As it turns out, hay fries have nothing—well, very little—to do with fried hay. I wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or disappointed by this discovery. My confounded expression when I returned to the small round table where Raven waited inspired her to a fit of uninhibited snickers. When I explained its origin, her laughter only redoubled; she still hadn’t mastered it fully when she departed in turn, leaving me to defend the table against the press of newcomers desperately searching for seating during the frantically busy lunch hour.
I regarded the wooden tray and everything arrayed on it for a long moment, resisting the temptation to dig in immediately. In place of a fork lay a giant toothpick or small skewer, depending on one’s viewpoint, of scorched wood. Nothing resembling a knife or spoon accompanied it, and after a moment’s puzzlement I nodded. With polymer plastics decades in the future, no available material was cheap but durable enough to mass-produce throwaway utensils equal to the task of cutting or scooping foodstuffs. No doubt a patron was expected to provide his own knife. As for a spoon, well . . .
A hearty minestrone-like soup of vegetables, tomato, and pasta, sprinkled with shredded cheese, steamed gently in a container of plain, albeit heavy-duty, waxed paper. Too wide and shallow to be called a cup, but taller and narrower than a true bowl, it was just right for drinking with the near-prehensile lips and broad snout of an equine. At the moment the soup probably was just short of molten, but it certainly smelled tasty and as far as I could tell no differently than it would to my human nose and brain. For the most part I no longer even bothered to consider such existential questions behind the transformation; they were effectively moot, though I could imagine university philosophy majors debating them with great enthusiasm before arriving at the same disappointing chicken-or-egg conclusion.
A sachet-like wrapping of grease-stained newsprint left over from yesterday’s Canterlot daily, bound up with simple twine, held a generous helping of the aforementioned hay fries. Untying the bow knot took me a bit longer than it should, but once the sheets opened like a blossom, a moist, fragrant cloud puffed up from the pile of long, thin slices that indeed bore a vague resemblance to a haystack, right down to the golden color. More than anything else in my experience, the dish resembled shoestring potatoes fried to a sharper crisp. I levitated the skewer and tried to spear a single slice, only to break it in two. I sighed and glanced around, then put down the skewer and surreptitiously lifted both pieces to my mouth. They were hot and delicious as only salted deep-fried potato can be.
By the time my tablemate returned from the long queues and set down her own tray, half the fries had disappeared—though I’d managed to hold off on the slowly cooling soup. Her lips twitched with renewed amusement when she saw the inroads I’d made and the streaks through the puddle of garum near one corner of the paper, but said only, “They are good, aren’t they?”
I nodded agreement, caught in the midst of chewing another few fries, then swallowed in a gulp. Her gaze tracked from my face to my tray; a sudden twinkle told me she’d noticed the skewer sitting unused. “There’s a trick to it,” she informed me with exaggerated gravity. “Here, let me show you.”
Her alicorn lit with a light pinkish rose, lifting the skewer and deftly spearing a slice. The angle was much shallower, I saw, and the wood implement corkscrewed a bit as the point bit into the firm, but still fluffy, potato. “There!” The skewer rose point up, triumphantly bearing its load, and floated toward my muzzle. I obediently opened my mouth and Raven popped it in with nary a bobble.
Just then a passing pair of middle-aged mares smiled at us. As they sauntered on their way our ears just caught one murmuring to the other “—such a cute couple—”
Both of us blushed fiercely, and the skewer dropped to my tray abruptly. My glance followed it, and I suspected Raven’s was on her own tray as well. After a moment’s silence we simultaneously started mumbled apologies, then broke off.
Raven was an undeniably pretty young mare just about my own age, low-key and studious but not stuffy, and I definitely found her quite appealing. Her position as a trusted staffer for Celestia lent her an imprimatur that only added to her attractiveness. I liked her a good deal, and after my initial shock and dismay in the wake of literally bumping into her I genuinely enjoyed her company. I thought of her as a friend and was sure she regarded me in like fashion. As I examined my tangled reaction to the mares’ innocently mistaken observation, I realized species had nothing to do with it; here I was as much a pony as Raven, and should she travel through the portal she would be as human as I.
But that was the rub: the portal itself and the international, let alone interdimensional, border it represented. An ordinary long-distance relationship would have nothing on this! Even leaving aside the basic logistical difficulties—not inconsiderable in their own right—I was a foreign diplomat and she was a member of the court to which I was accredited; “conflict of interest” didn’t begin to cover such a situation. Besides . . . as friendly as we were, I wasn’t sure I liked her liked her, as the CHS girls might put it, and I doubted she entertained that depth of affection for me.
A muffled snort broke into my thoughts, and I looked up cautiously. Both Raven’s forehooves covered her mouth, but they couldn’t hold back the giggles that burst forth. I shook my head ruefully, then joined in as my own sense of the ridiculous came to the rescue. It was several minutes before we could stop laughing every time we looked at each other.
“Oh my,” Raven finally said with a sigh. “I suppose your Canterlot adventure isn’t turning out quite the way you planned, is it, Mister Cook?”
“Well, Ms. Inkwell,” I replied with virtuous innocence, “what I had in mind was simply to leave myself open to whatever experiences came my way, so I could argue things are running entirely to plan.” To her trenchant look I continued, “But I admit this wasn’t exactly what I expected.”
It was her turn to shake her head, though she raised the ante by rolling her eyes. “No wonder Her Royal Highness likes you so much. You both have the same terrible sense of humor.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.” I grinned. “With a challenge like that, who knows what she’ll do?”
She shook a hoof at me mock-threateningly. “Don’t forget, Mister Cook, I know your secret, and I have the ear of the princess.”
I mimed being struck to the heart. “Woe! Woe is me. I am betrayed.”
When our banter ran its course, nothing would do but for me to recount the morning’s peregrinations, from the moment the portal ejected me. Raven listened raptly, apparently charmed and amused by my descriptions of the places and ponies I’d encountered. Her brow knotted with concern over the robbery, though she bit her lip against whatever protests or objections ran through her mind after I emphasized my desire to let bygones be bygones. The generosity of Fancy Pants made her smile and observe, “He’s such a dear stallion. I suppose it would be a cliché to call him a pillar of the community, but it certainly would be truthful.”
While I couldn’t avoid recounting my misadventure on the streets, lengthy and consequential as it was, I said nothing of the family at the cemetery. If the court didn’t know of them already, far be it from me to spill the beans. I understood relations with the changelings had improved considerably since Thorax took the throne, but that wasn’t the same as taking official cognizance of a renegade individual living surreptitiously within Equestria’s borders. For a moment, diverted, I pondered with profoundly mixed feelings the challenges of sending a diplomatic mission to the changeling hive—or for that matter to any other realm in this world. I resolved to keep the question to myself; after all, if I mentioned it, my superiors might decide to assign the task to me.
As we talked—well, mostly Raven asked questions and I answered—we nibbled on our simple meals. I had to give high marks to the cooks; the food tasted every bit as delicious as it smelled, even the bite of pot pie Raven offered as an additional sample of pony cuisine. “Country food,” she called it. “A good many ponies here in Canterlot would say that with a sneer, I’m afraid. They don’t know what they’re missing.”
“They certainly don’t,” I agreed. “Alas, snobs seem to be a universal constant.”
By the time we rose to leave, the lunch rush had waned enough to leave the dining area merely busy instead of packed. “I had a lovely time, Mister Cook,” Raven assured me with sparkling eyes as we wandered back toward the market maze. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your time in Canterlot today.”
“Thank you, Ms. Inkwell, I certainly hope to. And thank you so much for your suggestions. Some of them were entirely new to me, and even the ones I’d heard before, well—it’s always good to get additional votes.”
“You’re very welcome, and thank you for sharing what you could, not only of your holiday but of your home.” She smiled demurely. “I certainly understand you’re not at liberty to discuss it in detail, but even what little you can tell sounds amazing and wonderful. Of course, I suppose Equestria seemed that way to you as well when first you heard about it.”
I couldn’t help chuckling. “That’s an understatement. It sounded like something out of a storybook. But the closer one looks, the more . . . depth, I suppose, any place must have.”
“And all of this because Miss Shimmer ran away in a fit of pique.” Raven shook her head in a sort of bemused wonder.
“Sunset’s become a model student, in the top five percent nationwide,” I assured her. “It’s only because she came late to our educational system she isn’t in the top one percent. She’s found some of the best friends anyone could ask for, and they are quite similar to Princess Twilight’s circle of friends—though they also are different in some interesting ways. And I honestly think she’s fallen in love with the city she lives in now. She even has a whole range of new hobbies and interests. All’s well that ends well.”
The look I got was sharp. “You can say that even with the difficulties that brought you into these affairs, and seem likely to continue?”
I gave the question the serious consideration it deserved. “I think . . . yes, actually. Sometimes it can be pretty scary, and this certainly isn’t what I expected from my career, but it also is exciting and unique. Can’t have one without the other.”
Raven’s answering smile was warm. “Then I wish you well, Mister Cook, today and always. I look forward to seeing you again.”
“And I you, Ms. Inkwell. For now, I should continue on my way, and let you get on with the chores I’ve interrupted.”
We exchanged a hug, jaws over withers, and parted in the midst of the crowd. By the time I looked back, she already was lost to sight, somewhere among the pavilions.