A traveling zebra recalls the challenges he faced, the friends he made, and the lessons he learned during a stay in the Trottingham jail.
Over his career as an amateur magician, Zebediah the Zebra has traveled to a lot of places, seen a lot of sights, and interacted with a Rogues gallery of creatures. He's got a lot of crazy stories about his exploits, and he'll offer most of them without being asked.
His best story, however, is one he doesn't tell very often. To hear it, you have to catch him in the late evening hours, when he's sitting off by himself and sipping on a mug of cold apple cider. It involves his very first trip to Equestria, when he ran afoul of an overzealous bureaucrat and spent a harrowing three days in the Trottingham jail.
Have you ever visited Trottingham in the summertime? It's a perfectly nice city in any other season, but the summer is when it really shines, with its magnificent fountains, its colorful flower gardens, and its plethora of local cuisine options. I know Manehattan and Canterlot are the culture centers of Equestria, but you can't beat a summer day in Trottingham when the weather is nice. It will always have a special place in my heart, which might sound odd considering I landed in jail the first time I was there.
It happened during my very first trip through Equestria. I had already plied my trade across the Zebra Nation for several years, but after hearing tales of Equestria's wealth and prosperity, I decided to chase my fortune across the sea. My family was dead set against the idea, especially my mother. She kept saying that my trip would end up like my uncle's journey to Equestria years before, from which he returned broke and world-weary after a long stint in a Manehattan jail. "Ponies do not respect our ways," she said. "You will not last but three or four days." My visions of gold won out in the end, however, and I made the journey without a second thought.
During my first few months in Equestria, I experienced both the highs and lows of being a stranger in a wealthy land. On one hoof, while most ponies were not outwardly uncomfortable with my presence, I generated my fair share of suspicious looks and nervous glances. I also seemed to wait an awfully long time for any sort of service, especially when I dined out. On the other hoof, while the streets weren't exactly paved with gold, they had a lot fewer potholes than the roads at home, and I managed to surpass my previous year's earnings in a mere two months. I decided that while respect might be out of reach, if the gravy train kept rolling, I could live with mere tolerance.
One night, while working on the midway of the Canterlot clover festival, I overheard the ponies running the cart next to mine say that they were heading to Trottingham next to work the city's annual flower fair. I had been traveling haphazardly across Equestria up to that point, so I decided to go to the Trottingham festival myself. Everything had been going well so far; why would this be any different?
My first afternoon in town started the same as they always did: I rolled my cart into the park, set up my booth before the four o'clock start, and went into my usual routine: a few flashy pyrotechnics to draw a crowd, a few classic tricks—disappearing objects, endless hoofkerchiefs, and the like—to entertain the audience, and a few special gifts for the youngest members of the audience. I recall being particularly proud of the balloon unicorn I gave one little filly—I'd spent four days practicing the proper way to tie off the horn, and it came out perfectly.
Life was good for the first few hours: the youths were amazed, the aged were amused, and my donation cup was overflowing with the generosity of my audience. Then, without warning, disaster struck: After finishing my act with a flowery flourish, I turned to find myself nose-to-nose to a smug-looking unicorn wearing a red-and-white-striped shirt and a serious expression. "May I see your performer license, please?" he asked.
"Performer license?" I knew I was in trouble the moment he asked the question. "I, uh, I don't have one."
"You don't have a license?" For a moment, I swore a saw the hint of a smile flash across the pony's face. "Oh dear, this is a problem. I'm afraid you're in violation of city ordinance #461 regarding street performers."
I sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know. I've never needed a license before."
The unicorn sneered at me. "Well," he huffed, "here in Trottingham, all street performers are subject to a rigorous evaluation procedure to ensure they are of suitable character. We don't want just anypony—or any zebra—interacting with our children, do we?" He pulled out a quill and a pad of paper, scribbled down a few details, then tore off the top sheet of the pad and gave it to me. "You have ten minutes to vacate the premises, and twenty-four hours to pay the fine."
"Fine, I'll—" I stopped as I read the paper the unicorn had given me. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw the number written at the bottom. "One hundred and fifty bits?!" I exclaimed. "Are you kidding? This is outrageous!"
"Well, had you paid attention to our rules and regulations," the unicorn replied as he gave me another smug smirk, "you would have only paid a thirty bit fee."
"Why didn't someone say something when I got here?" I demanded, my temper rising with every syllable. "Why did you wait until after the festival started to check licenses?"
"Well, we assume that festival participants are smart enough to know and follow the rules," the unicorn replied. "We aren't paid to be your mother around here."
I sighed, and turned back to my cart. "Forget it. I'll go."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," the pony said. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"No, I'm not even from Equestria."
"I suspected as much." The unicorn looked past me and gestured with his hoof for someone to step forward.
Suddenly, I found myself flanked by two large police ponies wearing shiny badges. "What's all this about?" I asked.
"Seeing that you're not a resident of Equestria, much less Trottingham," the unicorn continued, "I believe you are far too much of a flight risk to just let you leave." He nodded to the police ponies. "Officers, take this lawbreaker away."
"Away? As in, to jail?" I broke out in a cold sweat at the realization. Images of dank, dark cells with cement floors and rusty bars flashed through my mind, along with the unhelpful soundtrack of my uncle describing his past prison stay. A bolt of fear shot through me as I heard him say, 'Zebras aren't welcome in pony prisons. When they go in, they don't always come out.' I panicked, started looking for a place to run, and—
The next thing I knew, I found myself lying on my back with an ice pack on my head and fresh ink stains on all four hooves. Looking around, I discovered that I was alone inside a small jail cell, which was unfurnished save for the bench I was lying on. The room itself was surprisingly clean, with shiny cell bars and whitewashed walls, but that didn't make me any happier to be there.
My stirring caught the attention of an orange-coated earth pony sitting at a desk on the opposite side of the room. "Oh good, you're awake," she said in a thick Manehattan accent. "The boys didn't want to toss you in the holding cell until you were conscious."
"Why was I unconscious?" I demanded. "I wasn't threatening anyone. That was excessive force!"
The orange pony lifted her glasses and looked down her nose at me. "The Taser spell is universally approved as a restraining force by the Supreme Court of Equestria. You were trying to escape, so they zapped you. Nothing excessive about it." She turned and shouted towards a nearby doorway. "Yo, Bobby! The zebra's awake!"
Bobby, a big bruiser of a pegasus wearing a badge and a funny-looking helmet, showed up a few seconds later and dragged me over to a larger holding cell in another room. "In you go, pal," he said as he tossed me into the cell.
I picked myself up off the floor and looked around at all my new roommates. I don't remember exactly how many ponies were there, but I quickly realized that I was the only non-pony in the crowd.
The reaction to my appearance was mixed: Half the room was giving me the evil eye, and half the room had the same nervous, wide-eyed look that I did. Apparently the bad rap zebras had around here worked both ways: While everyone probably hated me, a good portion of them seemed to fear me too. Regardless of their reasons, the other ponies stayed along the back side of the cell, ceding the side closest to the cell door to me. I swallowed hard and backed myself into one of the corners, wondering how long I would be stuck in here, and how long I would last.
As I pondered my next move, a few more of my uncle's words of wisdom popped into my head: 'Prison ponies are like lions: They prey on the weak and helpless. The only to way to survive is to make them think you're the the meanest, toughest, most ornery creature around.' Given my precarious position, I decided it was worth a shot.
I gritted my teeth, put on my best scowl, and glared back at my cellmates. "Keep thy distance, all of you," I growled, "or I'll cook you up into a stew!" I didn't know a lick of real magic, of course, and I couldn't rhyme like a true zebra shaman, but they didn't have to know that. Thankfully, zebras don't have obvious magical tells like unicorns do.
A couple of ponies flinched at my words, but an earth pony stallion sitting in the opposite corner of the room stood up, shrugged off my warning, and started walking towards me. His light-brown coat was spotted with patches of dried mud, and his gold-colored mane and tail were long, unkempt, and badly matted. He wasn't the scariest-looking pony of the bunch—the dirtiest, maybe—but he still gave me cold chills as he approached. "Um, uh, foolish pony, can't you hear?" I stammered. "I shall beat you, er, most severe!"
The scruffy pony stopped about six hooves away from me and rolled his eyes. "Let me guess," he said, "no license at the flower fair, huh?"
"No!" I objected loudly. "I mean, um, do not be silly! I'm here for assault and battery!"
The scruffy pony stifled a laugh. "You lie about as well as you rhyme, Stripes," he chuckled. "Besides, everypony heard Bobby talking about you hours ago. Your tough act ain't gonna fly."
"You... You know?" My resolve crumbled, and I retreated further into the corner. "Please don't hurt me."
The scruffy pony just laughed. "You don't understand, Stripes," he said. "I want to help you."
"Help me?" Now I was confused. "What do you mean?"
"Well," the scruffy pony began, "an enterprising zebra yourself is bound to have a few bits tucked up your sleeve, right?"
"Well, I—"
"And these guys over here," the pony continued as he swept a hoof towards the others, "they don't look really happy that you're here, do they?"
"No, I—"
"So you should make them happy!" the pony concluded. "And I happen to know the perfect way to do it."
I was genuinely intrigued by this point. "And that would be?"
"Apple cider!" the scruffy pony declared, throwing a hoof around me. "Nopony can hate a pony—or zebra, in your case—who's willing to buy them a round."
I gave the scruffy pony a puzzled look. "You want me to buy these guys cider? Really?"
"I know what you're thinking!" the scruffy pony said. "You're thinking 'How are we supposed to get cider in here?'" He walked over to the cell door. "Observe."
The scruffy pony starting banging his hooves on the bars for all he was worth. "Hey, Bobby! Bobby!" he shouted. "Get your flank in here!"
Bobby emerged from the hallway after about ten seconds of clamor. "What do you want, Roady?"
Roady—what was that short for?—pointed at me. "Stripes here wants to ask you about something."
Bobby sighed as he looked over at me. "Roady wants you to buy him a drink, doesn't he?"
"Not just me," Roady insisted. "Everypony!"
"Everypony?" Bobby gave me a funny look. "How did he—you know what, I don't even care. You want cider, it'll be thirty-five bits."
"Thirty-five?" I exclaimed. "How can—"
"Because I make the rules, that's why." Bobby turned and walked away. "I'll get the bits out of your cart thing outside."
My cart! I had completely forgotten about it in the chaos of my incarceration. "Where is it?" I asked. "Can I see it? Is it okay?"
"Keep your stripes on, pal," Bobby replied. "It's down in the impound lot right now. You'll get it back when we process you."
"And that will happen..."
"Monday, when the judge comes back."
Monday? As in, I was going to be stuck here for the rest of the weekend? The revelation hit me like a sledgehammer. I dropped to my knees and smacked my head against the bars as a few tears escaped my eyes. I had been incarcerated and conscious for all of ten minutes, and I was already falling apart. How was I going to last the whole weekend?
"Cheer up, Stripes," I heard Roady say. "The first night's always the hardest. It gets easier."
I turned and looked up at Roady, a bit suspicious of his motives. "Did you convince me to buy cider for everyone in here just so you could get one?"
"Nope," Roady said with a straight face. "It's just a nice fringe benefit. Don't think of it as buying cider, though. Think of it as making a peace offering."
"Really?"
Roady nodded. "Half these guys have probably never even seen a real zebra before, let alone gotten to interact with one. A good first impression goes a long way."
Roady's logic made sense, but a question lingered into my mind: Why did he care about the first impression of a random zebra he'd just met? Was it all just a plot to get a decent drink, or was there something else at play? At the time, I was still reeling from the whole getting-stuck-in-jail thing, and was just happy to find someone who was concerned about me, regardless of their motives. Still, I couldn't help but wonder about my newfound friend.
Bobby soon returned with a large box of cider mugs balanced on his back. "Looks like drinks are on the house tonight, boys," he said as he set the tray down and slid it through a small opening at the bottom of the cell door.
"Hallelujah!" Roady reached down and grabbed one of the mugs, then turned to the other ponies in the cell. "Well, don't just stand there!" he said. "Dig in!"
A few ponies stepped forward tentatively, but none made the full trip across the cell. "Come on, you scaredy-ponies!" Roady chided the others. "What are you afraid of?"
A large unicorn stepped forward, spat on the floor, and started glaring at Roady. This guy certainly looked like the scariest pony in the cell, with his full beard, muscular legs, black toque, and matching pants. "You idiot," he snarled. "You can't trust a zebra as far as you can throw him. He's probably poisoned those drinks with his weird magic so he can have this cell to himself!"
A few of the ponies gasped at the thought, but Roady just laughed. "What a way to go!" he declared. He swung the mug up to his lips with a flourish and drained the entire thing in one swig. "Not bad," he offered as he wiped his mouth. "A bit stale, though. Tell Bobby to get some fresher stuff next time."
A few tense seconds passed as everyone stared at Roady. "H-H-How do you feel?" one pony asked.
"Like I'm king of the world!" Roady said, flexing a hoof for the crowd. "Now get over here and grab a mug before I drink this whole tray!"
One by one, the other ponies slowly made their way over to claim their refreshments. I got a few nervous glances at the start, but as they started drinking, they all seemed to loosen up, and even smile a little. Pretty soon, only the mean-looking pony was left on the far side of the cell. "Come on, Bruiser," Roady said, offering a mug to the scary pony. "There's a mug with your name on it."
Bruiser took the mug from Roady and scowled down at it. "Seeing that you wanted a drink so bad," he grumbled, "you can have mine!" He swung the mug back towards Roady, splattering cider all over Roady's face.
"Hey!" I shouted. "What'd you do that for?" I immediately regretted saying anything as everyone else turned and looked at me.
"Stay out of this, zebra!" Bruiser growled.
Roady wiped the cider from his eyes, but amazingly, he never lost his grip on his own mug. He gasped as he looked down at the cider dripping onto the floor. "Look what you've done!" he said. "How can you waste perfectly good cider like that?"
Bruiser grinned evilly at Roady. "What's the difference between spilling it and giving it to a waste of a zebra lover like you?"
Roady's expression flipped from shock to anger in an instant, and he suddenly lunged at Bruiser. Everyone else froze while the two ponies traded blows, as the fight was an obvious mismatch—Roady was smaller, lighter, slower, and generally weaker than Bruiser—and no one dared get in the way of Bruiser's punches.
Mercifully, the fracas drew Bobby and two other officers to the cell, and within seconds they were inside and restraining both fighters. "All right, you two," Bobby said, "it's solitary confinement for you if you're going to cause trouble!"
Roady, now sporting a black eye and bunch of new bruises, wasn't really in position to disagree, but it took all three officers to drag Bruiser out of the cell. As he struggled to break free, Bruiser looked over and spat in my direction, though he missed me by a good ten hooves. "You better watch yourself, zebra," he threatened. "I'm the boss around here, and I don't take kindly to tricky scum like you hanging around."
Bobby reached over and slapped Bruiser across the face. "I'm the boss around here," he said, "and don't you forget that!" He turned to the rest of us. "As for you all," he declared, "pub night is over. Lights out in five!"
As the other ponies grumbled about the order, I watched as Roady was hauled away by the officers. His eyes were open, but whether there was any activity behind them was anybody's guess, and it was all my fault. I tried to say I was sorry, but instead I just looked away, too ashamed to even face him.
Pretty soon, the lights went out, and the other ponies yawned and laid down on the floor. I walked over to the one small window that the cell had, and looked up at the moon and stars. I had never been a spiritual pony, but I folded my hooves and said a good long prayer to the zebra spirits that night. I was suddenly a marked zebra, and if I was going to get out of here alive, I was going to need all the help I could get.
I didn't sleep a wink that night. I was so tense that every snore, squeak, and gentle breeze sent my mind and heart racing. The fact that Bruiser wasn't around didn't help matters any—he claimed he had influence, and I could only imagine how far that influence stretched. Could he pay off a guard and 'accidentally' sneak out of solitary? Did he have any loyal henchponies that would do his dirty work for him? Could he access the food supply in the jail, and would he decide to poison me before I could poison him? Every possible scenario was in play, no matter how ludicrous it seemed.
It felt like it took a whole week for the sun to rise, but eventually a few beams of light came streaming through the cell window. The light was soon followed by the sound of rolling wheels emanating from the hallway leading to the jail cell. I crouched down against the back wall of the cell to avoid being seen, and waited to see who approached.
Eventually, an earth pony dragging a large, drawer-filled cart emerged from the hallway and came over to the cell. She was an older pony, with a few streaks of gray in her dark-red mane, and she wore an apron over her green coat. I quickly checked the mare's cutie mark, and was relieved to see that it was a bundle of beetroot as opposed to, say, a sword or a skull and crossbones. She didn't look anything like a policewoman, though, so I kept a wary eye on her as she worked.
The green mare brought her cart to a stop at the cell door and began reaching into the cart drawers, pulling out several large, steaming aluminum pans and setting them on the floor. Next, she pulled out a stack of plates and a large spoon, and began spooning out piles of greens onto the plates. After filling a few plates, she started scanning the cell, raising a hoof and pointing at each pony as if she was counting them. She stopped counting when our eyes met, however, and she made a face that suggested she hadn't expected to meet a zebra this morning.
I braced myself for the inevitable frown, but instead, the mare smiled and motioned for me to come up to the cell bars. I wasn't sure I wanted to go, but I also didn't think making the mare mad was a good idea either, so I swallowed hard and picked my way through a maze of sleeping ponies to reach her.
"Good morning, dearie!" the pony whispered cheerily as I approached. "I don't remember seeing you here last night. Did you just come in?"
I nodded. "Yes."
"Well then, you must be starving if you missed dinner," the mare said, keeping her voice low to avoid waking anyone. "My name is Beet Green, and I'm in charge of feeding everypony at this facility." As she spoke, she spooned out an extra-large portion of greens onto a plate, then slid it through the slot at the bottom of the door. "Have as much as you like. I've got plenty!"
The greens smelled and looked delicious, and my stomach growled with anticipation. Still, I wasn't sure I could trust Mrs. Green, and was hesitant to take her offering.
Mrs. Green seemed to sense my nervousness. "What we need is a taste-tester," she said. She started looking around behind me at the other ponies in the cell, but her smile faded as she searched. "I don't see Lonesome Road anywhere. What have they done with him?"
I'd never heard the name, but I had an idea of who she meant. "You mean Roady?"
"Well, yes, I've heard other ponies call him that."
I sighed. "He got stuck in solitary for fighting with Bruiser."
"What?!" Mrs. Green didn't bother whispering this. "Fighting? With that bully Bruiser?" The pony scrunched up her face. "I don't understand it. Lonesome knows better than that. What was he thinking?"
I hung my head. "It's my fault, I think. Bruiser called him a zebra lover."
Mrs. Green sighed. "Is that why you're not eating?" She stuck her hoof through the bar and placed it on my shoulder. "I know it looks bad from in there," she offered, "but not all ponies are as closed-minded as Bruiser. Give us a chance." She pulled her hoof back and winked. "Besides, isn't it better to be trusting and full than suspicious and hungry?"
Mrs. Green's compassion caught me by surprise, considering she didn't know anything about me. For all she knew, I could have been a bloodthirsty murderer who was ten times nastier than Bruiser! She had a point about the hunger thing, though, and as I looked at the tasty treat before me, I decided that poisoning would be less painful than any death Bruiser could think of, and took a small bite of greens.
It was definitely the right choice.
I'm telling you, I hadn't tasted food like that since I'd left home. Heck, I'd paid good money for restaurant meals that weren't as good! I scarfed down the entire plate in about sixty seconds, and asked for seconds with a smile.
"I told you!" Mrs. Green said as she doled out another plateful. "Tell you what: Bobby will be assigning morning work detail in a few hours. You should volunteer to work with me in the kitchen! It's a much nicer job than smashing up rocks outside, after all."
Now she thought I should work with her too? "But you don't know why I'm here," I blurted out without thinking. "How do you know I'm not dangerous?"
"I don't," Mrs. Green said with a shrug and a smile. "But like I said, isn't it better to be trusting?"
This pony's good, I thought to myself. "Thank you, Mrs. Green. I'll volunteer for the kitchen."
"Great!" Mrs. Green said. "Now, you may want to step back. Things could get a little crazy..."
She was right: Within ten minutes, the appetizing aroma of her greens had roused my cellmates, and they all rushed to the door to get their share of the food. "Now, now, don't shove!" Mrs. Green instructed. "There's plenty for everypony!"
At I watched Mrs. Green work the crowd of hungry ponies, I felt hopeful for the first time since being incarcerated. Bruiser was still out there, of course, and I didn't really know how the other ponies felt about me. Still, as I thought back to my mother's warnings, I started to wonder if she had been wrong about ponies after all.
After another hour or two, Bobby and a few other officers came into the cell to assign morning work detail. Kitchen duty was the first job they offered, and while a lot of hooves went up in the air, they all came back down the moment I raised mine. "Alright, pal, you're in," Bobby said to me. "Since Roady isn't in shape to do anything besides kitchen duty, that means we only need one more volunteer."
After about ten seconds of silence, Bobby scowled and pointed his hoof at someone. "Congratulations, Tiny," he said, "you're our volunteer!"
I couldn't tell who Bobby was pointing to at first, but as Tiny stepped out from the crowd, I discovered that he was a gargantuan, black-coated earth pony who stood a good head taller than Bobby himself. "You know where the kitchen is," Bobby told Tiny. "Take the zebra over there, and make it snappy!"
Tiny nodded and started walking out of the cell without so much as a word or even a look towards me. I followed him to the kitchen, where we found Mrs. Green chiding Roady for fighting the night before. "You can barely walk!" Mrs. Green exclaimed. "There must have been another way to deal with Bruiser's temper."
Roady shook his head. "Bruiser was looking for a fight. If he hadn't fought me, he would have fought somepony else." He gave Mrs. Green a smile. "I figured he should at least fight somepony his own size."
Mrs. Green shook her head, then noticed Tiny and I standing nearby. "There you are, dearies!" she said. "I hope you're both hungry. We're making wheatgrass pancakes, with apple muffins for dessert!"
Roady and I were assigned to batter-mixing duty for the pancakes. "Your eyes look worse than mine do, Stripes," Roady said. "Let me guess: Not much sleep last night?"
I nodded. "Right as always."
"I figured as much," Roady said. "Still, at least you didn't have to stare at Bruiser's ugly mug all night."
"Why'd you do it, Roady?" I asked. "I'm the one Bruiser has a problem with, not you."
"Bruiser's got a problem with everypony," Roady clarified. "Besides, I hate seeing bad things happen to good ponies—or good zebras, in your case."
Another pony who just decided I was trustworthy? I decided to press Roady for more information. "What makes you think I'm good?" I asked. "You haven't even asked me my name, let alone my story."
"I heard Bobby trip over your name yesterday," Roady explained. "Stripes is easier to pronounce. Also, you aren't the first creature to get caught in a certain pencil-pusher's trap. The first zebra, maybe, but not the first creature."
"What do you mean?"
"Every time there's a celebration around here," Roady continued, "Bureaucrat sticks one or two ponies in the slammer for not having a performer license, despite never telling them they need a license in the first place. They're never bad ponies, just unlucky."
"Bureaucrat? Does he wear a pinstriped shirt and have a holier-than-thou attitude?"
"That's him," Roady confirmed. "You'll see him again when you go before the judge."
We worked in silence for a minute before I realized I didn't know any more about Roady than he knew about me. "So," I asked, "did you fall in Bureaucrat's trap too?"
"No, no," Roady replied. "I made the mistake of taking shelter in somepony's cider shed during a rainstorm and deciding I was a little chilly." He laughed at the memory. "I never figured I could burn down a whole building in a downpour like that. I'm stuck here until the city figures I've worked off the debt."
"How long do you think it'll take?"
"For the shed? I worked that off ages ago," Roady said. "For the two new plows and four hundred gallons of grade-A cider inside? That'll take a while."
"What about Bruiser? What's his story?"
"He got transferred out here from Manehattan before I arrived," Roady explained. "He says he put four ponies and two police officers in traction during a bar fight, and rumor has it that some of the ponies that went into the hospital never came out."
"And you decided to fight him?!"
"Bruiser tries too hard to make you fear him. I figured he was more talk than action." Roady looked down at the reflection of his black eye in his mixing bowl. "Apparently I was wrong."
"Wow." It was all I could think to say. Roady decided to take on a dangerous pony for some zebra he barely knew just because he thought he was a good guy? My mother would have never believed it. "Thanks, Roady."
Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of smashing glass. I looked over to see Tiny cursing over the remains of a full lemonade pitcher on the floor.
"Don't worry about that, dearie," I heard Mrs. Green say. "I'll get a mop and clean this right up. You can use the sink next to Lonesome for a while, so you don't get any glass stuck in your hooves."
Tiny stomped over to our position, still grumbling about his accident. "No worries, Tiny," I said in an attempt to cheer him up. "We all make mistakes sometimes."
Tiny glared back at me. "My name ain't Tiny. It's Smash."
Looking down at the broken window on his flank, I decided I should have suspected as much. "Sorry. I just—"
Smash shot me another irritated look. "Don't bother," I heard Roady whisper in my ear. "Tiny's not much of a talker."
We continued working silently while Smash filled up a set of six pitchers. As soon as he left to get some lemonade mix, I whispered to Roady, "What's his deal?"
"I'm not sure," Roady admitted. "This is the fourth time he's done time here since I arrived. It's the same story every time: He smashes his way in, snatches some stuff, and gets caught red-hooved with the goods within a few hours." He rolled his eyes. "For a pony with his special talent... Let's just say that crime might be the thing he does best, but it's not something he does well."
"His special talent is crime?" The idea was both terrifying and fascinating at the same time. How exactly did you discover a talent like that? What could you do with it? Was a pony like Smash doomed to a life of deviance, or were ponies like that redeemable? As Smash returned to the sink to fill a few more pitchers, I looked down at the three stars on my own flank, and said a prayer of thanks to the zebra spirits for a talent that was generally constructive.
"How are my batter mixers doing?" Mrs. Green said as she came over to check our work. "Great! That looks like more than enough for the pancakes! Lonesome, why don't you take it easy for now, and let us finish things up?"
Roady smiled. "How can I refuse an offer like that?" He slapped me on the back, and starting limping to the door. "See you at lunch, Stripes."
I soon found myself mixing muffin batter with my terse partner Smash, and spent the rest of the morning working in silence.
Lunch was served as a buffet in a large room that looked like a school cafeteria, save for the unsmiling uniformed ponies standing at every door. Smash went off and sat by himself, but Roady and I grabbed seats near the buffet line to ensure Roady wouldn't have to go too far for seconds.
Amazingly, we spent most of the meal talking about life back home! Apparently Roady spent time in the Zebrazil province in his younger days, and he asked a lot of questions about landmarks and businesses and how things had changed over time. It turns out he even knew a few of my once-removed cousins! I guess our world is a lot smaller than I thought.
Halfway through my meal, as I was marveling at Roady's worldliness, a stray hoof smacked me in the back in the head and pushed me face-first into my pancakes. When I wiped the syrup from my eyes and looked back to give the offender a piece of my mind, I found my old friend Bruiser standing over me. "Gee," he said, "I knew zebras were stupid, but I never imagined they had such awful manners."
I stared angrily at Bruiser for a moment, unsure of how I should react. "Be the bigger zebra, Stripes," I heard Roady whisper. "Besides, now's not the right time."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Look at him." Roady pointed at Bruiser as he shuffled down the buffet line. "He's getting food, which probably means he doesn't know you were in the kitchen. You should enlighten him after a few bites."
The idea made a lot of sense: Not only could I show Bruiser once and for all that I wasn't out to get him (yet), but his reaction to realizing I had helped with lunch would be priceless. "I'm in," I told Roady.
I watched as Bruiser pushed his way to a seat at the head of one table, then waited until he had taken a few bites of pancake before standing up and approaching him. "Hey Bruiser, do you have a minute?"
Bruiser looked up at me from his pancakes. "What do you want, zebra?"
"First of all," I began, "in the interest of full disclosure, I thought I should tell you that I was on kitchen duty this morning, and helped mix up the batter for those pancakes."
"You what?!" Bruiser's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You... You were..." He looked down at his half-eaten pancake, and his face turned a sickening shade of green.
I tried really hard not to smile, but I'm not sure I succeeded. "That's right," I declared, "I had a prime opportunity to cause you harm, and I didn't do it! I'm not that kind of creature, Bruiser, and most zebras—"
Bruiser cut me off by puking all over his tray. "I'm... I'm..." was all he managed to say before fainting onto the floor.
I broke out in a cold sweat as I felt every eye in the room burning a hole through my coat. Thanks to Bruiser's overreaction, instead of showing him that I wasn't bad, I had instead showed everyone else that I was. "Now, just a minute," I stammered, "I know what you're thinking, and I know this looks bad, but—"
My plea was drowned out by the sound of stools toppling and trays crashing to the floor as the room descended into chaos. I had to dive under the table to avoid the herd of inmates stampeding towards the nurse's office. I waited there until the room cleared out, but as I started to emerge, I was surrounded by a magical aura and pulled over to where an irritated-looking Bobby stood with two unicorn officers. "Look," I said, "I can explain—"
"Maybe we ought to put you somewhere where you won't bother anypony," Bobby growled.
With that, I was hauled off to the solitary confinement cells, my uncle's dire warning ringing in my ears the entire way.
I've had some awful accommodations in my lifetime, but the solitary cell in the Trottingham jail was the absolute worst. It was nothing but a four-by-six cement box—no bars, no windows, and no plumbing save for a small drain in the middle of the floor. Heck, I was probably lucky to have a roof.
I spent my first few minutes of solitary bawling my eyes out, dreaming about my family, and swearing that if I ever got out of this zebra-forsaken land alive, I would take the first boat home and never leave again. Forget the money and the respect—I'd had enough of Equestrian hospitality for one lifetime.
Next, since I had nothing else better to do, I decided to catch up on the sleep I'd lost since arriving. I tossed and turned on the floor for what seemed like forever, but just as I was finally stating to fall asleep, I heard a loud knock at the cell door. "Hey, zebra!" I heard someone shout. "You got a visitor."
The door opened to reveal Mrs. Green. "How are you doing, dearie?" she asked.
"I feel like a rotten apple that's been thrown in the trash."
"Well, don't worry," Mrs. Green assured me. "We've explained the whole situation to Bobby. You'll be out of here in no time."
"I doubt it," I muttered. "I practically started a riot in the dining hall."
"Bobby isn't happy about what happened," Mrs. Green admitted, "but at least we've convinced him that you didn't do anything wrong. Since Lonesome admitted that it was his idea, I made him take a bite out of everypony's lunch to demonstrate that it was safe to eat." She giggled. "After all, I have a reputation to uphold in this place."
"Really? You did that?" I stood there in shock for a moment, amazed that someone still cared enough to take pity on a lowly zebra. I thought about hugging Mrs. Green, but decided the guard behind her would think I was attacking her or something, and settled on a smile and a simple "Thank you."
"Oh, don't mention it, dearie," Mrs. Green said. "Bobby should be down any minute to make things official." She winked at me. "Try to keep your nose clean, won't you?"
I smiled and nodded as the cell door closed, hopeful that my dreams of getting home might actually come true.
Bobby took his sweet time getting around to letting me out, and he certainly didn't do it with a smile. "I suggest you stay out of Bruiser's way from now on, pal," he stated pointedly. "I have enough trouble keeping order around here without fools like you provoking fools like him. Capisce?"
"Yes sir," I replied, knowing full well that staying out of Bruiser's way was impossible.
"Good," Bobby said. "Now get out to the yard, and try not to bother ponies for a change."
"The yard?"
Bobby shook his head and muttered something under his breath. "Follow me."
Bobby led me through the jail and outside to the prison yard, which was just a barren, dusty plain next to the main building. I expected the other inmates to be on afternoon work detail, but instead I arrived in the middle of their recreational time. A few ponies were playing chess using small rocks and boards scuffed out of the dirt, while others sat around a picnic table engaged in a low-stakes poker game, and still others stood in a circle kicking around a hoofball. If not for the high walls and mean-looking guards surrounding the place, you could have mistaken the place for some bizarre adult summer camp.
I found Roady lying on his back near the yard wall, his stomach much larger and rounder than before. "You should have known better than to overeat like that before exercising," I kidded him.
Roady slowly lifted his head off the ground and looked at me. "I didn't think I could get my fill of Mrs. Green's food," he admitted with a groan. "I was wrong."
I smiled. "Thank for doing that, Roady."
"Think nothing of it." Roady yawned and rolled over on his side. "I think I'm going to try and sleep off this stomachache."
I decided to leave Roady in peace, and looked around to see what I could do to pass the time. The good news was that I spotted an open dirt chess board that someone had abandoned, and there was an unoccupied pony sitting near the poker table that I could challenge. The bad news was that the unoccupied pony was my talkative friend Smash.
I debated taking my chances with the poker players, but I didn't have anything besides rocks to use for an ante, and trying to take money from the others wouldn't make them any happier about my presence. As nervous as engaging a pony like Smash made me, he seemed to be staring intently at the chess games, and besides, how much could he do to me with all these guards around? I decided to give Mrs. Green's advice about trusting a shot, and walked over to the boards.
"Hey, Smash," I said as I stepped up to the empty board, "would you like to play?"
"No."
"Come on, it'll be fun! It's more interesting than—"
"I don't like chess," Smash said. "It's too complicated, and I'm no good at it."
"Neither am I!" This wasn't a total fib—I had a lot of experience, but it usually involved getting crushed by my sister. "You could beat me with two hooves tied behind your back!"
"I don't want to play."
"Just one game?"
"I don't want to play."
"Well, we don't have to play chess," I offered. "We could play, I don't know, checkers or something."
Smash eyed me suspiciously. "You don't want to play checkers," he challenged me. "It's too simple and boring."
"No, sitting around doing nothing is simple and boring," I corrected Smash. "If you want to play, I am totally game."
Smash was silent for a few moments. "Okay," he accepted. "I'll play one game. If I win, you go away and stop bothering me."
"Deal," I agreed. "But if I win, we have to play until I lose."
We quickly arranged our rocks on the board and began to play. I was pretty confident in my checkers-playing ability, but within three minutes, Smash had me so thoroughly cornered that I briefly considered sneaking a few pieces back onto the board. (Against my sister, I would have. Against a large felon with a talent for breaking things, I didn't like my odds.) "I give, I give!" I said. "You're pretty good at this."
Smash simply turned and returned to his previous seat without saying a word. I sat quietly by the board for another minute or so, wondering if I should push my luck a little farther. "Want to play another game?" I finally asked.
To my surprise, Smash jumped back up and hurried back to the board. "You want me to whup your flank again?"
"If you think you can," I dared him.
Thus began the most epic run of checkers matches in the history of the Trottingham jail. Well, 'epic' might be too strong a term: Out of fifteen matches, I lost fourteen, and most of them weren't close. Despite that, I had fun, and I swear I caught Smash smiling once or twice after executing a long multi-jump combo. All in all, it was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.
Unfortunately, game number sixteen was interrupted by a loud "Hey, zebra!" that echoed across the yard. I looked up to see Bruiser walking over to the chess boards, scowling like he meant business.
"Um, hey there, Bruiser," I said as cheerily as I could. "I, uh, hope you're feeling better."
"We're starting a hoofball game," Bruiser said, "and we need another player to even out the teams." He pointed a hoof at me. "I think you should play."
"Me?" I cast a glance at the pegasus guard hovering above us, who was keeping a very close eye on the conversation. "Gosh, Bruiser," I offered, "you don't want me to play! I'm no good at hoofball, and I haven't played in years."
Bruiser took a few steps closer. "I think you should play," he repeated.
Before I could think of a reply, Smash stood up and faced Bruiser. "We're busy," Smash stated flatly.
"Oh, you are?" Bruiser walked over to the game and swept his hoof across the board, sending pieces flying and washing out the board squares. "Oops," he said in a mock-apologetic tone, "I guess you're game's over now, huh?"
Smash stared daggers at Bruiser for a good ten seconds, and for a moment I thought they would square off right then and there. At the time, I didn't know what would happen—Bruiser was big, mean, and nasty, but he still only came up to Smash's nose. The size difference didn't faze Bruiser, though, and he returned Smash's glare until Smash turned and stomped angrily back over to his previous seat.
"Now that that's settled," Bruiser said as he turned back to me, "I believe you're free to play."
I figured I wasn't in a position to argue, so I followed Bruiser over to where the other players stood waiting to choose teams. "I'm captain one," Bruiser declared, "and the zebra is captain two. I get first pick."
Since I had no idea who was good at hoofball and who wasn't, I picked players by looking at their cutie marks and making wild guesses about how useful their special talents would be in a game. Cutie marks don't take positional preferences into account, unfortunately, so I wound up with ten ponies who wanted to be forwards and none who wanted to play defense. I volunteered to start as the keeper, mainly because I didn't think anyone would pass me the ball anyway.
As I watched Bruiser from afar, I pondered the pony's motives for making me participate. He obviously wanted to use the game as an excuse to use me for a punching bag, but how would he pull it off? I had a feeling that by the end of the game, I'd be sorry I asked.
Bruiser started with the ball, and he immediately made a beeline for me, driving the ball right through our entire team in the process. Although my teammates' challenges looked a bit tentative, Bruiser still showed off some impressive dribbling skills, and was surprisingly fast to boot. He kept his cutie mark hidden under his sweatpants, but with those moves, I wouldn't have been surprised to see a hoofball on his flank.
Bruiser charged towards me at full speed, as if he intended to stuff me into the goal as well as the ball. I anticipated this move, and decided to use a little sleight of hoof to swipe the ball away while sidestepping Bruiser just before impact. Bruiser, however, left the ball behind just before he reached me, which made me flinch just long enough to give him a clear target.
Bruiser hit me like a runaway train, and sent me flying backwards into the goal. The net helped break my fall a little, but I still took a hoofball off the kisser after Bruiser re-collected the ball and kicked it at me. "Hey!" I shouted as Bruiser trotted away. "That was a foul! That goal doesn't count!"
"Only wimps and zebras call fouls!" Bruiser yelled back.
This pattern repeated itself two or three more times before I called timeout. "We've got to slow Bruiser down," I told my teammates as they gathered around. "Maybe someone else should be in goal—if I'm farther away from it when he runs me over, it'll give you all time to get in position behind me, or maybe even steal the ball."
My teammates exchanged looks, then looked at me with matching apologetic glances. "We don't dare to challenge him," one pony admitted. "He'll run over anypony to win."
"We were just glad he was going after you instead of us," another pony added.
Looking around the huddle, I sensed an opportunity to win over my fellow inmates by uniting them against our common enemy. "I think we can beat him," I proclaimed. "We just need to find a way to minimize the damage he can do."
"Yeah, right," a third pony said. "Bruiser never loses at hoofball."
"Hmm..." Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. "I've got it! I know how we can win!"
"Really? How?" a fourth pony asked.
"Bruiser invited me to play just to pound me, right?" I said. "So if I switch to forward, Bruiser will switch to defense to make sure he gets his licks in. If I can lure him out of position, and a bunch of you rush the goal, we should have enough of a numbers advantage to score! And, if you guys can keep the rest of Bruiser's team from scoring, we just might have enough firepower to win!"
My teammates were silent for a moment. "Well," one finally said, "that sounds simple enough, but who's going to be the keeper?" This argument took a few minutes to resolve, but at least everyone was on board was the plan.
Everything fell into place right from the start: Bruiser, seeing that I wouldn't be in the way of his scoring drives, dropped back and waited for me near his own goal. Getting the ball from his team was still a bit of a challenge, but when we did, my teammates passed it over to me and made their way to Bruiser's goal, just as we planned.
I took the ball quickly down the sideline. One of Bruiser's midfielders ran me down pretty fast, but Bruiser called him off and came out to mark me himself. I waited until he made his final rush towards me, then kicked the ball past him just before impact. The hit hurt, to be sure, but I figured it was inevitable, and I hoped that the scoring chance it generated would ease the pain.
We didn't score that time, but Bruiser's challenge left his team short on defense and we got a decent shot off, so we kept trying it. Eventually the ball started bouncing our way (metaphorically speaking), and we started scoring. Something else started happening too: I started hearing a few "Nice pass!" and "Great job!" compliments being thrown my way. Ponies even started helping me off the ground after goals! My plan, and my willingness to suffer Bruiser's wrath, helped me earn the respect of my teammates. It was cool to see, and almost made all the blunt force trauma worth it.
We eventually took the lead, and threatened to deal Bruiser his first hoofball loss since arriving in Trottingham. He quickly realized his streak was in jeopardy, and he moved back to forward to try to overcome the deficit. By then, however, my teammates seemed to sense that they had a real shot at winning, and they started getting more aggressive on defense, even against Bruiser. In the end, we hung on for a convincing victory, and celebrated by dog-piling in the middle of the field.
Bruiser coped with his defeat by screaming at his teammates and telling him how awful they were. Amazingly, they started yelling back, telling Bruiser that maybe passing more often and not going zebra hunting would have served the team better. This just made Bruiser even angrier, but before he could do anything, Bobby came out to declare that recreational time was over, and our team filed back into the jail as champions.
Roady had slept through our triumphant victory, but he got a good laugh out of it when I described it to him over dinner. "Nice job, Stripes," he said. "It's about time Bruiser ate a little humble pie."
"I just hope I've convinced the ponies around here that I'm an alright guy," I said as I exchanged a hoof-bump with a passing diner.
"I think that's a safe assumption." Roady banged his hoof on the table. "This calls for a celebration! Somepony get me another glass of cider!"
"Sure thing." I stood up from the table, walked over to the cider dispenser next to the serving line, and filled up the largest paper cup I could find. When I turned around, however, I found myself face-to-face with Bruiser. "Oh, uh, hi." I stammered, unsure of his current mood.
"Hey, zebra—I mean, Zebe... Zapa... Zippa... Oh, whatever your name is," Bruiser began. "I, uh, I just wanted to congratulate you on winning today, and, well, apologize for giving you such a hard time around here."
I couldn't believe my ears. "Really? Gosh... Thanks, Bruiser. That really means a lot."
"I'm really not that bad a guy, honest," Bruiser continued. "It's just, well, I've had a few bad experiences with zebras in the past, and just decided that they were all jerks."
"I'm sorry to hear about that," I said, "but I'm glad to hear you've changed your mind."
Bruiser nodded and smiled. "So... Are we cool?"
"Yeah. We're cool."
Bruiser and I exchanged a hoof-bump. "By the way," Bruiser said, "could you help me with something? Beet Green asked me to get some turnips from the kitchen storeroom, but I may need an extra set of hooves to carry them all."
"Sure thing," I agreed. "Just let me drop off this cider, and I'll be right with you."
I hurried back to my table and delivered Roady's cider, then followed Bruiser out of the dining room. I was feeling pretty proud of myself—I mean, winning over a cold-hearted pony like Bruiser? I thought I had accomplished something amazing.
I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, and found myself staring at the ceiling of an unfamiliar room. I tried to pick my head up to look around, but discovered that my neck was stuck in place. "Hello?" I asked, hoping there was someone around to answer. "Where am I? What's going on?"
No one answered, but I soon heard hoofsteps, and a mare with a short mane and a crazy-looking head mirror appeared over me. "Good, you're awake," she said. "How are you feeling?"
"My neck's kind of sore," I replied, "and I've got a major headache."
"That's all?" The mare stepped out of my vision for a second. "You should consider yourself lucky, Mr. Zebediah. You nearly died last night."
"What?!" The revelation caught me by surprise. "What do you mean, I nearly died? What happened?"
"You don't remember?" The mare re-appeared in my view and shined a bright light into my eyes. "Tell me, what's the last thing you do remember?"
"Well, I was at dinner, and I got Roady some cider, and Bruiser came up and apologized for being a jerk, and then... Oh yeah, Bruiser asked me to help him with something, and then..." I racked my brain a while longer, but came up empty. "That's it. Next thing I know, I'm in here."
"I see." The mare stepped away again. "I don't have all the details, but you took a serious blow to the head, and judging from the abrasions, somepony had their hooves on your neck."
"Really?" I thought about asking the mare who had done this, but deep down, I already knew. Mrs. Green never would have asked Bruiser to help her with anything. The apology, the reconciliation, the request—it was all part of Bruiser's plan for revenge. How could I have been so stupid? And yet, he seemed so sincere at dinner... "I don't understand," I finally said. "Bruiser said he was sorry."
"He's certainly sorry now," the mare remarked.
"What do you mean?"
The mare leaned over me holding a mirror in her mouth, which she angled to show me the bed next to mine. The bed was occupied by a large stallion that was roughly the size and shape of Bruiser, but he was so covered in casts and bandages that he was impossible to identify. "Is that... Bruiser?" I asked.
The mare nodded.
I laid there in shock for a moment as the mare disappeared again. "Did I do that?"
"Like I said, I don't have all the details," the mare replied. "The good news is that you're only bruised up and stiff—nothing's really broken. I would take it easy for a while with that bump on your head, but once we get you out of that brace, you should be fine to go before the judge."
"Wait, what? The judge?"
"That's right," the mare said. "Bobby said you had a court date this afternoon to answer to some sort of licensing charge."
I quickly went through the math in my head: I had been taken into custody on Saturday night, which meant today was Monday, which meant that I was going to face a judge, pay a fine, and leave! Suddenly my head and neck didn't hurt at all."Yahoo!" I shouted. "I'm finally getting out!"
"Assuming they don't stick you with another charge," the mare noted. "Still, I know Bobby's looking forward to getting rid of you."
"What time is it? How much time before the hearing?"
"It's only nine," the mare replied. "I'd like you to get a few more hours of rest before you leave, so try to relax, okay?"
"No problem!" I stretched out, yawned, and followed the doctor's orders. It was the easiest thing I'd done in three days.
Four hours, three aspirin, and one muscle relaxant later, I walked out of the nurse's office with a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. I was told I had to report to the processing office, but the only explicit rules they had were 'don't leave' and 'don't talk to the other inmates,' so I took a short detour to the kitchen to say goodbye to Mrs. Green.
My appearance seemed to startle Mrs. Green. "Oh my! All you all right, dearie?" she asked. "I heard that Bruiser tried to kill you last night."
"I don't remember anything," I admitted. "What did they say happened?"
"Lonesome said he heard that Bruiser lured you into the storeroom and started, well, attacking you," Mrs. Green said, "He also said you should have known better, by the way."
I shrugged. "He's right, although it looks like Bruiser got the worse end of the deal. Apparently I'm a better fighter than I realized."
"Lonesome said it wasn't you," Mrs. Green said, "but he didn't say exactly who it was. Bobby interrogated him and several others for hours last night, but nopony would talk. All Lonesome told me was that Bruiser ran into a tiny problem."
"Tiny, huh?" That explains all the casts and bandages, I thought.
"Why did you do it?" Mrs. Green asked. "Why did you go into that storeroom?"
I told Mrs. Green about the conversation Bruiser and I had leading up to the incident. "He apologized to me for everything," I said. "After the game last night, it felt like some of the other inmates had accepted me as an okay guy. For a minute there, I thought Bruiser had too." I sighed. "I guess it isn't always better to be trusting."
"Maybe not," Mrs. Green conceded, "but then again, a pony will never become trustworthy if nopony allows them to be. Bruiser may be a rotten apple, but at least you were kind enough to give him a chance to show otherwise. That counts for something."
"I suppose," I said. "They told me to stay away from the other guys, so I probably won't see Roady before I go. Could you tell him I said goodbye, and that I want to thank him for everything?"
"Of course, dearie." Mrs. Green smiled, then turned and fetched a paper bag from a nearby counter. "I thought you might need a snack for the road," she said.
"You read my mind," I said as I accepted the gift. "Thanks, Mrs. Green."
"Your welcome." Mrs. Green gave me a wink. "Now stay out of trouble, will you?"
We hugged, and I continued on my way to the processing room, where I met up with the orange earth pony who had made my first acquaintance at the jail. "You've got another thirty minutes," she said, directing me to a bench on the opposite side of the room.
Let me tell you, thirty minutes never passed so slowly in the history of Equestria. By the time Bobby came to get me, I had eaten the snack from Mrs. Green, read all three magazines the room had from cover to cover, and counted all of the room's ceiling tiles (there were two hundred). "Time to go, pal," Bobby said as he motioned for me to follow him into the court.
I followed Bobby past a few rows of empty gallery seating and down to one of the tables positioned in front of a judge's bench. My old nemesis Bureaucrat, still wearing his ugly striped shirt, was waiting at the other table. He looked down his nose at me as I walked by, but I didn't acknowledge him.
Bobby walked over and stood next to the bench. "All rise," he instructed. "This court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Amicus Curiae presiding."
A yellow earth pony in full judicial regalia emerged from the back of the courtroom and shot Bobby an annoyed glare as she stepped up to the bench. "Do you have to recite my full name every time?" she asked. "Can't you just call me Judge Amy?"
"The rules of the court specify—" Bobby started to say.
"Whatever." Amy waved off the rest of Bobby's reply, and sighed as she looked out at Bureaucrat. "Let me guess: You've brought me another poor sucker who didn't pay his performer license fee."
"That's correct, Your Honor," Bureaucrat said. "This zebra was caught plying his trade at our annual flower fair without proper documentation. When we confronted the zebra with this charge, he made an attempt to escape, and thus was deemed a flight risk and incarcerated."
"Now wait a minute," I interrupted. "You said—"
"That's enough," Amy said, banging her hoof on the bench.
"But he's got it backwards," I insisted. "He decided I was a flight risk the minute he—"
"I said that's enough!" Amy banged her hoof on the bench a few more times. "One more outburst, and I'll hold you in contempt!" She turned back to Bureaucrat. "How much?"
"The city of Trottingham has assessed the defendant with a fine of three hundred bits," Bureaucrat replied.
Three hundred?!?! They wanted to soak me for double the amount they quoted me before? I'd have to sell my cart to cover a bill like that! Still, I swallowed my pride, and decided that getting robbed was preferable to going back to jail.
Amy looked over at me. "And what do you have to say?"
I took a deep breath. "I admit that I was unaware of Trottingham's license law, and—"
"Well, that settles it!" Amy decided. "Mr. Zeba... Zebby..." She stopped and looked down at her notes. "Zeh-bye-dye-ah, this court finds you guilty of performing within the city limits without a license, and orders you to pay the sum of—"
"Objection!" A loud voice suddenly echoed through the courtroom. My ears perked up as I recognized the voice, and I turned to see Roady strutting down the center aisle. "I, Mr. L. Dusty Road, Esquire, declare the punishment of this zebra to be unfair, unjust, and unbecoming!"
"What are you doing here?" Bobby demanded. "You're supposed to be in the prison yard with the rest of the inmates!"
Roady wagged his hoof at Bobby. "Sorry, Bobby, but this time, I'm asking the questions!"
I have to admit, I was more than a little nervous as I watched Roady approach the bench. "What are you doing?" I whispered to him as he passed.
"Trust me, Stripes," he said as he winked and dropped a stack of papers on my table. "I've been waiting a long time for this. Besides, any dope who bought Bruiser's baloney needs all the help he can get."
Amy glared down at Roady from the bench. "Mr. Road," she said, "you are wasting the court's time with your interruption and your insinuations! You have five seconds to exit this courtroom before I—"
"Then I'll make this quick," Roady interrupted. "Bobby, a young mare named Cloverleaf was tossed in here for not having a license two weeks ago. How many bits was she fined?"
Bobby scratched his chin and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "I'm not sure. I think it was one hundred and something."
"One hundred and fifty, to be exact," Roady said. He grabbed one of the papers from my table with his mouth and brought it over to Bobby. "I call this 'Exhibit A.'"
Bobby's eyes popped open as he looked at the paper. "This is an official police record! Where did—"
"A magician never reveals his secrets," Roady said with a smile. He walked back over to my table, spread a few of his papers out, and began pointing at them. "Three weeks ago, neither Tumbler nor Brush Stroke had licenses, and they paid one hundred and fifty bits apiece. Last month, we had Palette, Jumbo, Falsetto, and Country Bumpkin, and they all paid one hundred and fifty bits. The month before that, you stuck Sparkler, Fizzy, and Trixie in here. and guess how much they were fined?"
"All that means nothing!" Bureaucrat said. "We've increased our fines recently, and there were extenuating circumstances in this particular case!"
"You can call them 'extenuating circumstances' if you like." Roady pointed his hoof at Bureaucrat. "I call this discrimination!"
"How dare you!" Bureaucrat hissed. "Your Honor, these vile allegations are completely baseless! I demand that this pony be removed from the courtroom!"
"I concur!" Amy banged her hoof on the bench once more. "Bobby, please evict this intruder!"
I started sinking below the table as Bobby walked over to Roady, absolutely sure that both of us were getting a permanent reservation at the Hoosegow Hotel. Roady, however, wasn't out of tricks just yet. "Throw me out if you want, " he warned the court, "but remember that an accusation like this is very serious. Serious enough to trigger an investigation."
"Hardly," Bureaucrat huffed, "As if anypony would listen a deviant like you."
"That's what the jokers running that kangaroo court out in Dodge Junction thought too," Roady replied. "I'm sure you're aware of where they're spending their time these days." He walked back to my table and pulled out another paper from the bottom of his pile. "Of course, it looks like you guys are used to investigations by now. You've had three in the last five years!"
For the first time since Roady started talking, Bureaucrat started to look nervous. "Where did you get those?" he demanded. "Those papers are—"
"Are public record!" Roady interrupted. "But it's not the where that's important, it's the what." Roady whistled in amazement as he started scanning through the report. "Look at this," he said. "Canterlot was so concerned about your behavior that they sent somepony named Twilight Sparkle here to audit you the last time. Gosh, that name sounds familiar..."
I could start to feel the momentum shifting in the courtroom. As I looked around, I noted that Bureaucrat, Amy, and even Bobby were starting to look concerned.
"Dear me," Roady continued, "just look at all the big words Miss Sparkle used in this report! Predatory, entrapment, arbitrary... Ooh, listen to this line: 'I find the behavior of Trottingham officials to be quite shameful, and recommend that they completely overhaul their system to ensure that their main focus is justice and not enrichment.'"
"N-Now see here," Bureaucrat stammered, "I'll have you know that we've discussed Princess Sparkle's recommendations at great length, and have taken numerous steps towards implementing them."
Roady didn't even look like he was listening. He stared intently at the paper for a few more seconds, than looked up at the judge. "Tell me, Your Honor, is Miss Sparkle the one who coined the term 'Lazy Amy,' or was it something she picked up in her investigation?"
"Hey!" Amy objected. "I'm not lazy! I work three days a week now!"
"When it's raining," Roady shot back. "Good luck getting justice in this town when it's sunny out." He tossed the report onto my table. "I don't know about you all," he said, "but if Miss Sparkle were to come back here and discover you're charging double fines to zebras on top of everything else..." He turned and started walking to the rear exit of the courtroom. "I'd better tell the guys to make some room for you in the holding cell. They're really looking forward to seeing you!"
"Wait!" Amy shouted, her face now covered in sweat. "A-As judge, I hereby declare that three hundred bits is an excessive fine, and reduce the amount to one hundred and fifty."
"Yes!" Bureaucrat agreed. "The city of Trottingham accepts this change."
Roady stopped at my table and turned to face the judge. "Oh, come on," he said as he pointed at me. "Look at what this poor soul has been through! Heck, somepony tried to kill him last night! Can you imagine what would happen if this story hit the papers? How do you think the headline 'ZEBRA JAILED, ABUSED OVER MISSING LICENSE' would play in Canterlot, or over in zebra country?" Roady shook his head. "Forget Miss Sparkle—you louts would have Princess Freaking Celestia breathing down your necks!"
Bureaucrat didn't look so high and mighty anymore—in fact, he was shaking like a leaf. "P-Perhaps the pony has a point," he said. "Maybe the pain and suffering our striped friend has endured is punishment enough."
"Agreed!" Amy slammed her hoof on the bench one final time. "Mr. Zeh-bye-dye-ah, you're free to go, and this court is in recess for thirty minutes while I, uh, use the facilities."
My jaw dropped, and I looked over at Roady in disbelief. Did he really just get me out of this mess without paying a fine at all? It took me a second to find my voice. "That was unbelievable!" I gushed. "Where did that come from?"
Roady shrugged. "When you're stuck in jail for a while, you start picking up tricks from defense lawyers."
I knew Roady's answer was a load of baloney, but before I could call him on it, Bobby started shoving him back towards the rear exit. "It's back to the cooler for you, Counselor," Bobby growled as he swept some of the police reports from my table up under his wing. "You've got some explaining to do."
"Wait!" Roady reached back and pushed over the remaining pile of papers, revealing an envelope at the very bottom of the pile. He looked over at me with a pleading look in his eyes that I'd never seen before. "Stripes," he said, "if you do nothing else for me, would you take that letter with you? I haven't seen my brother in years, and I don't know his exact address anymore, and, well, I think I'm going to be stuck here for a while. Do you think you could—"
"Are you kidding?" I smiled. "I'll deliver this thing as a singing telegram!" I had no idea how I would find Roady's brother, of course, but I would find him. I owed Roady at least that much.
"Thanks, Stripes." Roady said. "I knew you were a good guy."
As Bobby dragged Roady away, I looked down at Roady's note. My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I read the incomplete address on the envelope: Roady's brother was named Zachariah, and he lived in Neighport Hollow! That was only twenty-five miles east of my hometown! Did this mean...
I looked up, but Roady and Bobby had already left the courtroom. I raced after them, but two officers were already waiting for me outside the court to take me to the impound lot to collect my belongings.
I was surprised to find all of my stuff unmoved and unharmed when I got to the lot, save for the money I paid Bobby for cider. I was packed up, hooked up, and ready to go in two minutes, and stepped out of the lot gate a free zebra. I had no idea where I was going, but as long as it wasn't Trottingham, I didn't care.
As I made my way past the front of the jail, I spotted Bobby standing in front of the door, looking he was about to go on patrol. I thought about buying Roady one last cider for the road, but I as approached Bobby, an even crazier idea popped into my head. "Hey Bobby," I asked, "exactly how much does Roady owe on that stuff he burnt down?"
"One hundred and ninety-two bits," Bobby muttered wearily. "Not that I'm counting or anything."
I sighed. I didn't have the bits to get Roady out right away, but I figured I could at least shorten his stay. "Would you take one sixty-three?" I asked.
Bobby gave me a surprised look. "Are you kidding?"
"Nope. I'd like to donate to his cause."
Bobby shrugged. "I guess it's your money, and it'll get that rabble-rouser out of my hair a lot quicker."
I quickly dug into my cart and gave Bobby all the money I had. What the heck, I thought. It won't be the first time I've lived on roadside grass. "Do me a favor," I said. "Don't tell Roady about this. Tell him the shed guy had a change of heart or something." I didn't want the plan to get hung up over Roady being too proud to accept charity or anything like that.
"Whatever you want." Bobby bagged up the bits and headed for the jailhouse door. "Oh, and one more thing," he said over his shoulder. "I'm giving you twenty-four hours to get your sorry flank out of town. I suggest you move along before you get into any more trouble."
"Yes, sir!" I bid Bobby farewell, and headed for the city limits.
So what exactly did I learn from all this? Well, I learned that making blanket statements about creatures is a complete waste of time, because they're all wrong. Whether you're talking about ponies or zebras or griffons or any creatures, it's better to think of them as individuals, and decide for yourself whether they're worthy of your trust. If you're not sure, give them the benefit of the doubt—after all, like Mrs. Green said, it's better to be trusting. I certainly learned that lesson, and hopefully some of the ponies in that jail did too.
I also discovered that ponies can be full of surprises. I ended up staying in Equestria for another few months before going back home, and the first thing I did when I got back was make a special trip over to Neighport Hollow. Zachariah had moved away a few years earlier, but I was able to get a more accurate address and personally deliver Roady's note. Zach turned out to be a prominent lawyer in town, and he said that he and Roady were the product of a pony-zebra marriage, which explained why Roady took offense to Bruiser's "zebra lover" comment. I got to meet Roady's parents the next year on my way through town, and I've kept in touch with them ever since.
Unfortunately, I've found that there is a group of creatures like Bruiser who will never change their way of thinking about others, a group that still includes my mother. The only zebras that know I was incarcerated are Zach's family and my sister—when I talk to anyone else about my travels, I leave that part of the story out.
Believe it or not, I still take my act on the road to Equestria every summer, and I make a point to work the Trottingham flower festival—fully licensed, of course! I never see Bureaucrat anymore, but I always stop for lunch with Mrs. Green, and Bobby always mutters to himself when we pass on the street. I heard that Bruiser was eventually transferred to yet another facility, and the latest rumor is that he earned himself a nice, cozy spot in the pits of Tartarus. Smash, on the other hoof, made his fourth stint in the Trottingham jail his last, and he hasn't been seen or heard from since, making his motivations for coming to my rescue that night a complete mystery.
I haven't seen Roady since I got out of jail either, although I look for him on every road I travel and in every town I pass through. Well, I guess that's not exactly true: I saw a picture of him in the paper not that long ago, around the time Princess Twilight Sparkle got her new castle in Ponyville. I was back home at the time, but the local newspaper had a front-page picture of the princess addressing a throng of celebrating ponies outside her castle. Smack dab in the middle of the crowd, smiling and raising a mug of what had to be apple cider, was Mr. Lonesome Road himself.
I was surprised that a sketchy-looking pony that Roady would be allowed that close to Equestrian royalty. Then again, I suppose a Princess of Friendship knows more than anyone that it's better to be trusting.
