Freeze Frame

by ToixStory

Episode 3: Sünden des Lehrers

“So, Miss Flower, can you tell us why you’re in here?”

There was a bright spotlight trained directly on my face, so I couldn’t tell who had spoken. Or see them, for that matter. All I knew was that across the cold metal table from me in the dark, concrete-slabbed room were two ponies in matching gray suits. They were perfectly matched in every way: from the red silk hoofkerchief in their lapel pockets to the tiny gold cufflinks in the shape of the Germane eagle. Even their coats somehow matched in the same gray-blue color. I couldn’t tell if their cutie marks did since the suits covered them, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Or at least, they had both perfectly matched before they had met Grapevine and I. The ride over, strapped in too-small hoofcuffs while riding in the hot back seat of a police steamer had not been fun. Worse was the complete lack of explanation from the cops of why we had been detained or where they had been taking us. Being a reporter, I guess it must have especially rubbed Grapevine the wrong way.

So wrong, in fact, that her first response when the Germane officials opened the steamcar’s doors to let us out was to buck one of them right in the face. I still couldn’t see through the blinding light in front of me, but I knew one of them had adorned a pair of reflective sunglasses to hide his growing shiner.

After that incident, a few of the police officers had shoved Grapevine into one of those straightjackets and hauled her off to one end of the building while I was led by the suited colts down a few dank hallways to the interrogation room.

Whoever had spoken repeated his question again, and this time added, “We just want to talk, that’s all.”

I crossed my forehooves in front of my chest. “What’s there to talk about?” I said. “I still don’t know why I was brought here.”

They muttered something in Germane to each other about my accent, but I couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. The voice resumed, “You honestly have no idea?”

“No . . . should I?”

The light swung away and I could finally see the rest of the room without blinding myself. Not that there was much to see besides the two colts in suits. The one without sunglasses pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were brought here at the behest of the Germane government,” he said, the same voice from earlier. I guessed Mr. Black Eye was still sore from Grapevine’s method of taking out her frustration, so he stayed quiet.

“Why would they want me?” I said.

“You were seen and identified as asking questions on the whereabouts of the fugitive Doctor Chemiker, an act that aroused the suspicions of our government.”

“Last time I looked, asking questions wasn’t a crime,” I said. “Besides, I’m with the press; my partner and I were only working on a story.”

He shook his head. “Press passes don’t count as diplomatic immunity. All my government knows is that you’ve been asking some very curious questions, and this session is for you to prove that you’re not doing anything that might be considered . . . distasteful to our government or yours.”

I looked around the small, empty room. “So I’m not under arrest?”

“Not at this moment, no.”

“Then can I leave?”

The stallion in sunglasses stepped quickly in front of the door and stood at attention. His partner turned to me with a look on his face that he obviously hoped would be interpreted as compassion. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Minty. You may not be under arrest, but you are not without suspicion.” He smiled a little. “But all that can be cleared up just by explaining to us that you have no interest in finding the good doctor.”

I cocked my head. “So you’re saying . . . if I want to get out, I have to forget any of this ever happened?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Okay, then . . .” I paused, though more for his benefit than mine. “Why exactly is your government so sensitive about this?” I asked, hoping he would take the bait. “I mean, I’m just trying to understand why I can’t do this story.”

The two agents looked at each other, and the one with the sunglasses gave a small nod. “Doctor Chemiker has taken . . . items . . . out of the country that our government--as well as yours--considers unsafe,” the talkative one said, thankfully taking my opening. “We are simply here to find him and any of his cohorts before they can bring harm to Equestria.”

“Right,” I said, “and how exactly is a chemistry teacher supposed to hurt anyone? And how do you even know he was planning to anything wrong?”

The sunglasses colt took one aggressive step towards me, but was stopped by a subtle shake of his partner’s head. “We have it on very reliable sources,” he said.

“Like who, yourselves?”

Another look between the two of them, and then the talkative one reached under the table and brought out a small book. It had a plain, weatherbeaten cover that once had been a dull shade of brown. “We are only letting you see this as an act on the part of the Germane government to show that there is no mistrust between us and the citizens of the Equestrian Empire,” he said carefully. “We are simply helping to clear things up to you, nothing more.”

If this was how they cleared things up, I didn’t want to see their real interrogation. At any rate, something about that book bothered me. “What is that?” I said.

“This is the journal of Doctor Wahr Chemiker, found in his steamcar outside the Hayburg aerodrome shortly after his flight out of the country.” He opened it, but didn’t let me get close enough to actually read any of the words. Not that I could’ve, anyway. Not only was the print in the scrawling short-form that Earth ponies used, but it was all in Germane, and reading it had never been my strong suit.

“In past entries, the doctor details his plans from leaving his job all the way to leaving for Equestria. We believe it was left behind as a guidebook for his followers. Luckily, we managed to get to it first after an anonymous tip.”

“Wait, wait,” I said. “This doctor guy has followers?” I remembered the ponies back at the freakshow tent, but I had just figured they were standing up for one of their own against nosy foreigners, not some kind of cultists.

“The troubling times our country has experienced has led many to cling to deluded fantasies of heroes who are even more deluded than they are,” the pony with sunglasses said, speaking for the first time in a gravelly voice. “They will attach themselves to any cause with a soft enough face.”

His partner nodded. “Exactly. That’s why, in fact, we’re here in the first place: to look for followers who might’ve come to Equestria with him. You were included on that list.”

“Uh . . . why?” I said.

“He wrote of you and your partner several times,” the colt said. “He seemed to think highly of your . . . criticism of the former mayor.” The way he said criticism led me to believe he would rather have spit the words out one by one like a saliva-y gun. “Being the only Equestrians he mentioned in his journal, we naturally were led to believe that he would try and get in touch with you.”

I wanted to laugh. Here we’d spent an entire day looking for some crazy chemist, and apparently he wanted to find us. Suddenly, I was much more intrigued than before, and starting to rethink the idea that had been forming in my head that I should just go along with the Germanes. Not that I could let them know that. “Well I can tell you that I hadn’t even heard of this Chemiker guy before today,” I grumbled, “and I’m starting to wish I never had.”

The interrogator’s face lit up, just as I had hoped it would. “Good, good, just what we were hoping to hear,” he said. “Because don’t you wish that you could put this whole thing behind you now?”

I smiled nodded eagerly. Yes, of course I did. Just want to forget this whole thing, sir. After that, the Germanes were more than eager to help me get my official statements in order. I signed something that said I’d never been associated with Chemiker, and another that I wouldn’t talk about anything that had gone on in the room. Both of the documents were co-stamped with the Equestrian seal, so I wasn’t immune. Of course, it was just paper telling me what to do. And why should I obey that? I was part of a newspaper: we told the paper what to do.

* * *

The two of them led me out of the room after that little ordeal, but didn’t let me go just yet. They politely informed me that I would not be cleared to leave until the others had been through the same process, so I would have to wait. Rather than letting me sit in the nice--if boring--waiting room at the front of the police station, I was given my very own jail cell. It was certainly nicer than the one Pullmare had stuck me in, but it was really the thought that counted.

With a final clanging of the metal door on the iron bars, I was locked in the cell and the Germane interrogators scurried away. I sat heavily on the cell’s cot that was shoved against the right side of the tiny room, and tried not to think about the last time I had been in a similar situation.

“So they put you in there too, I see,” a familiar voice said in Germane. I turned around to see Big News’ face staring at me through the bars. He looked concerned. “Did they trouble you?”

I shook my head. “Not really, just kept me in there until I agreed not to pursue the story any more.”

He nodded. “It is good to hear that they did not harm you, then.”

“Why, were they rough with you?”

“Nothing more than what I’m used to these days.” He sighed. “But I suppose this means you will be off the case now?”

I laughed. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that you signed a paper saying that wouldn’t?”

“So?” I said. “If you’re in here, that means you did the same. And you’re not going to quit . . . doing whatever it was that got you in here, are you?” I snorted. “Besides, it’s not like Grapevine’s going to give up a story just for some government officials--she’ll drag me along whether I like it or not.”

He smiled. “I was hoping you would say that. It is rare to find other supporters of Wahr these days.”

I wouldn’t have said I really supported the guy, but I wasn’t going to shoot Big down. Though, considering I had been in the same situation as Doctor Chemiker just over a week ago with our local government, I could at least empathize with him. And anyway, whether I supported him or not, if I stayed quiet and asked the right question I could break this case open before Grapevine had a chance.

“Yes, I’m sure it,” I said. “Do you know him personally, by any chance?”

“I wouldn’t say personally, but I have had the chance to meet him several times. What a stallion! You have not lived until you have heard him speak--his words flow over your mind like a cool running stream. He is so intellectual--a true gentlecolt and a scholar. Why, even as a refuge here in this city, he gathers new followers to him.”

Rambling aside, that sure sounded like a lead to me. “So he’s here in the city?”

“Well of course, where else would he be?”

“And do you know where in the city he is?” He said nothing, but instead looked at me apprehensively. “You can trust me,” I said. “I’m already in jail for him, after all.”

Big paused, then nodded. “Alright, if I can’t trust you, then I cannot trust anyone.” He looked around at the empty room housing all the cells, painted the same dull gray as the rest of the station. “But here is not the place to tell you this. I will find you later.”

Before I could ask just what he meant by that, a door on one wall opened and a cop stepped through. She walked over to our cells and unlocked the doors. “You’ve both been cleared to leave,” she said in a clipped tone.

We stepped out of our cells--cautiously at first, to make sure we weren’t being fooled--and followed her out of the room and into the front office. There, Grapevine was waiting for us with a scowl on her face. Her saddlebag had been returned to her after one of the arresting officers yanked it from her back at the festival.

Behind her were the same interrogators who had talked to me. The talkative one flashed us a toothy smile. “We’re pleased everything went so well,” he said. “Please, go home and forget this little incident ever happened.” Though he seemed happy enough, there was a deep-seated hint of malice in his voice, and venom in his eyes.

His gaze didn’t stray from us as we walked out of the station and down the front steps. Outside, night had set in, and a half-full moon hung lazily over the city. The summer night air was muggy and warm, and gave an odd feeling of joviality to the dark streets.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Grapevine said.

I took one look behind me at the closed doors to the police station. “So you’re still on the case?” I whispered.

She didn’t answer, but instead gave me a look that implied that she would have slapped a hoof to her face had it been worth the effort.

Big News coughed. “I suppose this is where we part ways,” he said, glancing around the street. He nodded to us both. “And I will see the two of you at the festival again tomorrow?” We spoke in confirmation and he waddled off down the street in the general direction of Chestnut Hill, where I guessed he had gotten a hotel.

That left Grapevine and I alone on the sidewalk. Wonderful. “So are we walking?” I said.

She didn’t respond, but instead trotted over to a trolley stand about ten yards away and sat down on the bench inside. I sighed and ambled up alongside her, but refrained from taking a seat at her side. The trolley schedule had been torn off from the stand’s message board, and neither of us knew what time it was, so we resigned to wait. If there was one thing I was grateful to Pullm- er, Golden for, it was that she had kept things running. Even now, the trolleys ran twenty-four hours a day.

When she spoke, it was so unexpected that I didn’t hear it at first. Honestly, I had expected her to keep quiet for the whole trip back to Joya’s.

“Huh?” I said.

“I said it’s warm tonight,” Grapevine said awkwardly. “It feels good.”

“Yeah,” I said, “it is.”

A short pause. I couldn’t see her face, but I heard a smile in her voice when she spoke. “I remember nights like this . . . when I was a kid, you know?” she said, in an accent I’d never heard from her before starting to bubble to the surface. “Me and Mom had an apartment, out on the edge of Los Celestias. We were on the top floor and our apartment had a little tiny balcony that barely fit two chairs, so on nights like this we used to sit out there and she’d tell me all about when she was younger.”

I laughed. “That sounds like a good time.”

“Yeah? I guess it was,” she said.

“We used to go outside on summer nights, too, back on the farm,” I said. I pointed up, where the sky was almost milky black with only a few stars showing through along with the moon. “We lied down in the new bales of hay and looked up at the sky and made pictures out of the stars. You could see a lot more than you can here.” I turned to her. “It was pretty cool.”

Again, I expected a flippant remark, but--puzzlingly--none came. Instead, she said, “I’ve never been to the countryside before.”

I smiled. “You should go at least once; maybe you can come with me if I go back home . . . I mean, when I go back home.”

For a second, her eyes shined with hope, but it was quickly crushed down, though that didn’t stop her from returning my smile. Even as she looked away and stopped talking, her face was brighter than it had been.

* * *

We stayed in our respective positions for the rest of the duration, and eventually the trolley came. The car was empty, and the driver was partitioned off, so we pretty much had the thing to ourselves. Grapevine chose a bench near the back to sit on, and after a moment of deliberation I sat beside her. She didn’t protest.

After we got moving, she moved her saddlebag to her lap, and opened the flap with a satisfied look. “You still interested in the story?” she asked. “Those goons didn’t scare you off--did they?”

I shook my head. “Of course not,” I said.

“Good.” She reached in the bag and brought out a book. Or, more specifically, the book that had been put in front of me just minutes before.

“You . . . you stole Chemiker’s journal?” I said, practically shouting.

“Well duh,” Grapevine said. “I wasn’t just going to let those cheap rent-a-tyrants keep something that could be valuable to our case.”

My panic began to subside as I reminded myself that if the government officials had noticed the journal missing, they would have caught up to us at the trolley stop. For now, at least, we were safe. Curiosity rising, I asked, “So . . . did you look inside?”

“Yeah, but there isn’t a whole lot we can use. I don’t really know how to read Germane, so . . .” She held the book out to me. “Do you want it?”

Taking the book would surely put me--and, to that effect, Sterling and Joya--in more danger from the Germane officials, and all for no real gain except reading material of a mysterious Germane chemist. So of course I practically snatched it out of Grapevine’s hoof.

Then, purely on instinct, I reached out and hugged her. Just a friendly hug, mind you. I guess I was just feeling particularly chummy that night, or maybe more excited than I thought for that journal and a chance to see inside Chemiker’s head. But at any rate, I wrapped one hoof around Grapevine and pulled her close.

It took her a second to react, but when she did, it was sudden. The Grapevine that had managed to struggle out of her shell that night was cast back inside, and the old, “normal” one returned. Normal Grapevine quickly shoved me off, sending me crashing across the aisle onto the bench opposite her seat.

Now, I had been putting up with Grapevine’s act for the whole day with the express intent to wait until the story was over to say anything, but after seeing her actually show a little emotion, I just couldn’t bear to let her slip back down again. So, as I fell in a heap on the hard wooden bench, I decided to try something.

“Ow!” I cried upon my landing. “I- I landed on my wing!” For added effect, I made to move and get up, but appeared to cringe from the pain. “I think it might be broken . . .”

Grapevine, demonstrating that conflicting emotional states can switch back and forth more often than a choosy fashion designer, leapt to her feet and moved toward me. Concern crossed her face, and she leaned down to me. “I didn’t mean to . . . are you alright?” she said.

I smiled and flexed out my wing to show it was alright. “So you do care.”

Confusion, then understanding, and finally anger passed over her face in one rapid movement. If I kept it up, I could set a record for most changes in expression caused in one five minute period. “You-” she growled. “You faked being injured?”

Well, it had sounded like a good plan in my head, though hearing her say it out loud made me feel a little guilty. I stumbled for words to explain myself before settling on, “Only because you’re faking everything else!”

She looked bewildered. “I am faking?” she said. “Last time I checked, not wanting to be hugged isn’t hiding anything.”

“You’re faking because you only act that way when someone gets close to you!” I said, not really fully understanding what I was talking about, but going out on a limb anyways. Calmer, I said, “Tonight you were fine until I actually touched you, and suddenly that wasn’t alright. And it’s been the same thing ever since I’ve met you; I get close, and you push back twice as hard.”

Her mouth stood agape, and every time she tried to close it or form words, it returned to its former position.

So, I decided to go for what I hoped would be a winning blow. “I know that I’m not as brave as you are, or nearly as well-connected,” I said, “but at least when it comes to emotions, I’m not a coward.”

Grapevine eyes crossed, but she said nothing and instead rose from where she had been kneeling and started walking toward the front of the trolley.

“Where are you going?” I said.

“I’m getting off,” she said. “I can walk from here.”

“So what, you’re just going to run away?”

She didn’t look at me. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“You’re going to have to at some point,” I said, taking a step toward her. “You can’t just keep ignoring me every time I bring this up.”

“I can if I want, and what’s it your business anyway? All I did was try to act friendly to you tonight and now you think you know me . . .”

I laughed. “How long do you think you can keep up that mean, old facade? I’ve seen the real you--back at the Summer Sun Celebration. That was the true Grapevine, not whatever you’re trying to be now.”

“So the little girl fresh from the farm thinks she knows so much about how ponies work?” She snorted. “I was scared, and worried, and I didn’t think I was going to make it out of City Hall alive. What I said was a mistake, and one I don’t intend to make again.”

“Are you really going to tell yourself that?”

She didn’t respond, but instead put on her saddlebag, walked to the front of the car, and rapped on the door leading to the driver’s cabin of the trolley. The car began to slow and edge its way toward the nearest stop.

“So what, you’re going to be like this because I turned you down?” I said. “Is that it; you don’t get what you want so you walk away like a spoiled child?”

“Don’t go there,” Grapevine warned.

Well, I don’t remember the last time a warning like that had actually been honored, so I skipped the conversation merrily down that path. “Isn’t that why you abandoned Spotlight in the hospital--because your toy didn’t live up to your expectations, and when it broke you wanted a new one?”

Faster than I would have thought for a pony of her size, she had me shoved against the opposite wall and pinned me with one hoof across my throat, barely allowing me to speak.

“Take that back,” she growled.

“You know it’s true,” I gasped. Was that my voice? The words came through my brain and out my mouth unbidden, though every other fiber of my being was shouting at them to stop. Sweet Celestia, was I trying to make Grapevine go off on me?

Taking no heed to my misgivings, that part of my brain continued, “And then you told yourself that you wouldn’t let it happen again, so you could sleep at night. But you let your guard down for one moment and it happened again, and now, deep down, you’re scared because I don’t feel the same, and that isn’t something you planned for.”

She slackened a bit, as most of the fight left her. Even her eyes ceased their fiery anger and instead were cast down at her hooves, now intertwined with mine.

“You think it was easy telling you that?” I continued. “I may be a farm girl, but up in Derbyshire we’re no strangers to love.” I lifted her chin to look her in the eye. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Now, I’m quite sure that everything that I had said was in the most friendly sort of way, and meant to be taken as such. Despite what my sisters--and half the school--seemed to believe, I didn’t consider myself a fillyfooler. So when I said that last statement in a soft, tender way, it was simply a mistake on her part that she did not take it as a gesture between friends. That sounds believable, right?

Because, to my great surprise, Grapevine did a little more than simply accept the statement or even smile. Without warning and even quicker than before, she rose on the tips of her hooves and kissed me straight on the lips. I barely even had time to register her fleeting touch, because by then she was already pushing away from me and out the door.

“S- Sorry,” she mumbled, her eyes wide. And with that, she was galloping away from the trolley as fast as her hooves could carry her while I remained in the same spot, bewildered. My mind started to go numb as I turned over her action in my head, and I barely noticed when the trolley started moving again.

* * *

The trolley stopped fairly close to Joya’s shop, and I exited the car with my meager belongings: Chemiker’s journal and my once-white tunic that still clung uncomfortably to my flank. I realized with a groan that the last time I had seen my camera bag had been in Ivory’s possession after I was taken to the medical tent--I would have to retrieve that from him later.

The steam machine shuddered away, and I stumbled in a blur to Joya’s front door, trying not to think any more of what had happened. I grabbed a spare key from under the doormat and let myself in, careful not to make too much noise. The inside was dark and quiet, unusual for the late hour.

I started to head up the stairs to my room when I remembered my last little ordeal in that bed, and thought better of it. Instead, I walked down the hall and toward the basement that Sterling occupied. Maybe I could even clear out my head a little if I saw him. Light peeked under the basement door, so I knew he was still up.

One uneasy trip down the stairs later, I was in a basement that was much more cluttered than the last time I had seen it. It appeared Sterling had made himself feel right at home. The colt himself was hunched over a workbench, carefully prodding some machine with a tool I didn’t know the name of.

“Hey, Sterling,” I said, walking up behind him.

He jumped, and the tool went clattering to the floor. “Oh, uh, hey . . . Minty,” he said, turning to face me. He wore a pair of goggles over his eyes, to protect himself against something, I guessed. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Right . . . well, I just got back,” I said.

“Yeah, I noticed. We were starting to get worried that you wouldn’t make it at all.”

“We?”

He pointed to his bed--a cot, really--and I saw for the first time the form of a sleeping Ivory. The hippogriff snored softly, and his tongue hung out one corner of his beak. His form was almost too big for the bed, and it sagged visibly.

“He came over here after the festival closed down for the day,” Sterling explained. “He fell asleep about an hour ago, said something about his first bed in a week.”

To my relief, I saw that my camera bag was placed carefully at the foot of the bed. I was going to have to start remembering that at some point in the foreseeable future. Probably. “So did you and him talk?” I said.

“Well we certainly didn’t quietly stare at each other for five hours,” Sterling said with a short laugh. “He did tell me some very . . . interesting things.”

“Oh, like what?”

“Like you ended up in jail, again,” Sterling said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Yeah, so?” I said, then laughed. “It wasn’t all that bad--I just promised to be a nice wittle fiwwy and not follow up on the story and they let me go. Is there anything wrong with that?”

He sighed. “Well . . . no, not that specifically. But don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous, being able to get into this situation more than once in two weeks?”

I shrugged. “Reporting’s a dangerous business.”

“No, reporting with Grapevine is a dangerous business.”

“I guess so,” I said. “But it’s nothing that we can’t handle. Why is it a big deal?”

His face flushed. “Well, uh, just now that we’re . . . I mean, since we’ve started, uh, you know--I get worried.” He coughed and looked down, scratching his the tip of his hoof against the floor.

I smiled as I felt my own face redden. Somehow, just seeing Sterling trying to get out what neither of us had fully admitted made me want to laugh. Which I did, which set him off again. Dimly, I was aware of worrying thoughts about Grapevine seeking back into the depths of my brain to be brought up later.

He cleared his throat. “Especially when I’ll be gone for a week next month to a show in Stalliongrad. I just . . . fear that Grapevine is going to pull you into something dangerous.”

I laughed again. “Of course she will.” I saddled up next to him, just close enough that I knew he would start feeling a little uncomfortable, and winked. “And I’ll be sure to be extra careful.”

“Yes, well, I’ll make sure to worry just in case.” He tried to smile lopsidedly.

I returned the gesture. “So: Stalliongrad?”

He nodded. “I have a colleague there--he and I have been separately working on a project for a couple years, and we’re going to assemble it at the inventor’s show there in the city. Once that’s done, we’ll take it Las Pegasus for another show.”

“So is that thing you’re working on part of the project?” I said. He looked behind him and picked up the strange-looking device. It looked essentially like a metal cylinder, but at the same time . . . not. “What is it?”

“This is called a piston,” he said. “It’s only one small part of the project, but is essential.” He coughed. “An essential part I’m having to stay up late to finish. . .”

I caught the message. “Well I have some work on the story to do, too.”

“You need somewhere to crash?” he said. “If you don’t want to sleep upstairs, I’m sure I could get Ivory out of my bed for you.”

I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll be fine.” I walked over to one side of the room where bunches of Joya’s discarded snipping had been gathered into one massive pile and settled into it. “This’ll do just fine.”

He nodded and got back to work while I brought out Chemiker’s journal. The spine was more frayed than it had looked, and some of the pages were tattered. It creaked a little as I opened it and began to read. It took a second to really understand what he had written, especially when it was in scrawling Germane, but I managed.

I skipped down to a passage that looked interesting. They watch us all the time, it read. It began first with “punitive measures” designed to protect us from the Prench phantoms waiting just beyond our doorsteps. The identity cards and armed police at every turn were there for our protection--the secret police only worked for the good of the people, of course. Because tyranny cannot come from an outside force, from invasion. Tyranny must be built on the foundations of fear and distrust that already exist.

I flipped the page. I have heard talks that it is better in other countries, but visiting them for myself, I cannot agree. In Prance, you need not fear the government, because the government is in the hearts of the citizens themselves, for all that implies. Dissenters do not disappear in the night, but are instead paraded around in the public square--the state’s ultimate victory over the citizen comes when the state need not force the citizen to do its will.

My eyes were drawn to the next page, where he had mentioned Equestria. And what of Equestria? he wrote. The great homeland of our kind, the supposed shining beacon in these dark times, is not much better than we. Their rulers reside absolute over a state docile to their twin queens. Where are the ivory domes of Canterlot in the dark alleyways of Manehattan, or the smog-choked streets of Fillydelphia? The Elements of Harmony once represented that bond between the the royalty and the peasants, but how long has it been since they have been called? They age, just as everyone else, while the princesses remain the same. If Celestia rules as she says she does, then how do the Pullmares and the Caballo families of this country thrive?

I rolled my eyes. My parents had talked about ponies back in Germaneigh who had the told them the same thing shortly before they moved to Equestria. I had to admit the Chemiker guy could write well enough, but I didn’t think he really knew what he was talking about. I skipped ahead, looking for the part Big had talked about where Chemiker had mentioned me, spurned on by his inclusion of the former mayor.

I found it a couple dozen pages forward, near the end of the journal. It was dated the day after the story had come out. Good news from Fillydelphia for once, it read. What once was the most corrupt company in all of ponydom was brought to its knees with the death of Grace Pullmare and all her associates in one fell swoop. Burned alive inside the town’s city hall as a pyre to their sins. But what has rocked Germaneigh so hard, a culture that adores their steel baron queen, is those who did the deed: a reporter by the name of Grapevine Lulamoon and her assistant. There are even that rumors that the assistant, Minty Flower, is of Germane descent herself. I wouldn’t be surprised.

So the crazy guy thought well of Grapevine and I . . . that was new. I stifled a yawn and tried to keep my eyes from drooping down. Those days of no sleep on the bed were starting to take their toll, and I knew I would crash soon. I told myself that I would read just one more passage, then lie back and give myself to the dreamlands.

The last page had only a single entry that looked like it was written even faster than the rest. My eyes burned from trying to decipher his writing. They’re coming for me, as I knew they would. They--the government, their goons, whoever else pursues me as a lion his prey--have kept their distance and allowed me to escape this far, but will not hold off much longer. They want it, and will let nothing stop them. I have fooled them into thinking I have resources at my command that never existed: after all, the illusion of strength is mightier than the most powerful of arms. Even as I write this, I prepare to board a ship under a false name in the aerodrome, and from there to Equestria--I must not fail.

His journal ended there, and I shut the book, feeling more exhausted than anything else. Chemiker sounded much more bitter than I had thought, and much like a pony who had something he wished to hide. Which he did, I suppose. I put the book down and was about to surrender myself to sleep when I heard a thumping noise.

I looked up to find that Sterling had fallen asleep sometime during my reading, his head propped up on one hoof. But that hoof had given out, and he made impact with the solid wooden surface. Not that that was enough to wake him up, of course. I sighed and walked over to him to make sure he was alright.

Sterling didn’t make a single noise while he slept, and even his nose barely moved as he breathed, so I had to hurriedly press my ear beside to reassure myself that his lungs hadn’t suddenly given out.

The hard stool and even harder wooden desk he slept at didn’t look very comfortable, so I smiled and decided to try and drag him somewhere more comfortable for the night. Gravity helped me get him off the stool, but I soon found that he was much heavier than his lean form implied. I tried dragging him across the floor, but only made it a few feet before I couldn’t go any farther. He didn’t wake the entire time, of course.

Bone-dead tired and with my legs about to give out from under me, I made a compromise. I gathered up as much of the discarded fabric from where I had been sitting and piled it under and around Sterling into a little bed. Then, with nothing left in me, I collapsed onto the soft flax and cotton below, asleep before I could think of another metaphor.

* * *

Morning was spent explaining what had happened over breakfast to Joya and Ivory. I showed them both and Sterling the journal, though none of them seemed particularly interested. Instead, they had me tell them in excruciating detail everything the interrogators had told me at the jail cell. Joya and Sterling had seemed worried, but Ivory wasn’t impressed.

After that, I skipped any details of my ride back to the house, and the conversation kind of petered out from there. The talking--and with it, breakfast--over, Joya assigned Ivory and I to clean the dishes since she had a “full house” with three others in it.

I used my wings to flap-dry the plates, and Ivory turned out to be a pretty good washer, what with being able to hold a sponge properly and all. He didn’t even complain about washing them, either. Sunlight streamed in from the window over the sink as we worked.

“You stayed the night,” I said after a few minutes of silence.

“Was that a question?” he said.

“It was leading to one.”

He smiled. “I thought so.” He handed me a plate, and I beat one wing at it while holding it with the other. “Ornate had your place of residence on file--Grapevine lives alone, so you were the only one with housemates to notify. They asked me to stay after that.” He sighed. “After a time in my field of work, you learn to appreciate a warm bed and a roof over your head.”

“Don’t get much of a chance to rest, huh?”

“You could say that.”

We finished the dishes and and drained the water. Ivory wiped a towel across the countertop for good measure and I made sure to put everything away. While we finished up, I asked, “Did you find out anything else after we were taken away yesterday?”

He nodded. “Not much, but I did manage to stop one of those guys from the freakshow tent after he had a little too much to drink. Turns out, Chemiker’s not even anywhere near the festival--or at least, not anymore. He’s holed up somewhere downtown, and isn’t moving. Couldn’t get any specifics, though; the poor colt passed out before he could run off his mouth anymore.”

“Then what will be looking for at the festival today?”

“Mostly just your friend Big News and anything he knows about Chemiker. He seems like a pretty heavy supporter, but I’m guessing he hasn’t been here long enough to know about the doctor’s true whereabouts. From there, I guess we can get him to maybe convince one of Chemiker’s supporters to talk to us. Get him to think we’re friends.”

“Are you saying we’re not?”

Ivory smiled. “Only as long as the story holds out.”

After that, we gathered up our stuff and prepared to head out. Joya had some sort of outfit that was a cross between yesterday’s tunic and a jacket waiting for me. She claimed it was part of her new line for fall. I put it and my camera bag on and headed out with Ivory at my side.

He had considerably more funds than I did, so we had the luxury of taking a steamcab to the festival grounds rather than a trolley. For which I was thankful, as it gave me a reason to keep from thinking about the night before. The festival had started earlier, but we hadn’t felt like catching the morning events, so the traffic wasn’t heavy. We did, however, have to stop once to let a few ambulances pass. Other than that, the ride over was uneventful, if a bit shorter than we expected.

The driver had to stop short of the fairgrounds in Chestnut Hill, and told us he couldn’t go any further. When we asked why, he pointed out the front window. Ringed by a crowd of people were Fillydelphia police who had set up a roadblock to the festival areas.

We got out of the car and tried to ask a few nearby ponies what was going on, but nobody seemed to know.

“Come on,” Ivory said, taking me by the hoof. He used his considerable bulk to shove his way through the crowd to the front, with me in tow. A policemare stopped him once he got up to the barricade. “What gives?” he said.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you past,” she responded.

“But why?”

She looked briefly at an older stallion down the row, who gave her the go-ahead nod, apparently when he recognized me. “Somepony’s been shot,” she explained. “A big fella from Germaneigh. They said his name was Big News.”

Comments

[Guardian Jayhawk]

I should definitely take time to read the rest of this.
Just saw it in the feature box, too.
Nice work, man.

[Kurtispj]

Good chapter. Added to the tension, now that all the reporting done is going to be secretive.
And shipping? Brilliant development

[Rust]

Sweet baby Luna in her cradle. Everything is just going to the birds, isn't it? Poor Big.

[Rune Heart]

Not really surprised with how everything went to horse-apples the night after. My question is how exactly Mr. Light fits into all of this...

Oh how I wish we had spoiler tags.

[djthomp]

Sins of the teacher A reference to the missing professor, I am guessing?

At first I was wondering if the professor was going to turn into a bit of a Hitler figure, based on the existence of the journal probably, but now I am thinking he is running away from a Reich-esque government. Or maybe I am completely off base.

[Luminous Lead]

"I work at a newspaper, WE tell the paper what to do!"

That's an awesome quote!

[CvBrony]

I am LOVING this story!

I wish I was this good at intrigue.

[Ghost8909]

Ponies who read this, if you enjoyed this, tell your friends who might also. ToixStory is really unappreciated, and he deserves more readers.

[ToixStory]

1089776
To be fair, it's not really supposed to be romantic in any way. More of a pony's misguided attempt to assert her dominance over another than about two individuals who share a mutual feeling of love.

[Ponibius]

And time for a typo:

Here we’d spent an entire looking for some crazy chemist, and apparently he wanted to find us.
-Here we’d spent an entire day looking for some crazy chemist,…

[PaulAsaran]

The image of grapevine in a straightjacket is a lot more amusing to me than it probably should be.

Wait, Sterling, gone for a week in Stalliongrad? Do I sense the opening for a later episode coming on?

Shot? So now they have guns in Equestria? Not complaining about the fact given the apparent mechanical and technological progress in this AU, I'm just wondering why we haven't seen any 'til now. Meh, won't let it bother me.

[ilubatar nuctemeron]

Well, I don’t remember the last time a warning like that had actually been honored, so I skipped the conversation merrily down that path. “Isn’t that why you abandoned Spotlight in the hospital--because your toy didn’t live up to your expectations, and when it broke you wanted a new one?”

Auchh..... :c

[ilubatar nuctemeron]

Because, to my great surprise, Grapevine did a little more than simply accept the statement or even smile. Without warning and even quicker than before, she rose on the tips of her hooves and kissed me straight on the lips. I barely even had time to register her fleeting touch, because by then she was already pushing away from me and out the door.

:O
Jijiji <3