Twilight, wearing oversized sunglasses and a big floppy hat, peered around the corner of the dark alley. She looked ridiculous. She felt ridiculous. But, as much as she hated it, she had to go to all this trouble. Because, if she didn’t—
“Heya, Twi!”
Twilight barely suppressed a groan.
“Hi, Pinkie,” she grumbled.
Pinkie bounced up beside her, smiling wide as always. Around her middle, she wore a thick harness, hitched by a rope the back of her favorite party cannon. “Went shopping?” she asked brightly.
“Yes, Pinkie,” Twilight answered flatly, as she turned and stalked away down the cramped side-street. “I had to—”
“It’s for the Princess, innit?” Pinkie interrupted. “Everyone says you’ve got the Princess in your library, Twi, and I just know her favorites are those pistachio cream cupcakes you have in your bag, and I know you hate them, because I tried to give them to you for your birthday one time, and then you—”
“I remember, Pinkie.”
“Plus, you got a whole bunch of blank parchment, and even you don’t go through that much, and then there’s been a lot of those smoketrails that Spike makes whenever he sends a message, and then I wondered—why is Spike sending so many messages lately? I mean, the pony you send the mostest messages to in the world is Princess Celestia, and she’s right there in your house! But then I remembered—” she practically squealed, “That Princess Celestia is right there in your house!”
Twilight shot her a quizzical look, but Pinkie needed no further prompting.
“And because she’s the Princess, she’s probably s-u-u-u-per busy, even if she is on vacation! So it’s probably her sending all those messages to all the ends of Equestria!”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Wow, Pinkie,” she muttered, “You’ve sure—”
“So,” she gasped, “Can you let me in?”
Twilight shot her a startled look.
“I mean,” Pinkie pleaded, “She’s been here almost three weeks, and we haven’t even had her ‘Welcome To Ponyville’ Party! Or her ‘Weekiversary’ Bash! Or even her ‘You’ve Been A Here A While Now For Some Reason, But We Don’t Mind, Seriously’ fête!”
Twilight glanced back at her. “Fête?” she repeated.
Pinkie shrugged. “Gotta mix it up every so often. But seriously, Twi,” she cried, “You’re being so mean! No one’s gone inside your library for weeks, not even us—not even me! Except for you, and Spike, of course—and Rarity, for some reason,” she added, perplexed. She looked troubled for just a second—but soon, she brightened again. “And I told you, I need to borrow your super-fancy cake-cookbook!”
“Got you that one for your birthday,” Twilight said.
“I wanna show you how to bake a quiche, like I promised!” she said, without hesitation.
“I’ll come by Sugarcube Corner, then,” Twilight replied.
“I’ve always wanted my very own treehouse, ever since I was a little filly!” Pinkie cried.
Twilight turned and glanced her up and down, but kept walking.
“Aw, come on,” Pinkie pleaded. “I brought my party cannon! And are you really going to disappoint all these guests that have been waiting so long?”
Twilight suddenly pulled up short. She glanced at Pinkie, panicked, then turned and stared straight ahead, eyes wide, her breath coming in short gasps. “Sweet Celestia,” she breathed.
Twilight usually teleported back into the library. She’d configured her Anti-Teleportation Shield to let her and her friends do so—though she was usually the only one to take advantage of that loophole. Twilight would usually find some quiet, abandoned spot in the back alleys within easy teleportation range, then blink back home in an instant. Usually.
But she had been so focused on Pinkie that she hadn’t noticed when the two of them emerged into the town square. There, fifty yards away, stood her library. Out front stood her poor mailbox, stuffed to bursting with letters and cards, most of them addressed to the Princess. At every door and window stood a Royal Guard, each looking inexpressibly bored in their golden armor. And, huddled in a loose ring around the tree, in an unruly mass one rabble-rouser short of a full-blown riot, stood the crowd.
Some of them were curious foals. Some were teens and young adults, eager for any excuse to get out of work or school. And some were aspiring politicians, ambitious hangers-on, ravenous fans, and eager sycophants. And a startling number of them were paparazzi, with forged press credentials and freshly-wound cameras.
Whoever they were, whatever their motivations, they were all there for exactly one thing: to do anything, short of murder, to catch hide or hair of Princess Celestia.
And every single one of them was staring directly at Twilight.
For a moment, they stared at each other, Twilight and the crowd, the tension as tight as a bowstring waiting to snap.
After a long moment, Twilight raised a hoof and gave a half-hearted wave. “Hi, everypony,” she began weakly, “I hope—”
“There she is!” a young mare cried, her mane dyed blue, green, and pink. “Get ‘er!”
And, as one, the crowd surged forward, galloping straight towards her.
Twilight knew what to do. She’d practiced. She took a deep breath, and concentrated—and, just before they could lay their hooves on her—
BANG
—she was back in the library, gasping for breath.
Twilight listened to the gruff voices of the guards just outside the door for a moment, then sighed. She shook off her hat and folded her sunglasses. “I’m back,” she called.
“Down here, Darling,” Rarity called up from the basement.
Twilight plodded towards the stairs, glad for the sudden quiet. It wasn’t the last time she’d been grateful for all the time she’d spent practicing her teleportation in school. Rarity wasn’t so lucky, at least when she didn’t have Twilight with her; she’d had to trust to dumb luck, withering glares, and the barely-sufficient Royal Guards to make her way through the crowd.
As Twilight pushed open the door and descended the stairs, she heard Princess Celestia speak:
“Come on in,” Celestia said to her. “We were just about to start.”
Below her, Celestia sat at her makeshift desk, Rarity seated across from her with a stack of newspaper clippings. They had tried, at first, to set Celestia up in Twilight’s bedroom upstairs, then, when that proved too small, in the library proper. But the crowd outside made Celestia nervous—and rightly so. The basement, despite being dank and gloomy, was big enough to serve their purposes, and, being underground, had no windows. Though Twilight had to empty out all the boxes she’d been meaning to clean up for months now, Celestia had quite taken to her new quarters.
Perhaps because, here, there was no risk of anyone unexpected charging in to see her in her present state…
Twilight swallowed, then glanced nervously at Celestia. She had refused to wear her bandages after the first week, claiming they were hot and itchy, and weren’t helping either way. Indeed, despite everything they’d tried, the black changeling plates had continued to spread, and now covered half her side, and nearly all her left leg. As much as Twilight hated to admit it, seeing Princess Celestia in this state almost physically hurt. The spreading blackness reminded Twilight of nothing but her own failures to make her better—and how badly all of Equestria was depending on her to do something...
Twilight took a seat beside Rarity, who nodded a greeting and turned back to her notes. Twilight shrugged off her saddlebag and started to empty the contents, starting with the small box of pistachio-cream cupcakes, which she placed on the desk and pushed silently towards Celestia.
“Thank you, Twilight,” Celestia said with a smile. Twilight glanced up at her; even though she had to be hurting too, she was still gracious and kind as always. That was one thing she’d always admired about her.
“I was just telling Rarity about your theory,” Celestia added. “Where you think that every time I use my magic, it hastens the transformation…?”
Rarity shrugged. “I mean, it only makes sense,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps releasing magic of any sort helps speed up whatever magic is already working on you. Or, perhaps, there’s a little bit of Changeling magic already wrapped up in your own, and using it makes it stronger…”
“It doesn’t fill all the gaps, though,” Twilight said, cutting her off. “It sounds like the transformation is progressing at its own pace, regardless of what you do… but spikes in the growth rate do tend to follow expenditures of magic…”
“In either case,” Celestia said. “It’s good to know that there’s some sort of logic to what’s happening. Even if it is a little shaky,” she added with a smile.
Twilight sighed, then looked back down at the desk. She suppressed a groan; sitting on the corner of the desk was yet another navy-and-black envelope, bearing Luna’s personal seal. Luna had kept her word and stayed away—though she had insisted on sending a whole platoon of royal guards to watch the library, and, if Twilight guessed right, to keep her updated on the goings-on. In any case, Luna had been pestering Celestia with frequent letters, mostly about government matters, which, though innocent enough, still made Twilight nervous.
That said… if the letters she was receiving were any indication, Celestia and Luna were somehow managing to hold this all together fairly well. Most of the outlying town and cities corresponded mostly by mail anyways, so little had changed except the postmark. And Luna was there to handle anyone who insisted they needed to speak to a Princess immediately, and to handle any emergencies that came up. Of course, the councilors and bureaucrats back in Canterlot weren’t exactly happy, given that they no longer had the Princess’s ear, but Celestia had enough experience to know what she needed to do without them, and Luna was there to make sure that they were doing as they were told. The only thing that was really missing was Open Court, and that was often more of a PR opportunity than actual governance. So, all in all, things were going about as well as could be expected.
Of course, there had been a few in the palace who had tried to cause trouble--who claimed Celestia’s sudden unwillingness to show herself in public meant she was no longer fit to lead--but a sternly-worded letter from Celestia, delivered by an angry, sleep-deprived Luna, flanked by a platoon of Royal Guards, was enough to get them to sit down and shut up..
But, that did little to quell the rumors...
“So,” Celestia said, turning to Rarity, as Twilight squirmed in her seat, “what’s the damage today?”
Rarity adjusted her reading glasses. “The usual, actually,” she said. “At least, in many respects.” She shuffled the stack of newspaper clippings in front of her. “There’s the political column in the Canterlot Chronicle—”
“Hot Hoof?”
Rarity nodded. “Indeed.”
Celestia groaned. “This should be good…”
Rarity rolled her eyes. “That’s one way to put it. This week, he’s saying…” she leaned a little closer. “ ‘I hope Her Highness is enjoying her stay in Podunkville—’ ”
“Ponyville is not ‘Podunk!’” Twilight interjected.
Rarity looked up at her. “Darling,” she said, with infinite patience, “as much as I like the place, you have to admit that Ponyville, at least in certain respects, is…” she gestured vaguely. “Lacking.”
Twilight scoffed and opened her mouth, but Celestia cut in. “He hopes I am enjoying my vacation because…?”
Rarity cleared her throat and examined the paper again. “ ‘Because,’ ” she read, her voice dropping a half-step, “ ‘as troubled a ruler as she remains, she’s better than either of the alternatives, as much as I hate to admit it. Were it not for her, the only ponies we would be left with would be a known traitor and a liar, or a horndog stallion who would immediately try and top every mare in government—”
“Charming, as always,” Celestia said.
“He forgot Cadance, though,” Twilight interjected.
Rarity rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point, Darling,” she said. “I mean, he’s always been regretfully fringe, but he commands the ear of a surprisingly large portion of the populace…” She shuffled her papers again. “Dear old Hot Hoof isn’t the only one to express such a sentiment, either.” She picked one clipping from the stack. “Ponyville Express, this morning,” she said. “ ‘Though we are pleased to host our Princess, one must begin to wonder when she will return to her duties of running the country—or, at least, make a public appearance outside the homes of her best friends...’ ”
“At least they had the decency to hide the welcome mat after I showed up,” Celestia added.
Rarity ignored her. Instead, she fished another clipping from the pile. “Manehattan Times, yesterday. Front page, in fact: ‘Princess Still In Hiding.’ “
“Geez,” muttered Twilight. “At least they get straight to the point.”
Rarity glanced at the dateline. “Oh,” she said hesitantly. “It’s an Equestrian Order of Journalists piece. They… they syndicate.”
“Meaning…?” asked Celestia.
“Meaning,” Rarity replied, “that piece is going to appear everywhere.” She dug through her pile again. “Las Pegasus, Baltimare, Seaddle, Salt Lick, Saddlehorn City… even the Appleoosa Messenger—”
“Appleoosa has a newspaper?”
“Hardly. A little two-page front-and-back affair. Community newsletter sort of thing. But, still, it looks like someone there has an EOJ pass, because…” she scanned the piece. “Though it’s only the heading and the first paragraph, there it is. ‘Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia still remains in Ponyville, where she has requested that she be contacted only regarding the most vital affairs, and then only through her most trusted confidants.’ ”
Rarity glanced through her pile again, giggled a little, then it her horn and pulled out a glossy page. “You’ll like this one,” she said offhandedly. “The Stablehand is suggesting—”
“Rarity,” Celestia cut in, a faint note of reproach in her voice, “you know how I feel about those gossip rags.”
Rarity twittered nervously. “Well, I wouldn’t call it a gossip rag—more of a… a society magazine—”
“I don’t see the difference,” Celestia replied. “Besides, didn’t you write me once about how awful your sister was when she wrote a gossip column of her own?”
“Well,” Rarity huffed. “That is an entirely different matter. Sweetie Belle was getting personal, hurting ponies for her own benefit, and—”
Celestia shot her a look. “Isn’t that the magazine that outed Fancy Pants?”
Rarity hesitated, then grinned awkwardly. “Oh,” she said, “That’s just speculation…”
“No,” Celestia said quietly, “it really wasn’t.”
“Anyways,” Twilight interrupted, “though we all know how you feel about these things, I’m sure Rarity’s found something valuable. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have mentioned it. Right?” she added, shooting Rarity a look.
Rarity sniffed daintily. “Right,” she said. “After all, what’s a better place to find the latest gossip than a gossip magazine?”
She missed the look that passed between Twilight and Celestia.
Rarity lifted the page again, then cleared her throat. She opened her mouth to begin reading—then giggled nervously and put the page down.
“What does it say?” Celestia asked.
Rarity glanced at the page, then shook her head. “No, really,” she said, “I’d rather not…”
“Please,” Celestia said, “I want to hear what you found.”
Rarity sighed, then floated the page over to her. “You’d better just read it,” she said.
Celestia took the page, then read in silence for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was flat and emotionless.
“Exclusive,” she read slowly. “Celestia Hiding A Baby Bump. Who’s The Lucky Stallion? Details On Page Nine.”
Rarity grimaced, and Twilight suppressed a snarl.
Celestia stayed quiet a minute, before she chuckled mirthlessly. “Well,” she said, “They’re not wrong…”
“Oh, come now,” Rarity said, a note of reproach in her voice. “We all know those eggs are unfertilized—Twilight tested them—”
“But still,” Celestia insisted. “Eggs. Care to tell me how I should explain that to the press?”
As she spoke, Twilight nervously glanced her up and down. There was a strange sort of beauty about those plates of hers, alien though it was...
“Quit looking at me like that,” Celestia snapped.
Twilight looked up into her eyes, and saw her glaring back. “Huh?” she said numbly.
“I said,” Celestia repeated, “Quit looking at me like that.” She looked away. “You’re making me nervous,” she added.
“Oh,” Rarity said, sweeping up the articles with her magic, “it’s not that bad… You’re going to look absolutely ravishing when your plates come all the way in…”
Both Twilight and Celestia shot her acid glares, and Rarity cringed. “I-I just think t-that you’ll look lovely in black,” she stammered. “And—”
“Don’t you worry, Princess,” Twilight interjected. “We’ll get you taken care of. We’ll find some way to fix you.”
Celestia gulped, then looked up at her. “Speaking of,” she said, “Any word from what’s-her-name—Zinnia? Zaharah?”
“Zecora,” Twilight corrected her.
“Zecora,” Celestia repeated. “Has she gotten back to you?”
Twilight bit her lip, then shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “I think she’s still looking, but…”
“And Starswirl?” Celestia cut in.
Twilight tried to smile, but her grin cracked at the edges. “Well, you know how hard it is to request books from the Royal Archives under normal circumstances…”
Rarity hesitated, then stepped forward and put an arm around Celestia. “Don’t you fret, now,” she said, “Twilight’s right. We’ll figure something out…”
Celestia sighed. After a moment, she lowered her head slightly and pointed her horn at the mass of papers Rarity held. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened. Celestia grimaced, and, finally, her horn began to glow, but with a fitful, anemic light.
Rarity shot Twilight a frightened look as Celestia, ignoring both of them, used her magic to fish the gossip article from Rarity’s stack. As she pulled it free, the words blazed out at the three of them: Who’s The Lucky Stallion?
“Let’s hope we do find something,” Celestia said, “and fast. I don’t know how much longer my adoring public will let me stay on vacation—”
Rarity chuckled weakly and tried to take back the article. “You’re a Princess,” she said. “You have nothing to worry about. Those who are asking difficult questions about your alleged… condition can just go—”
Celestia shook her head firmly. “That’s not what I mean.” She sighed and looked down at herself. “I can’t hide like this forever,” she said. “I’m going to have to go out there and face the music sometime—”
Twilight laid a hoof on her shoulder. “We’ll turn you back before then, don’t you worry.”
Celestia’s eyes flashed. “In case it slipped your mind,” she said, her voice razor-sharp, “The Summer Sun Celebration is next week. Are you trying to tell me we’ll figure this out before then?”
“Can’t Luna do it for you?” Rarity murmured. “I mean, she’s been raising the sun for weeks now…”
“No,” Celestia said bitterly, “she doesn’t know the spells. Not like I do.” She scrunched the gossip article up, and, with another spark from her horn, set it on fire. In the flickering light from its flames, she glanced at Rarity and Twilight; Rarity stared back at her, horrified, while Twilight’s eyes were wide and frightened.
Celestia bowed her head and sighed heavily. Another flicker from her magic, and she doused the flames she held, just as “Lucky Stallion” was beginning to blacken and curl.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “This isn’t your fault, and I know you’re trying your best…”
Twilight nodded weakly, and Rarity said something that sounded like “Of course, Darling…”
Celestia threw the ball of ashes into the wastebasket, then sat back and sighed. “Just…” she swallowed. “Twilight, if you could keep doing your research… and Rarity, if you could, uh…” she swallowed again. “If you could keep doing this for me… finding out what people are saying…”
Rarity nodded solemnly. Twilight glanced at her, then nodded as well. Celestia allowed herself a little smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “Both of you have been wonderful to me. And I’m sorry I keep getting so angry…”
Rarity grinned, then leaned in and gave her a hug. “If anyone has a right to be mad,” she said, “it’s you. I mean, with all that’s happening…”
Celestia grinned herself, then returned the hug. “Thanks,” she said. She pulled away from Rarity, cleared her throat, and looked down. “Now,” she said, “What else are they saying…?”