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// Cadenza 
// Story: Foreign Nationals of Unusual Importance 
// by Dave Bryant 
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“What can you tell me about Ms. Twilight Sparkle?”
The immediate answer to my question was a clatter of teacup on saucer. Whatever my hostess was expecting, that didn’t seem to be it. Either that, or I’d scored enough of a bulls-eye to rattle her in a rather literal sense. I suspected the latter.
“Ms. Twilight Sparkle?” Principal Mi Amoré Cadenza responded in a tone of polite inquiry, as if confirming she’d heard me correctly . . . or stalling. One hand tugged lightly, and covertly, on the lower hem of her jacket; the sober but attractive suit with skirt looked new, which led me to wonder if the discomfort was less about the tailoring than the recent promotion the ensemble symbolized.
“That’s correct,” I said calmly. “The young lady who transferred from Crystal Prep to Canterlot High in a matter of minutes the very day the last Friendship Games ended. As I understand it, the transfer was expedited by a Dean . . . Cadance.”
The principal—and erstwhile dean—of Crystal Preparatory Academy sat back in the wing chair and sighed. “You’ve done your homework, Mister Cook.” She glanced around her cavernous office as if looking for a way out, not of the physical space, but of the rhetorical corner she’d been backed into.
The place had been Cinch’s lair, I was sure; the sheer size of it comported with the previous principal’s alleged ego and self-importance. The walls alternated broad windows, heavy drapes pulled aside to flood the room with indirect summer sunlight, and built-in display cases that held more books and fewer trophies than Cadance’s predecessor likely maintained. The desk, while large and fine enough to uphold the headmaster’s dignity, was simple and workmanlike enough not to overawe; slight dimples on the floor outside its perimeter indicated it was a recent, and somewhat smaller, replacement. A conversation group of matching wing chairs ringing a coffee table, currently occupied by the pair of us and a porcelain tea set, filled much of the space between the desk and the double-leaf main door. I waited patiently and carefully did not fiddle with the tie of my bespoke three-piece suit.
Finally Cadance looked back at me. “Before I do anything else, I need to know who you are, Mister Cook. She is a former student, and we take our confidentiality policy seriously.”
“I am a commissioned officer conducting inquiries on behalf of the government.” I looked her in the eye. “I’ll be blunt. I was sent as an alternative to a full-scale investigation that would be extremely disruptive to everyone and everything involved. That, however, remains an option.”
A silence hovered for a time before Cadance said with commendable steadiness, “Show me your identification, Mister Cook, and please be good enough to allow me to verify it before we proceed.”
That I was more than willing to do. I’d set aside ample time to allow for just this sort of contingency.


An hour or so and several phone calls later, Cadance was satisfied I was who I claimed to be, and had the authority to ask the questions I brought. She acquiesced courteously, if not exactly happily, calling for the appropriate file to be delivered to her office.
More for the sake of politeness than in earnest, I skimmed through it. Even that desultory reading impressed me. This was a student who excelled at every academic subject she encountered. Her athletic scores were no better than adequate, however, and her lack of social involvement was sufficiently worrisome to inspire more than one annotation. Other notes provided an oblique explanation; the passive-aggressive hazing from her fellow students would have intimidated far hardier souls. My own educational history moved me to sympathize, but I had a job to do.
“Thank you, Ms. Cadenza.” I placed the folder back on the table. “I apologize for the intrusion, both on your time and the school’s records, truly, but she and her friends at CHS have become a matter of real concern, for reasons I believe you understand even better than I.”
“To return your honesty, Mister Cook, I can’t say ‘you’re welcome’, but I accept your apology. Was that all?” The unspoken I certainly hope so hung in the air between us.
I shook my head regretfully. “I’d like a more . . . personal perspective from you. These records are useful for background, but what I’m looking for is a sense of who Twilight Sparkle is as a person, and exactly what happened to her—and everyone else—at the Friendship Games. The reticence I’ve encountered so far is nothing short of amazing and in a certain sense admirable, but carrying out my assignment requires me to get past it.”
She sighed again. “All right. Let me see . . .”


Cadance’s tale was, in a word, spellbinding, but other than the Games themselves and the odd research by Twilight that led to such dramatic results, it did little more than confirm, or invalidate, some guesses and shed a little light on preceding and following events. Portions of the story were reconstructed from the testimony of other students, both CPA and CHS, but she stood by the substance of those statements.
She also revealed a strong, almost sisterly, affection for the girl that went beyond the professional, although I wasn’t certain whether she was aware she had. Her devotion to her own, and the school’s, principles was equally clear and firm, however, so I was sure she wasn’t playing favorites, and would have defended the privacy of any student, past or present, with similar fervor. It was clear why she’d been promoted into the vacancy left by Cinch’s departure despite her tender age, which I thought to be no greater than my own and possibly less.
The retelling was succinct and lucid, the delivery nearly toneless—both, I assumed, to maintain a professional manner and out of disapproval over what she had to regard as a betrayal of confidences. “It was almost as if Sunset and her friends already knew Twilight.” Cadance sounded baffled but pleased as she wound up the account. “As far as I know, though, Twilight had never been to CHS before, and certainly didn’t seem to know any of them. I was sorry to see her go, but I couldn’t very well keep her from the first friends I’ve ever known her to have.”
“I certainly can’t disagree,” I assured her. “Thank you, Ms. Cadenza, that was very clear. I wish every educator could do as well. Still, I do have a few questions. I promise to go away and leave you in peace after that.”
“Very well.” From her tone, she wanted to add but only under protest. I affected not to notice.
“Before I move on to more substantive matters, I have one point of curiosity. Do you know how Ms. Sparkle’s parents reacted to her abrupt unilateral decision to transfer from this prestigious private academy to a suburban public high school?” Tactfully, I left off expensive, which I felt sure would be a far more important factor from their point of view.
The elegantly thin pink eyebrows went up. “Truthfully, I can’t say for certain. I wasn’t around for that discussion, which I’m sure went on in the privacy of their home. She didn’t return here, so in the end they must have accepted her decision, but beyond that I have no idea. I suggest you ask her.”


I really didn’t bring up many other questions. In part, I wanted to smooth ruffled feathers; while I doubted I’d consult with Cadance again, I didn’t want to burn any bridges I didn’t have to. On top of that, she’d been quite thorough, leaving few gaps I believed she could fill. While my respectfully collegial mien succeeded in soothing her ire, pressing her not to let the cat out of the bag with Twilight and company cost me some of that hard-earned goodwill. Thus is the balance of the universe maintained.
It wasn’t until I’d left the building late in the afternoon, returning to the sedan I’d requisitioned via General Services, that I realized I’d overlooked including certain other parties in that promise. I could rely on Cadance’s discretion where the general public was concerned, but I might have more of an uphill struggle at the appointment I had for the following morning. In the mean time, however, I had homework to do, in the form of yet another report.