Hannah Hawes, Shop Assistant
Epilogue
Admiral Biscuit
Daring doesn't bring the airship to ground until you're well clear of the ravine and any pursuers. Even then, she stops short of actually landing, but she is kind enough to throw out a rope ladder from the cockpit.
By then, you've broken off the arrow just flush with your calf and wrapped it with the hem of your shirt—not great, as bandages go, but serviceable. The Orrery is safe in your backpack, still in its burlap sack. There probably isn't a curse on anyone who touches it directly, but it doesn't pay to take chances like that.
You're faced with a short sprint across the ground and then you catch on to the rope ladder and climb your way up to the cockpit.
•••
Daring is a decent airship pilot, and gets you out of the forest before dumping all the helium that's left in the undamaged bladders. Whether by luck or skill, she times the landing decently well, and while it's technically a crashlanding, the airship is probably repairable. Without having a proper docking facility or anypony to attend to the mooring lines, that's really the best that could be hoped for.
“Any landing you can walk away from,” you tell her as you limp away from the crashed airship. The stunned crew is slowly making their way out of the wreckage—you'd untied them just before the final descent. It was too late for them to do anything to prevent you from carrying out your plan, and now that Dr. Caballeron wasn't there to order them around, they were plenty happy to just walk away. They had little interest in pursuing you.
“I can't believe you jumped off the temple,” Daring says. “I knew you humans were crazy, but I didn't think you were that crazy.”
“I saw it done in a movie,” you tell her. “And it worked out alright there. How long do you think we have until Dr. Caballeron gets out of the forest?”
“I don't know.” She glances back at the trees. “I'd like to think a couple days, but I also think it would be stupid to underestimate him.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” you say. “So probably finding the nicest hotel and getting a proper meal and spending a few hours at the spa are out.”
“I'd say so, yeah.”
“Instead, we're going to camp out by the railroad tracks and hop the next train out of town.”
“That's the smartest plan.” She looks at you thoughtfully. “If it was just me, I'd take off my pith helmet and put on a cloak and then nopony would know who I was, but you kind of stand out.”
“Like a sore thumb,” you say. “I know. Let's hope the first train by is a passenger train and that we can convince the conductor to let us on.”
“Not much chance of that,” she says.
“Well, then let's hope that the first train by has a nice, cozy box car carrying a load of feather pillows.”
•••
Of course, it isn't.
It's a boxcar, and it's carrying mostly nails, and it's leaky. And it starts to rain almost as soon as you climb aboard.
You get as comfortable as you can, which, truth be told, isn’t actually all that comfortable. After making sure that the doors are both wedged shut and both of you are as safe as it’s possible to be in a moving train car, Daring finds the driest spot on the floor and stretches out. She yawns and tucks her head under her wing like a bird.
You’re not so lucky when it comes to finding a comfortable position, but you’ve got a couple of tricks up your sleeve, as well. You find a crate of nails that at least hasn’t got splinters and lean up against that, then pull your pant leg up to reveal a small flask of brandy strapped to your leg. It’s your emergency supply, and luckily the henchponies didn’t find that, either, when they patted you down.
A shower would be nice—a proper shower, and not the cold rain that’s sluicing through gaps in the roof. That was really an oversight by whoever loaded this particular box car; somebody’s going to wind up with a load of rusty nails.
Your bed’s also beckoning you. Your bed which is soft and cushy and not a hard edge of wood that’s trying to work its way between two vertebrae. You glance down at Daring and consider asking her if she’d mind being used as a pillow, but decide that you probably shouldn’t, tempting though it is.
•••
Monday morning comes all too soon. Between trains and debriefing, you wind up getting limited medical attention. Strangely, pony medicine is easily able to cure all sorts of weird curses and magical maladies, but is apparently nearly useless for mundane arrow wounds and bruises. For that, the best they seem to have to offer is bandages and antibacterial spells.
You didn't even get any proper spa time, just a quick shower on the train back to Manehattan. By the time you finally get back to your apartment you’re so exhausted that you just collapse into bed. So you have to rush in the morning to get showered and make yourself as presentable as possible.
It could be worse—your pants hide one arrow-wound, and your work shirt mostly covers the bandages on your arm. There's not much you can do about the scrape on your cheek, or the black eye that you somehow got. You don't actually remember how that happened.
Jim Jam, of course, is bright and cheery, but his smile falters a little bit as he notices you.
“I tripped over a rug,” you say. “In my apartment. This weekend.”
“Oh.” He considers this for a minute. “You know, I've been thinking.”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe instead of coming to the gym for strength training, you should come for acrobatics practice. This is what, the fourth time this year you’ve tripped in your apartment?”
“I dunno.” You tie on your shop apron and push back all the memories of the weekend. It’s easier to lie to ponies; they believe that your bipedal stance and lack of tail make you naturally clumsy. “I'm just not really into that kind of thing. I prefer relaxing on my days off.”
“You don't know what you're missing,” he says, turning the sign on the door to Open. “It'd do you a lot of good.”