//------------------------------// // The Bishop of Barf // Story: The View Over Atlantis // by Zobeid //------------------------------// With the influx of volunteers, the need to understand the system of ley lines became more pressing. Until now it had been a hypothetical exercise, since they didn’t have the manpower to work on — or even survey — any sites beyond Castlerigg. Ivan, Smithers, Trixie and Moondancer put their heads together for a strategy session. Ivan had his notebook computer open on the dining room table in the farmhouse, displaying a map of England. He turned it so they could all see the screen, and he pointed out the difficulty. “If we assume that we’re only going to restore the largest neolithic sites at first, and if we further assume that we need to link them together with ley lines, then we have to carefully survey paths in a straight line between them.” With a stylus in hand, he pointed at the map. “Stonehenge is here. Avebury is here. And Castlerigg is here.” “But that’s almost all the way across England!” Moondancer objected. Ivan stroked his beard. “Unfortunately, yes. In retrospect I wish we’d started with the Rollright Stones. Then it would have been a relatively shorter jump to Avebury, and then to Stonehenge, all very neat.” Smithers interjected, “I think you’re getting quite far ahead of yourself, if you’re planning to do anything with Avebury or Stonehenge. So far all you’ve got is the unbridled enthusiasm of a few eccentrics and the opinion of one unicorn. There’s no evidence.” Trixie’s stylus, sparkling with the magenta scintillations of her magic, floated over the map. She pointed at a circular mark not too far away, still within Cumbria. “What’s this?” Ivan reached over and zoomed the map on it. “Mayburgh Henge. There are two other henges within a stone’s throw from it, called King Arthur’s Round Table and Little Round Table. It must have been quite a complex in its time.” “Why don’t we restore that?” Trixie wondered. Ivan shook his head. “I’ve been there. Look…” He switched to satellite view. “It’s in the middle of a village with roads on all sides. There’s a road cutting right into King Arthur’s Round Table, and there’s almost nothing left of Little Round Table.” Trixie asked him to zoom out again, and she stared intently at the map, then she moved her stylus to another mark. “What about this one?” Ivan zoomed in on that, and grunted. “Huh. Swinside Stone Circle. It’s roughly similar in size to Castlerigg, if I recall right. Possibly bigger.” “I’ve been there,” Moondancer contributed. “It’s relatively well preserved.” Trixie suggested, “Why not use that as our next test subject? If we could rebuild both of these henges and link them together with a working ley line, that might be all the proof we need.” Ivan scratched his chin and nodded slowly. “It’s a bit of diversion, but you’re right. We can’t just strike off across the countryside for hundreds of miles without a better idea of what we’re doing. We could put our volunteers to work scouting every possible ley point marker between here and Swinside, though. That’s manageable. I have no idea whether there was ever a prehistoric ley line between them or if we’ll have to improvise one entirely from scratch.” Smithers glared at the map. “This isn’t going to be rubber-stamped by the National Trust. They’ll expect an archaeological review and a detailed plan for any changes to Swinside before they even contemplate allowing it — just like you did for Castlerigg.” “Oh come off it!” Ivan exploded, throwing his hands up. “We’ll have to rebuild dozens, maybe hundreds, of monuments to make this work. We can’t go through that kind of red tape for each of them. The Barrier will roll right over all of us before we could ever complete all that.” Smithers held his ground. “I’m still not confident that there’s anything of value to this project at all. Meanwhile, what we don’t need is a bunch of well-meaning amateurs running riot over these sites with blundering ignorance, destroying our history.” Ivan didn’t answer immediately, but instead pursed his lips and looked down at the map. It was Moondancer who spoke up, gently, and said, “Maybe we should have a little more faith in those blundering, ignorant amateurs. These monuments were built by the people with their own hands. They belong to the people, not to your learned experts. They’re part of the land. You can’t lock them up in a museum.” Smithers gave an exasperated sigh. “If only we could! If you destroy it, you can’t get it back.” He glanced meaningfully at Ivan. “You know what state Avebury is in, right? It’s much, much worse than Mayburgh. How are you going to deal with that?” Ivan looked up. “No, she’s right. Think about this for a moment! The henges were built, used, altered and rebuilt for centuries. Then the Romans came and cut graffiti on them.” He lifted his hands and mimed carving with a hammer and chisel. “Naughtius Maximus was here!” He continued, “Then the Christians came and destroyed a lot of them, toppling the stones and putting up crosses where menhirs once stood, churches in place of henges. Farmers dug pits and built bonfires to shatter the stones, to clear their fields. Then the industrial revolution came, and we cut railroads and highways through them. All of those upheavals left a mark, became part of the history that you’re so determined to protect. And now we’re having another great upheaval.” Ivan reclaimed his notebook from the table. “Smithers… You’ve got a notion that history is all in the past. Now we’re going to make some. And at least we’ll be building instead of tearing down.” Smithers scowled and looked ready to retort, but Trixie interrupted their dispute, saying, “We’ll need more maps. Real ones, on paper that I can write on. I can’t work with computers like this.” “I agree,” Moondancer chimed in. “Get us a line to those scholars that Lord Peter supposedly has on the payroll! They can print up their maps and send them to us by courier. And get us a big table where we can spread them out! And we’ll need computers too, so we can look at the satellite views.” Ivan nodded. “Consider it done.” After a few phone calls Ivan arranged to rent a studio apartment in one of the outbuildings of the Low Nest Farm. It was Smithers, despite his misgivings, who suggested buying a large map plotter so Lord Peter’s researchers could transmit maps to the farm, where they could be printed on demand. Trixie hadn’t known that was possible. To her it was just another example of human techno-wizardry. While the new workspace was being prepared, Trixie and Moondancer decided to spend a day exploring the countryside around Keswick. Moondancer had suggested, “I’ve already got our lunch. We can go for a drive around and make a picnic of it.” Trixie made a face. “Must we?” Moondancer’s smile faded. “You don’t want to go with me?” “Trixie does not understand the human infatuation with cars.” “But this is a perfect day for riding with the top down!” Trixie snurled her nose. “How can you see anything when whizzing past?” “Well, we don’t have to drive fast, do we? We don’t have anywhere to be, or any schedule to get there.” “So, just… ride around? Aimlessly?” Moondancer nodded. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Try something new!” Trixie rolled her eyes and gave in. “Very well. Trixie shall humor you today.” Shortly thereafter, with a resigned sigh, Trixie climbed into the very small white roadster while Moondancer stowed their lunch in the back, then slipped into the driver’s seat. Trixie watched as she fastened her seat belt. “Do I need one of those?” she asked. Moondancer shook her head. “It wouldn’t fit you properly. It might do more harm than good. You’ll just have to trust the air bags — and my driving.” She thumbed the R button, placed her hands on the wheel, and the car began to roll back out of its parking space, gravel lightly crunching under the tires. “Why doesn’t your car drive itself?” Trixie wondered. Most of the cars she’d seen did, with the notable exception of Lord Peter’s chauffeured limousine. “Piffle! The whole point of a sports car is that it’s fun to drive.” She thumbed the D button and pulled out onto the motorway leading to Keswick. Trixie tried leaning back in the seat, a pose that was only slightly awkward for a pony. To her surprise, she could see out the windows. She had to practically stand up on her hind legs to see out of most other human vehicles. She turned her head to watch Moondancer, mildly curious about how the car was controlled. The steering wheel was obvious, but it took a few moments to realize there were foot pedals too. Moondancer chattered happily, “A lot of Wiccans feel the same as you about cars, Trixie. I’ve heard it all: They’re wasteful, bad for the planet, bad for our bodies, bad for our society. It may be so. But everyone has some sort of vice, so I guess this little runabout is mine. I could have picked a worse one, right?” They rolled silently down the lane at a modest pace, and Trixie felt the sun on her face, and the warm breeze rustling through her mane, and she heard the calls of birds, and she grudgingly admitted to herself that this was not unpleasant. They slowed to a stop at an intersection, made a left turn, and then Moondancer said, casually, “Hang on!” “Whut?” was all Trixie managed, then the car’s electric motor gave forth a queer whine, and Trixie was flung back against her seat. For a few seconds her startled shriek mingled with Moondancer’s giddy laughter, then the surge of acceleration eased off. “It’s zippy, isn’t it?” Moondancer prompted, then giggled more. “Trixie wants out now!” the little unicorn gasped, trying to brace her hooves against any solid surface she could reach. “You said we wouldn’t go fast.” “That wasn’t fast. Not really, you baby!” Her tone was contrite, though. “OK, I’m slowing down, we’ll go nice and slow.” The motor whined again, more softly, as the car decelerated, then it silently coasted into the village. Trixie’s taut muscles relaxed, but she still groused, “That was not funny!” Moondancer smirked. “I thought it was — but I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.” She paused for a few seconds, then added, “I mean, not unless you want to and are ready for it.” “Fat chance of that,” Trixie grumbled. They cruised through Keswick, across the valley, then turned north through Braithwaite and onto the Thornthwaite road. They’d only just coasted through the hamlet of Thornthwaite itself when something caught Trixie’s eye. She stood up in her seat and pointed with a hoof. “What’s that?” Moondancer slowed the car and looked. Trixie was pointing towards a white object halfway up the side of a small mountain, or fell. She wondered, “Is that a standing stone?” “It’s an odd place for one. I don’t remember seeing it on any of our maps,” Trixie said. “And why is it bright white?” Moondancer speculated, “Maybe some of our eager followers hiked up there and painted it. Somebody here could probably tell us.” She pulled over into the driveway of an establishment that turned out to be the Swan Hotel. They parked the car and ventured inside, where they found an older, bearded gentleman. “May I help you?” he started to enquire, then blinked and exclaimed, “Here now, you’re the ones that were on the news. And what an adorable little unicorn!” Being adorable and little, as humans saw her, was something Trixie still hadn’t entirely come to terms with. She indicated herself with a hoof. “The Great and Powerful Trixie, if you please!” “Oh, of course, Ma’am! No disrespect meant.” Moondancer introduced herself as well, and then she asked the man about the white monument they’d seen. He was more than happy to share what he knew. “What you’ve espied out there, Ma’am, is the Bishop of Barf.” He ignored Moondancer’s befuddled expression and some choking sounds from Trixie, and he went on: “Y’see, the Bishop of Derry was traveling when he stopped right here in the Swan Hotel, yay long ago. A bishop he might have been, but he was a devil for the drink, and after he’d got right sloshed he made a bet with one of our locals that he could ride his pack pony straight up the side of Barf Fell, all the way to the summit. Well of course he didn’t make it. He got to right about where that big rock juts up, and he took a nasty tumble. Killed the both of them, horse and rider alike.” He went on, “They were buried not far from here, at the base of the mountain. Ever since then, for more than two hundred years, we’ve kept the memory of his drunken ride by whitewashing that rock, and named it the Bishop of Barf in his honor. And there’s a smaller stone painted white too, marking the grave site.” Moondancer and Trixie both giggled at the story. Then, after their mirth had run its course, Moondancer asked, “But it’s a natural outcrop of rock, isn’t it?” The man nodded. “Aye, it’s a part of the mountain.” Moondancer shook her head. “We thought maybe some of our volunteers had found a menhir and painted it.” The man scratched his beard and asked, “Is is true, you’re going to raise all those old stones and save us?” She answered honestly, “We’re going to try our best and see what comes of it, Goddess be willing.” Trixie interrupted, “It’s not a bad idea, though.” Moondancer looked down at her. “What is?” “Painting the stones,” Trixie elaborated. “White paint would make them more visible and make them look fresh and new.” Moondancer mulled that over for a few moments, then nodded. “They’d look like they were born anew. It would give more of the volunteers something to do, as well. That’s a great idea, Trixie. Let’s give the order as soon as we get back to the farm, shall we?” They chatted briefly with the fellow, but soon enough departed and continued their scenic drive with the fells rising on their left and Bassenthwaite Lake to their right. Cattle and sheep grazed in pastures bounded by quaint drystone walls. Trixie rubbernecked, and finally commented, “This country is beautiful!” “It is! How does it compare with Equestria, I wonder?” Trixie had to think about that for a few moments. “I’ve been all over Equestria. Some parts could rival this. Rainbow Falls, maybe.” They drove around the periphery of the lake, crossed the River Derwent and rolled past any number of tourist traps: many now closed, though some of the more modest still kept their doors open. They returned down the opposing lake side past Skiddaw until they located an enticing picnic area not far from the water, with a small stream nearby flowing into the lake. Finding they had the small park all to themselves, they took their pick of the provided tables and unpacked their lunch. Trixie sniffed. “What kind of sandwiches are these?” “Tofu salad with cranberries and pecans on whole wheat bread!” Moondancer answered happily. She pointed, “And we have fruit salad. A flask of tea. And…” She lifted a container out of the basket. “Carrot cake!” “Ooh, lovely!” Trixie settled down with a plate and began to levitate the goodies onto it. She took a nibble from her sandwich, and nodded approvingly as she chewed. After a few moments a frown formed, though. Moondancer noticed. “You don’t like it?” “Huh?” Trixie swallowed. “No, it’s not that. I was just thinking about something. I saw on the news that a lot of humans are living on something called Soylent now.” She looked to her companion with an unspoken request to share her thoughts. She averted her gaze from Trixie and said, “A lot of people don’t have a job and don’t have any money. But nobody starves. They can always get Soylent. It’s… not so bad, really.” Trixie gazed contemplatively at her nibbled-on sandwich. “It’s because of the Convergence too, isn’t it?” Moondancer shook her head. “No, no it’s not. Machines were taking all the jobs before we ever had any contact with your world. Our world has always been messed up, Trixie. Our problems didn’t all start when we met ponies. Now go on, enjoy your food!” They had barely made a dent in their sandwiches when a voice called out from above. “Hoy!” They looked up to see a tan pegasus flaring his wings as he glided down to a landing. Trixie hopped to her feet and narrowed her eyes to glare at Mojo. “YOU!” she accused. He took a startled step back, his wings still open. “What? No, don’t be like that!” Trixie scowled. “Don’t be like that? How dare you!? How dare you even show your face to me!” “You’ve got me all wrong!” he insisted. “I did you a favor. Haven’t you ever heard there’s no such thing as bad publicity? And it worked out pretty well for you, dinnit? No harm, no foul, right? Look at all the support you’ve got now!” “You tricked me!” “Only a little, only a little. I mean, I was a perfect stranger. You don’t tell your big secrets to a perfect stranger that you just met, am I right?” Moondancer had watched this exchange. Now she jabbed a finger at Mojo, “Why are you even here now? And how did you find us?” “You kind of stand out, no offense. I just thought maybe we could do a follow-up interview.” Trixie interjected, “Follow…!? Are you crazy? Why should I give you anything?” He sat on the ground, on his haunches and gestured with his arms, thumping his chest with a hoof. “I can help you tell your story to the world. Just give me a chance! I get my scoop, and you get an audience of millions. It’s win-win!” “No! Go away!” Mojo crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere until you give me something.” Trixie gritted her teeth and muttered, “There’s a poor choice of words.” Magenta sparkles flared to life around Trixie’s horn, along with the subtle, almost musical sounds of a magical discharge. In an instant Mojo’s entire body was engulfed in sparkles, and he was lifted off the ground. “Hey! Hey, what?!” he blurted as he flailed his wings and legs ineffectually. “Let me go!” Trixie marched him over to the stream while he squirmed and pleaded. Then she yelled at him, “Invoke not the wrath of a wizard, or spend your day as a slimy lizard!” A powerful burst of magic obscured his outline for a moment, then dissipated and dropped him into the stream. Moondancer stared, wide-eyed, her hands covering her mouth for a moment until she managed to gasp, “What did you do to him?” Trixie’s voice boomed out, as though reverting to her on-stage habits, “Fret not! Trixie’s spell shall wear off shortly — with no harm done, merely a lesson learned.” She gazed at where Mojo was flopping and sputtering in the muddy stream and more softly added, “Uhh… We should get out of here before that happens.” By the time they’d hastily gathered up their lunch and sped off, the tension had broken, and they both giggled as if they were making a successful getaway from a bank robbery. After swinging through Keswick yet again, they found another picnic spot in the shadow of Blencathra and resumed their interrupted lunch. The meadows around the picnic area were home to some fell ponies, which Trixie watched as she ate. A couple of the ponies, black and gray, approached, but not too close. They stopped and peered warily at Trixie, with their ears perked up. “What do they want?” Trixie stage-whispered to Moondancer. She replied softly, “I think they’re curious about you. Or maybe they smell the carrot cake.” “Do fell ponies eat cake?” Trixie wondered. “We can find out.” She cut a modest piece of cake and then nibbled on it, conspicuously, where the ponies could see. Then she held out the saucer to them. The black one was the bolder of the pair and stepped forward to sniff the saucer, then his tongue swept out and scooped the cake into his mouth. Moondancer giggled. “I think that’s a yes.” The gray pony crowded up to the table, not wanting to be left out. Trixie grinned and reached for the cake, then lit her horn to cut a piece, but the flare of magic startled the fell ponies. They both jumped back, away from the table. Trixie was taken aback for a moment, while the fell ponies snorted and shook their heads. “No magic!” Moondancer suggested. Trixie nodded. “No magic.” She shut off her spell and picked up a plastic knife in her mouth to secure a piece of cake. Holding her hoof with the frog facing upright — a position utterly impossible for any native equine of earth — she balanced the cake upon it and held it forth to the fell ponies. The ponies came forward again, and the black one tried to nose his way in front, but Trixie blocked him with her free hoof. “You’ve had yours. Give your friend a taste!” The gray pony quickly lapped up the cake from Trixie’s hoof, making her giggle. In a moment both of the ponies were nosing at Trixie, looking for more. It was too much for comfort, and she reflexively used her magic again to startle and nudge them until they backed off. “You’ve had your treats,” she chided. Moondancer giggled and glanced at Trixie, casually comparing her putatively equine form to that of the fell ponies. She observed, “They’re so different from you; it’s strange that we use the same word for both species. It’s like… It’s like if we used the same word for humans and orangutans.” For her own part, Trixie kept her eyes and ears locked onto the animals. After pondering for a few moments, she replied, “They aren’t what I thought. I imagined something like… cave ponies. Shaggy, dirty, ugly brutes.” She lowered her head to rest her muzzle upon her forelegs, and she watched a pair of fillies (or colts — she couldn’t tell) race about the meadow. She giggled softly. “Well, they are shaggy. But they’re beautiful in their way. They seem so free! They don’t have any of our worries. Their world isn’t ending. They don’t need a job, or have to eat Soylent. They don’t have reporters hassling them.” Trixie watched the fell ponies cavorting in the meadow, and Moondancer watched Trixie. Then she reached over and nudged the little unicorn and suggested, “Why don’t you go join them and run free for a little while?” Trixie turned to look at her. “What? I’m a civilized pony. The Great and Powerful Trixie does not prance in the field like a brainless foal.” Moondancer smiled and shrugged. “Suit yourself!” Then she slipped her sandals off and ran, giggling, across the velvet green. Trixie stared after her, gobsmacked for a moment. Then she called out, “Wait for me!”, and she chased after her friend. The sun was sinking toward the valley when they eventually pulled into the Low Nest Farm, tired but contented. “Oh!” Moondancer exclaimed when she spotted the car parked in front, sporting a Battenberg pattern of yellow and blue. “The police. I wonder why they’re here?” As she parked her car, she could see that Ivan and Mildred were standing in front of the farmhouse, along with a police officer and a pegasus pony, namely Mojo. All of them turned to watch in silence as Moondancer and Trixie got out of the car and came up to the house. None of them were smiling. Mojo, still stained with mud and moss from the stream, pointed a hoof at Trixie and accused, “There she is! That’s the unicorn who attacked me.” The officer set his stony eyes on her, clicked the button on a recorder with his thumb, and his mustache twitched as he said, “The Great and Powerful Trixie, I gather.” He glanced at her companion. “And you must be, ah… Moondancer, is it?” “Yes. Officially, even,” she asserted, just in case he was unsure about that. The officer looked downward again at the little unicorn and said, “Miss Trixie, you’ve been accused of assaulting Mr. Jones. That’s a serious allegation.” “Trixie did no such thing!” she retorted while looking daggers at Mojo. “That’s right,” Moondancer chimed in. “This pegasus was following and harassing us, and Trixie only fended him off.” The officer said, “Harassing you, eh? But you never placed any call, did you? Whereas Mr. Jones here did.” Moondancer explained, “We didn’t take a phone with us today. And after Trixie made him leave us alone, there was no harm done.” “No harm done?” Mojo pointed at Trixie again. “Bloody hell was there no harm done! She turned me into a newt.” At that statement, all eyes turned to Mojo. The officer pursed his lips thoughtfully. It was Ivan, silent until now, who leaned over for a closer look and said, “A newt?” Mojo’s eyes were wide, but his pupils shrank to pinpricks, and he took an involuntary step back, his wings partially opening of their own accord, and he stammered, “I… I mean… I, uh, I got better.” Trixie gave a low whistle while twirling her hoof in a little circle around her ear. “Wow.” The police officer sighed and switched off his recorder. “All right, that’s enough. I’m sorry to have bothered you folks. But you know, we have to investigate calls.” “What!?” Mojo turned on him. “You’re not going to arrest her?” “And write her up for turning you into a newt? That would be more than my job’s worth. Now come along, you!” He grabbed Mojo’s ear and towed him back to the patrol car.