Chapter 38
Chapter 38
When Scroll’s vision cleared, he was dazed, and dizzy, and disoriented, and nauseous. He blinked, adjusting his top hat as the gray stone walls appeared. He looked at where, exactly, he was standing. A sterile, light-gray stall. It didn’t take him too long to guess that it was some sort of transporter dock; he’d read enough comic books to know it.
He took a step out, looking around, wondering which way to go, almost tripping over his cane. He was very glad for his disguise, and grateful for Brother White’s theatre experience. Cane in hoof, he set off down the hall, hoping he could find more unicorns to disappear into the crowd far enough away from the transporters to give him a good sense of deniability.
A dimly-lit shall gave way to a dimly-lit staircase, to a dimly-lit doorway, these features alternating in various combinations. He tried to get a look for landmarks to guide himself by. A piece of stone jutting out of the wall at an odd angle, a crystal light that looked like it was on the verge of giving out, a hinge on a door that was more rusty than the others. He tried to put one of these in his mind but they all blended together, until he lost count of doors.
When a full blast of cool night air hit him in the face, he nearly reared as though someone had kicked him in the face.
Scroll stood in the door, blinking a little dumbly as he looked out onto what seemed like a large open pathway on the outside. He stepped forward, down onto the cobblestone walkway. Above him he could see the towers of the fortress and an open, cloudless sky, and to the side, he saw sharp slopes down, careening into what seemed an endless drop into the ocean below. The full moon above bathed the whole walkway in a soft silvery glow. He didn’t look in either direction, instead focusing his gaze forward. There was another door at the end.
As he made his way through, he thought of Canterlot, and the fine elegance of its streets and turrets. This castle seemed like a crude imitation at best, though with how long he’d been gone from Equestria… How long had he been gone from Equestria? He wondered and thought back. He didn’t have his calendar on him at the moment, so he had to remember…
It wasn’t more than a couple of months. He blinked at that thought. Only a few months into a two-year mission. What had gone wrong?
Everything, he thought. He heard faint laughing on the edge of his hearing. He almost didn’t notice it, but he turned his head to look. He saw a small group a pair unicorns on a balcony, sitting around a table. Probably having lunch or having a tea party. That was odd, he thought. The earth ponies didn’t have tea parties on Earthquake Island. He wondered how the unicorns here were different. Maybe they were different on account of having a tea party so late at night. Maybe they were having decaf.
He thought about this as he watched from the distance, not noticing that the cobblestone path was turning up ahead. His hoof slipped, and he looked immediately in front of him. He saw a sheer drop below, and time seemed to freeze in a moment of dread as he stared at the dark watery abyss below.
He wondered when time would stop and he’d at last be done with it, and then he realized that he wasn’t falling. He blinked, looking from side to side, and he realized that a unicorn was holding him. He’d been caught. And judging by the uniform the unicorn was wearing, it was a soldier.
Scroll had never been so not relieved to not be falling to his death. He spun to face him. It was an aquamarine unicorn, and one who seemed to have bandages around his head. It might have been a comical sight, had Scroll been able to process it.
Okay, okay, okay, he thought. You got this. You’re gonna do great. Just wait for this guy to ask me if I’m okay, and then I’ll respond and be grateful and be on my way. Simple. I’ll wait for him to speak, and then I can respond back, knowing the proper syntax and speaking patterns…
The unicorn, however, did not say anything, and he just stared back.
Why isn’t he speaking? Is he suspicious? Am I looking stupid? Am I not supposed to be here?
Then, the unicorn levitated something… it looked like a whiteboard, followed by a marker, and he wrote out on it: 'Still in shock?'
He blinked.
'Hello?' the unicorn wrote out.
“W-well I say!” said Scroll, raising his cane. “I do believe that I owe you my life! Please, sir, you have earned the eternal gratitude of Toppington Von Monowinkle!”
The unicorn arched an eyebrow.
“I will make sure to inform your superior officer of your valiant efforts, my good chap!” He patted the unicorn on the shoulder. “Always good to see a fine upstanding handsome pony in uniform doing his duty! Cheerio, old fellow!” He said, taking off past him at a brisk stride.
Aced it!, he thought.
___________
“Oh yeah,” said a unicorn guard, looking himself in the mirror. He smiled at his reflection, flexing a foreleg. It was less impressive than he thought it was, but he was on a high. “Who’s a stud, Split Second? You’re a stud!”
He turned and walked back to his room, where his friend was fast asleep and the lovely earth pony mare from the night before was lying, awake but relaxing. “Mornin’,” she said. “Sleep well?”
“Well, not much, obviously,” said the unicorn, grinning. “That was amazing. I had no idea you earth ponies could do that. Tell the truth I… always kinda wanted to do that.”
“I never did it with a unicorn, either,” said Tap, sitting up. “A lot of fun, you two. Hope I got us off to a good start.”
“Oh, you bet!” said the guard.
A loud yawn came from his partner as he stretched, casting his sheets aside and rubbing his eyes. “Ughh, what was…” He turned and looked at Tap, who was smiling sultrily at him. “Oh… not a dream, huh?” he asked.
“No, but thanks for the compliment,” said Tap.
“So,” said Split Second. “You said you wanted some help with something?”
“Huh?” asked the first, seeming to finally come awake. “Wait, we’re what?”
“You heard me,” said Tap. “I wanted a little help with you on something.”
“But—” said the first guard, a panicking tone in his voice.
“Fair’s fair, First Response” said Split Second.
“But we’ll get in trouble!” said First Response.
“We haven’t even heard what she wants!” said Second. They both looked at her.
“Well,” said Tap, getting out of the bed and running a mane through her head. Now this was where the risky part came. “There’s a certain unicorn on this fortress that I’m looking for. He’s one of the missionaries. Brother White?”
“Brother White?” asked First, looking at the second. “I dunno who that is…”
“Wait, she say missionary? Like the guys the general’s got up in the tower?” asked Second. “I think he has them talking to the laborers.”
“Laborers?” asked Tap.
“Yeah, you know, the other, um…” Second’s eyes went a little shifty.
“Ah, right, them…” said Tap. “Well, I really, really need to find Brother White.”
First Response leaned forward. “Why should we help you? Why should we put our necks out to get you up to this Brother White. We’d be better off turning you in.”
Tap looked at him, her eyes wide and her lip curled into a pout. “But I wanted us to be friends,” she said, taking a step towards the bed. “Because if we’re friends, we can do fun things together… like we did last night.”
“Shemakesaverygoodpoint,” said Split Second.
First Response put a hoof to his chin, pondering it carefully. “Friends…” he muttered, looking at her. “Right.”
Second walked next to him and whispered. “Very good point.”
Tap chuckled, stroking the second guard’s cheek with a hoof. For all his attempts at playing the dutiful tough guy, a blush was starting to creep into his cheeks. Tap smiled, grateful that it seemed that some stallions were the same no matter what race they were.
___________
Every time the door opened, Barrel looked. It opened fairly frequently, being the morning breakfast rush. Still, he kept looking, hoping that he’d see Tap and Scroll and the others back from a successful mission. More likely, he felt in the pit of his stomach, General Quake would come in, angrily demanding to know where Tap had gone. And Barrel would sputter and say that he didn’t know and after that he had no clue what would happen.
He hoped that it would go alright. He heard a scraping on the wooden counter, looking to see Gwynna push a dirty plate to him.
“Oh, thanks,” he said, taking it and putting it away. When he looked up he saw Bottle Top smiling at him. He was as smelly as usual, though this time he seemed to be wearing a relatively clean hat. “Oh. Hi. Nice hat.” His eyes shifted from side to side as his nose scrunched. “How’s things?”
“Pretty good,” said Bottle Top. “I made it big at craps the other night so I’m in the mood for breakfast.”
“Right, right,” he said. “How’s potatoes?”
“You tell me, you’re the cook,” said Bottle Top, before noticing the bird. “Got a new pet?”
Gwynna grumbled indignantly. “She’s not a pet,” said Barrel, retreating to a small stove behind the counter. “She’s helping me with a few things.”
“Where’s your sister?” asked Bottle Top.
“So do you want me to fry your potatoes with butter?” he asked loudly. “It’s more expensive that way.”
“I said I made it big,” said Bottle Top.
“You got it! Here’s butter!”
The door opened again. This time, Barrel heard a voice calling his name.
“Barrel! Good, no—” It was Gunner’s voice. Barrel looked up and saw him making a beeline for the counter.
“Can’t talk, busy with butter.”
“But—”
Gunner went straight up to the counter, but was quieted by a ‘shh’ing gesture with Gwynna’s wing.
“Thank you, Gwynna,” said Barrel, stirring the contents of his pan. “Juuust hold off.”
“Look, just… read the note here,” said Gunner, placing a slip of paper on the counter. Gwynna prodded it suspiciously with her beak. “And we’ll be fine. Just want to let you know. It’s… you know, our thing.”
Barrel craned his neck. “Ahh, got it. Thanks.”
“Right, just brief notes,” said Gunner. “Feel free to work on the details yourself.”
“What’re you two talking about?” asked Bottle Top, sniffing in the hopes that some of the fumes from Barrel’s cooking could come over for a preview. Unfortunately, the way the tavern was, it would take a bloodhound to pick anything out amidst the damp stank.
“Nothing important,” said Gunner, practically ignoring him. “Anyway, good luck. See you later.”
“Alright, take care,” said Barrel. Gunner departed as he finished cooking, which he brought to Bottle Top. “So you’re absolutely sure you can pay for this, right?” he asked.
“Yup,” said the bum, triumphantly producing a large set of slips of paper. “Ration coupons!”
“Ration coupons?” asked Barrel. “We don’t need them, Tap does all the—”
Wait. Tap wasn’t here. That meant she couldn’t fuck Quake for things. Oh. Ohhhhh.
“Oh,” said Barrel. “Ohhhh, okay. I mean, generally we go for… money, but that’s good, yeah.”
“Alright,” said Bottle Top, slapping the coupons on the counter.
Barrel swept them up, along with Gunner’s note. That pit feeling in his stomach returned. Tap wasn’t here, and he had to fend for himself. He didn’t know how to do that. What would happen if the house burned down again? The house always burned down. What would he do then? He couldn’t build a house. Tap usually fucked some stallions to get them to help, but Barrel couldn’t do that. The other stallions didn’t want to fuck him ‘cause he was a fatass. He’d have to save money, but he’d never had to worry about saving money and then even if he did save up money what if it got lost when the place burned down
“Barrel?” asked Bottle Top. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”
“Buh?” asked Barrel. Gwynna hopped onto his back and cooed softly, gently stroking the top of his head with a wing. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. I just remembered I’d forgotten something.”
“What was it?”
“I dunno,” said Barrel, blinking. “I forgot.”
“Figures. Ain’t that the worst?” asked Bottle Top, biting into his breakfast. “I tell ya, some hangovers I get…”
And Barrel found himself unable to relate to hangovers, as he himself wasn’t one for drinking. However, he let Bottle Top continue talking and enjoying his potatoes and butter as he served food at an easy enough pace. Gwynna stood by, eating bits of crumbs and leftovers as others finished their breakfasts and went about their day. Now all he had to do was wait for the inevitable appearance of General Quake when he found out that Tap wasn’t here.
He gulped.
___________
Thankfully for Barrel, Quake had other things on his mind at the moment. He stood in the grimy dark as engineers toiled beneath a mass of metal and bolts.
“G-general?” suggested his lieutenant. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to work on it in the light? I-I mean, after all it’s ex-extremely important, right?”
“It’s a surprise,” grunted Quake. “I want this to look like it’s come out of nowhere. First those fucking horners come in, thinking they can do whatever they want to us, and then BOOM!” He stomped on the ground, shaking the floors and rattling the machinery, making the engineers yell out in fright. His lieutenant, meanwhile, had sunk towards the wall. Quake looked at him with a disdainful snort. “How the fuck did you get promoted?”
“’Cause I’m pretty good at not dying?”
Quake grunted. That seemed to be good enough for him. “You keep working on it. Let me know how it’s going later. And it better actually be fucking going,” he said. With that, he turned and ascended the stairs, back into the light. “Surrounded by fucking wastes,” he muttered as he looked over the various milling soldiers around him. He grunted in annoyance. He needed something to drink, or something to break…
No, it was too early for alcohol. Something better. Coffee. There was coffee somewhere. He went to his private quarters and opened a large chest, full of bits of good stuff he had stashed from harvests or commandeering supplies from the missionaries. Some fresh bananas, apples, the special moonshine, a teddy bear…
What the fuck is this bear doing in here? he wondered. Must have been from that “Hearth’s Warming” thing the brothers had done. Briefly he wondered how Brother Scroll was doing, and then went back to looking for the coffee beans.
Then he remembered he’d have to actually make the coffee and decided ‘fuck that.’
He emerged from his tent, looking out, when he heard a loud wailing sound. “What was that?” he asked a group of confused soldiers.
“Sounded like it was coming from town, sir,” said Trigger Mark.
Quake grunted, exiting the camp with a group of soldiers. He grumbled to himself as he led the way, annoyed at the chattering of the soldiers behind him, until they came to the square.
There they saw Gunner, standing in the middle of a crowd, holding something in his hooves, though Quake couldn’t see what it is.
“Oh, tragic, tragic!” moaned Gunner, throwing his body from side to side.
“So horrible!” exclaimed Barrel’s voice, as he, too, emerged from the crowd, approaching him.
“Just look!” said Gunner, holding up the object. The sunlight glinted off of a pair of broken glasses.
Trigger Mark watched, an eyebrow raised.
“Oh, it was terrible, terrible!” said Gunner. “I daren’t say it…”
“But Gunner,” said Barrel. “The ponies here deserve to know the truth.”
“I… no, you’re right,” said Gunner, sniffing loudly. “Come, friends, gather around, while I tell you the tale of what happened.”
Quake turned his head as he could have sworn he heard violins off in the distance. And then, Gunner opened his mouth and began to sing.
“This morning I woke and I went to the shore,
Around a quarter to nine.
For I went to go visit my friend to implore
The goals with which we shall align.”
“The goals with which they would align,” sang the crowd. Then, Barrel sang.
“We looked far and wide for our friend to appear
But of Scroll Page there wasn’t a trace.
Then we stood and we thought and we tried for the pier
Oh yes, then was a furious race!”
“Oh yes, then was a furious race!”
“Did everyone rehearse this?” asked Quake, looking at Trigger Mark, his ear twitching at what he could swear was the sound of a small orchestra playing in the background.
“Well it’s not that complicated to just repeat the last line…” Trigger Mark reasoned.
Then, Gunner sang, a trombone seeming to rise with him.
“And then fin’ly we came to a cliff far on high and we saw our poor friend on the ledge.”
“He looked at the sea with a terrible sigh as he put his hoof over the edge.”
“And we cried, ‘Wait! Don’t leave us! For without you what are we to do?’”
“And he stopped…” sang Barrel, his face as if in a trance. “And he turned… and he said…”
Gunner stepped up onto a box and looked at over them as the music seemed to swell to a lyrical tune (Quake looked around furiously to see if he could find who the hell was playing the violin). “My friends, do not weep for me. For my sorrows will at last be o’er. Oh my friends, can’t you smile and see? For soon my heavy heart will lower.”
The chorus sang.
“For soon his heavy heart did lower.
Oh good friends, do not weep for the sorrows ended
As the dark night turns to the dawn.
For these sorrows shall fade,
and the deep wounds mended,
‘Till our hearts shall dance as a fawn…”
“Okay,” said Trigger Mark, “that’s a bit more elaborate.”
Barrel continued.
“Then with one last side smile he stepped over the edge
And he fell to the sea far below…
And I swear I saw him fly… Yes that’s what I will allege
When he fell he seemed, he seemed to—ohhhh...”
“Good friends, I’m sorry to say,” sang Gunner, “that our friend is with us no more.
Though we searched and searched for hours
This was all that we found on shore…” He finished, holding up the glasses.
“This was all they found on shore…” sang the crowd.
Quake grunted, turning to Trigger Mark and the lieutenant. “Well, guess the fucker’s gone. Don’t know if this is good or—”
“Oh good friends, do not weep for the sorrows ended…” sang the crowd.
Quake scowled.
“As the dark night turns to the dawn.
For these sorrows shall fade,
and the deep wounds mended,
‘Till our hearts shall dance as a fawn…”
“‘Till our hearts shall dance as a fawn…” finished Gunner and Barrel.
The song over, Gunner stood, wiping his eyes with a large hoofkerchief. “We stood at the edge and waited… he didn’t come up. So we gave him a burial at sea.”
“It’s what he would have wanted,” agreed Barrel, nodding solemnly.
General Quake stood and stared for a moment, then grunted, heading off as the crowd began to disperse, mostly without interest, though the Lieutenant could be heard sobbing faintly. Gunner and Barrel breathed heavy sighs of relief before parting ways, themselves.
Trigger Mark eyed Gunner suspiciously and followed him. As Gunner turned a corner into a less populated road, Mark approached him.
“So Scroll… killed himself, huh?” he asked in a probing tone of voice.
“Huh?” asked Gunner, surprised to find himself followed. “Oh, yeah. He just couldn’t take it anymore… his friend gone, the island not heeding his message.”
“So he died and you dumped him into the ocean?” asked Trigger Mark.
“Kkkkkkkinda?”
Trigger Mark grunted, walking alongside him. “Really, huh? So what are you going to do?”
“I am going to carry on his legacy,” said Gunner. “Continue his work. And maybe quietly slip back into the army. I really haven’t had much spending money lately…”
Trigger Mark looked him over, grunting slightly at the apparent change in demeanor and emotional reaction. “Well, good to see you’re holding up.”
“Uh-huh…” said Gunner, sitting down and apparently in his own world at the moment.
Trigger Mark rolled his eyes and went off down the road. Something was up, he was sure, but what exactly remained to be seen.
___________
As the crowd dispersed, Buzz stood there, shocked and numb. Brother Scroll was dead. That didn’t seem possible. Soon he was alone in the street, and the isolation crept in for real. One by one he’d lost every pony that might have cared about him. His Father. Brother White. And now, Brother Scroll.
He shook in that deep, icy terror that comes from realizing that there was nopony there to tell you that things would be okay. Right now, that was all he wanted. Somepony to tell him it was okay.
He didn’t go back to his house. He didn’t see the use of working. The prospect of making enough money to get more food didn’t seem like it was worth it. Not right now.
He trudged down the road, looking at all the houses. All with their doors shut to them, their inhabitants unkind, and uncaring. So lost was he in thought that he didn’t see when a dog leaped out at him, only stopped by the leash around his neck. Buzz leapt back into the street in alarm as he saw the dog snap at him, flicking froth and spit everywhere.
That seemed to snap him out of it, and he ran to the only place he could go: Tap’s tavern.
Barrel had set back up. With the lunch hour over, he had a bit of breathing room, with only himself and a now-unconscious Bottle Top occupying the tavern, Gwynna having gone off to her custody battle. He looked up when he heard the door open and saw the young colt scurry in.
“Buzz?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
“It can’t be true,” said Buzz, approaching him and climbing onto a stool. “Tell, tell me it’s not true.”
“I…”
“Tell me Scroll isn’t dead!”
And Barrel looked at him. Barrel looked At Buzz with a pained expression, and Buzz looked at Barrel with a pleading expression.
Barrel was then faced with the most difficult choice of his life. He had to decide whether he was strong, or weak, enough to lie to a child in his hour of need. And time seemed to stop. Or maybe it didn’t and Barrel was very indecisive and Buzz very patient.
But he thought about what could happen. He could say yes, and Buzz would fall into despair. That lie would not help the colt, and could even make it worse. Or he could say no, and risk everything falling apart.
“Well…” he said.
He couldn’t say yes. But he couldn’t say no, either.
“We didn’t… see him die,” said Barrel. “Now that I think about it. He just… jumped off of the edge.”
Buzz looked up. “That… that’s right. You didn’t find a body.”
Barrel nodded. And this could work. After all, Scroll was supposed to return again, somehow. They could make up something else, maybe have a whole other musical number with Scroll joining in. After all, Barrel reasoned, Scroll had a very pleasant baritone…
“Buzz, I can’t imag… well, I can,” he said, thinking about how he’d grown up without his parents and the current uncertain state of his sister. He did not want to think about his sister. “But you know, while Scroll’s gone, Gunner and I are going to carry on his work.”
“How are you going to go door-knocking and run the tavern at the same time?” asked Buzz.
“That, that’s not the important part,” said Barrel, waving his hoof. “The important part is, uh…” He blinked. “It’s the thing that we’re here to help you out.” He smiled at him. “You can count on me!”
“Really?” Buzz asked. “Well, thanks, I guess.” He sighed. “I miss them,” he said. “I miss my dad. I miss White. I even miss Clip.”
Barrel patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “I know. And it’s hard. Hey. Hey,” he said, raising his chin a little. “I’ll give you a sarsaparilla on the house.”
“Will Tap be okay with that?” asked Buzz.
“Ha!” Barrel turned and went to the counter behind him, counting out the bottles and looking for what little non-alcohol was there. “Hahahahahahaha! Ahahahaha.” He grabbed a bottle and a glass and set them in front of Buzz. “Ah. Ha hah ha ha.” He poured the drink and presented them to the colt, setting the counter before returning to his menial cleaning duties. “Hahahahahahaha… Yeah, she’ll be fine.”
“Well, thanks,” said Buzz, quietly drinking.
Barrel returned to working in a routine. He hoped that whatever Scroll was going to get done didn’t take too long, because he had no idea how long he could keep this routine up by himself. All he knew was he didn’t want to test it to find out.
Then the door opened.
“Hey, fatass,” said General Quake. “Get your sister down here.”
Barrel turned to face him, smiling painfully. Oh, fuck.
___________
Brother Scroll, of course, had not killed himself, though he wasn’t feeling quite as lively as he had before. His lack of sleep (unmitigated by tea) was starting to catch up on him, and the formerly flamboyant Toppington Von Monowinkle had lost a bit of the spring in his step.
He’d made his way into a large hallway lined with doorways, the stone carved to resemble elegant houses. Other unicorns were about, dressed much the same as he himself. He had gotten remarkably lucky with his choice in costume, for which he was grateful, as he didn’t have the energy or brainpower for more convincing bluffs.
Passing a group of chatty unicorns, he could pick up snatches of conversations.
“...and then I said, ‘Oh, Monty, you are just too much!’” Followed by subdued laughs from the unicorn’s friends.
Wrong Canterlot seems about right, Scroll thought. Like the time I went to the… He shook his head. Even his thoughts were becoming slurred and incoherent.
“I say, you don’t look quite so well,” said a passerby unicorn.
“Buh?” asked Scorn, looking at him.
“Are you sure you’re alright? You look as though you’ve come down with something.” The unicorn stepped away. “Oh dear, you haven’t come down with something, have you?”
“N-no,” said Scroll, a hoof moving towards his fake horn. “I just… haven’t gotten the best of rest.”
“Oh, thank goodness. Glad we don’t have to call in the guards to quarantine. Can’t have horrible diseases spreading and diluting us, can we?”
Scroll blinked. Okay, he thought, that sounds more like something… a little messed-up. “No we can’t, I suppose,” he said, walking off. On the edge of his hearing he heard the other group say something, what was it…
“Well, Monty is one of those second-floor unicorns. Of course he wouldn’t know better.”
“Are you absolutely certain you’re not under the weather?” asked the unicorn accosting Scroll.
“Yeah, pretty sure,” said Scroll, desperate to get away from this conversation. He needed to find White. But he needed a plan. He couldn’t very well just ask random ponies ‘hey where’s the unicorn with the dazzling smi—’ Oh, wait, I forgot. “I mean, indubitably.”
This, amazingly, seemed to satisfy the other unicorn, who went off to greet somepony else. He turned a corner and went down the hall, coming out into a large towering hub room, full of staircases and ledges, and much more brightly-lit. Scroll looked up at the ceiling. Rather than a dull crystal light, there was a large hole in the ceiling, letting the sunlight in, which seemed rather bright. He thought it reminded him of the large open spaces in shopping malls. Except this place didn't have a fountain or a ball pit.
What time is it? wondered Scroll. Is it like… afternoon now? Wow I’ve been up too late…
“So what are we looking for?” he heard a voice nearby.
“Name’s Brother White,” said a second.
Scroll’s ears pricked up. He turned and looked at them; they appeared to be guards, and they didn’t notice him. One of them was floating a map in front of his face.
“Live here for years and still get lost,” the guard muttered.
“That’s ‘cause you never go out of your loop.”
“Because everything’s boring.”
“Yeah, well, find out where he is.”
Once they’d gone a comfortable distance, Scroll followed them, trying to look casual and confident. Given that he hadn’t felt the former in some time and hadn’t felt the latter ever, it was a little difficult for him to do so.
Thankfully, whether he did it right or wrong didn’t really matter, as neither of them seemed to notice.
“I think he’s up in the towers,” said the guard without a map. “You know, where the really rich guy’s and the general’s inner circle live.”
“You think so? Lucky bastard,” said the one with the map. “Think we’ll get in trouble if we go there?”
“I dunno,” said the first. “I’ve never been there. I don’t think it’s a problem if we walk around, long as we don’t, like, break into anywhere.” He folded up the map. “The general has them doing stuff with the dirt ponies, right? Maybe we can catch him there?”
“Yeah,” said the other. “But then we don’t want to blow it if it’s in front of other guards. We’re risking enough trouble as it is…”
Scroll inched a little closer.What were they talking about? He wasn’t sure if it was good or not.
The first guard snorted. “I hate the work area. It’s depressing and smelly.”
“Well, whatever,” said the second. “Come on, let’s go.”
They walked off, the first one taking the map out again and the second one guiding him out of the way of a column. Scroll watched them for a moment, and then followed behind at a safe distance. Maybe these two would lead him where he needed to go.
___________
Work was cut short. Carpenter’s immediate response was to be glad to be out of the mind-numbing rut of thoughtless factory work, but he was too smart to not see that there was something wrong. The unicorns weren’t prone to giving days off just to be nice.
“What’s going on?” he asked the pony working next to him as the sounds stopped.
“No idea,” said the other pony, wringing and waggling his hooves to get some feeling back into them.
“Inspection!” boomed the voice of a unicorn that, if Carpenter could see, he’d probably like to punch in the face.
The ponies were moved from the factory lines into the halls, looking down the way towards their bunkers and quarters, watching as an assortment of unicorn guards filed in and out.
Aq stood there, holding up his whiteboard with instructions. ‘Search underneath the beds and check inside the vents.’
“What are they looking for?” asked one of the earth ponies.
Carpenter didn’t answer. “Well, shit…”
“Captain!” called a voice from inside. Aq went in and the earth ponies muttered nervously to each other.
Aq and two other unicorns emerged minutes later, carrying wooden planks, length of rope, pipes, and other materials. The earth ponies fell silent. Not all of them knew what was going on.
Carpenter, however, did.
Aq paced in front of them, his bandaged face surly as he could manage. The expression on his face, coupled with his injuries and juxtaposed with the serious and uncertain situation made Carpenter (and likely the other earth ponies) unsure whether or not they could laugh.
‘Well?’ asked Aq, writing out on his board. ‘Would anypony like to explain?’
Silence.
‘Anyone?’ Aq added.
“Yeah,” said Carpenter. “Arts and crafts night. Learned it from the missionary boys.”
Aq turned to look at him and slowly erased his message. ‘Arts and Crafts.’
“Yeah,” said Carpenter with a snide grin.
Aq turned the board to himself as though he were going to write again, and then swung it at Carpenter’s head. Carpenter was faster, however, and grabbed it. Wrenching it away from the unicorn’s telekinetic grip, he swung it back at Aq, striking him in the side of the mouth.
There was a mass of confusion. Some ponies started cheering. Others started shouting. Other unicorns raised their guns. Most clearly, Carpenter heard the unicorn captain howling in pain through his mouth.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” shouted a voice. Brother White emerged, looking at them, strength enough in his voice that the others quieted for a moment to notice him. His appearance was worn and hoary, and were it not for the strength in his voice one could be forgiven for thinking he was overdue for a nap. “What’s going on?”
“Ask them,” said Carpenter. “They started it.”
Aq’s howls of pain had subsided to angry, muffled whimpers as he pulled himself from the floor again, lifting his whiteboard. ‘Our inspections have uncovered stolen materials.’
“Stolen…” White looked at the materials gathered by the guards and he fell silent, frozen in shock.
Carpenter knew what was going through his head. The raft had been sunk. Even if they hadn’t discovered the exact nature of the plans, this inspection had set them back to square one. No, worse; they’d be on the lookout for missing materials again.
White turned and walked down the hall. Aq glared at him, then at the earth ponies.
‘Back to your quarters,’ he wrote. After a pause, he turned it too him and scribbled onto it before turning it back to them. ‘NOW!’
White walked down the wall at a slow pace, his mind in a dreamlike haze as it had been. He entered through a door, crossing the threshold out of the factory area. The noises of whirring and clanging machinery were faint, but the air was still the same, stilted and hot.
“Good afternoon, Brother White,” said a voice.
White turned and saw Monarch.
“You and Brother Shine really need to do a better job,” said the general, stepping towards him. “The earth ponies need to learn the rules better. I mean, a raft. Really. They could have gotten very hurt if they’d tried something like that.”
“Get away from me…” whispered White, taking a step back. He felt his butt hit the cold stone wall and his eyes shifted, looking for a way out.
“Oh?” asked Monarch, smirking as he took a larger step forward. “Is something wrong, White? Do you feel stressed? At your wit’s end? Alone?” He leaned into White as the smaller unicorn pressed back, as though hoping to fall through the wall altogether. “What ever are you going to do?”
Their faces were so close that White could feel the general’s breath on his muzzle. He stood there, transfixed… and then he darted down under Monarch’s chin, making a break down the hall as fast as his legs would carry him. Then he found that his legs weren’t carrying him. The hall wasn’t moving. Then he realized that his legs weren’t moving.
“Brother White,” Monarch chided.
White felt as his body floated in mid-air, turning to face Monarch, the general’s horn wrapped in a soft magic glow.
“I think that our problem here is that you have a serious misunderstanding of what’s going on here.”
White watched as he floated closer to Monarch.
“You seemed to think,” said Monarch, tilting his head in a sort of mocking consideration. “That you came here to help. You didn’t. You came here because I decided that you should come here.” He chuckled.
“That’s not…”
“Oh, but it is. You didn’t really have a choice. I mean… you could have chosen to just let General Quake do what he wanted to. But ponies like you don’t take chances like that. You like things to be neat and safe. And things are neat and safe for you up here. That’s why you won’t leave.”
“I don’t have options to leave…”
Monarch laughed again. “No, you don’t… well, I suppose you could go back to the island. We wouldn’t let you, of course, but you could try. But you’re not going to take that chance, are you?”
“How... “ White tried to speak up, but he found that his frozen position limited his breathing. “How do you know I won’t? Maybe things can’t get worse for me.”
“Oh, Brother White…” Monarch raised a hoof to his cheek. “Haven’t you learned anything on your mission? Things can always get worse.”
The horn stopped glowing and White collapsed to the floor. He looked up in fright at the grinning general.
“And now you’ll run.”
And White did so. He ran so fast that as he rushed past the doors he missed two unicorn guards with a map.
___________
To say that Aq had suffered indignities lately would be a bit of an understatement. He’d been outwitted by a foal. He’d been bested in a physical confrontation by a pacifist. And now he’d been sassed by a prisoner. Said prisoner had also made his jaw a living nightmare, and now he had the General’s daughter looking at it. In public.
“Oh, dear, dear…” said Princess, peeking at his bandages. “How bad does it hurt?”
‘Very,’ he wrote.
“You don’t think it’ll interfere with the healing, do you?”
‘No, probably not,’ he said.
A nearby guard snickered.
Aq glared at him, writing on the whiteboard and turning it to him. ‘Is something funny?’
The guard snorted. “Yeah. I mean, no offense, but that dirtclod has got some serious nerve.”
“Only because they are impulsive and don’t have an appreciation for consequences,” said Princess. “Some ponies mistake that for courage.”
‘Racism,’ Aq wrote on the whiteboard, a deadpan look on his face. Princess scoffed at it.
“Really, I don’t see why we even have contact with the earth ponies,” said Princess. “We could have them in a completely sealed separate area and use the assembly lines to have things delivered to us. But then I suppose we’d still need to maintain the machines.” She sighed. “Oh, there never are perfect solutions to anything, are there? I suppose if there were we wouldn’t need to go to war, then, would we?”
Aq erased his board and wrote again on it. ‘Something on your mind?’
“Oh, I’m just…” Princess chuckled. “Oh, I suppose I am rambling again. I just think about things. How they could be nicer. How they will be nicer.”
‘How do you think that will be?’
“Well,” said Princess. She sat up, thinking. “I think that I’d like to live someplace with fields. I remember back when I was a filly and I walked somewhere with grass beneath my hooves. It was morning once. The air was very cool and the blades were just a little wet. I didn’t notice at first, but after I walked a little I noticed that my hooves were damp, and I looked down closer and I saw little beads of water on the blades. I’d like to live somewhere like that again.”
‘That does sound nice.’
Princess read the message and smiled. “That’s where we’ll live someday. When I’m a real princess.”
‘But you are a real princess.’
She scoffed wryly. “I mean with a kingdom and everything. I don’t rule anything here. It’s just courtiers and sycophants. Not that those aren’t lovely in their own right, but…” She paused, her smile faltering. “Do you think I’d be a good ruler?”
‘You’ve asked me that before.’
“I know,” she said, nodding. “But I think about it a lot.”
‘I think that’s a sign that you will be.’
She smiled again. “Thank you, Aq. That means a lot to me.” She stood up, looking at the other guard, who was absorbed in a newspaper. “Don’t tell my father anything I said.”
“Huh?” asked the guard.
“Good,” said Princess, and satisfied, she turned to walk away.
“I don’t get it…” said the guard.
___________
Tap waited in the room, pacing back and forth. As she did so, her eyes scanned the room, making a note of everything in there in case something was important. A nightstand with an ill-sorted stack of papers gave her a good idea that the pony who normally used this room wasn’t any sort of neat-freak. Every time she looked to the wall and saw no windows she shuddered a little. It made the place seem claustrophobic.
But, she reasoned, she had a good hoof on the situation. As long as those two didn’t sell her out she was on her way to getting where she needed to be. All things considered, she’d made a good way for herself in a bad situation. The guards, hopefully, were enamored enough of her that they’d want to keep her from harm. And if White was here, then they could start to plan.
She heard hoofsteps. There was a clicking sound as the doorknob began to turn. Tap hid in the corner by the door, watching as the two guards entered.
“Hello?” asked First Response, stepping into the room.
Split Second shut the door behind him, seeing her as he turned around. “Oh there you are,” he said, smiling.
“Hello,” she said, smiling back. “So, what did you find out?”
“Well, I think we found the missionary,” said First. “He’s up in the general’s tower.”
“I’m guessing that means I should stay away from there if I don’t want to get caught,” said Tap.
“Riiiiight…” said Second, rubbing the back of his neck. “But there might be another option.”
Tap leaned against the wall. “Go on.”
“White doesn’t always stay in the tower,” said First. “They work with the other prisoners and they’re generally free to move around the fortress.”
“Sooooo,” Second mused. “We might be able to arrange a meeting.”
“Ahh,” said Tap. “So have him visit here and we’re in the clear.”
Split Second opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Oh, yeah, that’s a way better idea…”
First Response looked around nervously. “And then once you’ve met up with White…”
Tap looked at him. “I’ll be out of your manes,” she said, tossing her head. “Well, if you want it, that is.”
First Response gave a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good.”
Split Second made his way to the nightstand, taking off his cap and starting to unbutton his shirt. “I gotta say, this has been fun,” he said. “Gotta be the most eventful week I’ve had in awhile. It can get… boring up here, sometimes.”
“I’ll bet,” said Tap. “I mean, it’s like being underground in here. No windows or anything.”
“It’s stable,” mumbled First, shrugging.
“Yeah,” said Second. “But I dunno… I like this. Don’t you?”
First Response pawed at the ground. “I guess I do. I’m not gonna forget it, that’s for sure.”
“Works for me,” said Tap with another toss of her mane. She looked at the second guard. “It’s nice to be unforgettable.” She chuckled as she saw the guard blush.
Split Second rubbed the back of his neck again. “I… I do admit it all makes me think it’d be nice if we weren’t in this whole messed-up thing, whatever you call it.”
___________
White threw himself onto the bed. His eyes were dry, and he felt numb all over. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t done much of anything today.
There was nopony else in the room. Clip must’ve been over with Brother Shine right now… good. He could deal with that. He just needed to be alone. He closed his eyes. All he wanted was to be as far away from here as possible. Back home. Back in school. Back in Canterlot. Even Earthquake Island wouldn’t be so bad…
“Pearly?” asked a quiet voice.
White lifted his head slowly and turned, wide-eyed to the door. He saw standing there a dark blue pony in a ridiculous costume. That blue pony raised a hoof to the plastic horn on his head and slowly lowered it, along with a felt top hat, revealing just an earth pony.
He got up from the bed shakily, walking towards him, his expression almost disbelieving. “Scroll?” he asked.
Scroll took a step into the room. “White, it’s me…”
They met in the middle, White’s face one of shocked disbelief. White raised a hoof to touch his face, just to be sure. He saw Scroll smile bashfully, and he laughed. Tears started streaming down his face, and he threw his arms around Brother Scroll. It was real.
___________
Bright Idea took her usual midnight stroll around the weapons lab, humming to herself. “Oh, the ways you can tell an explosion, made from fire or from air…” and other cheerful ditties she couldn’t think of more than one or two lines of.
She examined the Plague of Nightmares. That was a creative work. Shame it worked better in theory than it did in practice. She heard a hissing behind her. The windigoes. She ignored them at first; them making noises wasn’t cause for alarm. But then she saw her shadow on the machine before her and looked behind.
There was a light in the windigoes enclosure, and the creatures were hissing and shrinking from it. Then, they started screaming. And then, lighting the entire room, there was a flaming heart. The light was so bright she had to shield her eyes, and when it finally dimmed enough for her to look, the tank was empty. The monsters were gone.
“Huh,” she said. “That… doesn’t make any sense.”
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...is this what I think it is?
~Leonzilla
7886818
It's possible, but without the ability to read your mind I couldn't say for sure.
Also, I should give credit to my pre-reader, Ekevoo, for the names of the two unicorn guards.
Dude, what do you mean 'what if'? We have the brony/pegasister fanbase religion! XD
Finally, a bit of good news!
>Flaming heart
Is that...the UPS truck?
Really great chapter of a captivating story.
I noticed these:
Thank you for writing new chapters.
For all the hype made about Windigoes, the fact that it only takes two ponies to lay them low is surprising.
I always thought it took three!
Sweet pony Jesus, you're still writing this? Guess I better get to reading then; I'm four years behind.
7964831
Hahaha. Long time no see! Hope you still enjoy the story as much as you did four years ago!
OOOOOAAAAHHHAHH! More chapters! Aahnamm! Ommm nom nomnomnomnom! Devours them.
... I'm craving potatoes.
7886840
Miss you and this story, mate. I started reading it years ago, and have since left the fandom, but I still check back every now and then to see if it’s updated because I’m still interested to see where it goes. But it’s been more than a year since the last update, and your last blog post is pretty old too, so I’m assuming this is the end of it. Hoping I’m wrong, but I dunno.
Thanks for sticking with this for as long as you did. I’m gonna miss that feeling of excitement when a new chapter is up. Love ya, mate. Cheers.
8950810
Ah, it has been tough to get inspiration and time. But hey. Maybe someday, when you least expect it.
Awesome cover image!
9329973
Hah! I'll tell Kegisak, the artist!
Still would have liked to see the end of this story, I wish you well dude
11119564
Thank you for the kind words. I've been thinking about it, lately. The last few years have been a little rough and it's difficult to find focus for these projects, especially when juggling so many ideas and project ideas.
I'm glad that you stopped to think about it. I made a bit of a new years' resolution to keep up with writing every day, even if it's only a few paragraphs, in whatever format (script, poetry, journal entry). I'm hoping it gets me in better habits. Hopefully that gets me in a place of mind where I can return to this story and give it the ending I want.
If you're curious to know how it ends and don't want to wait on the whim of my writing moods, you can feel free to message me.
11121381
Thanks I wish you luck on it, as much as I would like to I can wait for the chapter update.
11122488
Thank you for the vote of confidence. I have my bit of writing to do in another day.
I'll just say that I have every intention on a happy ending.