Chapter 1 — It's Just Another Job

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Wry Derby sat across from me in the dingy office where we worked. While he checked the receipts from last week's auction, I contemplated another cup of mud flavored coffee before tackling the receivables. It was another humdrum Wednesday, and only the anticipation of the weekend allowed us to tolerate the tedium of the paperwork.

Then the boss bellowed for us, delaying the drudgery.

“Derby! Stone! Get in here, pronto.”

Wry glanced up. “Did we forget something, Dusty?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Rapid Fire loved ordering us about at random, so I had no idea what he wanted that morning. I hauled myself up and we headed off to the boss's office.

Our office was in the back of the building and Rapid Fire's was up front. Our's had greasy windows facing an alley, while his had a view of the street and windows that opened to let in the fresh air. Between us was the floor of the warehouse where we stored the items to be auctioned. Last week's auction had been a modest success. Only a few items remained unsold. Some furniture and china lay scattered about, but not a lot. We'd bundle them into lots and try unloading them again in a few weeks. But if they didn't sell on the second try, and the owners didn't claim them, it was off to the dump.

The moment we walked into his office, we knew something was up. A smug grin spread across his face as we stood on the other side of his battered wood desk. I'll never forget that toothy grin. He leaned back with his belly sticking out like he'd swallowed a beach ball for breakfast.

“I've got exciting news, boys,” Rapid Fire said. “It's what we've been waiting for.”

Wry pushed back his eponymous hat. I knew what was coming next.

“So you're finally going to make her an honest mare. Congratulations.” That ripped the smile from the boss's face.

“Shaddup you. If I'd wanted a wiseass, I'd have hired a donkey.” Rapid Fire paused and added, “And I just might if you don't watch it.”

“Sorry, chief, but ya gotta stop making it so easy.”

Wry loved joking even more than he loved his hats. And that's a lot. Rapid Fire's romantic life was Wry's favorite target. While the boss wasn't pleased, he wasn't about to fire him. He knew it would be a long time before he'd find somepony as efficient and accurate as Wry. The jibe rolled off the big fellow anyway. He was too damn happy.

“Now, enough of your mouth, 'cause this is serious business.”

“Yeah?” I asked. “How serious?” The boss's excitement ran high when he plunged into new projects, but only occasionally did we share his eagerness.

“Serious business, Mr. Stone.” He peered over the top of his square glasses. “Serious bit business.”

Of all things, Wry and I appreciated money, so we gave him all the attention we could muster so early in the morning.

“You see,” he continued, “I was out drinking last night and I ran into an old chum of mine. Hadn't seen him in years. But I turn around and there he is, sitting right next to me at the bar.”

Wry glanced at me. Half of the boss's schemes involved meeting somepony in a bar, and I could tell he'd love to stick it to the old hay bag. I fended him off with a quick shake of my head.

“And you'd never guess where this chum of mine works nowadays.” He paused dramatically. “Well—go ahead and guess.”

I shot Wry a quick look and he shrugged back.

The boss sighed. “What a pair of lunkheads. The castle. He works at the castle.” His smile threatened to split his head in two.

“The castle castle?” Wry asked.

“Yeah, the castle.”

“Not a restaurant called The Castle?” I asked

“Or a laundromat called The Castle?” Wry added.

“No.” Rapid Fire's hoof slammed into his desk. “The real honest to goodness castle. Canterlot Castle.”

Well, I still couldn't understand his exuberance over his friend's workplace. “Okay, so he works at the castle. Lots of ponies work there. What makes him special?”

“I'd tell ya if you two would stop asking stupid questions.” Rapid Fire tugged on his vest and leaned back. “Now, he's not a big cheese or anything, but he's some undersecretary's assistant of something or other. I forget of what. We were catching up and I told him about our little auction business, and the two of us formulated a plan.”

Our wasn't technically correct. Rapid Fire owned the business, while Wry and myself comprised the entirety of the staff. But whatever was going on inside that thick skull of his had roused the generous use of the word our, and generosity wasn't in his nature.

“Turns out his boss is a climber, always trying to over-secretary the other undersecretaries and impress the Princess. Of course, that's darn difficult. The undersecretary's latest idea is to donate a bunch of money to some cause in the Princess's name. He can't afford it personally, and he certainly can't dip into public funds. Well, not if he wants to keep his head. So, here's where my friend and you two come in.”

“How's that?” Wry asked.

“Part of my chum's assisting job is to find where to store all their paperwork.” He paused and smiled. “And it's like I always tell you two—”

“The job's not finished until the paperwork's been filed,” we chanted in unison. Despite our total lack of enthusiasm for his maxim, Rapid Fire's face glowed.

“And if there's one thing they've got up there, it's paperwork. So much of it that they've run out of room to store it all. My chum's been doing some research, and he's found some storage rooms in a basement that could be cleared out.”

“Okay…” Wry scratched his head. “But this sounds like any old regular spring cleaning project. How's this gonna be a big bits deal?”

The boss leaned over his desk and we did the same. “Think about it.” His tone was insistent. “This is a no lose proposition. We find out what old junk they've got buried down there and organize an auction sponsored by the undersecretary, all in the name of the Princess, with proceeds going to some highfalutin' charity she likes. They get space to stuff away paper nopony will ever read, we get our commission, plus the most amazing free publicity.”

He threw his forelegs out wide and both of us jumped.

“Imagine the banner: The Princess Charity Auction by Rapid Fire Auctions. Glorious.”

Well, glorious for him, because he's the auctioneer everypony sees. We'd be stuck digging around dank rooms, working up inventories, and performing appraisals. And more often than not, we lugged the junk around too. Rapid Fire only lugged himself about.

But I couldn't complain too much. The pay was decent—salary plus a smidgen of commission—and plenty other jobs were dirtier or harder.

I mimicked his enthusiasm. “Gee, sounds great, sir. When's all this going to start?”

“Right now.” He reached into his vest and pulled out a card. “Here”—he tossed it across the desk—“use this to get into the castle. He'll handle all the details from there.”

Wry picked up the card and read it. His raised eyebrow revealed his impression.

“Trot over there right away.” Rapid Fire dismissed us with a wave. “I can't have you two lollygagging around here when I've deadlines to meet.”

The only deadline I could imagine him having at that time of day was lunch.

—❦—

So we found ourselves on a brisk walk to Canterlot Castle that morning. For almost three years, we'd been all over the city doing Rapid Fire's dirty work, so even if the castle was our destination, neither of us were excited.

This was going to end up being another spring cleaning job, just like Wry said. All of Rapid Fire's schemes turned out that way: big promises, little results. We'd come to expected it. Wry and myself would make out okay, but we'd never get rich. This big deal would end up like all the others, a bust, nothing more than a way for us to make a few bits to blow on the weekend, so we could forget we even had this miserable job.

Soon enough we stood at the entrance gate, and Wry handed over the card to have the boss's old chum summoned. The remaining guard stood at attention in front of one of those impractically small guard houses. I've never seen them stand inside one, but I guess they only use it when the weather's lousy. He was a brawny fellow, but after studying his face, it was apparent he was astoundingly bored.

Years ago I'd considered joining the military: good pay, steady job, serve the empire and all that nonsense. They've got a good retirement plan too, but I didn't have the physique. Carrying books at university almost killed me, so a military career was out of the question. While I gawked, Wry strolled around, scoping out the castle. Before ten minutes passed, the guard returned with our host, one Wade DeCamp.

DeCamp was trim and well groomed but altogether plain. In a city like Canterlot, you'd pass twenty ponies a day who you'd mistake for his twin. The only way to describe his undistinguished appearance was that he was a born bureaucrat.

“Ah, good morning, gentlecolts,” he said. “You must be Mr. Rapid Fire's associates. So nice to meet you.” He sniffed, but he didn't appear to have a cold.

“Morning, sir,” I said. “I'm Dusty Stone and this is Wry Derby.” Wry tipped his hat.

DeCamp nodded. “Pleased to meet you both.” An awkward silence followed, and then he cleared his throat. “Well, with pleasantries aside, shall we proceed?” He led us across a courtyard towards a nondescript building that looked like an ancient bureaucratic chicken coop. Wry decided to engage in small talk.

“So, Mr. Rapid Fire tells us you two met at school.”

“Yes, many years ago.” DeCamp chuckled at some private joke. “I was in quite a few classes with Speedy.”

Wry's face lit up. “Ah yes—with Speedy,” he repeated. He whispered to me, “That alone made the trip worth it.” I could hear his brain churning out innuendoes for our beloved boss.

“What type of classes, Mr. DeCamp?” I asked.

He turned his head to the side and said, “Oh, this and that. That was a long time ago, Mr. Stone, and I don't recall.” He smiled.

There was something about the way he looked at me that made me shiver. DeCamp's tight smile was designed to say that we were utterly beneath him. I'd been politely told to shut up, so I did. Neither of us said a word to DeCamp on the remainder of the walk.

The sign about the building's entrance read B-315N, a name only the government could invent. DeCamp escorted us in. “This way, please.” He gestured down a flight of wide stairs. The first time I went down those stairs I thought I'd die of a heart attack. Unless they had feathers stored down there, it would be a pain to haul it up.

We kept going deeper and deeper. DeCamp was quite spry for an older pony, but when we reached bottom, he let out a whew and grinned. I think he meant to taunt us. We stopped in front of a door with a white letter G painted on it.

“Welcome to subbasement G, gentlecolts, your base of operations for this project.” He produced a large metal ring packed with keys and unlocked the thick iron door. It groaned open and magical torches crackled and illuminated the room.

The darkness gave way and we faced a long corridor lined with doors. Each door had a number: odds on the left, evens on the right. The air smelled stale, but it wasn't foul. At least I didn't hear dripping water like the swamp of a basement we'd cleaned out last year. Even when the lights reached their maximum brightness, it still seemed dark and a little claustrophobic. The stone walls were crude and blackened with age, a place definitely old and forgotten.

“I have not been able to find any records on G in the archives,” DeCamp said. “The level contains thirty-six rooms, and their contents are unknown.”

“Thirty-six,” Wry blurted. “This is gonna take forever.”

“Your employer assured me you two were the best in the business.” He sniffed again. “He was adamant you'd present me with a full appraisal in less than two weeks.”

Wry's eyes bulged. “Yeah, well you can tell Speedy he can sh—” I jammed my hoof in his mouth.

“We'll be sure to thank him for the compliment.” I smiled at DeCamp, and then turned to stare down the corridor. I sighed. “Well, we best get started.”

“Excellent.” DeCamp tossed the keys at us and Wry caught them. “You'll be needing these.”

I studied the ring of unlabeled keys Wry held. “Excuse me, Mr. DeCamp, but how do we know which key goes to which door?”

“The large one gives you access to this level, of course. As for the others, I suspect those will be your first items to inventory, won't they?” Wearing a smug look, he turned and climbed the stairs. He must have been at level E before he remembered to yell down, “I'll be back with your contractor badges before the end of the day. Good luck.”

Wry hurled the keys against the wall and a metallic clatter reverberated through the corridor. I expected a stream of profanity to come pouring forth, but instead he stood frozen, his lips crushed together. The obscenities must have formed a logjam and never reached his tongue. From his look, I feared his head might explode.

“Well,” I told him, “what did you expect from of an old chum of Speedy's?” To my relief, Wry let out an exasperated sigh.

“About what we saw.” Wry picked up the keys and we got to work.

Tossing my bags aside, I got out a pack of paper tags on strings. Wry pried the keys off the ring and I tagged them. Next, it was time to open some doors.

Wry thrust a set of keys at me. “Odds or evens?”

“Evens. After all, you're the odd one here.”

“Keep telling yourself that, brother mine.” Wry stood by his first door and froze. His eyes darted about, searching the walls. “Hmm… Dusty, did you see a place where—”

“No, I didn't.” I put my hoof to the side of my head and closed my eyes. “Just put your damn hat on the floor.”

“This baby?” He held his hat in place as if the nonexistent wind would snatch it. “I couldn't do that. She's a classic.”

I rolled my eyes as he rummaged through his bag, producing a wooden ball fixed to the end of a metal spike, which he worked into the wall's crumbling mortar.

“And he wonders why he's single,” I grumbled.

“Single, but with good looking hats.” He twirled the derby on his hoof and deftly placed it on the improvised hook. “And it's not like you're doing any better.” He strode back to his door.

“No,” I admitted and went back to trying keys. As I fiddled with my fourth or fifth key, a loud clack came from behind me.

“And we have a winner.” Wry penciled a number one on the key's tag.

“So what did you win?” I asked while I tried another key.

The door creaked open and Wry sighed. “Looks like I won granny's attic.” He entered the room. “Battered case goods and moldy upholstery, maybe more than a hundred, but less than two hundred old by the styles.” The legs of a table complained as Wry slid it across the floor, making his way deeper into the room. “Hey, artwork.” I heard the zip of a tarp coming off a picture, followed by coughing.

“Don't die in there,” I said. “I'm not about to do this job by myself.” He stopped coughing and sneezed. “And I refuse to haul your corpse up all those stairs.” There was a brief pause before he spoke.

“I can see why they left this one down here.” Wry grunted. “Not much hope of discovering old masters in this room.”

“Yeah, but the provenance will jack up the price even if you wouldn't hang it in a hotel room.” No sooner than I'd finished speaking, I found the key that opened door number two.

“Bingo,” I hollered. “Now let's see what I've won.”

After labeling the key, I pushed the door open and breathed in decades worth of musty air. As the lights went up, I faced a room filled with wooden cases covered in a thin layer of archival dust. The cases lined the perimeter of the room and another two rows stood back to back down its center. Each case held full-width drawers of identical heights, giving everything a flat, featureless front. Only a pair of tarnished brass pulls and a matching label holder on the drawers broke the regularity.

Wry stuck his head into the corridor. “So, whatcha got?”

I opened a drawer at random. “Spiders—hundreds of them.”

“Yeah, me too,” he replied before ducking back into room one. “Their webs are all over the place.”

“No, spiders.” The drawer held glass covered boxes containing row after row of spiders impaled upon pins. The two drawers beneath the first held more, but the third's contents were different. “And beetles too.”

“Huh?”

“Somepony's collection.” I scanned the row of cases. The quagmire deepened. “And there's a ton of it.”

“Better you than me.”

“Thanks, bud.” I walked back to get a clipboard from my pack. To the right of the door sat a desk with boxes stacked on top, so I stopped and checked them out. One box held framed photographs. The pictures were almost identical: a dour looking older pony in the center surrounded by a bunch of smiling younger ones. Some featured the group on the steps of a building I didn't recognize. In others, they stood outside under some trees. The young ponies changed in each photo, but the one in the center stayed the same. Well, not entirely the same. By the fifteenth or twentieth picture, he'd aged considerably. I dug to the bottom of the box. In the last pictures he'd become positively decrepit, yet still surrounded by forty or more ageless assistants.

I'd found my tormenter, a pedantic old researcher, long dead if the fashions in the pictures were any indication. They must have cleared out his office, along with his life's work, and dumped it down here when he died. Now it was my job to go through it, most likely for the last time. I couldn't imagine it selling at auction.

I returned the pictures to the box and got my clipboard. It was time to get to work. I went to work on the first case and I noticed something. The little label holders held slips of paper with a two letter and three number designation. The light wasn't great and I must have missed the old faded ink. That development held promise.

After writing down the label codes, I opened the top drawer. It held glass topped boxes filled with moths. I picked up one to count the specimens it held, when I spied a yellowed piece of paper tucked beneath it. The sheet contained a listing of the drawer's contents in elaborate but legible cursive. “AM-017: 6 cases of 24 specimens each, genus Amerila; 2 cases of 36 specimens each, genus Phyllodesma.”

At that moment, I wanted to dig up the old sourpuss in the photos and give him a hug. His manifests would make my inventory easy. If I applied myself, I'd be able to get the entomologist's records transcribed in a day. Only the problem of an appraisal remained, but I was working on that.

Wry and I worked in relative silence all morning. At lunchtime, we complained about Rapid Fire and his schemes and went right back to work. By two o'clock, Wry had room number one done and moved on to room three. He should be nicknamed Speedy. I'd almost finished room two's inventory by a quarter to four, when I heard the clink of something falling to the floor in the corridor. I went to investigate. Over by the door to the stairs, somepony had left us a present.

Wry stuck his head out of room three. “What was that?”

“Our badges.” I held them up for him to see. “That buzzard DeCamp didn't even stop to ask how we were doing.” I tossed Wry his badge.

“Nice.” He caught the badge and shoved it in his vest pocket. “Remind me to send him a thank you note.”

I tossed mine on my pack and got back to work. By a quarter after five, I'd finished my first room. Although Wry hadn't finished three, we decided to call it quits. It was the first day of what was going to be a long project, and we didn't want to tire ourselves out. We headed out, puffing up the endless flight of stairs.

“Bet you're glad you're finished with your bugs, eh?” Wry said.

“Absolutely.”

“How did the valuation go?”

“Haven't—started,” I panted.

“What? Paperwork's not finished and the boss won't be happy.” We paused at the landing on level C to catch our breaths. “Well, how would you go about appraising them anyway? Call an exterminator?”

“Close, but no. You remember Birdsong, right? She can help, but I need to get to her before closing time.”

—❦—

Wry and I parted at the gate, and I hustled towards where my contact worked: the Canterlot Museum of Natural History. I hadn't seen Birdsong in years, but I'd kept in touch with some mutual friends. Back at school, we were all part of an informal group that called itself The Society of Useless Degrees. The Society's primary purpose was to drink while complaining about the ponies in engineering and business who'd get fat paychecks right out of school.

But I could never figure out why Birdsong hung around with us. We were lazy cynics, resigned to the fact that we needed a degree to get a halfway decent job. We couldn't wait to leave school once we had one, but she was different. After graduation, we went out and got our jobs, but Birdsong got a doctorate and a real career at the museum.

I was winded by the time I made it to the top of the museum's steps. The last time I'd been to the museum was two decades ago on a field trip, but it didn't look like the place had changed a bit. I strode into the entrance hall, my hoofsteps echoing in the deserted rotunda. I glanced up at the clock. It was fifteen minutes before closing. I'd made it just in time.

A young mare sat at the information desk. I've always been partial to green eyes and a yellow mane and I thought there was no harm in making this a dual purpose visit. As I sauntered up to the desk, I spied her nameplate and it gave me an opening line.

I casually leaned against the countertop and cooed, “April Breeze. What a beautiful name. So appropriate for this time of year.” The icy glare that greeted me made me reappraise my statement. Perhaps her real name was November Gale.

“May I help you?” she snarled.

“Uh, yes. Yes, you can.” I gulped. “Would you mind telling Birdsong that her old friend Dusty Stone is here to see her.”

“I assume you mean Doctor Birdsong.”

“Doctor Birdsong, of course.” My eager grin didn't thaw her a bit, and she walked away quite deliberately.

It took five long minutes before April came back with Birdsong by her side, the pair of them giggling. At first, I hardly recognized her, but there was no mistaking Birdsong's voice.

“Well, well, well” she began. “Look what rolled in my front door.”

“Evening, Doctor.” I bowed. Back at the desk, April covered her mouth and snickered.

“I haven't seen you in years, Dusty. What gives? You get lost and wander in here by accident?”

“Nope, nope. Not lost at all. I came to see you.”

“Really. Say, how did you know I worked here?”

“Blue Skies and Crystal Refrain,” I said. “I used to work with Blue, and he still talks with Crystal. She knew you were here.”

“Huh.” She waited in skeptical silence. “And you're here because?”

“Oh, I popped in to see if an old friend would join me for dinner.” I paused. “Would she?”

“Uh-oh. What exactly are you up to?” She eyed me like I hung from the discount rack in a department store. “This isn't going to turn into one of those evenings where you drink yourself—what name did the gang give it—Stone stupid?”

I blushed, but the eavesdropping April choked on her suppressed laughter. She excused herself, coughing all the way.

“The days of drinking myself blotto are long gone, Birdsong. I'm a regular model citizen these days.” I crossed my heart. “Promise.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” She tapped her hoof while continuing to regard me with suspicion. “Well, I didn't have anything planned. As long as you're buying, I'm in.”

“Super,” I replied.

“Let me lock up my office and we'll head out.” She walked off but called back over her shoulder, “Oh, just so we're clear: I choose the restaurant.”

—❦—

After a quick negotiation we headed uptown to a place better than she could afford but not so expensive that I couldn't cover it. The restaurant was classy, with linen tablecloths and real flowers, but it was early in the evening, and there wasn't much of a crowd. Most of the diners were older so it was relatively quiet and conversing was easy.

“Gee, I almost didn't recognize you back there at the museum, Birdsong. What happened to that wild hairdo you had back in the day?”

“You don't like my hair now?” She flipped one of the long strands hanging alongside her neck.

“I didn't say that, it's just…” I backpedaled. “It's a little conservative isn't it? That is, compared to what you used to have.”

“Yeah, I lost that look after my first year in graduate school. One must make allowances for one's profession, you know. Plus, it was too much effort wrestling with all those curls.”

“I always thought they were natural.”

Birdsong laughed. “You've got a lot to learn, Mr. Stone.”

I was tongue-tied but to my relief she kept going.

“Dusty, you didn't drop by to critique my looks. So, honestly, why look me up after six years?”

“Well, I'm working on this little project at work, and I think you'd find it interesting.” I pulled out the clipboard filled with my inventory of room two and presented it to her. Birdsong hunched over the list as she leafed through it, absentmindedly twirling her hair. After ten or so pages, she glanced up without lifting her head.

“You do remember my specialty is ornithology not entomology.”

“Yeah, I know, but I don't know any entomologists—well—living ones that is.” She stared back at me vacantly. “All this stuff belonged to some old entomologist, dead for at least a century. Probably a royal researcher, filling up his boxes year after year till they finally put him in a box of his own.”

“Okay.” She drew the word out and leaned back before flipping through the inventory again. “But what do you want from me?”

“I'd like to know if you could work up an appraisal for the collection.”

She got quiet and skimmed another couple of pages. “You want my honest opinion?” she asked and I nodded. “The only place that would be interested in something like this would be the museum. A collection like this is priceless, but we never have any money. So, for you, it's next to worthless.” She slid the clipboard back to my side of the table.

I sat silently, trying to think of a way to salvage the mess. Birdsong believed the collection unsalable, and I had to agree. What pony in their right mind would buy a bunch of bugs, except the museum. But throwing out the old fellow's life work seem wasteful, especially if I'd end up breaking my back getting it up those stairs. I pondered the conundrum, and in the end, the solution seemed obvious. The problem would be getting everypony's buy in.

“What if I could get the collection to the museum for free?” I asked.

“That sounds like it's in our budget.” She cocked her head. “But why would you do that?”

“Well, my boss would love to make some bits, but I think even he'll admit there's no way to do it with a bug collection.” I leaned forward on the table. “Our customer doesn't care about money, not really. He cares about impressing the Princess. So let's say I concoct a story about the discovery of this long lost, fabulous collection—”

“I see,” she said. “And the museum director humbly accepts this regal gift—”

“Telling everypony about how priceless it is, but not forgetting to mention a nice inflated figure.” I grinned.

“Gotcha.” She reached across the table for the clipboard. “Let me get this to our resident entomologist. I'll tell her to put a fair value on it.” She winked. “Would two, maybe three, days be okay?”

“Great. I knew you could do it.” I shot her a satisfied smile. “But don't tell her where the bugs came from. I want to keep it mum for a while, since I'll need to work out the details with everypony involved.”

—❦—

When I got to the subbasement on Thursday morning, Wry's hat hung on its hook. He'd arrived early to finish room three. I told him I was in, and he stood around grousing while I tried to find the key to room four.

“I mean,” he said, “even if it was valuable at one time, how did they expect it to last down here? They tossed things in without a care. There's hardly an attempt to keep an aisle—” A key finally turned in the lock and he stopped yapping.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Let's see what's behind door number four.”

I opened the door, and if I hadn't known better, I would have thought I was back in room two. Wry roared in laughter and slapped me on the back.

“Have fun bug-boy.” He went to work, leaving me alone in the corridor.

The thought of another day with the bugs drained my energy. For a second, I considered offering Wry fifty bits to trade evens for odds, but he'd probably laugh in my face and call me a quitter. I summoned my determination, reached down, and grabbed my clipboard. But my resolve didn't last long, and I stood in front of the first cabinet for minutes, wishing I'd wake up from the bad dream. But the alarm never rang, and the wooden drawers refused to vanish. Well, I told myself, maybe tomorrow will be your lucky day.

So, it was back to the same old grind: list the drawers and copy the manifests. I got nervous, thinking that maybe this room didn't have them, so I yanked a drawer open. The drawer wasn't filled with bugs, but what it held made me wish I'd been looking at more beetles.

The long gone professor wasn't just an entomologist, he was an ornithologist too. Room four contained bird study skins. And while the drawers didn't contain manifests, they didn't need them. Each drawer held a different species of bird, their pitiful bodies trussed up, tags tied to their feet. I found myself standing in a veritable avian morgue. My stomach quivered.

I understood it was for science, but what compelling reason could you have to collect twenty-two of the same type of parrot? And the smaller a bird was, they seemed determined to kill more of them. I took a moment to calm down. It was time to be a professional. This was a job, like any other, and I had to get it over with, no matter what it was.

I came to the conclusion that the room full of birds held two consolations. First, the inventory involved far less writing than the bugs in room two. All I had to do here was copy a name from a tag and count corpses. My other consolation was thinking of Birdsong's reaction. When she saw the inventory, she'd probably buy me dinner.

As I worked, I became aware of a faint odor, like the stale feather pillows in my grandmother's guest bedroom. After a couple of hours, my eyes burned and my brain was a throbbing lump. By lunch I'd lost my appetite, but I still chatted with Wry.

“Hey, sorry for laughing at you,” he said, “I hate to see you have such rotten luck. Honest.”

“Whatever.” I tossed my sandwich to the side. “What about you? Anything good on your side today?”

“Pretty much the same as yesterday.” He chewed while he talked. “We'll get some money out of it. Not much, but some. But there's no way you and I will be able to drag this junk out of here by ourselves. There's too much and it's too heavy. We'll have to hire movers to get it to the warehouse. It'll eat into the profits.”

“Lovely.” I shook my head. “So we give half of it away and the other half's going to cost us to haul it out.”

“And clean,” Wry added. “All the upholstered stuff worth keeping is still going to need cleaning. Artwork too.”

I sat looking at my hooves, but saw nothing. “Boss is gonna love this.”

Wry smiled. “And who got us into this? Why, old Speedy himself. He's got only himself to blame, right?” Wry poked my shoulder when I didn't look up. He finished his sandwich while I moped in silence.

“Hey,” he said. “You think DeCamp knew what was in these rooms?”

I couldn't fathom his point and scowled at him.

“Call me paranoid”—he slid closer—“but I think this is a big setup. I'm betting DeCamp knew there was nothing but worthless junk down here all the time, and this is a con to get the joint cleaned out for free. I figure his boss doesn't even know about this, that it's just a way for DeCamp to look good by saving money. What do you think?”

“Doesn't matter.” Wry's imaginary conspiracy deepened my depression. “We're the free labor.”

But Wry wasn't about to let me wallow, not while there was work to be done. “All right,” he declared as he stood. “Break's over. Time to get back to your cemetery.”

I got up but didn't move. I didn't want to go back to the dead birds.

“Buck up, Dusty.” He gave me another good-natured poke. “I'm sure you'll finish in record time.”

I nodded and shuffled into room four.

—❦—

It wasn't close to record time, but I finished. Wry hung around, waiting for me, even though his room was done. We locked up and climbed the stairs to daylight. There wasn't much left to the day, but I needed sunlight. I just hoped I didn't see any birds on the walk home.

“So, you gonna stop by the museum tonight?” Wry asked.

“Naw, too late. Plus it will take a couple of days for them to get a value on the insects. I'll surprise Birdsong with the good news when I pick up the first list.” We stopped outside the castle's gate. The two of us usually went out on Thursdays for a pre-weekend celebration. We'd relax and have a few drinks, nothing special, just a chance to blow off steam. But I didn't feel up to it that night, so I broke the bad news.

“I'm going to pack it in tonight if you don't mind.” I'd no right to feel as tired as I did. After all, it wasn't like I'd lifted anything heavier than a pencil all day.

“Go ahead.” Wry patted me on the back. “I know you've had a rough one, pal. Go home and get yourself plenty of rest. We'll hit up a nice joint next week and make up for it.”

“Sure. Thanks,” I replied and he headed home.

I began my walk home, threading my way through the early evening crowds. Their faces became a blur and their conversations a murmur. I was numb to everything as I trudged down the sidewalk. When I arrived at my apartment door, I was genuinely surprised to find myself there. I got inside and let out a long sigh.

The table by the window was covered with junk, so I tossed my bags on the couch. I really needed to clean up the place, but decided to postpone the task till the weekend. After rummaging up a meal, I added grocery shopping to my to-do list.

When I finished eating, I pushed the bags out of the way and sprawled across the couch. I laid there, my eyes fixed on the drab ceiling. Five minutes passed. Then ten, and then fifteen. I thought I should read the paper or a book. Neither seemed appealing. Time crawled as I lay there. Exasperated, I gave up and went to bed earlier than I had in years.

But I didn't sleep. For hours I turned the bed sheets into knots as my body trashed and my mind buzzed. The last time I felt that wretched was in my senior year at school when I'd stayed up thirty-two hours studying for an exam. After the test, I plopped into bed, afraid I'd never sleep again. But I did. And like then, I dreamed.

I dreamt of crows and cardinals, orioles and owls, thrushes and terns, and every variety of sparrow imaginable. Their flocks stretched across the sprawling sky, screeching and squawking. Thousands of birds of packed my dream. Not one lay dead in drawer, not one imprisoned in a forgotten basement. Not like me.

Chapter 2 — Journey Into The Past

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Despite the fitful night, I awoke refreshed. My appetite returned, and I felt ready for anything once I got washed up. I burst out of the apartment and bounded down the stairs to the street. A combination of morning sun and crisp air completed the cure.

I'd been a sap the other day. Sure the birds were dead, but they'd been dead long before my grandfather was a foal. Heck, even the ponies that added them to the collection were dead themselves. And before somepony shoved it down in the subbasement, the collection had helped science. Hundreds of students must have used it to learn about nature and earn degrees. I felt a little sorry for the birds, but they were things now, not living creatures. They might be a little creepy, but I needed to a professional and not let it bother me.

And after all, it wasn't like we were running out of birds, were we?

I felt positively chipper by the time I caught up to Wry on the castle grounds. Then we descended into the forsaken hole, and anxiety was waiting for me. Door number six loomed, and I fumbling with the keys, praying that none of them would work. If I couldn't find a key, I'd tell DeCamp the deal was off. I'd get the hell out of there and never come back.

While Wry was working to open his room, and despite my hopes, a key turned in the latch of door six. I couldn't bring myself to open it. Wry came over and stared at me, standing patient and silent. He put his hoof on the door and gave it a shove. The room lights flickered.

“Dammit,” he said. Another day in a room filled with orderly rows of cases awaited me.

Wry's face began to implode. “This is a load of—” I think he used every profanity he knew. If I'd been listening, instead of gazing glassy eyed into the room, I'm sure I would have found he'd invented a few new ones for the occasion.

I shook my head in disbelief, but I should have known it would be like this. If the guy wasn't just an entomologist, he wasn't just an ornithologist either. Before I'd run out of rooms, I'd find he was fifteen more flavors of ologist.

Wry wound down and said, “Listen, you take a break. I'll do this one and you try an odd room, okay?”

The offer sounded inviting, but I wouldn't admit defeat. I couldn't. This was my job, and I had to do it even when I hated it. That's what jobs are all about. That's why they pay you. And while Wry appeared sympathetic at that moment, I knew he'd never let me hear the end of it. I resolved to endure another day of dead animals rather than being the butt of his jokes for an eternity.

“No,” I stated.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I can handle it.” I nodded and inhaled deeply. “I've got a system.”

I took a clipboard and left Wry to his room. Opening the first drawer held as much dread as opening the room itself. I bit my lip and eased the drawer open.

Eggs, each with a little hole where somepony had removed the insides. Trays of eggs from all types of birds. I recognized some of the scientific names from the previous day. But the eggs were more like the bug collection than the cemetery in room four. Each drawer had its list, and I could use my system. I didn't even have to count. So I turned off my brain and started copying.

If it had to be something dead, eggs weren't too bad. The spiders, beetles, and moths were interesting because they were new, and honestly, I couldn't feel bad about them being dead. A bug is a bug, and I've never liked them. The birds got to me. But I could think of the eggs as funny shaped rocks, not living things. I worked hard rationalizing their fate. If they'd gotten the contents out through those little holes, it means they didn't kill anything, right? They were probably never alive in the first place.

Drawer after drawer, case after case, I copied the ancient manifests onto my forms. Before I knew it, I'd finished. The whole room complete in less than a day. I must have worked like a machine and skipped lunch. But if I had, why hadn't Wry called for me? He wasn't the type who missed a meal, and he usually liked company. I wandered into the corridor in a daze.

I stuck my head into room seven where he was working and hollered, “Hey, what time is it?”

He pulled out his pocket watch. “Eleven forty-five. You wanna break now?”

How the hell did I finish a room in less than half a day? I'm nowhere near as fast as Wry. I must have missed something.

“Uh, just checking. Give me a few more minutes.” I went back to room six and double checked the cases and their labels. Before I'd gone over a dozen cases, my eyes were swimming. Everything matched, but it didn't make sense. Exhausted, I gave up, and Wry and I sat in the corridor and took our break.

“Gee, your system really works,” he said. “You're gonna help me now, right?”

“I must have zoned out or something. I'm going to double check it all. No way I did a whole room in half a day. I'll take my time and—”

Somepony was coming down the stairs and we waited in the dim light, not uttering a sound.

We heard a voice call out “Hullo?” before a face appeared in the doorway. It was DeCamp. “Ah, gentlecolts. Enjoying your midday repast?”

“Just taking a lunch break,” Wry said.

“I was about to take mine,” DeCamp said, “and thought I might check on your progress before the weekend.” We didn't respond. “So, how goes it?”

Wry's professionalism kicked in. “We're nearing completion with the inventory on the first six rooms,” he reported before handed DeCamp one of his clipboards.

DeCamp glanced through a few pages, way too fast to be reading. He stopped and looked at Wry. “A summary perhaps?”

“The three rooms I've inventoried contain furniture and household goods of approximately eighty to one hundred years old. Some are in marginal condition, but almost all are salable. There's some artwork of dubious quality, and if it hadn't come from the castle it wouldn't fetch much.”

“I see.” DeCamp's nose twisted up like he smelled something unpleasant.

“But it has come from the castle,” Wry went on, “and that's probably going to put a 20-25% premium on what you'd otherwise get.” He smiled at DeCamp. “So, you're in luck.”

The attempt to placate him failed. DeCamp turned away from Wry and directed his piercing eyes at me. “And you?”

“The rooms I've inventoried contain the collection of some naturalist. Insects, birds, eggs. That sort of thing.”

“Interesting.” DeCamp sounded genuinely curious. It wasn't quite the response I'd expected given how he reacted to Wry. “And how much do you think it will fetch?”

“Probably nil.”

DeCamp's face trembled. “Are you telling me you've found nothing of value in three days?”

“Technically, it's only been two-and-a-half days—”

“Such impertinence!”

“—and I never said it wasn't valuable. Can you imagine anyone paying for a bunch of dead birds and bugs?”

His scowl deepened.

“I can't either. But I do think the collection is extremely valuable, in a non-monetary way.”

DeCamp clenched his jaw, and I swear I heard his teeth crack.

“It would make for a generous gift to the Museum of Natural History, wouldn't it? The papers love stories about unusual scientific discoveries. And when it's presented, there'd be an excellent photo op for the undersecretary—and yourself of course. I expect the picture of the two of you with the museum directory will look splendid at the top of the Arts and Culture section in the Sunday edition.”

There wasn't a sound besides the three of us breathing. DeCamp's face was flush with anger, and for a moment, I feared he was poised on the brink of violence. Then his eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. He appeared to be applying a cold calculus to the proposal, yet his stormy look remained. At last, he contorted his lips as his tongue appeared to excavate some food stuck between his back teeth.

“Do you have a degree, Mr. Stone?”

“Yes, sir. Medieval Equestrian Literature.”

“Such a shame.” He sniffed. “You should have specialized in Public Relations.”

Wry snickered. DeCamp cast a frosty glance at us both as he left.

“Let's pick up the pace, gentlecolts,” he instructed as he climbed the stairs. “I expect more progress when I visit you next.”

Once DeCamp was out of earshot, I swung at Wry for laughing. “Thanks for the support there, buddy.”

“Hey, I'm still on your side. Remember, I omitted to tell him his came-from-the-palace premium is going to be eaten up by the cost of hauling this junk out of here. And getting it cleaned up.”

“And don't forget Rapid Fire's cut.” I grinned. “That should leave him with—what—about half of nothing?”

Wry grinned back. “Maybe five-eighths.” We chuckled and returned to our lunch.

Afterwards, Wry went back to his room, and I resumed double checking my list. Despite having DeCamp rattle us, my head felt clearer after the break. I had the weekend to look forward to, and thoughts of a couple of days away from the subbasement kept me going.

I was making good progress, when towards the end of the row along the back of the room, I noticed the difference between six and the two previous rooms.

In the other rooms, the cases were abutting in the corners, but here they didn't come close to touching. That left a gap large enough for a slim pony to squeeze through. The dead space in the corner was dark and I'd missed the door the first time through.

Unlike two and four, six had a back half.

I slipped into the corner and tried opening the door. It was locked. I went back to get the keys and share the news with Wry.

“Hey,” I yelled as he dug around in room seven. “I figured out what I missed.”

“What was that?”

“A door.”

“What?”

“There's a second part to room six. I missed a door in the back.”

Wry gave out a long, knowing Ah.

“We'll have to check for doors hiding behind junk in all the rooms.”

“Righto,” Wry said.

I grabbed the keys. The one that opened six didn't open the hidden door so I checked the others. I'd almost exhausted them all when the mechanism turned, but the door didn't open. I shoved it with my shoulder. No luck. Finally, I kicked it, but only succeeded in making my leg hurt. The door remained stubbornly stuck, so I went to get Wry.

“You think it will finally be something good?” he asked. “Maybe they hid some fine wines or aged cognac back there. You know a bottle or two might have to disappear, especially before Friday night.”

I chortled at his optimism. “We can dream, can't we.”

The two of us squeezed into the cramped corner. There was little room to maneuver, and our only option was to throw ourselves against the door, hoping to muscle it open. Even then, it wasn't like we could get a running start. We counted to three and put out shoulders into it. It gave a little, so we tried again. With a loud metallic complaint, the door unwillingly opened.

The back part of the room held no cognac, no jewels, no fabulous artwork, not even beat up furniture. It held more cases. Wry wandered away mumbling while I shook my head. There was nothing left to do but get to work.

But the cases were different from the ones in the front half of six. The drawers were about twice as deep as the biggest ones in the bird morgue. Like the drawers full of bugs back in two, all of them were the same height, with eight to a case. And even with the lights fully illuminating them, the wood was noticeably darker.

The case construction seemed cruder than what I’d found in the other rooms too. Instead of a pair of brass pulls, each drawer had a single wooden one that spanned two-thirds of its width. But what was most important to me was that nothing was labeled. I’d have to assign my own numbers to everything.

I pulled open the bottom drawer of the first case. Well, I tried to pull it open, but it didn't want to budge, just like the damn door to the hidden room. It took both hooves to get it open.

The contents were nothing like I'd seen before.

They were eggs, but not like the ones in the front part of the room. The drawer held a dozen eggs, each about the size of my head. I tapped on one. The shell felt like stone. And no two were alike, each varied in color and pattern. Some were brown with yellow swirls, then the reverse, while others ranged from green to dark blue with complementary or contrasting spots.

I reasoned that they must have come from the same species, simply because of their size. I mean, how many giant birds were there in Equestria? Plus, the old naturalist wouldn't stuff things in a drawer at random. He was too methodical. At that point, I looked for a list of the drawers contents. I rummaged around and didn't find a thing. I tried another drawer. Still nothing. Why would they forget to inventory these? Things got stranger when I lifted one of the eggs.

It weighed lot more than I expected. A lot, lot more. That explained why the drawers felt like they were stuck. And that weight wasn't only from the shell. A quick examination showed there were no holes, no evidence somepony extracted their contents. Whatever came in those thick shells was still there.

I scratched my head. Why weren't these cataloged and why weren't they empty?

Maybe, I thought, they weren't eggs after all. Maybe they were a display for an exhibit or an art project. Museums have art projects for the little fillies sometime, don't they? These would end up being egg shaped rocks painted as part of some education program. That could explain why nopony would have bothered inventorying them.

I convinced myself I'd go to the next case and find the real collection there, complete with a full manifest.

But no, it contained only more giant eggs. The third, the fourth, the seventh, and the fifteenth case were all alike: twelve huge multicolored eggs per drawer, uncatalogued and unemptied. Fifteen cabinets with eight drawers each—over a thousand eggs in those alone, and that wasn't even a third of the row!

Before I got too anxious, I stepped back to collect my thoughts. Why, the situation wasn't bad at all. So what if there wasn't an inventory? I'd number the cabinets and drawers, check to make sure they were full and do some multiplication. It wouldn't take more than two or three hours before I'd be done. And identifying the species and figuring out what they were worth? No problem there: Birdsong.

Yeah, I told myself, this is going to be easy.

And it was. About twenty percent of the cases were empty, and the last drawer that held any eggs was only half filled. I grabbed one from the last drawer and took it to show Wry.

“Whoa,” he exclaimed. “I'd hate to meet mom in the dark. Who laid that ridiculous thing?”

“No idea. That's why I'm off to the museum.” I jammed the egg into my saddle bags and put them on. “I need to see about the list of bugs from number two anyway, and I'm sure Birdsong's going to flip when she sees the lists from four and six.”

“No doubt.”

“I'm off.” I waved to Wry as I hit the stairs. “Hey, you have a good weekend and stay out of trouble.”

—❦—

When I got to the museum, April sat defending the desk. She watched me enter, her eyes narrowing as I neared. I got into firing range, and before I could speak, she snapped at me.

“Dr. Birdsong is busy and can't be disturbed.”

“But I—”

“You'll have to come back Monday. Good day.”

“I have something she'll want to see.” I pulled out the inventory of birds from room four and tossed it on her desk. It landed with a thunk.

She let it sit like it was toxic to the touch, all the while directing her chilly glare at me. Then her eyes fell upon the first page and she pulled the clipboard towards her. Her jaw dropped as she flipped to page two. Before she'd hit page three, she snatched the list and trotted away.

All I could do was yell out, “Hey.”

“I'll have her here in a moment.” She was true to her word.

Birdsong was all smiles as she walked over. “Where did find all this?”

“In the room next to the bug collection. And wait till you get a look at the next one.” I presented her with the inventory from the front half of room six.

She flipped through the pages while shaking her head. April watched us closely, fiddling unconvincingly with paperwork. I still needed to show the gigantic egg to Birdsong, but I didn't want to do it in public.

“I've got one more thing, but—er—can we go somewhere more private?”

Her response was delayed as she continued reading. “Sure,” she murmured. “Just follow me.”

April's eyes followed me as I trailed after Birdsong. For once, those eyes didn't look so frosty.

—❦—

Birdsongs’s office was a cracker box of an affair, dominated by shelving packed with folders and papers jutting out at all angles. I figured somepony with a Ph.D after their name would have a bigger place, something at least as large as the one Wry and I shared. She didn’t, but at least her windows were clean.

She managed to squeeze behind her desk and made some space on its cluttered top before sitting down to absorb the inventory of room six. As she perused the entries, she occasionally put on a thoughtful expression or nodded.

After a few minutes, she completed the last page and said, “This is quite a collection you have here, Dusty.”

“All the credit goes to old professor whatever his name was. My job's just to clear it out and try to make a bit or two.”

“I can help with the former but not with the latter.”

“Yeah, I understand.” I wore a sheepish grin as my eyes roamed around her office.

“So what did you need to show me?”

When I extracted the egg from my saddlebag and held it up for her to see. Birdsong's hoof went to her throat. I set the egg on her desk. She didn't budge until it started to roll. The two of us raced to prop it up with some nearby books.

Birdsong examined the egg the way a fortune-teller peers into a crystal ball. Her hooves skimmed across its surface, poring over every inch. She finished her eyeballing and put an ear against it. Then she tapped it several times. I grew impatient when it appeared that she was about to repeat the entire process.

“So what laid this monstrosity?” I asked.

“I'm not positive and I wouldn't want to get your hopes up.” Her tone was serious yet tinged with doubt. She paused and stroked the egg. “There is somepony who would know for certain.”

I figured she meant a senior colleague at the museum, somepony right down the hall. “Well let's go see them.”

Birdsong looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It wasn't quite six. “No, not tonight. By the time we get there, she'll be asleep.”

“Asleep? Where the heck is she?” The streets could get congested on a Friday night, but you could still get across town in less than forty-five minutes. It didn't make sense that somepony would be in bed before seven, and on a Friday night no less.

“She's out in the country in a rest home. It takes about ninety minutes to get there.” Birdsong reached into a drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper, and scribbled down an address. “Meet me here tomorrow at ten sharp. The Professor's lucid after her morning nap, but you can't get much out of her after lunch. She gets groggy and dozes off.”

“The Professor, eh?”

“Yes, Professor Hitchinpost. You remember her—from the university.”

—❦—

The pleasant Saturday morning cab ride to Shady Glade Retirement Home cost me more than I expected. I held the boxed egg on my lap and had plenty of time to recollect about the Professor as the scenery moved by. Even those of us who weren't in the sciences knew the name Edwina Hitchinpost, and we dreaded it. Everypony had their science requirement, and in addition to the advanced classes, the university assigned Professor Hitchinpost the introductory courses in chemistry, natural history, and geology. I'd taken geology because, well, Stone you know. It made sense at the time.

Professor Hitchinpost wasn't the unlikable type at all. She loved her subjects and worked hard to get us to share her enthusiasm. We feared her because she expected us to learn. Her tests were legendary, straight grading, no curve. If the book covered it or if she mentioned it in lecture, you'd better know it or you'd be back to see her next semester. I escaped Geology 101 with the hardest won C in my life.

The cab got me to Shady Glade by nine fifty-five. Birdsong sat waiting for my arrival.

“Let me do the talking. Okay, Dusty? Sometime she's confused, but she always remembers me.”

“And how is it she remembers you? I'm sure she's had an awful lot of students over the years.”

“She was my adviser,” Birdsong said. “Then my mentor in the Ph.D program. She kept me going when I thought I couldn't take it any more.”

“Ah.” I walked by her side as we climbed the porch stairs and halted before the front door. “But that wasn't that long ago, was it? How'd she end up here so soon?”

Birdsong's look was a strange mixture. Sadness? Yes, but something more. Embarrassment? A tinge. I believe I caught a trace of fear. But whatever the combination was, talking about the Professor made her noticeably uncomfortable.

“Her arthritis slowed her down and she ended up it a wheelchair while I was still in school. The year after I graduated, her mind turned on her. She's not gone, but occasionally things get—muddled. Then she gets angry or—frightened.” Birdsong stopped and looked down the row of empty chairs on the porch.

“She doesn't have family nearby, so I come out and see her a couple of times a year. I owe it to her.”

I had nothing to say, so I nodded. She looked at me and offered a fragile smile.

I grinned back. “I understand.”

“Thanks. It's really hard sometimes.” Birdsong took a deep breath. “Let's hope she's with it today.”

—❦—

Birdsong signed us in at the desk and we took a flight of stairs to the second floor. We walked down a long hallway towards the Professor's room. The home oozed the cheery façade places like that always put up. A colorful little sign announced some pony's birthday, and dainty vases of dried flowers stood in front of pictures of outdoor vistas. But the residents sat in their rooms, silent and alone.

When we stepped into the Professor's room, she was as inanimate as any of the others, looking out the window and into the trees. She heard us and turned her wheelchair around. Her face lit up when she saw Birdsong.

“Oh! My little Birdie's flown back.”

Birdsong gave her a hug. “So good to see you again, Professor.”

“No more professor nonsense, hmm? Edwina will do.” She pointed towards the window and waggled her hoof. “I was just observing a pair of nesting Sialia Curra… Curro… Curri…” She closed her eyes and became perturbed.

“Currucoides,” Birdsong said. I recognized the name: bluebirds. I'd inventoried twenty dead ones two days prior.

“Yes, yes, exactly.” The frustration in Edwina's voice was directed at herself, not Birdsong.

At that moment, the old professor spotted me. She clapped her hooves together and cried, “Oh, and you've brought your husband today.”

Birdsong floundered. Seldom have I had such sport by remaining silent. I'll have to recommend the technique to Wry, but I'm certain he'd scoff. Ten seconds passed before I decided to rescue Birdsong by correcting the old mare.

“No, Ma'am. I was a student of yours. Dusty Stone. You taught me geology.”

The corner of her mouth scrunched up and her eyes narrowed. “Convex fold of strata?” she blurted.

“Uh…” It was my turn now, and I flailed for the answer as they watched. But Professor Hitchinpost taught me well, and somewhere in a forgotten corner of my mind, I tripped over what looked like an answer. “Anticline?”

“Good enough.” Edwina's head bobbed thoughtfully. “Antiform would have been a better choice, unless you possess x-ray eyes.”

Birdsong defended me from further grilling by engaging Edwina in small talk for a while. Then she revealed the purpose of our visit.

“Mr. Stone has brought something for you to see, Edwina.”

“Hmm?” She turned and looked at me.

I placed the box on the table by the window and extracted the egg, resting it in the lid to prevent it from rolling away. As I stepped back, I surreptitiously watched Edwina's eyes.

Without the slightest change in demeanor, she rolled her wheelchair to the table. She examined the egg's exterior with a precision I hadn't thought she'd be capable of in her enfeebled state. Her hooves rode over the surface with not so much as a tremor or hesitation, and with that phase complete, she barked out an order.

“Miss Birdsong, my glass. Bedside. Top drawer.” Birdsong dashed to the bedside stand and pulled out a large magnifying glass. With the glass held close to her face, Edwina doubled her scrutiny.

“Genuine,” she mumbled after combing the egg's surface. Eventually, she put the magnifying glass down and uttered, “Intact”.

She tried righting it so its pointy end was up but failed. “Assist me, Mr. Stone,” she commanded. I got it situated. Like Birdsong, she put her ear against the egg and gave it a rather severe rap. Her pupils widened, and her face glowed brighter than when she'd seen Birdsong enter the room.

The Professor spun her chair about, her eyes locked on Birdsong. “Inhabited?”

“I thought so too,” she replied.

“Children,” the old mare proclaimed, “this is an extreme privilege for us all. You are in the presence of perhaps the rarest and most scientifically valuable item in all Equestria.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” I cleared my throat. “But what is it?”

“A dragon's egg, of course.”

Her pronouncement convinced me she'd lost it. I looked to Birdsong for confirmation, certain that Edwina's failing mind got it wrong. Instead, Birdsong nodded yes.

At that moment, my respect for the old naturalist and his staff went up exponentially. Snatching eggs from hawks and eagles was one thing, but taking them from the largest and most dangerous creatures in the land? Wow, they liked to live dangerously in the old days.

“You must tell me, Mr. Stone”—Edwina's tone was accusatory—“how you came into the possession of such a rare item.”

“I'm an appraiser for an auction house, Professor. It's from the collection of a naturalist in Canterlot. I brought it to Dr. Birdsong for identification.”

“I knew you'd be able to confirm it, Edwina,” Birdsong said. “I couldn't be sure since I've only seen them in textbooks. But you'd at least seen the empty shells.”

“You've seen them before?” The words leapt from my mouth before I'd realized it.

“Oh, yes, several times. You see—”

Normally, the minute an old pony starts a story, I contemplate leaping from a window. But that morning, I restrained myself.

“Many years ago, when I was even younger than Birdie, I was part of a research program created by the Princess. Oh, we were so proud to work for her. She has such a beautiful heart, filled with kindness for all creatures, you know. I remember the first time I saw her, when she explained to us newcomers what she wanted. Each word she spoke was like a song, a glorious melody. I've told you that, haven't I, Birdie?”

“Yes, Edwina, many times.” Birdsong's tone was almost soothing.

“Oh, yes, so sweet and pure. The Princess told us how concerned she was about our fellow creatures, especially the dragons. Yes, even the dragons, ferocious beasts that they were. It spoke so much of her gentle nature that she could love even them.” She halted and her eyes misted up. We waited for her to continue, but reverie had carried her off.

“Tell Mr. Stone about the program, Edwina.” She ignored Birdsong's suggestion. “Edwina—the program?”

“The program, of course. The dragon population had been dwindling for hundreds of years, and the Princess needed to know why. She wanted to help the poor things, but they were so hostile and secretive. If only they would have let us help them. But the silly things wouldn't, so the Princess created the program.

“Each April, she'd send the royal guards to locate their nesting spots. Once they'd find a nest, they'd organize a team to observe and send reports back to the Princess. That was our job. We'd gather our equipment and head out as fast as we could.

“Oh, we'd ride those terrible old trains. So slow and bumpy and they never got us quite close enough. We'd hike into the mountains, sometimes for days, to set up our observation posts, making sure we were hidden from those sharp eyes of theirs. Once we were close enough, we'd spend hours counting and describing them, mapping where they placed their nests. We'd climb into the valley at night and signal for the guards to fly our reports to her highness. Oh, those nights! It's bitter cold in the mountains at night, you know. And the food was terrible, nasty hard biscuits that ground your teeth down. But we didn't care. Not a bit. We were young, and we knew we were helping the Princess—and the dragons too.”

“But dragons are practically extinct,” I said. Edwina looked crestfallen.

“They were so rare back then, but now…” She shook her head. “Their population had fallen so low that they weren't viable any more. I don't know what we could have done to save them. Something was wrong, but we never found out what it was.”

She became particularly animated, shaking her hoof at us. “Many times, we would see the adults fly off, with no little ones. None. They'd just… just… abandon their nests for no reason. They couldn't have spotted us, we were too crafty.

“Afterwards, we'd climb into the caves, hoping to find an empty shell, something to prove we'd missed a hatchling.” Edwina paused and looked out the window with a gaze fixed on a far away time and place. “In all those years, only five teams found any evidence of a hatch. Only five…”

She gestured for Birdsong to fetch a glass of water from beside her bed. She sipped from it and continued.

“The Princess looked so disappointed. You could see the sadness in those beautiful eyes of her's. It broke my heart to fail her so. We wanted to help so much, we truly did. Finally, three years went without finding a single spot where they nested. The program ended.”

For a moment, I wanted to tell her about what lay hidden beneath the castle all those years without anypony knowing, but instead I asked a question.

“Professor Hitchinpost?” She looked up at me with a watery gaze. “When you and Birdsong talked about the egg, you used the word inhabited. What exactly do you mean?”

“Exactly what the word means, Mr. Stone.”

“So there's a…”

Edwina's head waggled vigorously and I feared it would become detached.

“She means it contains a dragon.” Birdsong must have assumed I was a thick as the egg's shell.

“Alive?” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” Edwina said. “That is why it is so precious. It could be the last of its kind.”

The revelation left me dizzy. On Friday, I'd been surrounded by thousands of them. Who knows how many of those were still inhabited.

“So…” I gulped. “It could hatch?”

“No. Not without the aid of its mother.” The Professor drifted off in thought and then added, “Or suitable magic.” The words invigorated her.

“Yes, magic!” A smile flashed across her face. “The Princess might be the only one capable of doing it, but it could be done. Yes, the Princess.” Then her spirits sank as fast as they'd risen.

“What would be the point? One isn't enough to bring them back. Fifty or five hundred rule right, Birdie?”

“Genetics—fifty for diversity, five hundred to cope with change,” she explained. “Nowadays, we think you need even more than that, Edwina.”

“How cruel to be the last of your kind, living your days in loneliness.” Edwina remained motionless in her chair, staring into her lap. “No, the poor thing is better off sleeping, never knowing the fate of its kind.”

I restrained myself again. Maybe I was still stunned to find out I'd been in a room filled with the little monsters, or maybe I didn't believe her. After all, she was a dotty old mare, reliving a distant past. For all I knew, her memory of the program was a demented fiction produced by her failing mind. Yet, Birdsong didn't think so. And there was the strangeness of the collection in that back room, made even stranger now that I knew what they were. I had a lot to think about, and telling Birdsong and Edwina about all those eggs could wait.

The three of us were silent for a long time. I walked over to the table and put the egg back in its box. While I did, Birdsong talked with Edwina. Nothing important, just everyday things to take her mind off the subject of dragons.

They went on for some time talking about happenings at the university and the museum. I figured their visits normally went that way. While they rambled, I sat in the corner with the box at my side. I anchored it with my foreleg, as if the blasted thing would hatch and fly away.

Midday approached and an attendant dropped by to inform Edwina they'd be serving lunch soon. We escorted her down in the elevator, and Birdsong wheeled her into the cafeteria. We took her to her table and said our good-byes.

When I went to shake her hoof, she grasped me with surprising strength. Her eyes bored into mine.

“Take care of our friend, Mr. Stone,” she said with intensity. “It is the most precious thing in this world.”

—❦—

“The Professor sure does love the Princess,” I said as we walked out the front door of the rest home. “I mean, I've got nothing against the monarchy, so long as the trains run on time.”

“She's of that generation,” Birdsong said. “And remember, she worked with her personally. She was young, and that made a real impression. I can only imagine.” She sighed. “I'm glad she still has those memories, and I'm glad she was able to see an intact egg. Thanks, Dusty.”

I shrugged. “Just doin' my job.”

We sat at the base of the porch stairs, waiting for the cab Birdsong had arranged to take us back to the city. I complained since she made me pay.

“You should be able to afford it now,” she said. “After all, you have the most precious item in all Equestria according to Edwina.”

I scoffed. “Is the museum going to find the money for it or will it expect another donation?”

“No way it's going to happen, is it?” She thought some more. “Your client would need special permission to sell something that rare anyway, wouldn't he?”

“I'm sure it's not in his purview unless he's the undersecretary of eggs.” The cab came through the gate and headed towards us. “Anyway… let's wait till we get in the cab.”

“Wheres to, folks?” the driver asked. Birdsong gave him her address and we hopped aboard. We got under way, and I kept quiet until I knew the driver wasn't paying attention.

“The truth is—” I paused and patted the box's top. “The little fellow in here isn't alone.”

“Huh?” she said. “Twins? How would you know? You didn't even know it was a dragon egg.”

I shushed her and nodded towards the driver. “There's more than one of them,” I whispered. Her face froze.

“Yesterday, I was in a room with over eight thousand of these.”

She covered her mouth.

“Yeah. Not so rare now, eh?”

“Dusty, that's fantastic! That's more than enough to bring back their population. We need to tell Edwina.” I blocked her hoof before she could signal the driver.

“No. First, we don't know if they are all inhabited, do we? Next, they don't belong to us. They're on castle grounds, so they belong to the Princess. If they were important to her long ago, I'm sure they're no less important to her now.”

“Then we'll tell the Princess.”

“It's not that easy, Birdsong.” I rubbed my temples. Edwina's story left me with a lot to consider. We'd hoped to find something valuable, but never this valuable. Rare item posed all kinds of obstacles, and the first obstacle that came to my mind was DeCamp.

“You see, Wry and I don't like our client. We don't trust him. Sometimes, when we find valuable items, the clientele get a little greedy—and weird.”

“Then don't tell him. We'll get word to the Princess some other way.” Her zeal for restoring the beasts seemed unstoppable.

“Okay, let's say we do that. We still have a lot of unanswered questions.” My head started pounding.

“Dusty, you're not making sense.” She ended with a nervous laugh. “You've got all these eggs—”

I stopped massaging my head and jabbed a hoof at her. “Exactly. First, I'd like to find out more about the old buzzard who collected them, and then I'd like to know why.”

“He was building a research collection.”

“Of spiders and beetles and birds, but…” I found it hard to explain why what I'd seen in the back half of the room six appeared out of place. “Okay. So killing thirty-two robins is one thing…”

She pulled back like I'd made a personal affront. “We do that for a reason, Dusty. We need to differentiate between individual variances and differences between species.”

“Fine. Kill sixty-four of them if you have to. I don't care.” I paused. “But eight thousand, Birdsong. Eight thousand.” I watched her defensiveness melt.

She fiddled with her mane. “That is an awful lot.”

“And that's just the start,” I said. “You saw the lists with the birds and the eggs, right? I copied lists from inside the drawers or from the tags on the birds. All the cases were meticulously labeled and inventoried. That's what you'd do right, Doctor?”

Birdsong nodded.

“Not for these guys.” I tapped on the box. “No paperwork. Nothing at all.”

“That is strange—”

“More than strange, it was—” I searched for a word to describe it. “Compared to the rest of his collection, this was a mania, a compulsion. I don't like the idea of killing a bunch of birds, but I understand it. Science and all. But this was like… like a disease.”

“Strange,” she murmured and focused on the passing countryside. “I wonder why.”

“Yeah.” I thought I'd run out things to say, but then it just came out.

“Maybe he had something against them.”

—❦—

The cab dropped me off two blocks from my place. Although I gave the cabbie a decent tip, he continued glaring until I turned over yet another five bits. I guess he figured he deserved extra for making two stops. After saying good-bye to Birdsong, I trudging the remaining distance on hoof. Four flights of stairs later and I'd arrived at my apartment.

I cleared a spot on the table for the egg and made myself a snack. The sandwich disappeared without me tasting it. I watched the box and thought about the events of the morning. It felt wrong to leave my guest sealed up in there, so I took it out. Its colors glowed as the afternoon sun spilled through the window.

Birdsong and the Professor were convinced the dragon in there was alive. Who was I to say different? All I could hope was that it was asleep like the Professor thought. A conscious being trapped in the dark for a hundred years would be insane. An insane dragon didn't seem like the ideal house guest.

No mater how I tried, I couldn't concentrate for what little remained of the afternoon. Edwina's story, the conversation with Birdsong in the cab, the whole affair smothered my desire to do anything. I'd gone to Birdsong to get answers, but now I had more questions. I didn't want questions, yet alone hard ones.

Why couldn't the project have been easy? When Wry got me the job at Rapid Fire's, I thought it would be simple enough. All I wanted was a job that paid the bills and let me relax every now and then, but instead, it was keeping me up at night and ruining my weekends.

Saturday night was approaching. Normally I'd be going out to a club, but instead, I puttered around the apartment until it was either too late or too early to go anywhere or do anything. Damn Rapid Fire and DeCamp. Damn the dragons and their damn eggs.

I damned the dragons and their eggs repeatedly, but before I went to bed, I made sure the egg sitting on my table was okay.

—❦—

I awoke on Sunday at my usual time: right before noon.

After tackling the heap of dishes that mysteriously accumulated in the sink during the week, I contemplated what to do with the rest of my day. I always liked to keep Sunday unstructured on the off chance that Saturday night ran long or got complicated. But without a Saturday night, my day was entirely open.

I'd bought a volume of Coltridge's poetry months back and had been meaning to finish it off. Poetry was a good habit I picked up in school and I've never lost it. The apartment wasn't the proper setting to read the poet's work, but the park was, especially on a spring day. Canterlot might be a busy city, buzzing with ponies, but the park always managed to provide a secluded spot for reading.

Yet, I didn't dare leave the egg alone in the apartment. Certainly it was too valuable—or it might be. That was yet to be determined. Stranger still, it felt wrong to leave it behind. The consensus was that it was a living thing. You wouldn't leave a foal alone in some strange pony's apartment, would you? It wouldn't be right. I tucked it into my saddlebag with the book and headed for the park.

All afternoon I sat beneath a newly leafed tree, while the egg stayed in my bags, hidden from prying eyes. I tried to read the long dead poet, but my mind kept drifting from his couplets and back to the egg. Coltridge would have been alive when the naturalist and his crew were snatching eggs and filling up drawers. The little dragon sleeping next to me might have been their contemporary—if he'd hatched. But the lives of the poet and the naturalist had come and gone, while the little dragon remained frozen in time, trapped inside its shell.

And what of its cousins asleep in their drawers down in the basement? How long had they slumbered while the lives of ponies trotted on? The thought irked me more than the murdered birds. At least the birds had a chance at life, but the dragons never got that.

Sometime in the clear spring sunshine, the book slid from my hooves and I nodded off. At dusk a chilly breeze woke me. I retrieved my book and slipped it into my bags. We went home: me, the dead poet, and yet born dragon.

The egg took its place on the table while I made supper, and we had a little conversation. It would have to go back to the basement, I explained, for a little while longer. But soon it and all its cousins would escape that horrid place. They'd be out of their dungeon and somepony would take care of them properly. I promised the egg I'd make sure it saw sunlight again. It was the least I could do to make up for all the time they'd lost.

I finished eating and tossed the dirty dishes into the sink. The cupboards held plenty of clean ones, so I was in no hurry to wash up. I sprawled out on the couch to work on that book, but it failed to hold my interest. I'd run out of things to do, so I turned out the lights and went to bed.

After all, I needed my rest. Monday was a workday. There would be another room waiting for me down in that basement. I didn't know what I would hold, but I hoped it held some answers.

Chapter 3 — From Darkness Into Light

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Wry had every right to the incredulous look on his face. If I'd heard it from him, I would have assumed it was an elaborate joke. But the story I told him when we I arrived in the subbasement on Monday morning was no joke. There was no punch line about eggs or dragons, only the realization that what we thought was going to be a spring cleaning project was getting annoyingly complex.

“And you're positive you heard the professor right?” Wry asked.

“Yeah, I'm sure. And Birdsong agreed. Contents: one genuine dragon.”

“Damn.” He sat down and shook his head. “Damn.”

“So, you were right after all, Wry. That room did hold something valuable, even if we can't sell them.”

“I guess.” He looked up at me. “So, we'd better tell DeCamp then.” He paused. “Or the boss?”

I sat motionless, thinking about what to do. Birdsong thought we should bypass everypony and tell the Princess directly. We'd have to tell somepony sometime, but I wasn't ready to do that. I wanted to know about the maniac who stole the all those eggs. Who was he and what was he planning on doing with them? And what if we found out he was somepony famous and our discovery created a scandal? Royal Mad Scientist's Hoard Discovered! A delicate matter indeed, and nopony at the Palace would appreciate us generating those kind of headlines. The whole deal with DeCamp and his boss could be off, and while I couldn't say I'd mind skipping the rest of the rooms, Rapid Fire would take it out on me for the rest of my life. Nothing provided me with the impetus to talk to anypony.

“We'll tell them both, eventually. We'll have to. But not right now, okay?” I massaged my chin. “I can't put a hoof on it, but something's going on, Wry. The whole thing smells rotten.”

“I'll open a window.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, give a rest. I'm serious.”

“Well, Mr. Serious, learn to relax.” Wry ruffled his mane and smiled. “I get ya. Yeah, a couple of days and then we'll decide what to do. Maybe one of us will have a flash of brilliance.”

I scoffed. “I'm not asking for brilliance. I just want to be done with it, that's all.” Wry nodded back.

“Okay,” I said. “A day or two to think about it before we tell anypony. Deal?”

“Fine with me. They're your find, Dusty. And who knows, we might find something more valuable by then.”

I looked at him like he'd announced he was trying out for the Royal Ballet. “What's with the sudden optimism, Wry? You running a fever?”

He stood and stretched. “Must be all the sunshine I'm getting down here.”

I grunted back and start off, but instead of going to a new room, I walked towards room two.

“Hey, buddy,” Wry said. “You've done that one already.”

“I know. I'm going to see if I can find something about the old egg collector.”

—❦—

I squandered forty-five minutes rummaging through the desk in room two, trying to find a clue about the old naturalist. There wasn't a scrap of paper to be found with a name or date or any indication of who he was. I pried off the back of some of the framed photos, hoping to find an inscription. That was a total waste of time. But if this guy was famous or important, they would have taken his papers to the Royal Library. They'd left the photos behind because they were personal mementos, nothing but sentimental value. That's why the place was stripped clean.

But the photos were the only way I had left to identify him. Birdsong might recognize him, and if not, we could always go back and ask Edwina. Right then, I needed to work on another room before DeCamp popped in on us again. With one of the photos in my pocket, I closed up room two.

I'd wasted too much time going through the desk, and I still needed to return the egg to its drawer. If DeCamp was to drop by at that moment, he'd see it sticking out of my saddlebag and ask questions. He might think I was trying to steal it, so it need to go back to its drawer before I got into trouble. I dug out the keys to room six and took the egg with me.

I pulled open the drawer I'd taken the egg from on Friday and froze. When I'd left on Friday there were five eggs in the drawer, now there were six. I went and consulted my list. The final drawer held six eggs, one of which I took home. Where in Equestria did the other one come from?

Certainly no dragon snuck in to lay a new one, and they weren't reproducing on their own. Somepony put it there. Wry? It would be an epic joke for sure, but his humor was more spontaneous and always verbal. Practical jokes weren't his style. Also, I'd locked both doors on Friday, so he couldn't have gotten in anyway.

My next suspect was DeCamp. He might have come down here and put an extra egg in the drawer to throw off—

That made no sense. First, where would he get an egg? Where would anypony get another egg? And even if he did, how could he have gotten in to the room? The keys were with me all weekend. Maybe the old buzzard had an extra set.

And maybe Wry was right. DeCamp might know what the rooms contained all along. And maybe that wasn't a new egg at all. He could've rearranged things. I had to check.

It took me an hour to make sure the drawers were filled like I expected. And dammit, they were. I stood there, my mouth agape, when I heard Wry's voice from the front half of the room.

“Hey, Dusty. You ever gonna start work today?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I regained my composure as quick as I could. “I lost track of time.”

“Well, don't,” he said. “Pick up the pace, the slave driver said. Pick up the pace.” He clacked his hooves together.

“Right. Sorry.” I'd have to sort it all out later. I locked up both parts of six and went to open my next room.

Room eight held the naturalist's botany collection, but I didn't care two bits what it held. If the drawers would've been overflowing with venomous snakes, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. Instead of concentrating on my work, my mind was back in room six, back with that extra egg. By the time Wry called me for lunch, I'd made little progress.

“So,” he asked. “Have you figured out who we should tell about the dragon eggs?”

“No.” I mechanically bit into my sandwich and swallowed while I tried to figure out how the extra egg ended up getting in that drawer. “Wry, did you tell anypony what we're doing down here?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied and I glared at him. “I told all seven of the mares I'm dating. I got a different one for each day of the week, ya know.”

“Come on, cut out the jokes. Does anypony know we're down here, that is, besides DeCamp and the boss?”

“If they do, they didn't hear it from me. Why?”

I didn't answer. Birdsong knew where I was. And maybe April. Anypony else from the museum? Oh yeah, the entomologist looking at the list from room two. But she wasn't supposed to know where the list came from. Even if anypony knew, the museum stood to gain a massive collection for free, so they had no motive to mess with us. Anyway, they didn't know precisely where we were, and they wouldn't have access to the castle grounds.

Rapid Fire might get DeCamp to let him in, but if the boss wanted to screw with us, he'd have more direct routes to do it. And he'd never survive the trip up all those stairs. We would've stumbled over his corpse on the way down in the morning. Regardless, how would've any of them found another dragon's egg? There was only one pony that could have put the egg there, and that was DeCamp.

A piercing whistle jolted me back to reality.

“Hey,” Wry exclaimed. “You havin' a stroke over there or something?”

“Sorry.”

“That's your word for the day, isn't it?” He rubbed the side of his neck as he sized me up. “You're acting weirder than normal, pal. Now, you always nagging me to get things off my chest, but now it's your turn. What's up, Dusty?”

It took a second to organize my thoughts. “Remember last week when you thought DeCamp might be up to something?” He nodded in agreement. “I'm inclined to agree with you.”

—❦—

The afternoon proved as unproductive as the morning. By quitting time, I'd finished no more than half the room. Wry was unusually nice to me, telling me to go home and get a good night's sleep. I guess I looked so bad he couldn't derive any pleasure from harassing me. If he had, I was so lost in thought that I wouldn't have responded anyway.

When I got home, I tried to take his advice, but neither the good nor the sleep part of the night worked out. A twisted parody of DeCamp tormented me throughout the night, laughing at my suffering.

But why would he do anything? To get us in trouble, maybe even thrown in jail? And why would he add an egg instead of taking one away? Every time I thought I'd figured out a reason, just as quickly I'd come up with a contradiction. The only thing that made sense in the whole business was that DeCamp must be behind it.

In the morning, the reflection in the bathroom mirror looked marginally better than I felt. I was a wreck again, all thanks to my crummy job. I splashed water on my face and headed out in a daze. My walk to the castle was a blank, for the next thing I remembered after hitting the street, I was standing outside the castle grounds. The gaping mouth of the castle's entrance waited to swallow me up as I stood paralyzed before it. Finally, I put on my badge and walked in.

By the time I got down the stairs to the basement, I was fifteen minutes late. Wry was already working on another room, so I stood in the doorway and announced myself.

“Hey. I'm here.”

He put down his clipboard and came out to see me. At first he didn't say anything, taking plenty of time to examine my condition. No doubt he didn't like what he saw. Then the lecture began.

“Dusty, you look like hell. I've seen you better hungover than the way you look right now. You're letting this job get to you, and you shouldn't. You let it mess with your head, didn't you? Bet you didn't sleep at all last night. Am I right?”

I looked down at my hooves.

“Now, how many times have we said it, eh? No job's worth making your life a misery. You've got to stop caring. Nopony pays us enough to care. I know that and you should know that.”

“I just need to get some rest, that's all.”

“Then do it. Go home and sleep the damn day away. It'll be good for ya. If anypony asks, I'll tell them you got sick.” He corner of his mouth crept into a grin. “And that would be pretty close to the truth.”

“Let me see if I can finish this room.” I rubbed my temple. “If I can't, I promise I'll go home.”

“Deal.” He gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Take it easy, pal,” he said and he went back to work.

I closed my eyes and struggled to remember where I was working. Room eight, the botany collection, right? I stumbled off. Drawer labels and lists swirled in my mental fog, but eventually I fell into a rhythm and work progressed.

It was some time after noon when the room was finished. My writing on the inventory sheets was a barely legible scrawl, but it was complete. I could have fallen asleep in an instant, but my spirits were buoyed a bit—only a bit. I staggered into the corridor. Wry was almost finished eating.

“Come to eat?” he asked. I shook my head.

Wry took a bite from his apple and watched me silently, taking his time chewing. He swallowed and asked, “Finished your room, have ya?”

“Yeah, sorry it took so long.”

“There you go being sorry again. Stop being sorry and get back to being yourself. That's an order.” Wry rummaged around in his lunch sack to see if he'd missed anything. “So what do you think will be up next in your museum collection? Shells? Fish? Ooh, maybe stuffed animals.”

“Stuffed animals?” I grunted. Like I needed more dead things. “That's disgusting.”

“What? Taxidermy's making a comeback. We could make some money from them, provided they're not falling apart.”

I stared at him long and hard. Usually, I could tell if he was baiting me, but I wasn't sure. Was he trying to get a rise out of me? Did he expect a snappy retort? Everything seemed off kilter.

Wry cracked a smile. “Why don't you go home and take a nap?”

“Because,” I grumbled, “I don't want you to have fun with my stuffed animals.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Wry startled me when he hopped up. “I'm having too much fun in grandma's attic over here.” He tilted his head toward my side of the corridor. “Ready?”

I hauled myself up and started trying keys on room ten. Wry hung around to see what I got. Or maybe he wanted to make sure I didn't fall asleep on my hooves. The door of number ten opened up and a miracle occurred.

There were no cases.

The room was filled will moderately sized statues and draped paintings, undoubtedly victims of an ancient redecorating plan. Wry let out a whistle and slapped me on the back so hard that I practically fell into the room.

“Congratulations. Enjoy yourself.” He walked off.

They were nothing but dust covered statues and stack of paintings, yet I felt like I was entering paradise. I was free: no more bugs or birds or their accursed eggs. This was the type of merchandise we needed to find, the classy art that rich ponies would trip over themselves to buy because it came from the castle. Both the boss and DeCamp would be happy.

I wasn't happy, only relieved.

And I did enjoy myself, for a while at least. For almost a week I'd done nothing more than copy inventories, and I'd yet to appraise a single thing. Now, I had to actually do my job: describe the items, look for marks, guess their ages, and assign values. With so little decent sleep, after an hour I got woozy and shuffled off to rest in the corridor.

I slumped against the wall and considered taking Wry's advice and heading home, but I was already a day behind. Neither the boss nor DeCamp would take kindly to me ducking out for the rest of the day.

That damn DeCamp. He was the source of my misery. It was his fault I couldn't get a decent night's sleep. Trying to figure out what he was up to made me weary. I closed my eyes for only a moment. I slept for at least an hour. It was one of those sleeps where you're transported through time, like you hadn't slept at all. I startled myself awake with a snort and hoped Wry hadn't heard. Even if he'd suggested a nap, catching me sleeping on the job would be fodder for endless jokes.

I hadn't taken a mid afternoon nap since I was a kid, and I'd forgotten how refreshing they were. An hour of sleep, and having new things to work on, made me a new pony. For the moment, I forgot about DeCamp and the extra egg nonsense. I snuck back into room ten without Wry spying me and got to work as fast as I could.

The next couple of hours flew by as I cataloged statues of ponies holding up vases, smelling flowers, or posing in some contrived, nonsensical manner. Overall, we'd to turn a nice profit from the contents of room ten, even if the items lacked a certain sophistication. Near the back, I came upon some statues shoved against the wall.

They were a symmetrical pair, like the type you'd place on either side of an entrance. Each was of a dragon perched atop the ramparts of an ancient castle, their scales and folds of their wings precisely carved, like they'd been sculpted from life. They stood with their tails wrapped about their feet, placid looks on their faces, with one arm raised like subservient pets.

Dragons. Eggs. Seven not six. Why couldn't I forget about the damn dragons and their damn eggs? The contents of the drawer flashed back in vivid detail, mocking me. I couldn't bear to be in the same room with those statues. I ran into the corridor, a wave of nausea washing over me.

DeCamp was setting us up for something, but what? I tried, but I couldn't shake my fears.

I needed to check the drawer again. Maybe I'd imagined the whole thing. Hard as I tried, I couldn't convince myself I'd made a mistake, but I needed to be certain. I need to go back to room six.

Nopony will ever know how desperately I wanted to look down at six eggs sitting in that drawer. I'd look down and there'd be only six when I checked, and then I'd laugh myself silly. Wry would too. It would be a preposterous joke born of paranoia and lack of sleep. My hooves trembled as I fought to unlock the door to the back half or room six. I shoved the door open and raced to the cabinet. I yanked the last drawer open.

Eight eggs.

And I laughed. I laughed the laughter of madness.

It must be DeCamp. He was the only possible one. I hadn't liked DeCamp since I laid eyes on him. He was making fools of us. He'd accuse us of fraud, deception, anything he could.

But what did he gain? Why would he do this to us?

Maybe we weren't the targets. Maybe it was Rapid Fire. Could DeCamp be setting up his old pal to repay him for a slight years ago? He looked spiteful enough to wait decades for vengeance, but what was his motive? What offense did Rapid Fire commit to make DeCamp want to hold a grudge for all those years?

Rapid Fire played the mares. Sometimes he'd go on forever about his exploits in the past. I never understood what they saw in him and neither could Wry. Could it be Rapid Fire had a squabble over one with DeCamp years ago and now he'd have his revenge? A scandal could ruin what little reputation Rapid Fire's business had. Wry and I would be hapless victims.

I thought I understood what he was doing. The drawer must have always been filled with eggs, and DeCamp had taken half of them out before we'd even got here. They were heavy, so he was smuggling them back in one at a time so as not to draw attention from anypony. Yes, that had to be it. I was certain I'd figured it out.

DeCamp was sneaking the eggs back to make it look like we planning on shorting him. Our inventory would be short, and he'd accuse us of theft to ruin Rapid Fire's business as revenge for some love triangle back in school.

And now that I'd figured it out, I vowed I'd catch him in the act.

I went and found Wry in his room and explained my plan.

Wry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Dusty, this sounds like a real bad idea.”

“Listen, just do what I ask, okay?” My voice trembled. “I'll give you fifty bits.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a frustrated laugh. Wry looked at me and sighed. “Why don't you come and spend the night at my place instead? We'll take a break from all this craziness and have some drinks. You can even sleep in the bed and I'll take the couch.” He put his foreleg around my neck. “It'll be like the old days, eh?”

I pushed him away.

He stared at me. “I'm worried about you, buddy,” he said in a deadpan. “I think—I think you're losing it.”

I realized what I was asking him to do. Of course Wry should be concerned. I was acting crazy, and if I'd been in his place, I'm sure I'd have reacted the same way. Now, I'd have to tell Wry what I knew to convince him. There was no other way.

“DeCamp's been messing around with the dragon eggs I found in the back room. He's been adding an egg each day—”

“What? Why?”

“He's setting us up to make us look like we're going to short him.” I looked up at the ceiling and took a series of breaths. “We're going to get framed and thrown in jail so he can ruin Rapid Fire's business. It's just like you said. He knows what's down here, Wry, he always has. He knows how valuable the eggs are. I'm sure of it.”

Wry stood dumbfounded.

“I'm positive that's what he's doing,” I said. “And I'll be damned if I'm going to let him get away with it.”

“And you think he's gonna come back? Tonight?”

“I don't know for sure, but if he does, I'm going to catch him.”

—❦—

At the end of the day, we walked into the back half of room six. We pushed the empty cabinets along the far end of the room aside so I could hide in the corner. I'd have a good view of the drawer where DeCamp was adding eggs, and I'd be be able to tackle him if need be. While I practiced getting in and out of the space in the corner, Wry fetched a tarp for me to hide under. I used my pen knife to cut a slot in it to peer through.

I backed into the corner and sat down. Wry looked at me with a nervous grin, the type that looks like it can fall apart in a moment.

“Now,” I told him, “I'm betting he'll either be down here in an hour or two when he's sure we're gone, or he'll be here right before you show up in the morning. Don't show up early tomorrow, no matter what. I don't want you to scare him off.”

“Right,” he said and then we both got quiet. “Take care of yourself.”

Wry walked towards the door.

I heard the clack of the key throwing the bolt and the room lights faded. A splash of light from the outer room snuck under the door. In a little while, Wry locked up the front half of the room, and the last sliver of light disappeared. My eyes retained an after image for a fraction of a second.

And then nothing.

It was the blackness of the tomb, of being swallowed whole by some gigantic beast. I was engulfed in total, utter darkness.

And silence.

I became acutely aware of my own breathing. I panicked. DeCamp was bound to hear me when he entered the room. How could he miss the roar of my lungs? Covering my mouth and nose made things worse as I began to hyperventilate. Five minutes hadn't passed, and the last of my sanity had fled. The urge to race to the door and scream for Wry seized me. But how could I even find the door in the sea of blackness?

No, I told myself. Get a grip. I clasped my body to prove I still existed in that void. Then I decided I'd shut my eyes and concentrate on—

Laughter echoed through the room. Shut my eyes. What foolishness! Why, I couldn't see anything with them open, so how was closing them supposed to help? The absurdity fueled more laughter, and when it subsided, the tranquil darkness settled in. I sat there, accompanied only by my thoughts.

The uniform, dark silence left me no reference to mark the passage of time. I had no watch, and even if I had, I'd no forethought to bring a flashlight to read it. In the jumble of dream like thoughts of DeCamp and Rapid Fire, Wry and Birdsong, and Edwina and the egg, I dropped off several times, I think, but there was no way to tell with certainty.

I waited in my corner, suspended in time, just like my companions in their eggs. At last, I heard a scratching sound. He was coming, trying to unlock the door. My body tensed and I waited for the room lights to announce his entrance. But the room remained dark, and the scratching grew louder.

Sharp cracks joined the infernal scratching. I heard soft mewling and hissing. The eggs were hatching! Drawers burst open as the beasts filled the room, their claws scraping across the floor. Tiny feet clambering over me.

I screamed and hit my head on the side of the cabinet next to me. I was covered in sweat, not dragon hatchlings. Damn you for being right, Wry. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. But now, there was no escape until either he came for me in the morning or DeCamp arrived. So I waited, hoping there'd be no more dreams.

—❦—

All night I floated in and out of sleep, reliving the events of the previous week in a agitated loop. Somewhere in the timeless dark, I heard a loud buzzing followed by a sharp pop. Only then did I realized my eyes were closed and I'd been asleep.

I opened my eyes. Instantly, they were dazzled, seared by an overpowering white light by the door. The agony of its brightness swept away the fog of sleep.

I didn't recall hearing the door open, and it didn't seem like the room lights were on. It didn't matter. DeCamp was there and coming closer. I listened as he walked towards the drawer. Each step rang out, not with the dull thud of an iron shoe, but clear and musical like a bronze bell.

The lantern he carried shown brilliantly, and the hours of sitting in the total dark made it impossible for me to make him out. I kept my position. The hoof steps stopped, and I heard the scrape of the wooden drawer sliding open.

Now I had him. I prepared to throw off the tarp and spring on him. My eyes adjusted, but the world remained a blur, my vision overpowered by the powerful white light. But I didn't need to see him clearly. I'd leap out and he'd have no escape in the narrow aisle.

I was ready to pounce, when I heard the voice.

“I've brought you another companion, my children.”

Her voice was exactly as Professor Hitichinpost described it: every word a song.

My heart stopped. To my horror, my eyes resolved the blazing, incandescent form standing not ten feet from me. There she stood, pure white, her scintillating mane flowing around her.

The drawer closed, and I heard the ringing of her golden shoes as she walked away.

“Sleep well, little ones. Dawn is coming for you soon.” She laughed, like a gentle breeze, and disappeared in a brilliant flash.

I quivered in the corner with the Princess's form irrevocable burned into my mind.

—❦—

My were eyes wide open, fixed on the nothingness of the dark, as I huddled beneath the tarp. There was no escape from what I’d witnessed. My mind replayed every moment of what I'd seen in excruciating detail. Again and again I heard the drawer open and shut. Over and over I saw her form and recalled the words she’d spoke.

In desperation, I pleaded for it to be a dream, a nightmare that would end at dawn. But no dream arrived to rescue me from, and I knew that once Wry opened the door, once the lights in the room came up, there would be another egg in that drawer.

How wrong I’d been, how naïve. I’d vilified DeCamp, but he couldn’t have been getting into the room. He simply couldn’t. That door hadn’t been opened in ages, and while DeCamp was in good shape for his age, it took two of us to force it open. He’d never been back here—ever. He couldn’t have made it past that door.

But she had no need for doors. Why bother with nuisances like doors and keys when you can wink and be anywhere in an instant?

Of course it wasn’t DeCamp. He didn’t know or care what was down here. All he cared about was looking good for his boss. I held no warm feelings for him, that’s for sure. Ultimately, he was nothing more than a punctilious official who delighted in torturing underlings. But at least he wasn’t driving a species to extinction.

No, this was never DeCamp’s doing nor was it the doing of the old naturalist. I should have known it the moment I pulled open one of the drawers. He was too meticulous to leave behind an undocumented collection. The dragon eggs weren’t a collection anyway. They were a hoard of captured treasure. And the cases were too old. Most likely she’d filled half the room by the time the old fellow passed on and his collection was sent to the basement.

And when they’d brought it here, they probably couldn’t get that door open either. Or they didn’t even try. The eggs were the smallest of his collections, so naturally they went into the smallest room. Once they’d filled the front half, nopony cared about the locked door and what was behind it. Their job was to get rid of things, not find them.

Finding was my job, and I’d found what I never wanted. I’d found what the room held and who put it there. I’d seen the culprit, and she needed no accomplices.

No accomplices, but she’d had help. The royal guard, the scientists, even poor old Edwina, all of them were in oblivious collusion with her. Of course the dragons were dying out. She made sure each generation got smaller and smaller by kidnapping their unborn and concealing them here.

Such duplicity, proclaiming her desire to help the poor dragons with her observation program. She’d perverted her scientists and the military into a spy network to hunt down the stragglers. I felt sick realizing how she’d manipulated decent, honorably ponies like Edwina, reducing them to dupes in her sinister plan.

Her plan for—what? Why bother keeping the eggs if she just wanted to exterminate the dragons? I would have though she’d destroyed them. Were they too tough to smash or resistant to her magic?

I remembered Edwina said the Princess could use magic to hatch them. She must have wanted to hatch the eggs, otherwise she wouldn't have kept them. But why?

I've brought you another companion, my children.

Children? An egomaniacal fantasy to be the surrogate mother to an entire species? For heaven’s sake, she's already a damn princess. What more could she want?

All right. One day she’d make sure the dragons would be no more, extinct except for the eggs. Where was the explanation for why would she wanted the dragons to meet their end. Maybe she perceived them as a threat to the empire. But dragons hadn't been in conflict with us for well over a thousand years. Nothing made sense, but maybe she didn't need a why. I might never figure out the why, but I need to know what she’d do once they were gone.

So, no more dragons for some unfathomable reason. Then she decides to hatch the eggs, and overnight she's the mother to thousands of squalling little dragons. Okay, then what? What would she do with them? For that matter, how would she feed them? It would be like trying to feed a jewel-hungry army.

An army? It would take fifty years before they'd be grown, but then she'd posses an army of the most powerful and ferocious beasts in the world, all of them loyal to their one and only mother. She could conquer the world—if she’d wanted to.

No, I couldn’t imagine ponies going along with world conquest. Not in the long run at least. Let’s say a border scuffle broke out against the griffons or the minotaurs. She’d have plenty of support to let her dragons fight in the place of ponies. But if she didn’t stop, if she kept expanding the conflict, there'd be protests, peace demonstration, and then…

The idea was too repugnant. She’d never use dragons against her own—would she? I shook with revulsion.

But it didn’t matter what she planned on doing, for she’d already committed her crimes. She’d robbed parents of their children, she’d held unborn lives captive, and she was denying a species its rightful future. Nopony, regardless of who they are, has the right to do those things.

Her crimes were horrific enough, no matter what she planned. Ponies had to know what she’s done. Somepony had to stop her while the dragons were left alive.

Dawn is coming for you soon.

She planned on hatching them all right, but how soon? Her concept of time was different from ours, so soon might mean a few months, a year, or as long as a decade. There were still eggs to add to her collection, so a few dragons must remain alive.

Without warning, a curious calm descended over me, sweeping away all my fear, all my doubt. In my mind, my future stretched out before me, my duty clearly illuminated as if it was midday.

Yes. There was time remaining. There was time to save the dragons.

There was time for me to stop her.

—❦—

Wry pushed open the door and the lights came up. “Dusty? You awake?”

“Yeah, I'm awake.” How the hell could I have slept. I blinked, adjusting to the brightness. “Help me out here.” Wry hustled down the aisle and helped me climb out of my corner, and I stumbled towards the drawer. I had to know—now.

“I take it DeCamp didn't show.”

I ignored him and pulled open the drawer. Even with half-blinded eyes, I could see it held nine eggs.

“Toss me my bags,” I commanded.

He got the bags from the corner and handed them over. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

I took the egg I'd shown to Birdsong and Edwina and put into my bag. I'd made it a promise, so it was coming with me. The new addition to the drawer took its place.

I grabbed Wry. His eyes widened.

“Hey, what gives? You gonna tell me what went on last night?”

“No,” I said plainly. “I'm never going to tell you.”

“You're nuts, Dusty!”

“Exactly! Tell everypony I'm nuts, completely out of my skull, bonkers.” He looked at me in horror and my heart sank. Wry and I had been in school together. We'd worked together for years and shared lots of laughs, keeping each other sane when the work threatened to drive us genuinely mad. I couldn't tell him the truth, but I owed him something.

“I'm going to go away, Wry. I won't be back.”

“What?”

“You've been a good friend, the best, and that's why I can't tell you. I won't tell you. But don't worry, you'll find out soon enough. I promise you that.”

“Hey.” His voice shook. “Let's take the day off, okay? We both need a break. We'll go to the park and just hang out—not do a damn thing.”

I couldn't contain my smile. How simplistic to think a day in the park could fix anything anymore.

“Wry, I need to ask you another favor.”

“Sure, buddy. Anything.”

“Forget about this room and last night. Forget about anything you know about the eggs. When anypony asks, tell them I've been acting strange, deranged, but don't tell them the truth about anything.” My vision returned and I put on my saddle bags.

“I'm in too deep, Wry. There are things I've got to do, something I've got to fix. I'm going to disappear, and I'd recommend you do the same. Find a new job, in a new city if you can, but don't stay here. I couldn't sleep if I knew you were still here. Promise me that, okay?”

His face was a blank. “O-o-okay.” The pitch of his voice rose.

“Thanks.” I put a hoof on his shoulder. “Good luck, friend.” I turned to leave, but looked back one last time.

“Oh, and one more thing. When you see Rapid Fire, tell him he can shove this job.”

Wry pushed back his hat and beamed. “With pleasure.”

—❦—

My first stop after getting away from the castle was the bank, where I withdrew my pitiful savings.

“Is everything all right?” the teller asked. “Has there been a problem with our service?”

“Oh, no. Everything's fine. I'm off on a long journey after I talk to this mare I know.” I winked at her. She blushed and giggled.

From there, I headed to my apartment as fast my hooves could carry me. After I packed all I could easily carry, I put the egg in the box I'd used when we went to see the Professor. Next I got out my writing supplies.

My first note was to the landlord. I apologized for leaving on short notice, but there was a family emergency: a sick aunt down in Las Pegasus. Honestly, I don't know a soul there and I certainly wasn't headed that way, not yet. I added that I couldn't cover the rent, but he could see Mr. Rapid Fire for any wages I had coming and sell my junk for whatever it was worth.

Next came the letter to Birdsong. Dammit! I regretted getting her involved, but none of us had chosen this. Not me, not Wry, not even Rapid Fire or DeCamp. We'd all been caught in a train wreck by her madness, leaving us with few choices.

I knew Wry could take care of himself. He'd disappear, move somewhere else, and get a decent job, probably a better one. I found it hard to give a damn about DeCamp and even Rapid Fire even if they were innocent. All I can hope is that they don't send another couple of bums down to that basement and screw up their lives too.

And there was Birdsong. She had a real career, something she'd worked hard at, and I'd dragged her into this mess because of her knowledge. It wasn't fair. She deserved answers, and I hoped my letter to her would provide them. But she couldn't have those answers now.

The egg couldn't accompany me to my next stop, so it went into the closet with a blanked thrown over it. I knew it was a pathetic attempt to hide it, but if they were after me already, it wouldn't make any difference. If anypony was after me, time was important, and I couldn't waste a second.

I locked the front door and headed for the museum.

—❦—

I waited in line behind an older couple and fidgeted. April handed them a brochure and pointed towards the exhibit hall, and they ambled off. I stepped up to the counter and April's face lit up.

“Mr. Stone. What a surprise to see you so early in the day.”

“Yeah, early. Would you happen to know if—”

“She's in her office. Go ahead. You know the way.”

“Thanks, April.” She beamed a genuine smile, exactly what I'd hoped for when I spotted her last week. I'd finally passed the April test, but now it was too late.

I walked down the hallway and knocked on Birdsong's door. She was surprised to see me too. I sat down and placed the letter on her desk.

“What's this?” She reached over to open it.

I pinned her hoof to the desk. “No, don't. At least, not yet.”

“Is this some kind of joke, Dusty?”

“I wish it was a joke, but it's not.” I let her hoof go and she yanked it back, leaving the letter sitting between us. “That letter is my explanation for what's happened, for what's going to happen. And an apology for everything. But you can't read it yet.”

“What's happened, Dusty? What do you mean?”

“The letter will tell you. But you must promise me won't read it now.”

Birdsong drew a breath and released it. “I promise not to read your letter.” She tapped her hoof on the edge of the desk slowly and repeatedly. “But when can I read it?”

“You'll know.” I hated being cryptic, but the less she new, the better off she was. “I probably won't ever see you again, and that's why I put everything in that letter.”

“This is insane.” She crossed her forelegs. “What's with all the drama?”

I didn't reply, but instead tried to look as unemotional as possible.

“This has something to do with the dragon egg, doesn't it?”

“I need you to forget about the egg. Don't tell anypony about it or about the visit with the Professor.”

“But Dusty—”

“And the next time you see Edwina, convince her the whole egg thing was a dream. It was some wish fulfilling dream from her past, nothing more. You have to do that for yourself and her.”

“Dusty, that's heartless. Knowing an egg exists was a gift to her. Lying would be cruel.”

“Far less cruel than what could happen if you don't, Birdsong.” I looked into her eyes without blinking, trying to convey the gravity of the situation.

Dammit. Of anypony, I wanted to explain it to her, but it put her in too much danger. She couldn't run off and start a new life like myself or Wry. She'd have to stay, and that put her at risk once my work started. I stared in silence for the longest time until she looked away. When she looked back, she was twisting the hair in her mane.

Her voice wavered. “It's bad isn't it?”

“For me, yes. Let's leave it at that.” I smiled. “You and the Professor will be all right. I'm sure of it.”

Birdsong returned a brittle smile that made my insides feel rotten. She opened the desk drawer and swept the letter into it. There was a certain finality to the sound of the drawer closing.

I cleared my throat. “Before I go, I need to ask you one more thing.”

“I don't have any money,” she said.

I found it hard not to laugh. “No, not that. I need to know if you've had any acting experience.”

—❦—

I hugged Birdsong for the first time in my life and probably the last. Then she shoved me backwards through her office doorway and into the hall. My hooves slipped on the slick institutional flooring, and I skittered against the wall with a thunk. She's one strong mare.

“Get out you cad,” she bellowed. “I never want to see you again.”

“No, baby! Don't say that. You know you love me.”

“Get out! Get out!” She backed me down the hallway. Heads peeked out of offices to catch our performance. Now that we had a sizable audience, I ran for the entrance hall. Birdsong followed, spewing curses at me. Once both of us were in the hall, it was time to resume our drama.

“Birdie, baby! We're meant to be together. You know it in your heart.” I dropped to my knees like a jilted lover.

“I told you to get out and I mean it.” She twisted around, searching for something. Finally she grabbed a circular wastepaper basket sitting by April's desk and raised it over her head.

“You lothario!” She sent the basket hurtling towards me with perfect aim.

The basket landed between my eyes and bounced off with a plunk. I eyes filled with stars and I almost fell over. If I ever see her again, I really must compliment her on her strength.

When my eyes stopped watering, I saw a blubbering Birdsong hanging on April, the icy November winds of her eyes roaring at me. Perfect.

What concerned me next were the two guards closing in from my left. I scrambled to my hooves as fast as I could.

“Stay right there, bud,” the nearest guard said as he approached. “Don't give me no trouble.”

He was an older fellow, with plenty of extra weight on him, but the billy club at his side could inflict considerable damage to my skull if he chose to use it. The other guard was identically armed, but more of the gangly type. He was still a way off. As long as I kept some space between us, I knew neither would be a problem.

The mumbling museum visitors stopped to watch the unfolding spectacle. A small crowd gathered between the guards and the door, giving me the opportunity to end the play and make my grand exit. I turned to the nearest guard and made my lips tremble.

“She doesn't love me!” I blubbered and raced for the door without looking back, certain that neither guard would attempt to stop me. Once I hit the street, I kept a brisk pace all the way back to my apartment.

There wasn't much left to do. I propped up the letter to the landlord on an unwashed tea cup sitting on the table. I got my bags and retrieved the egg from the closet.

On my way to the door, I froze. That was it then—the end. I was leaving my life behind. If last week somepony would’ve told me then that I’d be standing there, prepared to walk away from everything I’d known, I’d have called them daft.

Behind me was my apartment with all the things I owned: my pictures, my books, even that shabby old couch. The contents of the dismal little place seemed insignificant, meaningless. I’d even castoff my job, the defining thing in my life, what made me valuable and unique. Now, it too was inconsequential.

For a brief moment, I thought it should’ve bothered me. But it didn't.

None of it held meaning any more. My job gave me existence but never significance. I’d duped myself into thinking it embodied who I was, but now I knew better. And the clutter I’d held so dear served only to distract me from living. It insulated me from the emptiness, my lack of purpose, trapping me inside of myself. For almost thirty years, I'd been drifting, letting circumstance effortlessly propel me down a path. I’d become derelict in living, in caring about others, and I’d been delivered to a dingy apartment filled with mediocrity.

No, I wasn't leaving a life behind, I was starting to live.

When I walked through that doorway, I’d be discarding a hollow shell of a life and replacing it with one that mattered. Precisely where that new life would take me was unknown, but uncertainty wouldn't stop me. I couldn't let anything stop me.

I strode out, locked the door, and tossed away the key, oblivious to where it landed. I headed down the deserted stairwell and out to the curb where I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to the station.

An hour later, I sat in a railway carriage on the one o'clock train to—it doesn’t matter, does it? Everypony would know my destination soon enough. They’ll trace Dusty Stone's travels across Equestria just by opening the newspaper. I'll be right there on the page, telling them the truth about their Princess.

Their Princess, because she was mine no longer.

Of course, nopony will know my name. That’s not what’s important. But every newspaper editor out there will know me. I'll be the one kicking down their doors and demanding they listen to my story. I’m sure they'll brand me a madman or a liar, but once they see the proof, once they see the egg, they'll change their minds. I know they will. They'll have to.

Once I’ve told them my story, my job will be done, and I can move on and tell it to somepony else. I’ll have given them the truth, and armed with that, they can ask her the questions that must be answered, they can demand justice for the crimes she’s committed.

But I'm no hero, no idealistic fool. I’m certain she and her guards will track me down just like they tracked down the dragons. The day will come when I'll make a mistake, when I’ll trust somepony I shouldn't, and it’ll be over. I might get a trial, but I doubt it. She’d find it inconvenient.

And when that happens, I hope somepony else will finish the job. Whoever they are, I wish them luck, because they’re going to need it.

The egg sat next to me bundled up in its box, the two of us alone in the compartment. Right before the train pulled out, a mare hardly younger than I came in with her daughter. The foal clambered up on the seat and looked out the window. I gave them a civil nod but said nothing, pretending I was disinterested.

The excited child bounced as we left the station, but as we moved into the monotonous countryside, she became restless. Her mother reached into her bags and pulled out a toy: a small stuffed, white alicorn.

The foal smiled. She made the toy buzz around her head and prance across her lap.

My hoof shook. I repressed the urge to scream the truth about the monster living in that castle. I wanted to slap the figure from those little hooves and grind it into the floor.

But I'm not capable of such cruelty.

It didn't matter anyway. The truth would be out soon enough, destroying the fantasy of her and her empire. There was no reason to hasten that for an innocent child.

The mare tilted her head and watched me through narrow, suspicious eyes while I stared at the happy child. Perhaps she thought me a maniac or a foalnapper and would call for the conductor. I couldn't risk that.

“Precious.” I smiled at the mother. “She reminds me of my niece.” She appeared satisfied with my lie.

I turned towards the window with the blurred farmland racing by, but I didn't see a thing. I pulled the box containing the egg close to my side.

“Yes,” I murmured. “So precious.”

The Egg Thief

by OleGrayMane

Chapter 1 — It's Just Another Job

Chapter 2 — Journey Into The Past

Chapter 3 — From Darkness Into Light

Epilogue — The Hour Before Dawn