A Fateful Meeting
If deception cuts like a knife, ambiguity frightens like a rusty, oversized cleaver.
Deception is fooling the rest of the world into thinking that you are a princess and readying a coup right under the noses of two actual alicorn princesses.
Ambiguity is displacing an uncounted army by an untold distance in an unrecorded direction, turning the area into a living nightmare for anypony who gives the matter real thought.
Deception is putting the general populace of your nation at risk by saying that everything is under control when you still haven’t found a good way to detect your enemy.
Ambiguity is keeping an unknown number of captured combatants with untested skill for questioning at a number of undisclosed locations.
Deception was the simplicity of a brother’s betrayal, signing you up to handle a dangerous meeting instead of letting you take care of the visuals like normal.
Ambiguity… ambiguity was the ominous enigma behind a creased and worn suit.
I was sitting in a spacious lobby, wearing a ratty suit from which a properly cautious pony could draw any number of conclusions. Judging by the harsh glances that the receptionist threw my way, several of those conclusions had already been reached.
As is the case with most ambiguity, however, most conclusions you could draw were probably untrue. I wasn’t some country hick who thought that this suit was ‘good enough’ for Canterlot. I wasn’t so poor that I only owned one suit or that I couldn’t replace it. I wasn’t a thief or maniac from the gutter who wore a suit to sneak into nicer places. On the opposite end of the spectrum, however, the suit wasn’t ‘lucky’ and I doubted that it would put my audience off-guard.
The reason I wore a ratty suit was… well, there were a number of reasons. For one thing, I didn’t know I would need a suit at all. For another, my superior had placed me in the same subpar accommodations even after putting me in charge of everything… meaning that the Missus and I lacked any means to press and dry my only available suit. Finally, laundromats in the area refused to care for anything so ‘plebian’ as my suit while tailors refused to sell the clothing they had on display, insisting on slowly creating new (and absurdly expensive) outfits from scratch.
Yeah, I wish that was only a joke. Alas, the only joke was on my weathered shirt, tie, and jacket.
I sat on the floor of that cold lobby, alone save for the icy receptionist. The beet-red pegasus mare had been cold towards me since the moment I first walked into her domain five days earlier. I didn’t even know her name, seeing how she tipped her name plate over whenever I came into sight.
I couldn’t really blame her for it. As I said above, making assumptions based on my attire made her a properly cautious pony… unless she was just another insufferable Canterlot snob. Either way, the icy judgment of her stare had forced me from the comfort of the seats by her desk and towards the windowed wall on the opposite side of the room.
The view through said giant window wasn’t anything to write home about. It was a rainy evening and the warm light of the enchanted crystals floating overhead only reached a few feet out onto the dense cobblestone road. Two street lamps created modest islands of light on the road beyond but most of the world outside had faded into a dark shade of blue.
*scritch-scratch* *pitter-patter*
Sitting this close to the window, the sound of the falling rain fought against the angry scrabbling of the receptionist’s quill as the natural coolness of the outside world fought with the artificial heating of the structure. I felt warm and dry but the heat no longer felt stifling.
It was almost… peaceful.
*scritch-scratch* *pitter-patter*
I looked down over the papers I had spread on the ground. Though I arrived in Canterlot woefully unprepared for this mess, I could at least take solace in the fact that my handouts and graphs had been right on the mark. Even if it isn’t the biggest or flashiest talent, creating visuals for presentations had always been… you know… my thing.
Looking down between various charts and bullet-point lists, I tried my best to rehearse my talking points and arguments. I probably wouldn’t use any charts that day, seeing as I had worked through the last of them one day earlier, but it never hurt to review.
*scritch-scratch* *pitter-patter* *giggle*
Wait, what was that last sound?
Looking out the window, I could see a unicorn couple walking together through the rain. One of them levitated a dull green umbrella over their heads as they pressed together to keep themselves warm and dry. The other one levitated a couple of those fancy ‘truffle bouquet’ sandwiches from Hoofton as they walked and talked and apparently giggled.
Wait, you never heard of the truffle bouquet? While I’ve never had one (and probably never will), I’ve heard that those sandwiches are well-worth their hefty price tag. It seems that Hoofton places a row of truffles over a bed of rose petals, raw daisies, crushed sunflower seeds, and…
*scritch-scratch* *pitter-patter* *raugle-rumble*
My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I had skipped lunch and that the normal hour for dinner had just about arrived. Trying to ignore my body’s demand for nourishment, I looked past the unicorn couple to the darkened buildings on the other side of the street.
Despite the importance of the building I sat in, it was positioned on an average street with normal businesses that sold everyday goods. The front windows of a grocer across the way, however, were shattered. One more reminder that Canterlot had yet to fully recover, I supposed, unless somepony had used the chaos to loot a few fruits or vege-
A dark silhouette soared across the night sky, suspended on the wings of a bat. The night guard, like the rest of the royal guard, had really stepped up its patrols in the past couple of weeks.
*scritch-scratch* *pitter-patter*
To tell you the truth, I’m a bit of a coward. Even when I’m safe and sound, I find new things to worry about... new things for me to be scared of.
I was scared of war.
The papers had rightfully called the attack an “invasion” and everybody (pony or otherwise) was waiting to see how the Princesses would respond. While Equestria hadn’t warred for ages, the rumor mill was restless and war… made a certain amount of sense. One princess had been attacked, another princess had been replaced, and the royal guards were turned into the punchline of a joke. If there were no lasting repercussions, what message would that send to the griffons? The minotaurs? The dragons?
I was scared of death.
Just that morning, I had seen an article in a local tabloid. Somehow, somepony had guessed why I had come to Canterlot. While I could vaguely understand becoming newsworthy with suspicion and paranoia hanging in the air, the article used my name… and a picture of me... that caught me sitting in the very same lobby. If a straggler from the attack had somehow remained in Canterlot and saw that article… I can’t imagine things ending well for me.
I was scared of public speaking.
I know that it sounds a bit petty next to my other concerns but… I’m really not a speaker. While I’m a half-decent researcher, I’m no engineer or peacemaker or spy or politician and… the whole job had been getting to me. Getting up in front of those particular ponies to speak was more than enough to spook me on a good day. When I realized that it was already my last night in Canterlot… I was panicking.
“Mih. Ster. Poe. Ster.” Called the nasally voice of the receptionist, forcing out each syllable with vitriol, “You can join them now.”
Waking from my fearful thoughts, I quickly shoved my papers back into a folder and tucked it all into my saddlebags, careful not to scratch my far more valuable cargo. I take one last look over myself, seeing that suit is worn and damp but thankfully observing that my wife’s “wash-it-in the bathtub” strategy has at least prevented my ensemble from acquiring a stench.
“Now, if you please.”
Taking a deep breath, I trotted past the receptionist and onto the lift on the far side of the room. The lift was small, feeling more like a wooden coffin than any manner of transport. If the floor wasn’t furnished and the panels weren’t expensive burnished hardwoods, it would have looked like a simple wooden box.
“What floor?” called a fatigued voice from somewhere above the lift. The lift operator, like most in Equestria, was a pegasus who had trained to lift the box manually. Given the restricted dimensions and poor sanitation of the shafts they flew through, I imagined that the job was the pegasus equivalent to earth pony chimney sweeps.
“Top floor,” I responded, “I’m meeting with the Order.”
With a low grunt of acknowledgement, the lift starts raising upwards with surprising smoothness.
With the buildings of Canterlots squeezed together on a precipitous ledge, most structures weren’t built for height like they were in Manehattan. In Canterlot, this ten-story structure was second in height only to the royal palace. It took the lift a solid thirty seconds to raise from the lobby to its top floor, one final chance to mentally prepare myself.
“We’re here” came the cracked voice of the unseen lift operator.
Walking out of the lift, it felt as though I had entered an entirely new building… or world. Everything from the tall velvet seats to the curtains draped over the walls to the carpeting beneath my feat was a dark shade of red. Even the wooden walls and the large table taking up most of the room looked like polished redwood. Two doors to the right and on the far side of the room lead to a lounge for private discussions and to a storage area. The latter had a royal guard standing directly ahead of it. While the guard was a new addition, his presence scared me the least.
Eighteen seats were positioned around the large table, placing eight on either long end and one on each short end. While I had met the occupant of each and every chair, less than half were currently occupied. While I had watched the assembled ponies filter into the building nearly an hour ago, seeing them together like this gave me a quick wave of panic.
First, there was Prince Blueblood. Apparently a relative of Princess Celestia, Blueblood was a shrewd negotiator and seemed well-aware of my lowly status. Even so, I had heard on the rumor mill that he had doubled his personal guard in the past weeks. If that was true, I hoped that the promise of safety was winning over the prince.
“Take a seat, Poster,” stated the prince in his normal haughty tone, “so we can get this nonsense over with once and for all.”
“So rude…” responded a feminine voice from across the table. The visage of beauty that was Fleur de Lis… Supermodel Fleur de Lis… threw me a brief apologetic smile. “I promise that is not how we treat guests who ask for our help, much less those who offer their own assistance.”
I suppose that Fleur hadn’t seen the way Prince Blueblood acted towards me. I don’t think that they enjoyed each other’s presence. At the very least, this was the first time that I had seen the two of them in the same room. Even if I couldn’t quite read her at times, I was more than grateful for having such a caring pony on my side… or at least I thought she was on my side.
“Besides,” spoke up a cultured voice from beside her, “I recall him asking you on multiple occasions to call him Mark like the rest of us,”
To be fair, it was a shortened name. The full name was Marked Poster, though that name had been a world of trouble. I had actually gone by “Poster” for a while before realizing that far too many ponies read my name as “Posture” or “Paw-ster” (What the hay is a paw-ster?!?). The name “marked”, while harder to mess up, doesn’t roll off the tongue and kind of made me feel like I was being hunted. “Mar-ked”, on the other hand, made me sound like a foreign snob. Mark, though… Mark suited me.
I could only add a feeble nod to Fancy Pants’ words as the Prince rolled his eyes.
Fancy Pants, Fleur de Lis’… husband… was another character that I was happy to see around. He had attended every meeting and remained perfectly cordial towards me while expressing open interest in the project that I had proposed. Half of the time, I pretended that nopony else in the room was there and that I was just trying to convince that one pony. It did wonders for the butterflies in my stomach.
“I love you, my Sparkling Blue.” Remarked a stallion in a cast, sitting three seats down from Blueblood. That Stallion was “Sky-leaper”, the recently injured hoofball superstar from the Canterlot Cruisers. The lime green pegasus was a provisional member of the group, included less for his fame and influence than for the mare he was busy nuzzling.
“I’m mighty fond of you, myself, my little Leaping Heart,” responded the blue-maned mare known as Sapphire Shoes. The singer wore a smile of simple bliss as she nuzzled the athlete back.
Sapphire shores had sat in on a couple of meetings so far, always giving me the impression that she didn’t care about the project. She was good with business and had her hoof on pulse of Canterlot but it was pretty clear that the two of us had the same background in science: whatever school required us to learn and how to make pancakes on a rainy day. While I had technically met Sky-leaper, he had just stopped by in the middle of a meeting long enough to give his marefriend a hug and ask what she wanted for supper before heading back out.
“Cut it out, you two,” snapped a pitch-black unicorn mare with a greying mane, “We have standards to maintain around here.”
The mare in question had a keen pair of eyes, a near-constant scowl, and a padlock emblazoned on her flank. Her name was Warden and she was one of the few ponies that I ultimately had to persuade if this project had any chance of getting off of the ground.
“After all of that changeling nonsense,” a second mare dryly commented, “you’d think that couples would have the good sense to contain themselves.”
This comment came from Professor Gigathaum, a particularly… husky… yellow unicorn from Canterlot University who served the rest of the group as an expert in a wide array of scientific topics ranging from the technical to the biological to the purely theoretical. While her magic was less than impressive, the brain on her flank was there for a reason.
As for her comment… Gigathaum’s opinion was far from unique. After hearing of what had happened to the captain of the royal guard, open displays of emotion had been gaining mixed results from crowds. While there was no law against it, most couples seemed to quietly accept a moratorium on everything lovey-dovey until things were safe. A few couples, however…
Sapphire Shores, for her part, extricated herself from the nuzzling to address the Professor. “You and I clearly didn’t read about the same wedding, Honey, because the one I read about was saved by the power of truu-uuu-uue looooove.”
“True love?” Blueblood parroted, looking at the athlete with obvious disdain, “You think that what you have with this broken featherhead is true love? It’s bad enough that two of our number have married but your insistence on bringing along this lunkhead-“
“Enough!” crowed an ancient voice, coming from the far end of the table. Sitting at one end of the table was a fading grey earth pony with a flowing white beard. Looking at him, you might be forgiven for thinking that Starswirl had traded his horn for eternal life. His mark, however, was a mustachioed pocket watch resting under an opened parasol.
On anypony else, a mark that… comical… was bound to get a pony laughed out of a room. On the flanks of Auld Gentry, a pony with roots that reached into the bedrock of Canterlot and who might as well have been made out of gold… it was a mark that demanded respect.
While I said that I had met every member of the group, Gentry was a bit of a special case. Like Sky-leaper, he had only attended one meeting I was a part of. Unlike the athlete, however, I had never met a conscious Auld Gentry. He had slept through the entire first meeting.
“One last matter remains on the agenda,” Gentry started, looking down at a pile of papers on the desk ahead of him, “and I won’t have my night wasted any further by your ceaseless quarreling.”
Warden glared at Sapphire Shores. Sapphire Shores glared at Professor Gigawat. Prince Blueblood and Sky-leaper glared at each other. Fleur de Lis and Fancy Pants merely exchanged concerned glances. Nobody, however, spoke out against the ancient stallion. While he wasn’t the richest or most popular pony in the room, Auld Gentry had founded the group and claimed leadership ages ago.
“Now… Mark… please take your seat.”
I followed the instruction without question, lifting myself up into the velvet chair that so many supplicants, experts, and prospective members had occupied over the years. All the while, Auld was staring me down with withering antipathy, giving the receptionist a run for her money.
Up in the chair, I could see that everypony had a small stack of papers piled ahead of them. While many were pushed aside, likely papers related to previous topics, I was delighted to see that even Sky-leaper and Gentry had a few of the handouts I distributed. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t have to waste much time going over my proposal for the fifth time in a row.
A scroll from in front of the Professor rolled itself up and floated down into the saddlebags by her seat, quickly being replaced by a new one. After dipping a quill into a well of ruddy fluid, Gigathaum started writing even as she spoke to the assembled group.
“The Secretariat Order acknowledges item six-one-seven-eight-two placed before it: A final meeting on one possible resolution to the ongoing changeling dilemma, as placed before it by one Marked Poster.”
As Gigathaum wrote, the ink quickly vanished behind her quill. I guessed that the Order liked to keep their records away from prying eyes, though it didn’t make too much of a difference to me.
“Wait, Changelings?” Sky-leaper exclaimed, spreading his wings in alarm, “What’s all of this about changelings? Are they coming back? Are there more of them? Did somepony find more spies?”
“There’s no need to lose your head, good fellow” Fancy Pants responded with a calming smile, “Mark here believes that he holds the secret to neutralizing harmful changelings.”
“This errand-colt holds nothing,” Blueblood corrected, redirecting his condescension from Sky-leaper to its previous target. “He merely represents the interests of a ‘think tank’ who somehow didn’t ‘think’ we’d rather be speaking to their leaders.”
I was sorely tempted to punch that royal snob in the nose, a temptation I had struggled against for the past four evenings and that I hoped to suppress for one more night. Even if there was a chance that he’d support me, he didn’t know a thing about Holly or Holm and all of the good they did and…
“Why are we even discussing this, then?” Sky-leaper asked, looking around the room. “If we have a problem and this guy or his group or whatever can solve it… shouldn’t we be all over that? Is… is this a money thing? If it is, I think I can spare a bit of the stuff if it means keeping us safe.”
Even considering who had said it… that was something I was really happy to hear. If everypony just focused on the big picture instead of combing through every tiny detail in search of monsters, I could have gone home days ago.
“This isn’t a ‘money thing’” spoke Warden, massaging her head with one hoof, “We just need to be certain that the help being offered is genuine. You wouldn’t just trade your coin pouch for a set of ‘magic horseshoes’ that somepony ‘coincidentally’ offered you right before a big game, right?”
“Of course not!” Sky-leaper shouted. “That’s cheating!”
Sapphire Shores ran a single hoof down the athlete’s golden mane, “Calm down, Honey. They’re just saying that the timing seems a little suspicious. Offering just what we need right when we need it seems a bit too good to be true.”
“How is that fair?” shouted… Fleur de Lis?
All eyes turned to the model, though she showed no signs of embarrassment for her outburst, “Of course Mark’s group would come to us after Changelings became a problem. Would we have supported them earlier? I think not. By your logic, we shouldn’t trust any doctor who works on medicine before a disease can spread. Are we really trying to punish foresight? Is that what we really stand for?”
The room was reduced to silence. Eyes were rolled, eyebrows were raised, and at least one forehead was kneaded by hoof. While Sky-leaper’s presence should have clued me in, it had been Fleur’s starry-eyed… optimism… that really helped me appreciate what it meant to generate change by gathering popular and powerful ponies.
“It’s… fine?” I started. “Honestly, I’d be a bit worried if you just took my word.”
“Well, I’m glad that’s all settled,” Fancy Pants said, responding to his wife’s pout with a gentle smile, “Though I’m afraid that my better half has reminded me of a question I had from yesterday.”
Adjusting his monocle, Fancy pants sorted through some of the papers in front of him as he continued speaking, “You have told us a good deal about your organization, Mark. You have told us how the Oaks Twins funded this enterprise… have shared your goals and values… have explained your plan in more detail than most of the ponies we meet…”
“Perhaps I’m missing something here,” Sapphire Shores interrupted, casually examining her hooficure, “but isn’t that… everything?”
Shuffling the papers back together with magic, Fancy Pants looked me right in the eyes, “Not quite, my Dear. What you haven’t told us, Mark, is why this group exists in the first place.”
That… I admit that question had thrown me for a loop. All I could do was ask, “What?”
“I mean no offense to your group, Mark, but it sounds as though significant funds have been dedicated towards your goals years before this invasion. I guess that I could imagine your group as the pet project of a bored noble but out in Hollow Shades… it seems peculiar to work so hard against a potential danger. Why not fund any number of other worthy causes?”
Assistance came from an unexpected source as Prince Blueblood snorted in derision, “You overestimate this messenger, Fancy Pants. I doubt that he’s ever met his leaders, much less questioned their motives.”
I was in a bit of an awkward position, to put things a bit lightly. While the list of talking points I was given regarding my group was generous, it had been impressed upon me that the list was equally strict and comprehensive. Following my orders to the letter, I should have probably agreed with the Prince and moved on… creating new doubts for everypony and increasing the chance of failure.
Instead, I took my destiny into my own hooves and went a bit ‘off-script’.
“Actually… we were formed for a pretty good reason,” I took a deep breath, ignoring the stares from around me as I focused on Fancy Pants.
‘You’re just convincing Fancy Pants, Mark. Nopony else is watching you’
‘Keep your breathing even, try not to blink, and remember to stay on topic’
‘You can do this’
“While changelings haven’t caused most ponies harm in a long while… Hollow Shades sits not far from an active hive. It’s never been a widespread problem… no more so than the yetis of Foal Mountain or the timberwolves in the southern forests... so it hasn’t exactly been big news.”
The table was silent, save for the scratching of papers as Sky-leaper hastily skimmed through the handouts in front of him. Taking the silence as an invitation to continue, I obliged, “Most changelings aren’t actually that dangerous. Instead of replacing princesses, most of them just waltz into town disguised as anyone they saw leaving town or who they haven’t seen on the street for a while. Despite their sharp fangs, most of them are more likely to distract you or prank you than to really hurt you.”
“… Most of them,” I repeated, turning down to stare at the table. “Every now and then, a changeling tries to stay in town longer by capturing a pony or getting one lost in the forest or… you know… It isn’t too common but over the years, a fair number of ponies have lost family. The royal guards have done a great job of preventing disasters but… my group wants to stop this altogether.”
Looking back across the assembled ponies, I was honestly shocked to see that they had… responded. Gigathaum’s dictation had slowed as she looked down at the table. Warden’s scowl had deepened as she and Blueblood looked everywhere but directly at me. Sapphire Shores and her Colt-toy stared in shock while Fleur and her husband, despite their white coats, were somehow pale. Only Auld seemed unaffected, staring at me with the same intense dislike.
Did… did I say something wrong? After being invaded by an changeling entire army, I didn’t think that story would carry much weight. In fact, I was almost sure that it shouldn’t have. Was is something else, perhaps, like how the the attack had been happening for years or the fact that some ponies had been…
…No. It couldn’t be that... could it? If the fate of a couple dozen ponies could rattle a group that had seen an entire invasion… How bad was that invasion, really? I know that things were wrapped up in Canterlot quickly but… they had to have suffered more casualties than that, right? They surely had some casualties, at least… right?
“Is… is all of that true?” came the wavering voice of Fleur. It looked like she was… crying?
“It is,” answered Warden, looking down at her hooves, “I had some friends in the royal guard look into Hollow Shades a couple days back. It… isn’t pretty.” If Warden’s natural voice sounded a bit annoyed, this response was loaded with impotent rage. For once, however, I had the impression that her anger might have been a good thing for me.
Uh… Progress?
“Yes, yes. Very sad,” droned Gentry in his ancient voice, “but we’re not here to cry over sob stories. Somepony tell me how things have been progressing with… Mark’s… request.”
“Of the nine members not in attendance,” Blueblood clearly pronounced, holding up a far smaller scroll than the one Gigathaum worked on, “Three have elected to abstain from voting… two have adamantly refused this course of action… and four vote to cooperate with the group IF we can ascertain that the devices work.”
“How do we intend to do that?” Gentry asked.
“I believe that Mark handed over some blueprints to the Professor a couple of days earlier,” Fancy Pants commented.
It took Professor Gigathaum’s a moment or two to realize everypony was looking right at her. Blowing her messy red mane from her eyes, Gigathaum levitated another scroll out of her saddle bags and placed it next to the records she was writing.
“From what I can tell…” Gigathaum noted, looking over the blueprints, “This design seems to make quite a few assumptions about the way changelings use magic. Further, the devices practically have to be custom-made for each changeling to obtain lasting effects and younger changelings would need frequent replacements as they grow and mature.”
Right… I forgot to mention how Gigathaum fit into this whole discussion. Well, like Fancy Pants, the Professor appeared to be incredibly interested in the project. Unlike the kind-hearted philanthropist, however, she was the bad kind of interested… the type who knew far more about this sort of stuff and who knew how to pick out flaws that I couldn’t even begin to fight against. Worse still, I had learned that Gigathaum’s lab had been working on a similar device (albeit with little success).
“Considering that and the unorthodox enchantments upon it, it is my professional opinion that we would be better served by waiting for Canterlot University to perfect the monomorphic containment harness so we-“
“Does the device work?” Blueblood interrupted, his voice layered with impatience, “We all know that your ego and body are equally bloated, Professor, but I would rather rely on a dirty stick that helps me than wait any longer for your lab’s futuristic failure.”
“Hey, man!” Sky-leaper called out, “that was way harsh.”
“I can defend myself, Wing-jockey,” Gigathaum retorted, “and there’s not even a need for that if the Prince has clearly gone off of his rocker. We are likely days away from a breakthrough that will let us protect ourselves but you want to give up and grab the first protection you see. Should we stop making armor for our guards the moment some hick sends us safety helmets, too?”
“Gigathaum…” warned Warden, “…it’s clear that you have a conflict of interest in this matter. It may be best if you recuse yourself before you make a scene.”
“Recuse myself? Who else knows the first thing about the trinkets they put together. What, will you all start asking the pop star for serious advice? This isn’t some sort of fashion show, you know?”
“All right, you asked for it,” Sapphire Shores declared, grinding her teeth as she leapt through the air at the large unicorn… only to land on the table with a *thud* when Sky-leaper grabbed her tail in his teeth to hold her back.
“IT WORKS, ALL RIGHT?” I shouted, freezing the action as all eyes turned towards me.
’breathe in’
‘breathe out’
‘stay on target’
“I get why you’re frustrated, Professor, but try to put things in context. You may have the ‘best and brightest’ from Canterlot but you have been working with traditional enchantments for… what, a couple weeks? Meanwhile, Ferrous Rod and our other crafters have been creating new enchantments for years just to perform this one job. If there was an easier way, I think that we would’ve found it.”
I locked eyes with Gigathaum for a few moments as her anger slowly started boiling once more. While she wasn’t half-screaming her words, her voice carried far more force than was needed.
“You… you can’t just say that you’ve found the best or the easiest way and get away with it. That’s not how it works. You’re not qualified to make that statement. As a matter of fact, I bet that I know more about these things than you.”
Gigathaum’s seat was right at my end of the table, allowing her to lord her height (and mass) over me as she continued, “Tell me, Mark… are your devices magnetic? What spells might they respond to? How much force would be needed to dislodge one after installing it? If it fasts or overeats, could a changeling burn one out by changing their weight?”
That’s the type of stuff I can’t fight against, right there. I think that I’m a pretty smart cookie, smart enough to use words like ‘moratorium’ or ‘casualty’ in everyday speech, but I can’t win in a battle of science against an expert in the field.
“I… um… Er…”
“Pardon my intrusion, Professor,” spoke Fleur de Lis, “but I do not recall your answer to Prince Blueblood’s question. Does the device work?”
Gigathaum broke of her verbal onslaught, slowly looking from face to face and seeing the everypony assembled looked interested in her answer. With a sigh of defeat or exhaustion, the yellow unicorn sank back into her seat.
“If Ferrous Rod and his workers were right in their assumptions about changeling magic… a pretty big if from a town with no major universities… there’s a chance that the device could work as Mark has described them…”
I allowed myself to smile for a moment, basking in the warmth of the momentary victory as Sapphire Shorts sat back down in her seat and everypony slowly calme down.
“How would we know if these… assumptions… are accurate?” asked Gentry.
“I have that problem all taken care of,” Warden answered, glancing towards the lone royal guard standing at the far end of the room, “though it seems that will have to wait.”
Everypony turned their heads toward the lift as a number of stallions in crimson livery walked out towards the table with silver platters held in their mouths. Fine cups of tea, coffee, and what looked like cocoa with marshmallows for Sky-leaper were passed out. Immediately to my left, an entire apple pie was provided for Gigathaum. I, however, was granted nothing at all.
*rauhgle-rumble*
“So… Mark,” Sapphire Shores spoke between sips, “I’m sorry if you discussed this earlier but… well, I might have noticed the Professor talking about ‘installing’ your… invention.”
She was right that I had already discussed this. In fact, I had explained that matter on multiple occasions. The singer never really seemed invested in the project, however, so I wasn’t surprised that she had overlooked that detail.
“Yeah. Detecting the presence of changelings at close range is pretty easy but preventing changelings from changing into a new form requires… prolonged contact.”
“Wait…” said Sky-leaper rising from his drink with hot chocolate dripping from his muzzle, “are you planning on… hurting those changelings?”
“Of course not,” came my instant response, “Celestia doesn’t condone torture and neither does our group. You’d pick a hole in a changeling’s leg and adhere it to the interior of the gap. We actually received feedback from a doctor in Canterlot to ensure that the process was as comfortable as possible. Each of you should have a copy of his notes.”
“Wait… what notes?”
If that last question had come from Sapphire Shores or Sky-leaper or Gentry, I might have laughed it off. Coming from Gigathaum… attend-every-meeting-and-write-careful-notes-Gigathaum… I was a bit concerned. Looking around, I could see that quite ponies were searching their papers for the notes I had mentioned.
“Yeah, I handed out Dr. Ache’s notes three days ago. If they’ve been misplaced, I think that I have some spare copies.”
Before anypony could take that offer, Prince Blueblood spoke up, “When you say notes… are you perhaps referring to a thirty-page mass of gibberish and nonsense?”
…Oh, right. That.
I could only nod my head as the ponies easily found the… um… ‘verbose and esoteric’ writings of Dr. Ache. Most were looking at me as though I’d given them a small novel written in a foreign language… which was sadly accurate. I for one had no clue how the others decoded it but it was added to the list of necessary papers so…
“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Looking around for the source of the sudden laughter, I was shocked to see that it was none other than Fancy Pants. After the past few days, I hadn’t really considered him being capable of anything more rowdy than a cultured ‘guffaw’. If the expressions of ponies were any indication, they were equally surprised by the sudden bout of belly laughter.
“Mind letting us in on the joke, Fancy Pants?” spoke… somepony. It honestly could have been anypony in the room who asked that question. Actually, it might have been me.
“I do apologize,” Fancy Pants started, pressing down a few final juvenile giggles, “It’s just that Dr. Ache’s writing looked like total lunacy until I knew what to search for.”
“Wait… you can read it?” Again, that question could have come from anywhere.
“Dr. Ache was my primary physician for years before I hired one of my own.” Fancy Pants explained. “I paid his favorite pharmacist to teach me how to decode the doctor’s writing. These papers are filled with the Doctor’s distinctive style, though this seems far more straightforward than what I remember. Perhaps Finnegan’s gone soft with old age.”
The room was in shock. To be fair, it had been a pretty shocking proclamation.
1) Someone at the meeting could apparently read those papers.
2) The writing could have been more abstruse than it already was.
3) Somepony somewhere had actually named their child ‘Finnegan’.
“We will take a short recess,” Gentry declared, “While Fancy Pants decodes these papers and Gigathaum records their meaning. Be back in thirty minutes.”
With that announcement, most of the ponies assembled slowly trotted to the lounge. Gigathaum and Fancy Pants started the work on decoding the papers. Warden, apparently eager to hear the message as soon as possible, lingered behind with them.
I already knew that Dr. Ache supported our cause, however, and was not allowed into the lounge. Instead, I followed the servants onto the lift after they cleaned up the table, marveling at the wing-strength of the lift operator as we were brought back to the lobby.
Walking with the rest of the rest of the servants, I actually caught a quick glimpse of the receptionist’s name before she could notice me and tip it back over. While I didn’t see all of it, I was certain that I saw the letters “R-I-N-G”.
Ring-a-Ding? Diamond Ring? Dawnb-ring-er? Da-ring? Soa-ring? Pou-ring? Bo-ring?
Whatever she was called, I was left alone with the partially-named pegasus as the servants filtered out through the door and into the darkness and rain of the night.
The receptionist, as it happened, was actually working on something quite interesting. She had apparently grabbed a piece of storm cloud and was busy whittling it with a knife held in her mouth. The knife in question looked a bit sharp for its appointed task but, hay, what did I really know about cloud-whittling… other than that it was mesmerizing to watch?
After watching for a couple of minutes, the pegasus turned to me with a scowl on her face, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Oh… uh… I guess I could probably…”
“Sweet Celestia, you’re even worse than that wing-jockey.”
Glad for the first time that evening that it was my final night in Canterlot, I removed my bags and started rifling through them, aiming to at least look busy and ignoring my mild discomfort.
Compared with the room where I had just been, world seemed cold… and vacant… and blue. Compared the plush seat that I had just been sitting in, the marble floor near the lobby’s façade was cruel and unyielding. Despite those comparisons, however, I found that I had no desire at all to head back upstairs.
Oh, and for the record, the thought of everypony escaping the invasion unscathed no longer sounded that crazy to me. Considering the number of times that my rear had already been saved in the course of this single meeting, I was firmly convinced that Celestia had spent the past century converting all of her extra magic into pure dumb luck. My sympathies went out to the ponies of whichever town had been chosen to correct the cosmic imbalance of fortune.
Seriously, though, I was in well over my head and I knew it. I had known it from the very start but with negotiations coming to a close, it was glaringly obvious. Apart from that story I shouldn’t have told the Order in the first place… I hadn’t really added anything of note to the proceedings that evening. If Blueblood was satisfied with the security of Canterlot… If Fancy Pants had been even slightly less forthcoming…
I’ve heard somewhere that salesponies reach a point in every sale where they can do nothing more to sway the ponies around them. I guess that I never suspected that point would come so early or feel so… humbling.
Looking through my papers another three times, there was nothing new to be found. I had spared of every paper I’d been allowed to distribute and a couple prototypes of a hand-out that had been judged unsuitable for the audience. I thought that they looked pretty nice but I had to admit that Canterlot was pretty unusual. I wouldn’t want to offend the ponies I was trying to help, after all.
Oh… and there was one last object. I wasn’t sure what good it would do me this late in the game but I had to trust that Holly had sent it with me for a reason. Poking my face down into my bag, I noted with a small sigh of relief that none of the runes had been scratched. If ponies did ask to see it, I could only assume that Gigathaum would find any defects in a heartbeat.
After what seemed like hours of empty space, the receptionist finally spoke up, “The Order requests your presence.”
I gathered my belongings and walked back to the lift, noting that a small, glowing crystal was resting in the receptionist’s ear. I could only guess that it was how she received instructions from afar… at least until something occurred to me in the lift.
‘Sweet Celestia, you’re even worse than that wing-jockey’
Wing-jockey… I had only heard that term only once in the past. I thought Professor Gigathaum had created that insult on the fly but if she had… where had the receptionist heard it? For that matter, what did that crystal of hers actually transmit?
Wait… I had to keep myself grounded. There were plenty of ways that a pony could have known that particular phrase without implying that our conversation had an extra observer.
Maybe it was just what Gigathaum called Sky-leaper when she was mad… and they had an argument in the lobby…
…or maybe ‘wing-jockey’ was actually a common insult… for professional sports pegasi… that I’d never heard before…
… or maybe I was just overthinking things. Ever since I saw that stupid tabloid article, I had been nervous about other ponies knowing what I was doing and talking about. It was silly, really. I already knew that the unnamed guard had heard everything, that the lift operator might have listened in, and that the servants had heard pieces. Hell, every gossip-monger in Canterlot now had a chance of recognizing me. One more possible eavesdropper shouldn’t have worried me in the slightest.
Even so, the thought of that unnamed receptionist listening in somehow felt… worrying.
“There you are, Mark,” came the friendly voice of Fleur de Lis, “We were wondering if something had happened to you.”
Walking back into the red room, I saw that everypony was seated back at the table and I was amazed to see that Fancy Pants and that Gigathaum had parsed what looked like half of Dr. Ache’s notes. For the record, it had taken my group a full month to make sense of what had been written.
“You are lucky that Fancy Pants here was able to read this message,” Blueblood announced, looking me over as I sat at the end of the table, “and that what he’s decoded so far looks to be endless stream of praise and accolades for your group.”
“To be clear,” Gigathaum said, “we will decode the rest of this message in the future. If this paper ends in a twist and Dr. Ache calls your plan a failure, we pull the plug on this project. If you fail to meet any of the recommendations we discover Dr. Ache has put forth, we pull the plug on this project. If we vote to tentatively explore your option and any our doctors think that something is wrong, we pull the plug on this project.”
“With all of that said,” Fancy Pants chimed in, “we of the Order appreciate that you’re time in Canterlot is limited and that the nature of your aid is invaluable in this time of uncertainty. While each and every one of us is urged to weigh the risks and benefits of this measure carefully, the glowing approval of a respected physician is deemed sufficient… at least for the moment.”
“So…” said Sky-leaper, looking around, “Can we vote yet?”
“Not quite yet,” started warden, looking around the room with a confident smirk. “Mark… correct me if I’m wrong but I believe that you mentioned carrying a prototype…”
“WHAT?!?!”
Auld Gentry was livid, stomping his forehooves on the table with force as the ancient stallion looked over the group, “WHY DID NOPONY THINK TO INFORM ME THAT WE HAD AN UNTESTED MAGICAL DEVICE IN OUR SANCTUM!”
“It’s… it’s not really that scary or anything…” I whimpered, reaching into my bag, “You can take a look for yourself”
The device… if you really wanted to call it that… was an small iron rod one inch in diameter and three inches in length. Every surface of the rod had been carefully inscribed with arcane runes, many of which I knew to overlap and connect in ways that runes normally did not.
Fleur de Lis lifted up the rod with her magic, floating it in front of her and pouting, “So this is your invention. It looks so… plain”
“Of course the model would question its aesthetics,” Blueblood droned. “If it keeps those changelings in check, what difference does its appearance make?”
“Wait just a minute, Blueblood,” Sapphire Shores countered, “I happen to agree with Fleur. Those rods clearly need to be larger and more colorful… and I’m not just being fashion forward.”
Sapphire Shores leaned forward over the table, placing her forehooves together as everypony listened in, “Unless we plan to lock up every changeling we find forever, ponies are going to need a way to see if that changeling a few strides away is a safe citizen or a shape-shifting scoundrel. Against a dull black coat, nopony is going to see that small metal stick. A broad and bright orange one, meanwhile, would be visible from quite a distance.”
Fancy Pants frowned at that suggestion, “While I can see your concern… that idea troubles for me a number of reasons. Perhaps we could table that issue for later. Right now, I am wondering why Warden would bring up the prototype at all.”
“Does it, perhaps, have anything to do with the ROYAL GUARD THAT NOPONY ASKED TO INVITE?” shouted Gentry.
Warden winced under the force of Gentry’s voice, though she didn’t back down, “Yes… it does… but I acted with good reason. As Gigathaum indicated, these tools make a number of assumption regarding how changelings use magic. Seeing how little we know about changelings, I thought that was a pretty likely scenario. As we wouldn’t throw ourselves behind untested technology… the easiest way to test those assumptions… is through practical application.”
Warden nodded to the guard, who in turn entered the supply room. When he emerged, he was being followed by… Auld Gentry.
Everypony watched as the copy of the order’s leader was marched right next to Warden. The only visible difference between the two old stallions was that the one with the guard was tightly wrapped around the barrel in a lengths of dun fabric, making a harness much like a corset that attached to a thick cord. The guard held the other end of the cord in his mouth, preventing the new Gentry from running off.
“You brought a changeling,” Gentry commented, carrying none of his earlier rage. In spite of the rage burning in his eyes, his voice sounded perfectly calm.
It was a little bit terrifying.
The old pony took a deep breath, “Well, you might as well keep going. This will be your last night in the Order so it might as well be memorable.”
While the room had gone silent several times that evening and some ponies had even been shocked into silence… that last sentence had been enough to freeze the entire room. Seriously. I think that Warden might have stopped breathing for a few seconds.
“Well? Don’t let this old stallion keep you. I’ll just be thinking of the good old days, remembering all that the Order has done to help former members and pondering what strings might be un-pulled.”
Warden swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away from Gentry and towards me as the grabbed the tool in her own magical field, “So… Mark… you mentioned that these things can be used in detection… right?” She looked as though she had just been punched in the gut.
“Uh… yeah. If everything is working right, a changeling physically touched by the rod should be forced back into its default appearance.”
*FWOOOSHAM*
Green gouts of fire engulfed the copy of Gentry, failing to burn through the hardness but transforming it into the bug-like quadruped that it really was. A changeling.
“I heard enough from the other room,” spoke the changeling, harnessing two different vocal tracts to create an echoing voice, “You want to make something to hunt us down. Good luck proving it works without my cooperation.”
“Go ahead, stay like that,” Warden jabbed, “When we plant this object on you, you’ll be stuck in that form indefinitely. We’ll still be able to see if it works.”
The changeling paused, looking at Warding with its luminous blue eyes, “That would work… if I was total idiot. Do you really think I’d try transforming with that think attached to me? If you do, you’re a special kind of stupid.”
“Aren’t there ways to make changeling transform?” Blueblood asked, looking upon the insectile creature with scorn.
“Yes,” came Warden’s simple response, “but none that the Princess would ever condone.”
Warden fell silent for a short while, clearly out of ideas. Nopony else seemed willing to reach their necks out to help their ousted companion… if they even had something to add.
This whole plan was doomed from the start. No matter how many lucky breaks I could get, nopony was going to really believe that the device would work with their own two eyes. While the prototype had been crafted to exacting specifications, there was no way that a changeling…
…who was smiling. Why was the changeling smiling?
“Tell me, Jailor? How badly do you want to find changelings?”
….
“Did I miss something?” Sapphire Shores asked, “I recall you telling us that you wouldn’t betray other changelings. Everypony else heard that as well, right?”
“Oh, but I do hate traitors,” responded the changeling in earnest, “It’s just that there are many kinds of traitors. Some traitors will stab you in the back right when you least suspect it. Some traitors sell out all of their friends and family so a little pony could sleep well at night. Some traitors, however… they will watch enemies capture all of their brothers and sisters while they keep on smiling, never even raising a hoof to help them.”
“I smell a traitor right here in this room. If you really want to catch a changeling, all that you have to do is pass that metal stick around the room and see what happens.”
The members of the Order looked amongst themselves, trying to see if they could discern just what the changeling was up to. Eventually, it was Fleur who spoke up,
“I apologize but… if we found another changeling, wouldn’t that prove that the device works.”
“Hardly. The traitor will reveal itself long before that rod does squat. Even a coward won’t doom its entire kind… at least if there’s nothing to gain. So… what do you say? I’d get to take down a traitor while you’d get to round up a spy.”
“It’s a bluff,” Fancy Pants announced, sounding surprised at his own words, “If we pass it around, nothing will happen and that changeling will say that the device has simply failed. We’d end up doubting each other and the tool that could help us.”
“Maybe,” shrugged the changeling, giving an apologetic grin, “but if you already know what I’m going to say, is there any harm in making sure? Our queen managed to replace a princess. Do you think that your little club is too secure for a changeling?”
Nopony had a real answer for that. Unless the rod worked or Gigathaum got her invention to function, nopony in all of Equestria had a real answer for that.
“I’d be willing to hold it first, if that helps,” I volunteered.
I watched with trepidation as the small rod floated through the air towards me. The odds of directly outing a changeling with this rod were low… perhaps astronomically so. As the changeling had said, a spy would need to be stupid to pick it up while transformed. Even so… I felt that I had to do something. This was my final evening in Canterlot… my final chance to do something.
I lifted up the iron rod, feeling its weight as I waved it around. Once everypony saw that I didn’t burst into flames (green or otherwise), I placed the rod on the table by Gigathaum.
Giving a short sigh, Gigathaum picked followed my example. Lift up rod. Display. Pass it along.
Fancy Pants gave the same display before floating it across the table to Sapphire Shores.
Sapphire Shores, thoroughly disgusted by the presence of sweat, lifted up the rod for barely a second before placing it back down in front of her beau.
Then, everything halted.
“I mean… I’m not really a REAL member of the order yet and my doctor gets mad when I don’t get enough rest during off-season so I should probably…”
“Honey… relax” Sapphire Shores interrupted, “the stick isn’t going to hurt you, no matter how bland it might look. Lift it up. Put it down. Done.”
Sky-leaper didn’t look too reassured, staring at the small metal object as though it was going to explode or bite him… or both.
“Is there something wrong, Sky-leaper?” asked Gentry.
Shaking his head, Sky-leaper looked from Gentry to myself to the changeling to the ponies all around him. After a quick glance towards the lift, Sky-leaper sighed and turned his attention to the rod.
Sky-leaper picked up the rod with his good forelimb.
Then, he tossed it up and caught it.
Then, for kicks, he tossed it into the air and balanced it on his snout.
“Hey, this thing is actually pretty fun,” Sky-leaper remarked, apparently oblivious to the collective sigh of relief from the room around him.
Sky-leaper passed the rod across the table to Fleur de Lis, who caught it with her magic and started batting at the rod with one hoof to make it spin in mid-air. When she was done, she passed it onto Warden.
Warden simply grabbed hold of the rod, lifting her hoof into the air and keeping it there until Blueblood wrenched the thing out of her grasp with magic.
After lightly tapping the rod with one hoof (and thoroughly cleaning his hoof with a handkerchief immediately afterwards), Blueblood shrugged and placed the object directly in front of Auld Gentry.
The ancient earth pony, however, didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, he was looking through the papers placed in front of him. I think he was looking at the list of requests that my group had made. In fact, I’m certain he was looking at that list, reading it with intensity as if trying to read something beyond the words on the paper.
“*Achem* I believe that it’s your turn, Gentry” spoke Fancy Pants.
Putting down the paper in his hooves, the old pony sighed and looked up at the group with a faint smile. Not a sneer, not a smirk, but a genuine, happy smile.
He smiled at Warden. He smiled at the changeling. He smiled at Sky-leaper. He smiled at just about everypony. He even smiled at me.
“Mark… I am going to ask you this once and once only, so be sure to answer with care. How certain is your group that this little plan of yours will work.”
Looking that old pony in the eye, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything less than the truth, “We are betting lives on it, Sir. We’re betting our lives and those of our friends and family.”
Meeting Gentry’s gaze, I could see his face truly relax for the first time since this meeting began.
“Warden,” spoke the old Stallion, “I realize that I can be a stubborn old coot. Times change and I cling to a past that is already gone… even if it means hurting others. I hope you can accept my apology… and resignation. Welcome back to the Order.”
With those final words, Auld Gentry grabbed hold of the rod.
*FWOOOSHAM*
The room was reduced to silence, save for the singular clink of glass as Fancy Pants’ monocle dropped to the table.
“TRAITOR!”
The first changeling leaped savagely at the second, tearing the cord from the guard’s mouth with his sudden motion as the wrapped changeling landed blow after blow.
“Do you know how much work you have ruined? Do you know how many families you just destroyed? Monsters like you all deserve to-“
I never heard the end of that sentence, seeing as Warden chose that moment to intervene. Her horn glowed a deep slate gray as both changelings were lifted up into the air. The doors to both the lounge and the storage room were thrown open before the two changelings zoomed through the opened doors. The Doors slammed shut and loud clicks could be heard as they locked themselves.
With that feat of magic accomplished, Warden slumped her head down onto the table and the guard ran onto the lift to fetch reinforcements. Fleur and Fancy Pants held onto each other for support. Sapphire Shores and Sky-leaper were far less coherent, exchanging streams of partials sentences as if they actually made sense out of context… kind of like a real couple.
“But he…” “Why did…” “…other changelings…” “…that stick…” “But maybe…” “Since when…”
Blueblood was performing an excellent impression of a gargoyle, freezing in place with his jaw hanging open as he stared to the seat to the recently vacated seat at the head of the table. Professor Gigathaum, giving up entirely on her dictation duties, had rolled up the scroll and was using it as a pillow as she stared off into the distance. Everything carried on in that way, showing no signs of stopping.
As for me? I felt like dirt. Picking out changelings required doing things that made you feel like dirt. It meant telling mothers that their children were missing and children that they might need a new home. It meant telling ponies that some part of their life had been a lie. I had never been forced to deliver the bad news but now that I had… I was going to use their hardship to help push an agenda.
I wished that I could feel as good as dirt.
“I’m sorry, everypony.”
“Whatever for, Mark?” Fancy Pants asked, his voice sounding somehow hollow, “you’re not responsible for that imposter.”
“I’m sorry because… because changelings don’t disguise themselves as ponies that nopony loves. I’m sorry that I helped take away whatever he represented to you. I’m sorry because you’re clearly upset and I’m sorry because I know what it’s like to learn that you’d been fooled, to learn that someone is gone and that you never even thought to say goodbye or to miss them.”
“I’m sorry because I’m asking you to take what whatever confusion or shock or sorrow you’re trying to work through and to save it for later. If you want to find the real Auld Gentry… If you want to keep the Secretariat Order from falling apart… you need to pull yourselves together and pony up.”
Well… that certainly got some looks. Impressed? Dumbfounded? Insulted? I had a hard time bringing myself to care as I forced my mouth to keep moving, “This? What happened here tonight? This is precisely what Holly and Holm and everypony back home wants to prevent. This is why we made that rod in the first place and this was why I was sent out here to get you help.”
“I’m... supposed to head back tomorrow… to start looking for less direct routes if the Order can’t help us… but we would really appreciate your help. For the sake of every pony who shouldn’t have to question if his or her familly is real… please… please help us”
…
…
“Can we vote now?” asked Sky-leaper.
“Indeed…” suggested Blueblood, taking out the scroll that votes had been recorded on, “It’s about time that we did something productive.”
I… I had yelled at the Secretariat Order… at some of the most powerful and influential ponies in all of Canterlot… as if they were petulant foals…
No… I was acting like a stubborn foal.
I had taken sooooo many stupid risks right there.
How the hay did I win that vote?
“So, about that information you’ll need…” started Warden.
My mind finally caught up with my surroundings as I heard those words, watching small groups of ponies in the order talking amongst themselves as a couple of guards walked towards the lift with restrained changelings in tow.
“Oh… uh… yeah.”
“While we’re starting with a smaller pilot study, I think that I can help you obtain most of the basic demographic data you were searching for. I’ll inform you of the number of rods you’ll need and of the vital statistics you need to customize the enchantments. Let’s see… height, weight, gender, and thaumatic resonance. I can’t tell you the precise locations of detention centers, though I’ll include rendezvous points where Mr. Rod’s workers can meet guards.
“Oh… that’s great. Better than I was expecting, really…” I paused for a moment or two, waiting expectantly. “So… do you have a scroll with all of that for me or…”
Warden shook his head, “Even though the information is basic, I’d rather not risk it falling into the wrong hooves. Thankfully, dragonfire can send a message to anyone the writer has met and… well, I know a drake or two who would love to get in my good graces. Does 48 hours sound long enough for you to get home?”
“More than enough. Thank you again.”
“Don’t thank us that much. While I have the freedom to start new programs to better the lives of the prisoners, I’m still fairly restricted. You’re groups still needs to talk with Prince Armor if you want these things used by the royal guard, not to mention with other mayors and officials if you want their use to spread. We’re good at spreading good ideas but this is far from a Princess’ endorsement”
“Again, this is more than enough. When you’ve spread the idea, we can press it further. With any sort of luck, I won’t be my job.”
Satisfied with a job well-done somehow accomplished, I started walking to the lift… only to be stopped by Sky-leaper.
“Hey, dude, wait up for a second!”
I looked over the athlete with a tired smile as Sky-leaper… hoofed over the prototype and blueprints. Oh… wow… that was almost really bad. Looking up at the table, I could see Gigathaum glancing in my direction and grumbling under her breath.
“So… I really don’t get everything that happened but… I think that imposter knew what he was doing in the end and if… if a changeling was willing to do something like that…”
Sky-leaper sighed, perhaps having trouble finding the right words, “your group is really going to make everything better, isn’t it?”
“We may hit a roadblock or two,” I admitted, “but we try our best.”
“Sure, sure. Before you go, though, I was going to ask if you wanted some company heading back to your place. It looks like everypony is going to be staying pretty late discussing hard stuff now that we’re a chair short. Besides, there’s safety in numbers when it gets this late.”
I looked from Sky-leaper down to his cast and up to Sapphire Shores and the other members of the Order. With a deep sigh, I turned to the athlete.
“Stay with your mare, Sky-leaper. After tonight, she probably needs you. Stay by her side, enjoy a nice meal, and try not to dwell on whatever just happened. If you don’t mind, I have a mare waiting for me back at my motel and I think that I’ll be doing the same.”
With a final wave goodbye, both to the red room of the Order and to the ponies within it, I stepped into the lift and started my descent towards the lobby.
I was done. After five nights, the stress was finally over.
For the first time in nearly a week, I was looking forward to the future. I was looking forward to kissing my wife and taking a long bath. I was looking forward to riding home and handing the Oaks Twins Warden’s missive. I was looking forward to punching my brother for sending me out here in the first place. After all of that was done, I was even looking forward to hiding under the largest rock I can find.
Why hide under a rock, you may ask? Well, I figured that I had burned through a lifetime of good luck in the space of a couple hours. When the fourth horseshoe finally dropped, I could only hope that I would be safely hidden under a boulder.
Walking out of the lift, I hardly notice the glare that the receptionist shot at me.
As I walked across the lobby one final time, I could hardly register the extra hoofsteps echoing out on the marble flooring.
I was so focused on the glass door ahead of me that nothing seemed wrong until I felt something violently jab at my sides.
After a quick leap of pain and surprise, I span around to see what had happened.
The crimson receptionist had left her desk, standing just inches behind me.
Her eyes still glowed with intense dislike and she bared her teeth in an angry snarl.
In one hoof, she brandished her weapon of choice: a clipboard.
“Not this time, Poster. You. Aren’t. Leaving. Without. Signing Out.”
Looking back at the door and sighing, I gave a loose shrug and grabbed a quill that rested on top of the clipboard in my mouth. If she wanted me name, she would have it.
’M. Poster’