Knock knock knock!
The sound of hoof against wood rouses me from my slumber. I am able to bring myself to my hooves easily, even after being awoken so suddenly. For a writer of horror, I sleep quite comfortably.
As I exit my quarters and enter the living room, I pass by my writing desk. The parchment is buried under an ocean of dried ink which has now managed to stain the floor as well. Last night I had complained of that paper being blank; now it seems my complaints have been heard. Like one of the characters in my novels, the universe is ever at odds with me.
I sigh, making a mental note to remember to clean that disaster up. Not that I had anything else planned for the day. I catch a glance of the grandfather clock as I step past it. Just how early am I being woken up, anyway?
6:00 P.M.
Really? I partly believe that the reason I sleep so comfortably is because I suffer from work-induced mini-comas.
As I finally make my way to the front door, it dawns on me that I actually have visitors. I never have visitors. I take a step back from the door and stare at it with certain degree of unnecessary caution. I know I'm not in any danger; this is Ponyville after all. And yet...
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
Whoever is at my door clearly wants to see me. I make no more delays in opening the door, considering at the last moment that my visitor could be a crazed fan.
Instead, I am greeted by two very imposing pegasi, clad in dark armor. Peering behind them, I notice that a large chariot lies in wait, bearing the royal Canterlot seal.
I turn back to the two guards, one of which is raising his eyebrow. I realize he must have said something.
I struggle for a moment before finding my voice.
“I'm sorry, what?”
The guard sneers at me before replying, “You are Inkwell, are you not? Her Majesty Princess Luna demands your audience at your earliest convenience.”
By the tone of his voice, I can tell that 'at my earliest convenience' means 'Get your flank in the chariot'.
“Uh, right. Of course. Just let me pack a few things.”, I say before shutting the door. Too late I realize that slamming it in their faces so abruptly was probably not the best course of action to take.
Wait, what?
The princess wants to meet with me? And why did I tell those guards I need to pack a few things? I don't exactly have anything necessary for this kind of trip. And for that matter, how long will I be staying? Are we even meeting in Canterlot?
I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. This is all oddly convenient. I had planned to send her a letter today, or at least tomorrow, inquiring about meeting me in Ponyville.
Not wanting to keep the guards waiting any longer, I find an old saddlebag and empty a roll of parchment into it. I scramble around my house searching for quills in various places, depositing those into the bag as well.
As I return to open the door, I brace myself for another angry, impatient glare. Instead, I find that the two guards have already positioned themselves on the front of the chariot, preparing to take flight. Stepping outside the door, I take one last look into my poorly-lit home. For a third time I am greeted with the sea of black stains that is currently drenching my shabby writing environment.
Perhaps a break is precisely what I need.
– – –
The trip from Ponyville to Canterlot is a relatively short one. Two pegasi can see you there in just under forty-five minutes. A good pair will get you there in thirty. These two made it in twenty; I was convinced they were about to produce their very own Sonic Guardboom. Perhaps it is an emergency and Luna truly requires my assistance. But of what use could I be?
Instead of touching down on the usual landing grounds outside the front gates, we fly directly over the outer walls and into the heart of the city. It's quite a sight. Not only am I someone who rarely gets out, but Canterlot is suspended thousands of feet in the air, clinging to the side of a cliff. Flying another couple hundred feet above that is simply surreal.
From our current position above the city, I can make out the shapes of ponies in the streets. It's nearly dark now, and a multitude of festive lights are being lit up on every corner. I had never thought Canterlot was known for its night life... And then it dawns on me.
Tonight is Nightmare Night.
I suppose I should be a bit embarrassed for not remembering. People like me are supposed to love this holiday, right? I guess I've just never been one for festivities.
Although, now that I think about it, this makes things all the more interesting. Why would Luna ask me to meet with her tonight, of all nights? Won't she be busy scaring the horseshoes off of foals? (Actually, this holiday is kind of amusing).
As we near the two largest towers of the city, which I presume to be where the princesses reside, we finally begin our descent. We land in a lengthy field in the center of the famous Canterlot gardens. Four or five other chariots populate the scene. I assume this must be the princesses' very own runway for private correspondents. I consider this thought for a moment. Is that what I am?
The two guards unhitch themselves and beckon me to follow them inside.
“This way.”, one of them says in a stern tone.
They had begun to irritate me by this point. Not only are they sporting a less-than-inviting attitude, they've also failed to brief me on the reasons for this meeting. As such, I decide to inform myself. As we begin our trek toward a set of large double doors on the far side of the gardens, I speak up.
“About Luna -” I begin.
One of the guards stops and cuts me off.
“On a first name basis now, are we?”
I hadn't thought about that before. I suppose most other ponies do refer to her as 'Her Majesty', or at the very least, 'Princess'. Perhaps these two were merely being protective of her this whole time. Royalty asking to meet with a lowly commoner of Ponyville is quite strange, after all.
I rephrase and start again.
“The Princess – did she say why she is requesting to see me?”
The guard stares at me for what seems like an eternity, and then whirls around and continues walking towards the doors. The other guard has already reached our destination and stands, waiting for us to catch up. At first, I don't expect to receive a response to my question.
“No. I presume you must be important. She's skipping her holiday duties in order to meet with you.”
Skipping her holiday duties? What could this possibly be about? Could she -
Suddenly the guard speaks again. “Inkwell... where have I heard that name before?”
“I'm an author.”
“Yes, that's right... You're that Inkwell?” I find myself momentarily surprised to hear a change of tone in his voice.
“I suppose so.”
“Hm.” He looks back at me as we walk and gives me a brief nod of approval. Once again I am caught off-guard. Could he, of all people, appreciate my work?
We walk the rest of the way in silence until we reach the entrance. Both guards simultaneously pull the doors open to reveal a grand dining hall.
A plethora of servant-ponies dash around to and fro, rushing to set up preparations for some holiday banquet. A group of pegasi struggle to hang streamers along the ceiling, and a band dressed as scarecrows rehearses on a large stage. The sheer amount of commotion is almost too much to take in.
“You'll find Her Majesty in the north tower, not far from here. Exit through those doors to the right, then follow the corridor straight until you reach a spiral staircase. Simply knock when you reach the door. She will answer.”
I nod to show my appreciation, and just as I am about to leave, the guard speaks up a final time.
“I'm not much of a reader myself, but your one story, about the museum bodyguard – that was a very accurate depiction of the security profession. Thank you.” He then proceeds to salute me.
I'm not sure what to say. I open my mouth to try and formulate some kind of a response, but I am stopped by the sound of a familiar, female voice.
“Inkwell!”