The World Within the Web

by Lord Max

Chapter XXIV: The Longest Day

By the time his inquiries were done, the day had long passed by, and Coin was exhausted. Cellia Ravenry might well have been the most fastidious person he had ever met, and having worked and lived in the Authority that was saying a lot—they had visited a dozen sites, and investigated, measured, recorded, and took note of each in almost ludicrous detail for the sake of professional clarity. Somehow, none of it had tired Cellia in the slightest, but by the time he finally returned to the Palace, it took every ounce of effort left to try and report to Lady Violet.

He arrived to find that she was absent—busy with some other matter, those present said, and likely not to return for some time. At their advice, Coin informed his nearby superiors of what he found and forced himself back to the barracks to sleep. Collapsing into his small cot, he passed out immediately.

Coin was awakened rudely after too little sleep.

“—wake up?” he heard a voice say distinctly, breaking through a tired haze.

He tried to focus on who was there, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. Coin had been dreaming about… something with bugs stuck within walls, walls closing in on them, but the details escaped him as he awoke. Shifting around, he saw he was face to face with the Warden of Generosity.

Scrambling up, Coin did his best to bow. “My lady!” he exclaimed as he tried to compose himself. “I—“

“At ease, my friend,” Lady Violet said apologetically. She was not alone—Proximo Hart was with her, as was Dustario. The Warden of Honesty loomed behind them awkwardly. “I must beg your pardon, sir. We truly did not mean to wake you—”

“This one did,” the Warden of Honesty pointed out.

“—but we had to see you as soon as we could,” Lady Violet finished. “I’ve heard of a most fascinating development you’ve made. I should like to hear every detail.” She glanced up and down at Coin in his disheveled state. “After you’ve had a moment to compose yourself, of course,” Violet said with a coy smile.

Coin was certainly grateful for that. After briefly getting himself in order, he and the others found a room, where he began the story. Every moment, every detail—nothing left out, from the heart on the wall, to the door, the tunnels, the voices. All the while, Lady Violet mused over what he said, and the Warden of Honesty considered him carefully.

“That’s all of it, my lady,” Coin said as he finished. He looked between the four of them, waiting for the reaction.

Proximo was gaping throughout all of it. “Extraordinary.”

“That was what I thought as well, when I heard it yesterday,” Dustario replied with a nod.

Lady Violet considered him carefully. “Honesty?”

“All true,” the Warden said in kind, not having reacted at all to what Coin had said.

“These Changelings are no fiction after all, then,” said Proximo. “It confirms everything we’ve heard from Imelia, and everything about Dabrius. They were working together.” He turned to Lady Violet, concerned. “How did we not hear of this earlier? Why did we not know?”

“It seems,” Lady Violet responded, “that Dabrius has been very selective in the reports he sent back. These ‘Changelings’ have been most secretive, to catch some so off-guard.” She brushed a bang of purple hair out of her eyes, and thought. “Though not so secretive that they will not reach out to Sir Coin.”

“I still don’t understand that,” Dustario confessed. “Why give us a bare hint of who they are now, and not earlier? And why not just outright tell us who they were, and where to find them?”

Lady Violet closed her eyes and contemplated the problem. “Perhaps,” she ventured, “these Changelings are not all on the same page, so to speak.”

“Discord among them,” Proximo nodded. “It might be that there is great disagreement over what they should or should not tell us—these hints might be the work of only a few, or just one, and not at all in line with what the rest would like.”

“Or maybe they just have a strange sense of humor,” Dustario joked.

“Maybe,” Violet said with a smile, before turning her attention back to Coin. “This conversation you overheard,” she remarked, “what do you make of it?”

Coin thought carefully. “To be honest, my lady… I’m not sure. Of what exactly they were talking about, I mean.”

“Let me ask you frankly.” Lady Violet leaned forward. “Do you think that one of them might have been Arcadio Martes?”

Coin nodded. “Almost certainly, my lady. Err, well I suppose it was difficult to tell exactly by voice alone, through the wall and everything, but given what he said…”

“And the other?” Proximo asked.

“I… I don’t really know,” Coin confessed. He raked his mind, trying to recall any and all details about the other person that had been talking. “They sounded like they had a foreign accent, but I admit that I can’t be sure of much.”

“Hmm,” Lady Violet mused. She looked to Dustario expectedly. “We shall need to organize a team to investigate these passages immediately—a discreet team.”

“I already have a few people in mind, my lady,” Dustario replied.

“I would very much like to see this place myself, in time. Make sure that it’s secure—I think it would be worth having a first-hand look, and the sooner the better.”

“Shall be done,” the Warden of Honesty said.

“You will remain at the Palace, Honesty,” Lady Violet said pointedly, “and not out of my sight.”

Proximo seemed as just as pleased with that as the Warden appeared unhappy. Coin got the feeling again that there was something between the three that he was not aware of, but he knew better than to ask about it.

“At any rate,” Lady Violet went on, “your efforts might have just given us the breakthrough we were looking for, Sir Coin. My sincerest thanks for the good work,” she said 1with a smile and a bow of the head. We made the right choice in bringing you with us.” She rose from her chair, Proximo  and the Warden of Honesty following behind her as they left. Before she disappeared out the door, however, the lady turned back. “Oh, and have a happy Summer Sun Celebration. I only wish we were having some manner of, well, celebration for it.”

“I think I have that covered, my lady,” Dustario pointed out.

“What was that?” Lady Violet said jokingly, holding a hand to her ear. “I’m sorry, I could not quite hear that. I’m certain that you weren’t referring to that ‘unofficial’ celebration that I have certainly ‘not’ approved of, should anyone ask, were you?”

Dustario grinned. “I would never dream of it, ma’am.”

Violet winked and trailed out, leaving Dustario to clap his hand on Coin’s back. “You hear that, Sir Coin? We’ll be toasting to your success tonight!”

Coin was only slightly lost. He had to admit that he’d completely forgotten that one of the largest Brony holidays landed squarely on this occasion. The height of summer, the longest day, and the veneration of the Princess. Coin had never participated in a Sun Celebration, but he’d seen a few from a distance in the years before his conversion. They were momentous affairs, elaborate and extremely lively thanks to the Laughing Friends—a little too lively for Coin’s taste.

“Do you have some plan for tonight, then?” Coin asked his fellow.

Dustario tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “Let’s just say that if a certain someone had a certain reservation made for a certain group at a tavern in the city, you wouldn’t find yourself out of place with them.”

“In the city?” Coin asked, surprised. “Is that safe?”

“We’re not wearing our uniforms or anything. The Dreamweavers don’t know what we look like or who we are, so it’s not as though they’ll know where to find us. Also, the servants at the Palace won’t give us food and drink for a party,” He grinned at Coin. “C’mon friend, it only comes once a year—why not celebrate with us?”

“I don’t know…”

“Wait a minute,” Dustario interrupted, having realized something suddenly. “This is your first Summer Sun Celebration isn’t it?”

“Well yes, but I—”

“Then you’ve got to come with us. We’re not exactly having a parade, but a few drinks with friends is exactly what you deserve. You’ll never have another first Celebration, after all. What do you say?”

“I…” Coin was caught between not really having the stomach for parties, and not having the heart to say no. He sighed. “Alright, I’ll join in.”

“Now that’s the summer spirit! We might as well cheer for the season, even if we’re between Seasons, eh?” He clasped Coin on the shoulder again amiably. “We’re all leaving a bit before sundown—the lady insisted we not be out in the city too late. Maybe not the most intense outing for the Summer Sun, but at least we get something. We’ll collect you sometime before then.”

Coin spent much of the day doing little. The lady wanted as few people knowing about the Changelings as possible, and thus there was little cause for him to be interviewed or prodded during the hours after, nor was there any pressing duties to which he had to attend.

Having few other ideas, he spent a fair portion of time in his cot, staring up and daydreaming. For whatever reason, symbols started to appear to him as contemplated the ceiling. Diamonds and apples, tigers and green hearts, dancing around each other. White shields and black hammers shared an orbit with a six-pointed star, trading places with one another in the center of his vision, again and again without end, as though—

Coin shook his head. He’d fallen asleep again, it seemed. He leaned up and rubbed the fatigue from his eyes, before he heard some people coming.

“Ah, there he is,” one of them said as he approached. “Ready to leave, sir?”

Coin turned, and saw it was Jayson Joyfelt, but he almost didn’t recognize the man at first. Gone were the eye-blindingly pink robes that the Laughing Friends ordinarily wore—instead, Jayson was dressed in a comparatively drab outfit.

The other three with him were dressed the same—Theosyrius in stylish grey, Daria Faust in a plain, dark scarlet sweater, and, surprisingly enough, Red Autumn. Coin wouldn’t have expected to see him interested in a night in the town, and indeed he looked absurdly uncomfortable out of his normal uniform. His plainclothes didn’t appear to fit him well, nor did Red seem pleased to wear them.

“Er, yes,” Coin stammered. “Is Dustario with you?”

“The lady was of the opinion that going down into the city as one giant group might attract attention,” Theosyrius remarked, “so we’ve been split up for the approach. Fewer eggs in more baskets, you see.”

“Will we be safe?” Coin asked hesitantly. “After the last time…”

“Don’t worry, friend—the Dreamweavers will have no way of telling who we are with the uniforms off. Besides, you’ll have Red Autumn and I to keep you safe.” Theosyrius gave a smug look and rested his hand on a pearl sword-hilt half-concealed by his coat.

“You’ll have to change, though,” said Daria. “Out of your own uniform, I mean.”

Coin looked down at his orange-gold clothes, and realized she was right. After having a moment to himself to swap out his garb, they went off, Jayson leading in the front and the rest following behind. Red Autumn kept to the rear, seeming dejected.

Daria sidled over to him as they walked. “Red, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Fine,” Red Autumn grunted in reply, folding his arms. He’d covered up his scarred hands with gloves, Coin saw—no doubt a way to keep the tell-tale marks from giving them away. It was odd to see them put out of sight.

“You don’t look fine,” Daria said sympathetically. She put a hand on his arm. “You know you don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.”

Red grimaced. “‘Wanting’ isn’t the Warden’s way. The Honest Eyes are here to protect our friends, not to want things.”

Daria nodded. “If you have any trouble…”

“I’m fine,” Red replied bluntly.

Coin listened to the exchange, but did not read into too it greatly. Red Autumn was an Honest Eye of particular fervor, a devotion that showed itself in how he tried to act and even look like the Warden of Honesty in everything, right down to his bald head and surly attitude. It was hardly surprising that he would think little of parties.

The group proceeded to the entrance of the Palace in earnest, save for Red’s sulking, passing by courtiers on the way. A few of them looked askance at the Bronies, but most did not seem to notice them there—apparently changing clothes did indeed make quite the difference to people that did not know them well.

On the other hand, however, as they walked out the main doors and out into the streets, they passed under the eyes of several Palace guards, who watched them carefully. Coin caught the stare of one of them—contemptuous, bitter, and very clearly cognizant of who these disguised people were. Glancing over his shoulder, Coin saw why—another guard had been following the Bronies through the halls.

Uncomfortable, Coin nodded his head at the guard they were passing by. The watchman gave a slight smirk, before slipping away. Coin pressed on with the others, and tried not to think about it.

The difference between walking through the streets now and doing so before was stark, to say the least. There was no jeering at the ordinary group that Coin was now a part of, no thrown bottles and certainly no mobs—people went about their business and paid him and the rest no more mind than anyone else.

Coin did not enjoy being out of his colors—to wear the orange and gold meant that he was a devotee of the Honest Friend, a brother in a larger cause, whereas now he was just an ordinary man with a strange name. Even so, however, the experience gave him a certain clarity. A change of clothes was barely a change at all, the flimsiest disguise imaginable, and yet it seemed more than enough to fool the Dreamweavers. Is that all they base their hate on? Coin wondered as he scanned the disinterested masses. Appearance alone? Do they attack us for who we are, or who they think we are based on how we look? It made one wonder if that was what hate really was, beneath it all.

Jayson was looking around at the calm as well, and shook his head. “The masks they wore, he said with grace,” muttered Jayson under his breath, “protect them with a falser face; to hold the angry hate away, and hide themselves from the Beast in the Bay.”
        
It was not a long walk to their destination: a tavern huddled between two other buildings, as unremarkable and secluded as any place might be in this sparse-settled city. As they approached, Coin saw that a familiar face was leaning against the entrance, waiting for them. Dressed all in black, with his spectacles changed to a dark tint, was Donnet of the Generous Friends, smiling at them.

“Evenin’, chums,” Donnet said cheerily as they approached. “Good seein’ you kids, and not a sight too sore, neither. Almost look respectable in those threads, J.”

Jayson smiled. “Same to you, Donnie. I trust you got here without issue?”

“None to say for,” he replied with a shrug. “Guessin’ them dee-dubs liked me a lot more lackin’ the white, as y’see. Never been much o’ a fashion-hop, but I ‘pose the gown ain’t sour.”

“Good to hear,” Theosyrius remarked. “Are the others inside, then?”

“Affirm, m’friends. Right on in the room I got, follow me now.”

Donnet led them inside the tavern, which proved to be a decent but unremarkable establishment in the interior as well. The ugly desperation of the Moonlight was not to be found here, though Coin still saw a few unsavory-looking sorts gathered on barstools. Donnet ignored them and strode over to the counter, waiting politely for the barkeep. “Got a few more,” he said, flicking his glasses’ lenses and turning them crimson. “Reservation under ‘Steele.’”

The bartender looked over the Bronies, and gave a nod of his head. Donnet led this party of six through the bar down a nearby hallway, in the side of which was a set of doors that the muffled sounds of talk and laughter were coming from.

As Donnet opened the doors, Coin saw that the celebration was already in swing. Around a dozen Bronies were seated or standing in the room, crowded around a large wooden table on chairs or benches, while food and drink lay sprawled out on top of it. He saw Kriseroff holding a tankard, saying something loudly to Strongshield, while Donnet took a seat beside a woman Coin did not recognize. Everyone in the room seemed tuned to the rhythm of the event, in their own way.

Dustario noticed them right away. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “Here at last, I see? Well sit then—the drinks and food are a treat tonight.”

They all found places for themselves—Red sought refuge with his fellow Honest Eyes, while Coin decided to try and find a more subdued part of the table. He chose a spot next to a man he did not know—lanky, brown-haired, and quietly listening to the conversations around him. The man extended a hand as Coin sat down.

“Good evening, brother,” he said courteously. “I don’t think we’ve met before—my name is Caymen Diallep, of the Magic Friends.” He reached inside the dusky clothes he was wearing and pulled out a golden necklace, hanging on which was a six-pointed star.

“Coin Counter of the Honest,” he replied, taking the hand.
        
“Ah, ‘tis an honor, my friend. The Most Honest Friend is fortunate, truly, to have as stout servants as our guard here in the foreign lands”

“Would that they were not so necessary,” a thin, tanned woman from across the table remarked, a slender smile creeping across her face. Coin did not know her name, but vaguely recalled her being one of the Generous Friends. “These Dreamweaver brutes have not rolled out the proverbial welcoming mat.”

“ ‘Tis unfortunate, Hadrena,” Caymen replied. “We will need to work hard, if we are to find friendship in this city.”

The woman called Hadrena scoffed. “Small chance of that. Friends are short, when among fools.”

Caymen tilted his head at her. “Season of Keys, eighth Episode. Though within an unfriendly city, a generous spirit perseveres, and triumphs.”

The smile on Hadrena’s face turned less cutting, and more genuine. She sighed. “Very well, Caymen, I’ll try to play nice. Only for you, though—don’t tell Dustario.”

Caymen winked. “I would never dream of it, my friend.”

Coin was suddenly startled by a slap to his back from Kriseroff. “Coin-friend!” he bellowed, shaking Coin around with a giant hand on his shoulder. “You are looking down, you know? Celebrate! The Summer Sun Princess is above.” He put down a tankard of something alcoholic in front of Coin, before meandering off to rejoin Jayson and company at the front of the table.

Coin looked at the drink, uncertain and uncomfortable. He reached out to the handle of the tankard, but couldn’t bring himself to actually partake in the stuff. A decade and more had gone by where doing such a thing was looked upon as a sign of profligacy, back when Coin was trained as an agent of the Authority. Breaking with that was more difficult than he had perhaps hoped.

One of the people next to him, a short, blond woman, looked to him sympathetically. “I usually just bring it up to my mouth, and then put it back down. No need to actually drink, really.”

Coin nodded, feeling embarrassed. “Thanks,” he said. “You are…”

“Rosesoul, of the Kind Friends,” she replied, bowing her head. “You are Sir Coin, are you not? The knight?”

“Former knight,” Coin answered. The response felt surprisingly hollow, as he sat uncomfortably in the room.

Rosesoul smiled. “I can sympathize. It must be strange, being here now, compared with everything you knew.”

Coin glanced around. People were smiling and laughing and talking, all very loudly. The smell of alcohol was in the air, and he couldn’t tell who was drunk and who wasn’t, at least not yet. It was stuffy and cramped, and he felt penned in, but everyone else seemed happy. He felt a tightening in his stomach—not gut instinct. A crafted response, from training. It told him that it was wrong.

Coin looked down at the drink, dejected. He didn’t know what to do, being there. Among friends, he felt very alone.

“I don’t really understand it,” Coin admitted, trying to keep the discomfort out of his voice.

“The Celebration?” Rosesoul asked.

“The celebrating.” Coin had been trying to just ignore it, but the din kept breaking through every time. “Noise and shouting. You learn to be wary of it, in the Authority.”

“Revelry is usually thought to belay a lack of discipline, among the Moderators.” Rosesoul considered that, and closed her eyes. “By imbibing, one makes oneself less of who they are—a rational self,” she said calmly, almost mechanically. “Tethering one’s time to worldly indulgence causes purpose to be directed increasingly inward, replacing the first concern that we must have with others.”

Coin looked back at her. The words she had said had the air of something rehearsed. Recited frequently, many times before. Engrained and conditioned.

“You… sound very familiar with the ideas,” Coin said, taken slightly aback. “Were you…”

“As I said,” Rosesoul confessed, “I sympathize. Though,” she continued, “I’d say that similar situations aren’t necessarily identical ones, as far as backgrounds go. Just so you know.” She raised up a glass to her lips, but did not drink from it before she placed it back down.

“The Kind Friend,” Rosesoul said to Coin, “is no stranger to discomfort. There is no shame in hesitancy. Maybe the Authority is right after all, as far as this goes,” she gestured to the room. “You aren’t the only one that feels… apart, when things like this come around.”

Coin followed her hand, and saw that she was motioning towards Red Autumn, looking sick and miserable at the other side of the room. He was next to Strongshield, but was trying his best to not be noticed, sinking in his seat and mostly just looking around with an expression between irritation and confusion.

“So why does he come,” Coin asked, “if he hates it so much?”

“Because he’s an honest friend,” Rosesoul replied simply, “sworn to protect others. He might seem angry, but even when he disagrees, he defends his friends. He didn’t have to be here, but he came anyways, for their sake, just in case. Even on the remotest chance they might need him. There’s something admirable in being able to look past differences, and sacrifice what one wants for the benefit of others.”

Coin looked back to Red, who still seemed ill at ease as he looked at the drinks passed around in the room. Coin suddenly got the feeling that perhaps he’d been too quick to judge the squat, scowling Honest Eye earlier, when he’d dismissed Red’s sulking out of hand. It was scarcely different to what Coin was doing now.

He resolved to stop moping and try to involve himself in the conversation, if nothing else—Coin might not have been the same in many ways as the others, but separating himself would never do for a Brony of the Collective. He caught the tail-end of something that the others were discussing.

“...but it isn’t canon, Prim. You already know that much,” said Dustario.

“That’s still up for debate, as I understand it,” replied Prim Enproper, the gloomy man of the Generous, sitting a few chairs away.

Theosyrius snorted. “Hardly. You can derive their morals, analyze their meanings, and sing their songs, but all signs we have state that Co-Works are cut off from the canon. The Magic Friends have ruled as such.”

“Prim has a point,” said Jayson as he strummed a note on his mandolin. “Both are gleaned from the World Beyond the Web, not the World Within. They are not fandom works, after all—the creator-source has hands in them.”

“Not the same creator-source, as you know,” Dustario replied with a raised eyebrow. “The Lady’s Vision did not have those Co-Works within it.”

“Nor should it have,” grunted Strongshield, sulking in the corner with Red. “Those things drift too distant from the Works to have any meaning to us.”

“That’s too far,” chimed in Caymen. “The message of the One Magic is much intact in both. That meaning is true to us all.”

Theosyrius dismissed that idea with a wave of his hand. “That scarcely matters when the Co-Works are willing to consider such freakish lapses. That much is disastrous.”

“I’m well-acquainted with disasters,” said Prim morosely, “but I’m not sure what in the Co-Works would warrant a word like that.”

“Need I say it?” asked Theosyrius. Prim looked at him expectedly, and so Theo sighed. “A… bright guard? A violet Friend in a purple dress, blushing?”

A chorus of groans went up around the room when they picked up on his meaning.

Prim merely shrugged. “That never bothered me so much, and nearly everything bothers me.”

The same chorus of indignation rose again after Prim’s confession, as well as a few joking boos and table-pounds from Kriseroff and Jayson Joyfelt from across the room.

Dustario just chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I’m appalled, Prim,” he said facetiously. “If you’d told me a week ago that I’d be breaking bread with some corndog-eating Brad-lover, I’d have fallen on my own sword, honestly.”

“People tend to feel that way around me,” replied Prim, barely repressing a smile.

Strongshield was looking at Prim as if he had just confessed to being a fleshtrapper from the Deep Web. “I hope that was a joke,” she said with a disgusted scowl. “The Six have the One Magic—that is all they need. They are strong enough to not need some… partner.”

“Not everything is a matter of strength,” pointed out Caymen Diallep. “Our canon suggests the same idea Prim raises. The Generous Friend, for example, is noted for engaging in the pursuit of love beyond friendship—this is well-known.”

“If you asked Proximo Hart, he’d say that romantic love was just a different evolution of friendship,” hinted Dustario meaningfully, suggesting at something that Coin clearly wasn’t let in on.

Jayson winked at that, and started to sing a soft lay in response to whatever idea was being put forward:

Caymen nodded in approval. “The Singer of the Fandom’s words, true as always. That one is… RD/RA, if I’m not mistaken?”

“The older version,” confirmed Jayson. “Romantic love is the most intrinsic, says one of my other brothers.”

“Distraction is all it is,” huffed Strongshield.

“Agreed,” said Red, clearly growing more uneasy by the moment.

Jayson rolled his eyes playfully. “I think you two need to find some people to turn those frowns upside down.”

“We have the only people we need,” Red grunted plainly.

“It’s not always a matter of need,” Dustario said with an apple-eating grin crossing his handsome face. “Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Coin. Er, if you don’t mind, that is.”

Coin looked over and saw that eyes were on him. He figured that now would be a good time to pretend to drink—he raised the tankard to his lips while Rosesoul looked on with approval.

“That field examiner in the Mod squad—Abigail Cawtler?” Dustario continued with the slightest slur in his speech. “Do you think she’s single?”

Coin gagged at the thought, but accidentally swallowed some of the ale while he was doing it, leaving him to sputter and cough.

Donnet’s eyebrow was in danger of entering orbit if it rose any higher, and Theosyrius looked as though he were going to vomit. “The creepy murder-corpse woman?” he said in utter disbelief. “Six save us, Dustario, you’ve gone too far this time.”

Dustario winked. “I seem to remember you saying that last time.”

“Well now you have actually gone beyond the pale. A few miles beyond.” Theosyrius replied.

“I think we can safely say that the pale is in a completely different continent at this point, if not a different world altogether,” said Prim with a morose tone obviously faked to keep him from laughing.

“Six save us,” said Donnet with a roll of his eyes, “can’t ya like any nice, normal-sort girls, Dusty?”

“You say ‘normal,’” Dustario retorted with that same apple-eating smile, “and I say ‘boring.’ She’s unique, and that’s what matters most to me.”

Coin heard a distinct “Aww” from Rosesoul, though for what reason he could not say.

Looking back to Coin, Dustario said “What do you think, friend? Do I have a chance?”

The conversation was conjuring perhaps the most disturbing mental image Coin had ever imagined, and thus left him unable to form an answer. Prim stepped in for him. “I’m not sure you’re her type, Dusty,” he said. “You still have a pulse, first of all.”

Dustario rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. And what about you, Prim? Do you have your eyes on anyone?”

“Oh, I don’t believe in that,” Prim replied simply.

Donnet tilted his head. “In what?”

“Relationships.”

Dustario blinked. “You’re celibate?”

“No, I mean I don’t believe in them,” Prim said in a depressed, matter-of-fact way. “Personally, I don’t think they exist.”

Jayson laughed with all the others. “Should I ask why?” he struggled to say.

“I,” began Prim with a pseudo-scholarly affectation, “am a strict materialist. I believe only in what I can see and measure and grasp. Due to my utter lack of physical evidence for relationships existing, I can only conclude that they do not. The same goes for women—none of them have ever appeared to me, therefore they are not real.”

Rosesoul, Hadrena, and Daria Faust—three of the very-existent women in the room—exchanged an amused look, while Strongshield just appeared deeply annoyed.

Caymen Diallep laughed out loud. “You picked the wrong branch, Prim. With such flawless logic as that, you might have joined the Magic Friends.”

Prim shrugged. “I’ve always gone the extra mile to put myself where I am least useful. It’s my policy.”

“I think it’s sweet,” said Rosesoul to Dustario. “Liking someone for how they’re different, that is. We should always embrace the ones that seem unusual.”

“I think that ‘embracing’ is precisely what we’re concerned about,” Hadrena chimed in, clearly enjoying the chance to poke fun at Dustario.

Rosesoul chuckled at that, but continued. “Good people love good souls, not appearances. ‘Each one of us has something special, that makes us different, that makes us rare,’ and appreciating that is powerful.”

Dustario seemed happy to have the support. “I feel the same way. You seem awfully familiar with it though, Rosesoul. Is there someone you have your eye on as well?” he asked, tapping his finger on the side of his nose.

Rosesoul considered the question. “I find the Warden interesting.”

“Lady Violet? You’ll have to step over a lot of competitors, friend.”

“No, the Warden of Honesty,” she explained plainly, before lifting a glass to her lips.

It was Theosyrius’ turn to gag now, while most others were gaping in various shades of disbelief. Kriseroff had been halfway into taking a drink, but after hearing Rosesoul he elected to stop, look plaintively at the tankard, and set it down, apparently deciding that this was proof that he had had enough.

“You ain’t serious,” Donnet said.

“I am.”

All Jayson could do was mouth the word ‘Why?’ silently.

Rosesoul shrugged, smiling coyly. “It’s like Dusty said—he’s unique. And very tall.”

Coin, in his hubris, had truly believed that the thought of Dustario’s fantasy was the most disturbing thing he could have conceived. He realized then that it was merely the first step to a never-ending nightmare. It was sobering to think that he could have lived his entire life, happily, without ever having heard this conversation.

Hadrena apparently concurred. “I have been to both the Chan and the Blurr, and that is still by far the most revolting thing I have ever heard. Meaning no offense.”

Rosesoul waved a hand. “None taken.”

“I don’t think…” Daria started diplomatically, still trying to catch up with the revelation, “well, I mean I don’t think that the Warden is the… romantic type.”

“His grumpiness is well-known,” added Caymen.

“Everyone has a kindly side,” said Rosesoul with a small smile. “He just hides it beneath an angry face.”

“The Warden hides nothing!” said Red Autumn in horror.

“This is vile,” Strongshield agreed. “To be so crude… blasphemy!”

Kriseroff laughed. “Strongshield is just angry that now there is competition for the Great Honest One!”

“I am not—”

This apparently was too much for Red Autumn, as he stood up red-faced and stalked away from the table in a rush. “I need air,” he muttered, stumbling as he rose.

Dustario stopped laughing, and glanced around with a concerned look. Daria shared the expression, and went after Red.

Coin was about to return to trying to keep himself together through all of the talk… but had a thought. He couldn’t shake from his mind the thought that Rosesoul suggested—that perhaps Red’s discomfort and his own were not so different. Coin mulled over the thought, then stood up to go and speak with the Honest Eye that had darted out.

Red was just outside, in the small, connecting hallway, looking miserable, with Daria at his side. He had ripped the gloves from his hands, and was contemplating the hideous scars that had been carved into them, the ones shaped like six-pointed stars. “...have to be here,” Coin heard him finish.

“But you don’t!” insisted Daria. “You don’t have to torture yourself like this!”

“I haven’t had a drop since… since I met the Warden. Since I took the Eye,” Red said, close to a whisper. “The Great Honest One showed me a path away from that, but every time I see it…” He clenched one of his wounded hands.

“Red,” Daria said softly, putting a hand on his arm, “I know you want to protect us, but if you really think that you might have a relapse, you can’t do this to yourself. You have to tell everyone—”

“I’m not going to burden them with my problems—” Red stopped when he noticed Coin standing there. “Coin,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “How much of that did you—”

Red stopped midsentence, a confused look on his face.

He peered over his shoulder down the hallway. The faint sounds of the other Bronies was coming through the door behind them. Red ignored them, and faced the way to the tavern’s general area. “Hold on…” he muttered.

“Red?” said Daria, confused.

Coin was lost as well… until he noticed something as well.

He could hear the noises of his friends behind him, talking and laughing. But the end of the hallway, where the rest of the people should be, was completely silent. Curious, Coin followed behind Red.

When he caught up to him, Coin saw that the bar was totally empty. Not a soul who had been there earlier remained—every customer, every worker, had vanished. The curtains had been drawn, and the lights extinguished. Dark silence was all that remained.

Coin and Red exchanged a worried look, then went to investigate. Moving forward silently, the two moved up to a window, and carefully peered out through a crack in the curtains. There were people outside.

People carrying torches. And weapons.

Uh-oh, Coin thought, surveying the scene.

“Oh shit,” Red murmured, his eyes wide.

“What is it?” Daria asked from the doorway, not having seen.

“Get back!” Red said under his breath, grabbing Daria by the hand and rushing to warn the others. Thinking quickly, Coin grabbed a table and pushed it against the door, and turned to follow, panic running through his mind.

Coin saw that there was a crowd of Bronies streaming out of their reserved room, confused but now alert, following Red. Dustario was straightening out his clothes. “Now what is—”

A bash came at the door, and the sound of shouts. Dustario’s eyes widened. “Everybody out,” he commanded, “there’s another way out through the side, to the alleyways, if we can—”

The door burst open, and the room turned to chaos.

The armed mob crashed in, shouting and screaming, some waving torches, other clubs and daggers and swords. Coin heard a cry from behind him, and was pushed aside as the Bronies rushed forward to meet the enemy.

Kriseroff was the first to jump into the fray, bellowing as he picked up a charging attacker and threw him across the room. Three others ran towards Daria as she screamed, but not before Strongshield and Red could block the path, while Donnet began brawling with two others armed with clubs.

Who’s attacking us!? Coin thought wildly as he tried to catch himself in the melee. In plainclothes, he could barely tell the Bronies from the people they were fighting, but he knew he had to step forward to aid his friends. Seeing Caymen Diallep standing stock-still beside him, Coin moved in front of him, thinking that the scholar would surely need protection.

He was surprised when Caymen bolted past him, tackled the first person he saw, and began beating down on the enemy ferociously. “The Friends!” he cried out as he broke a man’s nose with his clenched fist

It was pandemonium—Coin’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to make sense of what was happening. More than a dozen attackers were trying to force their way in, cursing and shouting as the Bronies held them back. The front! Coin realized, knowing that he had to move quickly to prevent any more from breaking through and attacking the others. There were gaps already showing in their defenses!

One of the attackers moved past Donnet while he was busy fighting others, and ran forward to lash out at Rosesoul and Hadrena. Coin rushed to block him, crashing his shoulder into the man and sending both of them into the bar counter. Coin struck the side of the man’s face, but the tables were swiftly turned when he felt hands throttling his neck. Gasping for breath, Coin reached around for something, anything on the bar, before finding a handle. He smashed the tankard over the head of the one strangling him, sending them both reeling. Coin tried to regain his balance, until someone tackled him over.

The breath was knocked out of him when Coin hit the floor, followed swiftly by a punch to his face. Coin looked up to see a man on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Just behind him, he saw Dustario grappling with someone of his own, but above he noticed the ugly knife in the hand of the person atop him.

Coin gasped, and moved his head just enough to dodge the blade, letting it wedge itself in the wooden floor. The wielder cursed and raised an elbow to strike Coin again.

In an instant, the man forcing Coin down keeled over, screaming, with his hands covering between his legs. Coin looked up to see Jayson kicking him over, before grabbing Coin. “Get up!” he cried, before bashing the man across the skull with a nearby candlestick.

Coin’s head was ringing, but he picked himself back up and tried to collect himself. But there was no time at all to stop—he noticed immediately that Caymen had been knocked over, and that a man with a sword was coming forward towards him.

Glancing around desperately, Coin grabbed a nearby bottle and threw it as hard he could at the swordsman. It missed by at least a foot. Cursing himself, Coin tried to run and cover the Magic Friend, despite not having a sword of his own, only for another thrown bottle to catch the swordsman on the head and send him staggering back. Caymen managed to scramble up, retreating and joining Hadrena, as she and Rosesoul prepared to throw more things.

Another man with a sword reared forward, honing in on Coin and shouting. Panicking, Coin grabbed a chair, for all the good it would do him. Out of nowhere, Donnet sprang from behind the encroaching man, grabbed his arm before he could react, and delivered a blow so hard that Coin could hear the cracking of bones even over the man’s screams, the sword dropping to the ground.

Just over Donnet, Coin saw that Dustario was still brawling with one of the enemies, and seemed to have the upper hand… until the person he was grappling with, some man with blue hair, smashed a glass tankard over his head.

Taking the razor sharp, shattered end of the glass, the man began scraping it across Dustario’s face as he screamed.

“Dustario!” Coin cried as he lept forward. Closing the distance, chair in hand, Coin swung as hard as he could manage. The chair broke into pieces, but it was enough to knock over the one cutting up Dustario, sending the man to the floor. Amid the chaos, Coin got a look at who it was.

Blue hair, spiked and pointed. Dark clothes to cover himself, but Coin realized that he knew that man’s face. The Animan from the docks, Coin saw, shocked. But why was he here?

There was no time to wonder—Coin turned back to Dustario immediately. His friend was completely unconscious—if he didn’t have a concussion from that blow to his head, it would be a miracle. That wasn’t even close to worst of it, though: the side of Dustario’s face was so lacerated and bloody that Coin couldn’t even recognize it anymore. Coin tried to wake him up, before he heard a call from the others.

The Bronies who had weapons had managed to push back the mob, the Honest Eyes most of all: Kriseroff was shouting a war-song as he slashed a sword-wielding man with his axe, while Strongshield and Red pushed back the others as best as they could. Facing actual warriors with deadly weapons, the crowd seemed to have lost some of their nerve, and were keeping a distance—whoever they were, they were not skilled fighters, nor soldiers. Caving in a man’s chest with his hammer, Red cleared the door enough to slam it shut, though it was not a moment before several others outside began bashing on it to open again.

“We need to get out of here!” Red barked, while Kriseroff and Jayson pushed a table over to block the door, and fit candlesticks between the handles.

“Agreed,” said Prim, thoroughly out of breath and completely disheveled.

A brick came flying in through the window, nearly hitting Daria as she leapt out of the way. “The back entrance!” Donnet yelled, running over. “It’s our only shot—get movin’ now!”

Without time, Coin grabbed Dustario and lifted him over his shoulders, wishing that he had spent more time lifting weights and less lifting pens as he tried to carry his friend out.

Rosesoul gasped when she saw Dustario’s state. “Six save us!” she cried. “He needs medical attention, as soon as we can!”

“Is anyone else hurt?” Coin asked as they rushed out of the general room and towards the other exit.

By the looks of things, most everyone was—Donnet’s face looked like a bloodied pulp, and Caymen’s was no better, Red was bleeding from his shoulder, Strongshield from her side, Kriseroff from all over, not that he seemed to care. “Someone hit me over the head,” said Jayson, “but I’ll be fine.” The only one that looked unscathed was Theosyrius—he was trembling, but otherwise unmarked. It didn’t seem as though he had even drawn his sword.

On the one hand, the Bronies were in bad shape, but Coin knew that it was a miracle that they weren’t harmed more than they were.

“Who the Hell are these people!?” asked Hadrena furiously as they turned a corner.

“How did they find us!?” shouted Daria, still looking panicked. There were shouts from behind us, the sound of pounding against wood.

Donnet threw himself into a sealed door, breaking their way outside. There was a wall blocking the alley off from the main street, but Coin could see a little from over it. Fires burning, shouts, screams, windows smashed. A riot, he realized. a massive riot this time. Coin heard a crashing sound from behind them, within the bar. They’re breaking through!

“Move move move move!” said Donnet said to them, pushing everyone out of the tavern as fast as he could. On Coin’s shoulder, he felt Dustario twitch slightly. Blood was dripping down from his face, staining Coin’s clothes.

Kriseroff and Strongshield had grabbed a nearby dumpster and pushed it against the door behind them, blocking the way again. “We must go!” Kriseroff said. “Before we are trapped on two sides!”

Jayson swore, and started scouting ahead, with the sword of one of the rioters in his hands. “Over here!” he cried, signalling his friends over.
        
Coin went over as swift as he could, desperately out of breath but determined to move on as fast as he was able. Dustario’s life might depend on him not stopping. The alley ahead was wide enough that they could move through—the Honest Eyes took up the front while the rest followed behind. Coin stepped over cans and garbage and bricks as he struggled to keep up.

They were almost halfway to the end when a shout came from a connecting side-alley. “There they are! Right here!” someone yelled. Coin saw a single man standing off to the edge, sword drawn, swinging it at the Bronies.

Strongshield silenced him with a strike from her axe, but it was too late—shouts were coming closer. “Dammit all!” Donnet cried, “Go go go!”

The Bronies sprinted down, eager to not be trapped by however many were coming. Reaching the end of the alley, they found themselves in an open street. The place was utterly wrecked—broken glass filled the streets, doors had been broken in, a few windows showed smoke coming out. The riot, clearly, had been snaking through the city.

“The Palace,” Caymen sputtered between a broken lip, “we must reach the Palace.”

“Follow me, then,” said Donnet, “this way! Stick together, ‘n hug the walls, don’t go out in the open!”

They all trailed behind, aware of the sounds coming from behind them — the mob was closing in. Coin’s chest heaved, his muscles ached—he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up, not with Dustario on his back. Please be alright, Coin prayed, please, please…

“They’re here!” came a shout from behind them.

“Move!” Jayson cried, as they turned a corner.

Coin looked up to the high hill at the head of the city. The Palace of Aureliano had never seemed such a welcome sight, and yet it had never looked further away. They’d have to cross half the city if they wanted even a chance of reaching it, and the streets were overrun.

The Bronies dashed around the corner, only to stop in their tracks. At the end of the lane, another crowd was coming towards them—dozens of torches, dozens of people, and they had just spotted their prey. The Bronies were caught like roaches in a trap: Coin’s eyes widened and scanned desperately for another way to go.

A wide side-street was the only option. “Inside!” signalled Red, as the mobs on both sides began to close. Coin hurried over as best he could.

Before he got inside the alley, he felt a faint whoosh next to his ear, and a crack on the wall next to him. He knew the sound immediately, but did not think it could have been possible… only for three more bolts to fire around him, only barely missing.

“Crossbows!” Hadrena shouted. “They have crossbows!”

It made no sense at all—where in the Web could a random mob have found such things? And yet the Bronies only barely managed to make it into cover within the alley before another round of bolts shot through. As soon as the mob rounded the corner, the Bronies would have no chance—these attackers did not seem to be very good shots, but a clear line of sight with no cover would doom them for sure.

“We can’t keep going straight!” Coin insisted, barely able to breath at all. “Find a corner, an alley, anything!” Their only chance was to stay out of open spaces—tight quarters would make a ranged weapon next to useless.

“This way, now!” Prim yelled as he ran down a crooked path

Twists and turns, corner by corner, only barely ahead—the Bronies were playing cat and mouse, and their luck was running out by the moment, Coin knew. Just a little further, just a little more, he thought, though he knew it wasn’t true.

They came to a crossroads of sorts in the alleys, and took the branch that most directly pointed towards the Palace. “I saw them down the other path!” said Daria, out of breath as well. “They’ll block our way ahead!”

“They can just try!” shouted Red Autumn in fury. “Honest Eyes! To the front!”

The three ran forward, sprinting ahead of their friends to clear the path… and just in time, as the figures of six rioters appeared in their way at the end.

“For the Warden!” the Honest Eyes screamed as they crashed into the enemies, slashing wildly at their foes. The rioters tried their best to block, but it was no use at all — axe and sword and hammer fell on them, caving in skulls and ripping them apart in a mad fury. One of them carried a crossbow, and tried, desperately, to fire it off—a blow from Strongshield proved the futility of that. The weapon was knocked clean from his hands, and clattered on the ground beside him.

Coin gasped when he saw it. He knew the make of that crossbow exactly — the build of the stock, the honed string, the cartridge on the bottom, the loading-lever. There was no mistaking it.

An Authority repeater! Coin realized, his mind racing. How could they have—

There was no time to consider it further. Stepping over the corpses of the rioters that had been foolish enough to stand before an Honest Eye, Coin saw that the living compatriots of the dead had turned tail and fled, routing immediately before the charge: the path forward was clear. The street they had ended up on was sloping path up, up towards the central square.

“Six and One!” cried Caymen. “Keep going!”

Coin needed no reminder, but his body was close to collapsing: legs shaking, heart pounding, barely able to stay standing under the weight. Dustario’s breathing was more broken than ever—no one could say how hard that blow had been. Coin had to stay up, for his sake.

There were people on the street, running around, panicked—not rioters, just civilians. They seemed as confused as the Bronies, but not nearly as bloody. Several were running away from the square—Coin wondered what it was they were fleeing from, but immediately hoped he would not find out.

“Just a little more, just—”

Coin felt a slam into his shoulder when the crossbow bolt hit him.

Gasping, he only barely fell into a trash-laden corner, collapsing in a heap with Dustario fallen from his back. Shaking, he reached a hand to touch the bolt—a bad idea. He screamed out in pain.

Everything was becoming a blur. Coin could see some of his friends, still fighting. Red shouting… Rosesoul falling over… someone was walking towards him. Not a Brony.

Between the pain and exhaustion, black edges were appearing in Coin’s vision, but he still saw who was coming for him. A man with light blue hair. A familiar face. He carried a sword.

“Y— you…” Coin struggled to say. Behind the man, behind the alley, Coin saw that there were armed people running away, running away from where the Bronies stood. Why were they running? Stay awake! Stay awake, damn you!

“Guess I have better friends than you,” said the Animan with a cruel smile. He raised the sword in his hand. Coin closed his eyes, unwillingly.

He heard a distinct whoosh, followed by a scream of pain. Opening his eyes, Coin saw the Animan stumbling. Two more crossbow bolts shot out at him, one landing again in his back. The other burst out of his open mouth, metal point sticking from his tongue. The Animan slumped over, dead.

What? Coin struggled to think, confused. The black edges in his vision were filling in quickly; he could barely see who the person was holding the crossbow, the one rushing towards him and Dustario. But he could hear the cries behind them.

“The Logos is Greater!” they shouted. “Halforth! Halforth!”

Someone was kneeling before Coin, shaking him. A woman’s voice. “Sir Coin? Sir Coin!? Can you…”

All Coin could do was black out, blood running from his wounds.