//------------------------------// // Downtime 1 // Story: Truthseeker // by RB_ //------------------------------// Lyra stared at the war board. It was something she’d been doing a lot, lately. She’d spend hours down in the shop’s basement, going over everything they had, looking for some overlooked thread, some hidden connection. Bon Bon had joined her, at first, and they’d spend time going over the details together. But she had a business to run, and that just left Lyra. A new category had been added to the board: “IDENTITY”, written twice-over so it stood out from the others. It took up the middle of the board now, with the pictures of Hollyleaf and Zigzag hanging under it. Lyra scratched absentmindedly at one of her legs. The itch was one of the last reminders of what had happened a week ago. There had to be something she’d overlooked, something Hollyleaf—not Hollyleaf, she corrected herself—had said, some minor detail that would give them something to go off of. Anything to feel like there was progress being made. And so, Lyra stared at the war board, as she’d been doing, and as she planned to continue doing until its secrets were revealed to her. Fate, as usual, had other plans. “Lyra?” Lyra jumped; she hadn’t noticed the mare coming in. She did her best to compose herself. “H-hey, Octavia. What are you doing here?” “Come on,” she said. “We don’t want to be late.” Lyra cocked her head to the side. “Late for what?” Octavia hooked a forehoof under one of Lyra’s and pulled her up to standing, using perhaps a bit more force than was necessary. “Where’s your lyre?” Octavia asked as Lyra rubbed her leg. “Upstairs. What’s this all about?” She didn’t answer, instead turning around and practically dragging Lyra up to the main floor with her, and then up again. “In here?” Octavia asked, pausing at the bedroom Lyra and Bon Bon shared. “Yeah. On my dresser.” As Octavia lifted the instrument from its open case, it caught the sunlight shining through the gap in their curtains. However, the golden arms did not gleam or glimmer when the light hit them. “Horseapples, it’s worse than I thought…” Octavia murmured. She blew on the lyre, and a million motes of dust danced their way into the light. “Oh well.” While she packed the lyre back into its case, Lyra positioned herself squarely in the doorway. “Octavia, I want answers. What are you doing here, and what does it have to do with my lyre?” “No time,” Octavia mumbled around the handle of the case. “Here, catch.” She tossed the thing towards Lyra, who, eyes bulging, moved to catch it with her telekinesis. She turned around, instrument safely in her grasp, only to see that Octavia had slipped past her while she was distracted. “I’ll explain on the way,” Octavia said as she clambered back down the stairs, leaving a confused and steadily more irritated Lyra with no choice but to follow. ───── “You’re still not explaining!” Lyra said. Octavia glanced back over her shoulder, still maintaining her brisk trot. “That’s because there’s no time.” “You said you’d explain on the way, though,” Lyra said, following behind as the two weaved their way through the streets of Ponyville. Lyra had wrested control of her lyre’s case, which floated along leisurely beside her. “And we’re almost to the outskirts of town already!” “I should hope so,” Octavia said, “as that’s where the schoolhouse is.” “The schoolhouse? What’s happening at the schoolhouse?” “We are!” Lyra wasn’t sure what to make of that response. Luckily, she didn’t have to make anything of it, as shortly thereafter the two found themselves approaching Ponyville’s lone schoolhouse. Nothing seemed to be wrong; in fact, everything seemed the opposite. A crowd of fillies and colts had dispersed among the schoolyard, playing tag and catch and all the other things ponies of their age played. And in front of the school’s door stood Miss Cheerilee, who looked overjoyed and a little bit relieved to see them coming. “Oh good, you’re here!” she said as they approached, raising her voice to be heard over the ruckus of the children. “I was starting to get a little worried!” “Hello, Cheerilee! No need to worry, Lyra was just a little late getting out of bed this morning.” “Well, that’s alright, you’re here now!” Cheerilee turned to Lyra. “It’s so nice of you to volunteer for this. The children just love Music Mondays.” “Music… Mondays?” “You’ll have to excuse her,” Octavia said, putting a hoof on Lyra’s shoulder. “She’s still waking up. Hasn’t had her tea yet. Come along, Lyra, let’s get things set up for the little ones…” Octavia herded Lyra through the doors and into the main room of the schoolhouse, letting the doors shut behind her. “Octavia, what is this?” Lyra asked. “This,” Octavia said, walking to the back of the room and opening a trunk “is Music Monday.” “Yes, I got that. What I mean is, what is a music day, and why am I here?” “Well, it’s a tradition of Cheeriliee’s and mine,” she said, reaching into the trunk. From it, she withdrew a black molded case; a violin case, if Lyra had to guess, or maybe a viola, she could never tell the two apart. “A few years ago, I discovered the woeful lack of music education in our little town. Vinyl suggested I bring it up with the schoolmarm, and to my delight, she much in agreement.” More cases followed the first, as well as a few instruments without them. “So, together, we put together music days. I would come in for the first few Mondays of the month and teach her students on the instruments of their choosing. She offered to pay me for my time, of course, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Could you help me with this?” Lyra grabbed a few cases in her magic and floated them out. “And I’m here because…?” “Well, you’re a musician as well,” Octavia said. “Even if you are less… formally trained, I have seen your talents in action, and I do believe you could be very helpful to me and to the students. I didn’t think you’d mind the volunteer work, but if you’d prefer payment for your services, I do have a little left over from—” “Octavia, you know I don’t have time for this.” “Oh, really?” Octavia said. “Well, my mistake; I had assumed you had plenty of time on your hooves, seeing how much time you were spending staring at the wall of that dingy basement of yours.” “Hollyleaf could come back at any moment!” Lyra snapped. “She could be anyone, be doing anything! I need to figure out what she’s planning!” “Yes, and how much progress have you made exactly?” Octavia dropped the case onto the floor and sighed. “Look, Lyra, I’m worried about you. Hardly anypony’s seen you for the last week and a half, and honestly, you’re looking a bit sickly. I know this is a very frightening situation, and I know you feel as though Hollyleaf could come for you at any moment. But obsessing like this isn’t healthy, and it isn’t solving anything.” She looked Lyra in the eyes. “Please, will you do this, just for today? You can go right back to the basement afterwards if you must, but for now, just forget about Hollyleaf, the gods, the Owls… just relax for a little while. Okay?” Lyra thought about it some. Her coat was, she observed, paler than usual. And Octavia’s concern was almost palpable. She felt guilty just looking at the mare. But no, Hollyleaf took precedence. Lives were at stake, and it was Lyra’s job, no, her duty, to figure out what was she was up to and stop it. And Lyra was about to tell her that, but then some of Octavia’s words rang in her ears. “Yes, and how much progress have you made exactly?” None. She hadn’t made any new connections or unearthed any new leads since that first day with Bonnie. No new information had made itself apparent, no matter how hard she’d stared at the board. Maybe Octavia was right. Maybe she did need a break. “Alright,” Lyra said. “Just for one day.” Octavia smiled. “Excellent. Come on then, help me put these instruments out…” ───── “Alright children, on my mark,” Octavia said around her wooden conductor’s baton. She raised the stick up so that it pointed to the ceiling, held it there for a few tense moments, and then brought it down. The resulting cacophony wasn’t nearly as bad as Lyra had worried it might be. In fact, it was just barely recognizable as the song they were meant to be playing. Octavia was a good teacher, that was certain. They had demonstrated a few things earlier, Lyra showing off a bit on her lyre. Then, they had moved on to this, Octavia opting to lead the class while Lyra’s went among the students and gave them advice as they played. “A little louder, Chipcutter!” The colt nodded and put a little more oomph into his tuba-playing. “And, Toola, a little quieter, okay?” The shrill tones of Toola Roola’s flute quieted down to more reasonable levels. Something else had caught Lyra’s ear, however. “Winter Bell, you’re falling behind! Pick up the pace a bit!” The filly made a face around the handle of one of her bells and quickened her movements. Lyra had been mildly surprised when Winter Bell had turned out to be in the class, though she supposed it wasn’t really that strange. More interestingly, she had brought her own instruments: A set of silver hoofbells, carefully withdrawn from a cloth carrying case. And she was quite handy with them, as it turned out. This, again, wasn’t that surprising, considering the matching bell on her flank. What was surprising was her apparent inability to keep up with the tempo. “Come on, Winter Bell! Faster!” Winter Bell mumbled something, scrunched up her face, and moved a little bit quicker. She’d grab a bell in her mouth, ring it, then drop it back onto the velvet cloth-covered table before rushing over to the next one and repeating the process. Unfortunately, that process wasn’t a very fast one, and the song they were playing was a quick one. Which begged the question: Why isn’t she using her horn? “Winter Bell, you need to move quicker! Use your magic! It’ll go faster!” Even over the music, Lyra heard the snickers behind her. Winter Bell must have heard them too, because she flinched, nearly dropping one of her bells. She fumbled with it for a moment, drawing further behind, and then rushed to catch up, still using her mouth. No way… Lyra turned around. There were three ponies behind her, two fillies and a colt. Two violins and a snare drum. All three unicorns. So it’s like that. With her? I never would have guessed! “Much better, Winter Bell!” Lyra said, although it wasn’t exactly true. She didn’t comment on her playing for the rest of the lesson. ───── They repeated this for all three of Cheerilee’s classes that day, and after the last student had gone home, they set about returning the instruments to their cases. It was while they were in the middle of disassembling a particularly difficult trombone that Lyra spoke up. “Cheerilee, can I ask you something about one of your students?” “Well, that depends,” Cheerilee said. “I wouldn’t want to disclose anything too personal, but what’s the question?” “Winter Bell, in your first class. Is she having any problems with her magic?” “Ah.” Octavia looked up from the violin she was putting back into the trunk. “What’s this?” “I noticed that she was playing her bells with her mouth instead of her horn,” Lyra said. “I didn’t want to assume anything, but...” “What’s odd about—ah, I see what you mean. I’d never even noticed,” Octavia said. Cheerilee grimaced. “She has been having some… difficulties, yes. But she is improving! Just not at the same rate as the other students.” If only you knew what she could really do, Lyra thought. “I’ve been trying to help her,” Cheerilee continued, “but there’s only so much I can do, not being a unicorn myself.” “Completely understandable,” Octavia said. She loaded the last of the instruments into the trunk and closed the lid with a satisfying thud. “But, as I said, she is improving! I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it eventually, she just needs some time.” “Yeah, probably, Lyra said. “Most fillies start developing their magic naturally as they grow. Winter Bell is probably just a late bloomer.” But, she thought, that doesn’t help much right now, does it?