that this wasn’t how I paid her back. I hung my head, ashamed.

But she turned to me and hugged me. Not to try to strangle me, thankfully, just an honest hug. It felt like strangling, though. She had powerful arms, and I swear she squeezed out one of my lungs. But I didn’t complain. I couldn’t, not after seeing what she had gone through. I returned her hug and patted her back. Maybe she needed what I needed when Wheat Flour hugged me: just the knowledge that someone who cared about her was there.

I didn’t want to say anything that might upset or hurt her. She was vulnerable, now, more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her before. She wasn’t crazy; she was in pain. I felt like I understood her better, at that moment. Not to say I understood what she was going through, but I understood her.

Her crying slowed, her gasping sobs getting softer, and she loosened her grip on me. I patted her back again. I felt the urge to say something. Couldn’t talk about her sister, not until she was comfortable with it and started it herself. A joke about the jail or train or something would be both irrelevant and possibly offensive. I went with something I thought would be safe. “What happens next, in the song?”

“He drowns,” she said finally, sniffling. “He drowns.”

She backed away from the hug and sat down across from me. I sat down, too. She wiped her eyes and fixed her hair, or at least attempted to. She sort of brushed it back, out of her face. It fell behind her in a tangled mess, but she didn’t notice. We sat there for a few minutes as I let Whole Grain compose herself. Then, she swallowed, wiped her eyes again, and spoke to me.

“When Whole Grain and I were fillies,” she said, “she’d get scared at night. Not the wailing kind of scared, like the other foals. She’d get all quiet, watching the window. She wouldn’t talk to me.”

She wrapped a hoof around her left elbow and looked out to the jail corridor. “I hated the silence. Hated it. So I sang to her at night. I thought it would make her feel better. ‘Brave Little Colt’ was the only one I knew all the words to.”

Yeah, a drowning colt would make her feel better, I thought. I didn’t dare say that out loud, not when Whole Grain was like this. I let her continue.

“I could never finish the song. Whenever I got to the part about drowning, I stopped. One day I changed the words. ‘Smart little colt went home that day, and ate lots of oats and apples and hay. Up the hill and around the bend, slept when the long and sunny day end.’” She grinned, rubbing her face with her hoof. “Heh. It was so stupid. And that took me forever to work out, too. But it did the job, and I was proud of it.”

I nodded politely. I didn’t know why she would tell me about some song from her childhood, but it was a healthier alternative to screaming and crying.

She lay down on the ground, and I followed suit. “When she started telling me about changelings, and how she was scared they’d come back and kidnap her and take her place, I had an idea. We’d whisper the last two lines of that made-up verse to each other. That’s how we knew we were still… you know, each other. It was something only the two of us would know.”

Ah, so that’s why this was relevant. I ventured a guess. “Is that what she whispered to you? On the train?”

She nodded, frowning. “But I never would’ve thought. Never, in all those years. But… she was.” She shifted, unfolding and refolding her arms.

“She was… a changeling? Always? You’re sure?” I said. I was careful not to sound condescending. And I really couldn’t do much about sounding obvious, but I wanted to make sure I understood correctly.

She nodded and shrugged. “Nopony else would know that song. Only us.” She nodded again. “Only us.”

She sat back, brushing her red hair behind her ears. For a moment, we sat in silence, except for the soft snoring coming from 6 F 26’s corner of the cell. It was calming, actually. That was the best sound we’d heard out of him all day.

Whole Grain was suggesting Wheat Flour had been a changeling her whole life. So what happened? Did Wheat Flour’s changeling parents drop her off at the orphanage? Were those changelings from a hive, or runaways? Or was Wheat Flour herself a runaway?

The devil’s advocate in me couldn’t help but suggest: Was Wheat Flour evil? There was a possibility that Wheat Flour didn’t have pure intentions. I mean, yes, she saved our lives, and she had lived in peace with her sister for many years, but there was still a chance.

I bet I wasn’t the first to consider that. What did Whole Grain think about that? She said she hadn’t had a clue that Wheat Flour was a changeling, but maybe looking back on her sister’s behaviour, she’d have some insight into Wheat Flour’s intentions or true nature.

I sat up. “You don’t think she’s evil, do you?”

She squinted at me, like she was expecting a punchline. “No, but…” Her shoulders sagged, and she stroked her hoof back and forth on the stone floor. “She lied to me. For years, she lied to me.”

She watched her hoof, letting out a small sputter like, well, a horse. Her ears relaxed and drooped to touch her hair. For a fleeting moment, I realized how weird it was that I was talking to a cartoon horse, but I suppressed that sensation. This was serious.

I thought back to how Whole Grain had treated me the first day she met me. The way she leered at me, accused me, threatened me, and even made good on those threats. I had been scared of her. Perhaps Wheat Flour had felt the same way. “What if she was scared of you?” I said. “Scared of what you’d think of her or do to her if you knew?”

“If I knew? If I knew, I would’ve helped her.” She sat up. “I saw how changelings treated her, I’ve seen how they treated you. I wouldn’t want that for her.”

“But would you help her now?” I asked.

This gave her little pause. “She’s my sister. Of course I would. Of course I will,” she corrected. Standing up, she started to search the cell. “Now, let’s figure a way out of this place.”

I smiled. That was the Whole Grain I remembered. “Good idea,” I said.

As we brainstormed possible escape methods, I experienced an unusual feeling. For once, Whole Grain made me feel like an equal. She no longer talked down to me, and I was no longer afraid to speak my mind. She treated my ideas respectfully, and when I offered a counterpoint to one of hers, she didn’t take it personally. It was almost like we were friends or something. It was odd. Pleasant, though, too.

It didn’t take us long to run out of ideas. There were no weak points in the cave walls or the iron bars, no stray tools we could use other than our shackles, and I couldn’t stick my head out of the door far enough to use my unbroken fang as a lock pick. We came to the consensus that our best option was to wait for a guard to come and negotiate the terms of our capture. If not a swift trial, I’d at least like my phone call. Or a telegram, or homing pidgeon. Whatever they have here.

We got our chance several minutes later. A noise echoed from down the hall. I strained through the bars to look and listened closely. A jingle of keys, a clanging of metal, and a swift clip-clop reverberated up the corridor. A guard, I presumed. He was also whistling a familiar tune, though I couldn’t place it.

As the clip-clops got louder, the guard came into view. He wore golden armour like the other guards, and his fur was pale green, probably made paler by the torchlight. As he came closer, I noticed he sported a broad, black moustache, and his armour was rattling around loosely on his shoulders.

“Good afternoon, folks,” the guard said. “Bit chilly down here, don’t you think?” His voice sounded very much like a girl deepening her voice to sound masculine. I looked closely at his face, and mentally slapped myself for not immediately recognizing Fairweather.

“Fairweather? Thank goodness you’re here.” I looked at the armour. Her arms were obviously too small for the chest piece, and it was a little crooked, almost like it was about to slide off. “You passed as a guard?”

“Yes. I’m a master of disguise. You changey things are all amateurs.” She removed a ring of keys from a hook on the back of her armour. She fumbled around with a couple dozen keys, the tips of her wings helping to sort through them.

“How did you know we were down here?” I asked.

“Saw you walk right through the middle of town. I tried to get your attention, y’know. I threw a tomato right at your face, moon sakes.” Darn it, I should’ve been paying more attention. She put a key in the lock, turning it until the lock clicked. “Hey! Did you see that? First try.”

As she returned the key ring to the hook, I noticed she also had a string of handcuffs on a chain. I asked her about them.

She beamed. “See, I did some thinking. Which is rare for me, I know. But I thought, hey, these guys think you’re prisoners, so I gotta walk you out like prisoners. So I picked these up on the way in.” She lifted the chain of handcuffs, similar to the ones we wore on our way here.

I understood. When in Rome, I suppose. “Where’d you get the armour?” I asked.

“Like I said,” she said, smirking and tapping her moustache. “Master of disguise. Now, c’mon, let’s go! My withers are getting cold.”

Whole Grain and I placed our hooves in the shackles, and once Fairweather secured them, she led us out of the cell and locked the door. 6 F 26 remained in the cell. It felt satisfying to see him locked up. He had no chance of escape, unlike when he was in Manehattan.

I watched him as he slept, his chest rising and falling quietly. I suddenly felt bad for the guy. He had no Fairweather, no friends to bail him out. Even the Sergeant, one of his own kind, left him behind and dropped him off in a dumpster. 6 F 26 must be real lonely. I almost suggested that he come with us.

But he was dangerous to us. He had made choices, bad choices, and he was too far gone now to save. That much revenge over a misunderstanding was unhealthy. As much as I regretted leaving him behind, I knew it was better for both of us.

Soon, we were starting up the stairs again. I felt giddy. It was surreal, how quickly we had been in and out of there. It was a miracle that Fairweather was able to get to us. In fact, maybe too much of a miracle. Really, how had Fairweather gotten that armour? And why was a moustache as effective of a disguise as she made it out to be? Maybe this wasn’t Fairweather at all. I resolved to keep my eye on her.

We entered the upstairs block again, squinting as we readjusted to the light. At the end of the block, Fairweather was halted by two tall, looming uniforms. Looking past them, I recognized the door to the outside. Almost there. Ten steps and we’ll be free.

“Identification, please,” a tall, particularly buff guard growled to Fairweather.

Fairweather’s moustache twitched. She answered him in her pretend gruff voice. “Always with the formalities, huh? Look, pal, it’s been a long morning. Just need to check these folks out for the afternoon.”

The buff guard grunted, unlocked the barred door, and let Fairweather past. She motioned for us to enter the foyer. We stood and waited as the guard at the desk rustled through papers in a drawer. The other two guards watched us intently, and I nervously looked around the room. I wasn’t interested in any of the old plaques or regalia, though; the only thing I could focus on was the door, which was difficult to keep my eyes off of.

The sound of the desk guard’s voice snapped me back to attention. I remembered that he was the only thing standing between us and that door. Turning to the desk, I listened respectfully to his exchange with Fairweather.

“What’re they leaving for?” the desk guard asked.

“Community service,” Fairweather replied.

He grunted. “Community service, eh? Celestia knows we need more of that this week.” Using his magic, he floated a clipboard to Fairweather. “Sign at the bottom, there.”

“Sure thing.” Fairweather bit the pen, scribbled something quick, and set the pen back down. “Beautiful day for community service, too, eh? Not a cloud in Celestia’s sky.”

The guard didn’t respond. I froze, staring at the pen. The pen now had a moustache stuck to the end of it. And Fairweather no longer had a moustache stuck to her face. She didn’t seem to notice, though, and nodded to the guard. “Thanks, pal. That’ll be all,” she said.

The guard set down a hoof on her shoulder. “Not so fast.”

Time to go. I glanced at Whole Grain and bolted to the door. She gave a start as the chain took her with me, but she dashed after me. The guards didn’t react fast enough, and we were able to reach the door in time. I winced in the sudden daylight, but I didn’t want to stop. I barreled out of the doors and turned to my left to avoid the square.

I ran as fast as I could. I heard shouts, screams, and galloping as hooves in the distance came after us. Whole Grain, the better runner between us, took the lead. I didn’t question it.

I followed the pull of the chain on my wrist, and I followed Whole Grain’s red tail as it whipped behind her. She took us this way and that, down a back alley, over a low fence, down a set of stone steps. By the time we stopped behind a stack of barrels and caught our breaths, we’d put a maze of a path between us and our pursuers.

I felt my heart rapidly pumping blood to my arms and legs, even when I lay down on the grass to rest. All I heard for the next few minutes was Whole Grain’s breathing, my own, and my heart in my ears.

When I felt I was finally able to speak more than one word at a time, I said two. “They’re gone.”

Whole Grain nodded, and her expression turned a shade darker. “So’s Fairweather.”

I felt a pang of guilt mixed with fear. Fairweather, the one who broke us out of prison in the first place, was gone. I hadn’t heard her footfalls behind us or seen her fly her overhead. The chase was a blur, but I wasn’t even sure she had made it out of the door with us.

I didn’t want to assume the worst, though. I speculated to Whole Grain. “Think she got lost?”

“Don’t think so,” she said. “I think they got her.”

The guilt came on stronger. I could’ve done something, couldn’t I? Planned out an escape in advance? Given her some sort of forewarning or signal? Let her try to talk us out of the situation before doing something so impulsive?

I felt my breaths accelerate again, my lungs jolting. My head felt like it was about to explode. Whole Grain must have noticed, because she grabbed my head and pulled my face up close to hers. “Hey! Hey, calm down. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. That made three ponies that I could never repay. Both of the wheat sisters, for going out of their way to guide me in a multi-day journey to Canterlot, which they had now succeeded in doing. Also, for inadvertently revealing Wheat Flour’s secret and causing Whole Grain to have a mental breakdown. And now Fairweather, for abandoning her at a prison she had just helped us escape. I felt lightheaded. Good thing I was already sitting down.

Whole Grain followed my eyes and forced me to look at hers. “It’s not your fault,” she repeated. “Fairweather’s cover was just about to be blown. If you hadn’t run, all of us would be back in there, not just Fairweather.”

I still wasn’t convinced. I made an effort to look away, and I gently pulled her hooves away from my head. “But how do you know that? We could’ve given Fairweather some warning, you know?”

“Forget about it. What’s done is done. Now, we can wallow in self-pity for the rest of the day over what we could’ve done, or we can do something about it.” She spoke with less of a sarcastic or belittling tone and more with assurance. Using a little exaggeration to show me that doing something was better than wasting time playing the “coulda, shoulda, woulda” game.

She was right. We had to do something. So I swallowed my guilt and got to my feet, motivated by duty. “Let’s get them back,” I said. “Fairweather. And Wheat Flour.”

Whole Grain tilted her head, giving me an odd look. “Uh, what about Humanland?”

Oh, right. That’s what we came here for. I stopped to think about it.

Getting to the princess would be hard, yes. I’d likely be facing security out the wazoo, with an equal measure of prejudice for my current appearance. But even though it’d be hard, it would still be doable. So even if rescuing Fairweather and Wheat Flour was just as hard as getting home, why would I bother?

Home seemed so tantalizing, so within reach that it was stupid for me not to say yes. This was what I’d wanted since the day I woke up in a gooey, green hive full of oppressive cartoon bug-horses. Plus, I’d built up such a debt to other people here that leaving this place behind would be a relief. I’d no longer be under any obligation to pay back anything to any pony ever again. Heck, I’d even be able to blame Whole Grain. She insisted, after all.

But I couldn’t. I could never live with the guilt. It’s true, I’d be under no obligation, but I couldn’t forgive myself for taking advantage of them like this. They’ve done me countless favours, and in no way could I shove off and leave them like this.

I no longer had to wonder when or how I was going to pay them back. This was it. I’d help rescue the ponies that rescued me. Then, after that, I could go back home.

“I want to rescue them,” I said. “This is something I want to do. For all you ponies have done for me. It’s only fair.”

Whole Grain paused, regarding me carefully, then nodded. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

Then, it was time to plan Mission Impossible. May the Cruise be with us.

Author's Note:

Preread by NotSoSubtle