//------------------------------// // 9. Chariots on Fire // Story: Equestria : 1940 // by Georg //------------------------------// Equestria : 1940 Monday 17 June - Canterlot, Equestria “And Elisha prayed, and said, LORD, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see. And the LORD opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw. And behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.” — 2 Kings 6:17 * * ✹ * * Jon was starting to get used to his four-legged alarm clocks who went off far earlier than the wind-up one he had brought with him. This morning as the sleep faded slowly from his eyes, there was a mottled black and white Appaloosa unicorn standing by the bed. He did not appear to be attempting to wake Jon, but was doing something with his mouth that made an annoying click-click-click noise while looking off in a different direction, much as if the human was just ignorable furniture. It gave Jon a moment to get a better look at the servant, who was wearing one of the half-a-shirt dickeys that gave him enough space to put on a bow tie and a pocket, but little else. The whole synergistic feel of the outfit and the color pattern of the stallion, which gave him dark patches around his eyes like a racoon, made Jon wake up faster than he had expected, just to make sense of the odd pony. As if to upset all of his first impressions, the pony turned out to be more of a pale washed-out blue than actually white, with the blotches on his coat only being around his eyes, one off-center stripe around his barrel, and one around most of an ankle, quite un-like any Appaloosa Jon had ever seen before. A second, longer look could not spot a horn under the unkempt brownish tangled mane that covered from the top of his head down to his curled-up tail, but it did give Jon a persistent itch for a currycomb and a manebrush to tame that mess. Even his cutie mark of a painting needed fixed, since it was not even centered right on his rump, and tilted to one side as if it had been applied by a poor tattoo artist. “Excuse me,” said Jon. “Are you—” “Schadenfreude,” said the young stallion, stopping his annoying mouth-clicking long enough to turn around and stick a hoof out to be shaken. “Butler, pony about town, and personal servant to His Highness, Prince Blueblood. He has extended an invitation to you this morning to dine with His Highness and assist on a project to bring the human and pony worlds closer together. Shall we be off?” “Uhm…” Jon checked again under the bedsheets to make sure his boxer shorts were still on, then looked at the closet where his clothes had been stored, even the rumpled tweeds that he had dropped over a chair last night and were most probably already laundered and waiting. “Oh, where are my manners, sir. Here, let me help you with getting dressed.” Jon had always wanted a butler. He soon changed his mind. If the truth were told, Schadenfreude was more of an anti-butler. He insisted that His Highness, the Pony Prince of whatever, would be most displeased if his human guest was not dressed in the most formal of attire, with every accoutrement. That meant his finest cream shirt with mother-of-pearl studs, a woven silk tie in Equestrian colors that Schadenfreude produced from his saddlebags, and a set of braces for his dress slacks that Jon could swear had gotten tied into a knot behind his back somehow. The cummerbund fit only loosely, while the cuffs of his shirt shrunk while Schadenfreude ‘helped’ until the golden cufflinks could barely connect. The servant’s ‘assistance’ in the dressing process included such services as poking Jon with the tie pin just hard enough not to draw blood, leaving a little fleck of plastic somewhere in the back of his shirt collar that scratched like a nail whenever he relaxed, then ‘helping’ to get his collar fastened by stressing the top button. Thankfully, Jon managed to break the thread on the button and breathe before he passed out, covering the resulting relative comfort with his borrowed (and itchy) tie. Then it was time for his shoes, which made Jon regret that he could not just go barefoot like the rest of the natives. Supposedly, Schadenfreude’s inexperience with shoes and socks led him to confuse the order in which they were supposed to be worn, then he managed to get one sock tangled into a balled-up mass that cramped Jon’s toes in the bottom of the shoe while the other sock had somehow developed a hole in the heel that he only noticed after he stood up. By the time he was ready to leave his room, Jon was restraining himself from snapping at the ‘helpful’ servant by only a thin thread. A faint popping noise from his jacket hinted that even that last thread was going to have a limited lifespan. Then the front door to his suite swung open and a familiar armored batpony stumbled inside, blinking in the light. She swung her head from side to side with her eyes closed, then began to stumble forward with hesitant steps until she fairly placed a damp noseprint onto Jon’s clean cummerbund. “Gotta geup,” mumbled Nightshade. “Something, somthin Royal Prince, I think.” There was a distinct odor of fresh outside air around the sweaty pegasus, who had obviously been flying in the pre-dawn gloom because there were moths stuck to the front of her armor and a few bits of leaf matter in her mane. Little rivlets of foamy perspiration were dripping off her armored flanks, making tiny puddles on the granite floor tiles and onto Jon’s glossy black shoes. He was probably going to be late for his pre-dawn meeting with Equestrian royalty, but Jon hesitated at just abandoning the tired guard. “Are you off work?” he asked. Nightshade nodded in the middle of a toothy yawn, perhaps in the affirmative or maybe just from fatigue. “Had to fly extra patrols to cover,” she muttered. “I’m fine. Headed home.” “First things first.” Taking her lack of resistance as a positive, he steered her into the bathroom with Schadenfreude right behind and nudged her in the direction of the bathtub. It took far less time for Jon to kick out of his shoes and throw his suit jacket into the other room than it did for him to have gotten dressed in the first place, but it was the only way to keep his suit reasonably clean while he did what needed to be done. Despite not expecting to do this particular task, ever. Jon had never bathed the family dog, mostly because the family had never owned a dog, but while wearing only his pants and wielding the pony scrub brush in both hands, it was much as he had once imagined bathing a Great Dane. Well, other than peeling off Nightshade’s bug-splattered armor and giving the pieces a quick scrub with a damp washcloth. The exhausted batpony slept through most of it, except the cold-water rinse, and yawned during the whole vigorous toweling afterwards. “Y’don’t have to do this,” she muttered. “It was a long, hard night—” She snickered, rubbing her damp mane up against Jon’s bare side. “I don’t need the tub this morning,” insisted Jon while giving a few damp spots an extra wipe. “And you told me that your home is all the way across Canterlot, so you probably would have wound up passed out on a roof somewhere between here and there. Hop up into bed while I’m gone and try not to scare the maids.” After a short stagger across the bedroom floor, Jon managed to boost the heavy batpony up into his recently occupied bed and pull the covers down so she would not get tangled up in them. The snores started before he even got turned around to find his discarded suit and start getting dressed again, but there was something else that drew his attention first. “Just getting your camera ready, sir.” Schadenfreude worked the film advance lever and squinted at Jon through the viewfinder. “Say cheesecake.” Jon grabbed for the tangled sheet to throw over the naked batpony guard before the camera went ‘Click!’ “How are you managing to do that with hooves instead of—” Click. “At least let me get my shirt on—” Click. “Lying on the floor will not get you a better angle while I’m getting dress—” Click. “Somepony get the door before—” Click. Jon stalked over to the suite door with his shirt half-buttoned and peered out, only to see a very curious Twilight Sparkle peering back at thim. “Oh, good,” she said with a relieved expression. “You need to get dressed the rest of the way. Prince Blueblood wanted to see us this morning and— Oh. Schadenfreude.” The camera clicked again before the pony holding it worked the film advance. “Just go ahead and act like I’m not even here,” said Schadenfreude, aiming the viewfinder again. “Oh, yeah. Work it, baby.” The damp lump on Jon’s bed stirred, and Twilight’s alert eyes naturally moved to examine the sleeping batpony, then those violet eyes moved back to him, standing there in nothing but his damp slacks and a half-fastened shirt. “Oh,” she said. “It’s not what you think,” said Jon with a quick look at where Spike was yawning on Twilight’s back. “She’s nocturnal, so she’s going to sleep here during the day. After I gave her a bath. While I’m at Prince Blueblood’s. Once I get my clothes back on. So we can leave. With Schadenfreude. Let me…” Schadenfreude held up his black suit jacket again. “Let’s get you to your meeting with the prince, sir.” - - Ω - - The trip down the stairs with Schadenfreude in the lead and Twilight following behind was tense, but quiet. Not completely silent, of course. There was the click of their silver horseshoes and clunk of Jon’s best dress lace-up shoes to make noise, even if it was not able to break the judgemental, supercilious silence that Twilight was emitting. It was amazing how much the young unicorn could say by not saying anything at all. All in all, Jon would have preferred some extraneous, smug chatter during their short walk that did not come from Schadenfreude. At first, Jon thought they were going to have to visit Twilight Sparkle’s room to get her an appropriate dress for meeting the prince too, but Schaden (as he insisted on being called) proclaimed that His Highness, Prince Blueblood preferred mares without clothes, insisting that the raw beauty of the bare feminine form was exceeded by nothing else. Twilight almost bolted back to her rooms at that. Instead, she set her jaw and continued to escort her teacher all the way outside of the castle to where a gleaming white carriage awaited in all of its ostentatious luxury. It was beautiful full coach done in shades of blinding white and pure gold with a gem-encrusted Blueblood crest plastered on the doors, and being pulled by four identical earth pony stallions in more elaborate outfits than the Royal Guards. The cloth uniforms reminded Jon of the outfits that a hotel doorman would wear, made as complicated and colorful as possible in order to emphasize the importance of the passengers they were transporting. Perhaps they were a household regiment or local honor guard instead of the resolute fierceness of the official armored Royal Guards. Whatever they were, they all kept to their places in the traces with perfectly impassive faces as Jon opened the carriage door. “Beauty before brawn,” said Jon, cringing a little after hearing himself. “Thank you,” said Schadenfreude, who slipped through the open door like a weasel after a chicken. “Likewise,” said Spike as he hopped off Twilight’s back and scurried up the carriage steps. “I don’t know why we’re taking the carriage,” groused Twilight Sparkle, but she gave a low grumbling noise and climbed inside, followed by Jon. “It’s only polite,” said Jon as the carriage began to roll before he even could get comfortably seated and check his suit for any specks of dust. “After all, the prince sent the carriage for us, so—” “Oh, I had the carriage brought around,” said Schadenfreude. “I hate to walk. And we’re here,” he said as they stopped. With one hop, he was out the door and on the way up a second set of steps. “I told you.” Twilight Sparkle stepped out of the carriage and followed their annoying guide. “All we needed to do was to take the connecting corridor. It’s shorter than going outside.” Spike followed behind her, giving a shrug. “Hey, I like to ride too.” This left Jon alone in the carriage, trying to figure out where the day had taken such a strange turn. And it was just barely dawn, too. He stepped outside carefully, regarded the place where they had gotten onto the carriage just a few dozen feet away, then turned to the four impassive stallions. “Don’t look at us,” said one of them quickly. “We get paid, and we’re good with it.” “It’s a living,” said another with a shrug. Jon took another look at their starting spot, close enough that he could have walked this distance in less time than it took to climb in and out of the carriage, then hustled up the stairs to follow his escorts. Once back inside the castle, Schadenfreude had picked up his pace to more of a gallop, leaving Jon to scurry along behind as fast as the seams in his stressed suit coat could handle. Up stairs and down corridors they ran with Jon close behind. He could barely hear the pops and snaps of expensive stressed thread over his laboring breath until he came around a corner and almost ran into the two ponies he was chasing. “There you are.” A noble white unicorn who could only be the prince looked up from a breakfast tray in the nearby sunlit morning nook, taking in the appearance of his sweaty visitors with a twitch of subdued frustration. “Schadenfreude, I told you that Twilight Sparkle and her pet were not needed.” “Hey!” objected Spike before being muffled by Twilight’s forehoof. “Whoops,” said Schadenfreude. “Sorry, Your Highness.” “And what are they doing here? Get the human down to the carriage house at once. I want to go driving this evening.” The prince returned to his breakfast, genteelly lifting a spoonful of fresh strawberries, cubed into perfect slices and glistening with milk and sugar. “It’s good to meet you, Prince Blueblood,” panted Jon before his exhausted mind could get fully wrapped around his rather abrupt introduction to the prince. “Yes, yes,” said Blueblood through a mouthful of fruit, waving the empty spoon at his guests. “Now get to work. The new parts just showed up this week, and the last mechanics left the place in a terrible mess.” “Breakfast?” asked Jon with a hopeful look at the small table. “Yes, it is,” said Blueblood gruffly. “Now be off with you! And take that miserable servant! Shoo! Back, you beast! Out! Out!” he added, swatting a hoof at Spike, who had reached up onto the table for a piece of toast. Twilight Sparkle looked as if she were going to object, but Jon nudged her back up the corridor, pulling Spike along behind him with Schadenfreude trotting ahead of them all. They made it past two corners before Jon let go of Spike’s hand and grabbed onto Schadenfreude’s swaying tail. “Just a minute, sir,” said Jon politely, although without releasing his firm grip. “Prince Blueblood wanted me to work on his carriage?” “It’s actually an automobile, sir.” Schadenfreude moved his back legs which no longer touched the granite tiles of the hallway, but Jon was not finished. “And you had me dress up in my best suit so I could crawl around on the floor of some dusty garage, working on a greasy car without breakfast?” “Low blood sugar?” asked Schadenfreude with a plaintive look over his shoulder. Jon winched Schadenfreude’s hindquarters another fraction off the ground. “I need a stick.” “Wait a minute,” called out Twilight. “Spike is too young to be exposed to such violence.” She put a hoof over the young dragon’s eyes and floated a decorative sword down off the nearby wall, placing it firmly hilt-first into Jon’s hand. “There we go. Try not to get too much blood on the carpets. They’re imported.” After regarding the sword for a moment, Jon gave the annoying servant an evaluating poke. “I take it you’ve dealt with Mister Schaden before, Miss Twilight?” “Twice,” admitted Schadenfreude with the speed of a cornered rat. “I rearranged the books in her private library and replaced all the coffee in her section of the castle with decaf Sanka.” “That was you?” Twilight lit up her horn and gave Schadenfreude a frown that could have curdled nonfat coffee creamer. “I brought Mister Walthers a set of dungarees and a cotton shirt from his closet,” said Schadenfreude rather rapidly. “And I’ll go get you all breakfast, with real coffee.” - - Ω - - It may have been considered bribery or some form of extortion, but it got Jon breakfast, so he was willing to bend the rules a little. Once they had reached the carriage house, Schadenfreude doubled back and vanished, leaving Jon and Twilight in a sea of opened crates and automotive parts scattered around. A little poking revealed a flame-red automobile under a dusty tarp, or at least most of one. The missing engine was most probably inside one of the wooden crates, and after a few speculative examinations of random parts, manuals, and tools, it seemed… remotely possible to get it together for an evening drive. “A Cord roadster,” mused Jon as he pulled the tarp off the car and regarded the sleek lines of the shining car and the red paint job that made it glow like fire under Twilight’s hornlight. “I’ve heard all kinds of things about them, but I never saw one before.” After taking a few minutes behind a pile of crates to switch into the dungarees and cotton shirt that Schadenfreude had reluctantly provided, Jon dug into the process with the gusto that Twilight was not sharing. “I don’t see what this has to do with friendship lessons,” she said with almost a whine. “Friends help each other,” said Jon. “Prince Blueblood needs help putting his car together, and I’ve had experience with vehicles when I worked with the Egyptian archeological team. We had to pull an engine out of a White truck in a sandstorm, rebuild it, and drive afterward. That’s where I met Miss Yearling, the author. Amazing mare,” he added, arranging a collection of socket wrenches next to the manual. “Encyclopedic memory, analytical mind for putting together details most people would miss, and a string of discoveries around the world. The dig coordinator hated her, though. Said she vanished when important discoveries needed to be cataloged, and that artifacts just tended to vanish around her in turn, although nobody could ever prove anything.” Twilight gave a disinterested grunt, although she was floating two or three different sets of wrenches around in her magic. “Spike, look for some other tools. These are all metric but the automobile is American.” Jon picked up several loose bolts and tried them against the sockets. “Some of these are metric. The threads don’t match, though.” “I’m pretty sure there’s a French fuel pump in this German cardboard box labelled for an American car,” said Spike, peering inside the box. “I smell Schadenfreude all over this project.” It took a moment for Jon to catch on, and he ran over what he understood about ponies and their cutie marks. In particular, Schadenfreude’s off-center mark and his annoying behavior. “His special talent is his name, isn’t it?” “Ya think?” Spike held up a handful of bolts and began sorting them into bins. “I think his special talent is surviving his little things he does to annoy everypony. He painted some lumps of coal and convinced me they were gems once.” “That’s nice,” said Twilight, who was flipping through the manual on her way to where the disassembled engine was sitting. “There’s a supercharger device on this engine, but there’s no section in the manual for it.” “Hm…” Jon scratched his chin where a loose hair had avoided his razor this morning. “So he’s going to be meddling with us getting the engine into the car because he is who he is, just like he must have meddled with all of the other mechanics who Prince Blueblood hired to put it together.” “That’s nice,” said Twilight again with the manual floating to one side of the engine and a number of short bolts likewise moving in slow orbits around her. “And she’s out of it,” said Spike. “All that’s left is the cleanup when she’s done. We’ve probably got a couple of hours until then, so normally I just read my comics while waiting.” “Oh!” Jon dove for his leather satchel, which he had put to one side while changing into the more ‘mechanic’ clothes that Schadenfreude had brought. “That reminds me. I’ve been dragging these all over Equestria, but I’ve been too busy to ask about them. Do you know anypony who reads—” “Adventure Comics number fifty! Mystic comics! Blue Beetle! Superhuman!” For a young dragon, Spike certainly was fast, and had the short stack of comic books plucked out of his hands almost instantly. “Look! It’s Batman! And… Who’s this?” Deft purple claws held the comic up and showed it to Jon. “How’s she supposed to fight crime dressed like that?” “Robin is the Boy Wonder,” said Jon, pointing at the colorful comic character. “And he’s probably going to get killed. Don’t they kill a lot of characters in these violent American comic books?” he added, raising his voice to get Twilight’s attention. It did not work. At all. If anything, the cloud of metal bolts and widgets around Twilight Sparkle only grew denser as the engine block disassembled under her magic. “Told you she’s out of it.” Spike sorted through the short stack of comics and extracted out one of the paperback books. “Is this yours, with the Baumhofer cover? I love his artwork although I don’t read doctor comics.” “Doc Savage is not⁽*⁾ a doctor,” said Jon, taking the comic away from the young dragon. “He’s a rough adventure hero, which Twilight Sparkle would not approve of you reading.” (*) Technically, he is. As well as an engineer, a scientist, a martial-artist, a musician… Jon stole a look at the inside door to the carriage house/garage/mechanic’s disaster. Schadenfreude had not come back from his trip to the kitchen to get breakfast, so he was probably chilling the coffee while waiting for the eggs to get rubbery and the toast dry. “So you say Twilight’s going to be occupied until after the car gets put together and working,” mused Jon. “Schadenfreude has been doing everything he can to keep that from happening. Wouldn’t it be nice to see him go through what he seems to have been putting everypony else through?” “But my comics!” Spike clutched the rest of the stack to his chest. “My comics,” said Jon. “I bought them and brought them here because of the note I found in my paperwork. However, I’m willing to give them to you for free if we can keep Schadenfreude busy until Twilight gets the car running.” - - Ω - - Easy to say. Hard to do. Doc Savage and his team probably would have struggled with the monumental task, which took Jon a while to recognize was a job that went against a very determined pony’s cutie mark. To make matters worse, Schadenfreude seemed to revel in the competition without ever once letting on that one existed. From the time he arrived at the carriage house with a plate of dry toast and cold scrambled eggs, as well a bowl of dry dog food (It makes its own gravy!), Jon could see a mischievous twinkle in the earth pony’s eyes. He introduced Churchill, the bulldog who the dog food was really intended for, then offered to ‘help’ in whatever capacity possible. Twilight ignored him. Jon produced a list of parts and tools that needed purchased before the project could be completed. Spike volunteered to go with him. Once Spike was sitting uncomfortably on his back, Schadenfreude trotted away with a happy smile on his face while whistling. And no, Jon could not figure out how he managed to smile and whistle at the same time. It probably had something to do with his special talent. When he returned with Spike carrying a bag of parts, none of which were probably the ones listed on the sheet, Jon was ready. He produced a mangled piece of hardware that Twilight had tossed out of the engine compartment and declared that they needed to take it to a metal shaping specialist, or a blacksmith. That managed to burn another two hours and netted a most pleasant conversation with a unicorn named Silver Nails and an earth pony blacksmith named Golden Hammer while Schadenfreude wandered around their smithy, rearranging tools. Upon their return to the castle carriage house with the reforged widget, Spike picked up the ‘Distract Schaden’ task again by declaring that the spark plugs were three-one hundredths gapped too wide and needed to be taken to the Royal Department of Weights and Measures to be adjusted. Jon waved a cheery goodbye until they were out of sight, then patted the sleeping Churchill on the head, got on his hands and knees, and looked under the engine compartment for the purple glow of a busy student. “I got that muffler skid plate reshaped, Twilight. And it looks like you found a replacement without me,” he added after a glance at the undercarriage. “Did you have any problems?” “The transmission bolt holes don’t line up with the engine mounts,” said Twilight Sparkle with a grunt, which was more words than she had used since picking up the auto manual. “Just a minute.” Her horn glowed slightly brighter and one of the holes in the disobedient metal casing moved to where it was supposed to be, allowing Twilight to begin threading a bolt into the now aligned holes. It was a talent that Jon could have really used a few years ago when he had been putting a White truck engine together with bits of cans and a tin snips. “So how much longer until it’s ready to drive?” Jon checked the chocks holding the wheels in place, just in case. The big Cord roadster was practically a truck on its own, and full of more moving parts than a Swiss watch, so he had begun to expect an answer of a few weeks or more. Instead, Twilight’s horn glowed somehow different than before and the engine above him started with a throaty roar. “We’ll have to put it through testing,” said Twilight over the noise, adjusting something in her magic to make the engine noise calm down into a quiet purr like some sort of mechanical panther. “I’ll have Spike draw up a test plan to stress the engine and transmission at all combinations of revolutions per minute and gears, then we’ll hire a driver to conduct the test regimen, get it certified by the appropriate departments, and put Prince Blueblood through a course in driving along with etiquette, obeying the rules of the road, and— Actually, the Equestrian Parliament will need to enact proper automotive legislation first, because I’m fairly certain that the traffic rules only cover ground and aerial carts now.” “Do you think he can just drive it around the garden path for now?” asked Jon. “I didn’t get a very good look on our trip here, but there seemed to be a pea-gravel trail about as wide as a cart going around the outside edge of the floral garden and the statues. I really don’t think Prince Blueblood wants to take the car out into the city.” “It’s done?!” The door to the garage slammed open and the blonde unicorn prince looked inside with an obvious expression of glee. “Almost,” called out Jon while thinking furiously. “Twilight and I just need to run a few tests before lunch. Bleed the brakes, check the tire inflation, things like that. After lunch, we can push it out into the carriage driveway and get you familiarized with the controls—” “I already know all about that,” said Blueblood with a disparaging hoof-wave. “I’ve watched movies, after all. Once I have dined, Churchill and I shall go tour the town. Make sure the car is prepared.” After Blueblood was gone again, Jon shook his head. “Then again, maybe he wants to take it out for a spin.” “It’s not supposed to spin.” Twilight, still splattered in grease and dirt under the car, paged through her mechanic’s manual. “All four wheels have modern drum brakes.” After a brief break to pinch the bridge of his nose, Jon picked up a pair of pliers and slid under the car with her. “Let’s bleed the brakes, check the tire inflation, and sneak up to the kitchen for some hot lunch. I’ll leave a note so Spike can find us when he gets back. Then we can all come back down here and watch Prince Blueblood put-put around the garden in first gear.” “So…” Twilight Sparkle turned the manual to the section on bleeding the brakes while biting her bottom lip. “Do you think this helped me make any friends, Doctor Walthers?” Jon’s father had a saying on a wooden plaque in the house library: “When you are up to your waist in alligators, sometimes it is difficult to remember your primary objective is to drain the swamp.” In hindsight, there had been extremely little activity today to train Twilight Sparkle in the elusive art of friendmaking. No cozying up to Prince Blueblood, who seemed as warm and cuddly as an arctic hedgehog. No future friendships with Schadenfreude, particularly with the way they had brutally cut him out of his favorite pastime. They had made very little progress on the road to Princess Luna’s freedom today, other than having a working automobile to drive down it. “After lunch, we’ll see about going with Prince Blueblood on his drive,” said Jon. “Perhaps he will mellow out and you two can become friends by way of this car.” He patted the roadster on one gleaming red fender while trying to sound more optimistic than he felt. “That is once we’ve made sure the brakes work. It would be a terrible shame if he drove this into a rock or something.” - - Ω - - Blueblood was not a rapid eater, giving Jon and Twilight enough time to visit the friendly kitchen staff, get a good if somewhat quick meal, and even save a few sandwiches for Spike when he finally showed up. The dragon was tired from having to spend so much time with a natural irritant, a little flustered that the spark plugs he was transporting had been gapped and measured to the most precise degree, and more than happy to fall upon a loose sandwich like the apex predator of sandwiches that he was. By way of conversation eked out between bites, Jon found out that one of the Cabinet Secretaries had once held the position of Director of Weights and Measures, and since the measurement of the spark plugs had been the issue, Schadenfreude had brought the dragon and the task to the secretary’s attention. During tea. Jon had to worry silently to himself at the concept of Schadenfreude crossing Celestia’s government, and the natural results thereof. Most probably explosions. Which Schaden would survive, of course, because that would be the most annoying probability. “I’m back!” caroled the pony in question, prancing into the kitchen and knocking a teacup off a nearby table with his wagging tail. “I just had to make one last check of the automobile and sign off for the Royal Automobile Inspector. Nice mare. Very business-like. And I found outfits for all of you!” “You shouldn’t have,” deadpanned Spike as he took the padded helmet from Schadenfreude’s eager hooves. “Is that… leather?” said Twilight Sparkle, cringing back from the helmet and goggles that were being pressed upon her. “Genuine Montana cowskin,” declared Schadenfreude, passing the last helmet to Jon. “Belonged to the Chicago Bears team of ‘38, in near mint condition from Prince Blueblood’s collection. And don’t forget the goggles. The speed meter on the Cord goes all the way up to a hundred and twenty.” “You don’t have any roads in Canterlot long enough to get anywhere close to that,” said Jon, although he tried on the helmet just to check. “Let’s just go down to the carriage house and wait for Prince Blueblood to finish lunch.” - - Ω - - An hour later, Prince Blueblood made his entrance into the carriage house with a smug servant by his side. His Highness was resplendent in a tan driving jacket, immaculately pressed and detailed, with his own leather helmet and goggles. Schadenfreude was… Schadenfreude as usual, but holding Jon’s camera around his neck and pausing to take the occasional photograph of his superior. Since the carriage doors had been opened to the afternoon sunlight, Jon moved forward to help push the car backward into the castle entrance driveway while Twilight steered with her magic. He had barely put one hand on the flame-red paint of the big roadster before Prince Blueblood snapped, “Hands off my vehicle, human.” “He’s a mechanic, sir,” said Schadenfreude. “All proper expeditions with a motorcar include a mechanic to deal with any trivial issues that arise.” “Oh!” Blueblood looked Jon up and down before giving a decisive nod. “I’ll be the only pony on the street with a motorcar and a human mechanic, won’t I? Well, get in. Over there,” indicated Blueblood with a pointing hoof at the passenger side. “And try not to track in any dirt.” “I thought I would just—” started Jon before Blueblood gave him a scathing glare. “My automobile, my rules,” he commanded. Jon could not see any way around it, so he moved to the other side of the roadster and opened the door for Twilight Sparkle. “Not that… thing!” declared Blueblood with an outthrust hoof at the oil-speckled Twilight. “Out! This is the finest leather seating, and I will not have you contaminating it with that filth!” The dirty and oil-smeared Twilight Sparkle gave Jon a wide-eyed look that seemed to mix anger and disdain in equal measure, but with another glance at the leather seats she would have to sit on, she scurried back to give the driver and mechanic some space. With Spike and Schadenfreude pushing, the roadster glided out into the driveway like it was riding on clouds instead of big rubber tires. Prince Blueblood pressed down on the brakes smoothly, bringing the Cord to a halt without a single jerk except the one behind the wheel. “Told you I knew how to drive.” Blueblood adjusted the rear view mirror with one hoof and admired his reflection, giving Jon a moment to consider the arrangement of the pedals. Equestrians had shorter legs by comparison, so the interior of the car had been adjusted by the way of blocks and some strategic gadgets that would have made it uncomfortable for Jon to drive anyway. “Let’s take one turn around the gardens, Your Highness,” suggested Jon. “It’s a new engine, and needs to be brought up to temperature slowly or we might crack the block. The last thing we need is to have to push the motorcar back here through all the ponies in town.” For a moment, it looked as if Prince Blueblood was about to object, but he looked down at the dashboard instead and took the shifter in his magic, moving it around until the vehicle showed it was in neutral. “Start,” he commanded. “Run. Turn on. Activate.” Jon quietly turned the key into the ‘On’ position and looked around the shadowed floor for the starter button. “You normally step on the starter,” he said, still looking. “I don’t see one down there, though.” “Put the shifter in neutral and step on the clutch,” said Twilight Sparkle, reading down the instruction book. “The Cord automatic starter will—” There was a growling noise and the roadster engine caught, making a low, throbbing noise that caused the bulldog to launch himself from the motorcar seat and pelt off in the opposite direction as if the huge mechanical monster were going to take off what little remained of his tail. The prince did not notice, as he was entranced enough by the noise that he put the shifter into gear and let out on the clutch. The car jerked forward and the engine promptly died. “First gear,” prompted Jon. “I’ll just move the shifter—” Blueblood struck with the speed of an angry cobra, and Jon pulled his stinging fingers back. “My automobile,” cautioned the prince. After a moment, he moved the shifter through the H pattern to first gear, contemplated the marvel of mechanical engineering again, and depressed the clutch. The engine started up again with a low throb, sounding a little to Jon’s ear like a pet panther wanting to go out for a stroll in the chicken coop. “There,” declared Blueblood, lifting up abruptly on the clutch pedal and killing the engine again. Twilight Sparkle opened her mouth to give advice and Jon caught her eye, shaking his head. “Obviously defective engineering,” growled Blueblood. Jon carefully licked his lips and suggested, “The engine will need a little more fuel to move the auto at first. That’s the accelerator,” he added. “On the right.” “I knew that.” Blueblood jammed down on the clutch until the engine started, then jabbed down on the accelerator just as hard. The big V8 engine bellowed into vibrant life, only to die as Blueblood yanked both rear legs off the floorboard and the roadster leapt forward in a spray of thrown gravel, then coasting for a brief period before coming to a halt in Twilight Sparkle’s purple magic. “Gently!” Jon managed to pull his fingers off the dashboard, although he really felt like wrapping them around Schadenfreude’s neck, because their ignoble start was being immortalized on Jon’s best Kodak film. And the servant looked like he was having the time of his life. “I’m doing fine without you,” snapped Blueblood, although at Twilight Sparkle instead of Jon as he expected. “Release my automobile from your spell.” “I was just trying to help,” said Twilight in a very small voice. Spike must have been expecting tears, because he was off like a shot, bringing back a wad of shop rags just in case. “I’m doing fine!” Blueblood jammed one hoof down on the clutch until the engine started again, then slowly let up the clutch while nudging the accelerator. This time the roadster began to roll down the gravel of the driveway with a loud crunching noise, making similar crunching noises as Blueblood made several turns. “See!” “Very good, Your Highness.” Their ignoble start seemed to be the low point of the trip as Blueblood proudly steered the heavy roadster in the direction of the narrow garden path, handling the steering wheel with the smooth practiced motions of an expert. Or at least one who had imagined it many times in his own head. “What excitement!” declared Blueblood as they bounced slowly along the path. They were not really traveling that fast, but several bunny rabbits were frightened into running by their presence, and stood with twitching whiskers in the taller grass when the roadster drove by. It was, by far, the most peaceful and pleasant drive Jon had experienced, but still no excuse for not trying to put in a good word for his student. “Yes, sir. I only wish Twilight were with us to enjoy—” “Hush, peasant!” Blueblood favored Jon with a very unfavorable glance and moved the shifting lever into second gear. “I want to see what my automobile is capable of. First, we get up to speed.” He pushed down on the accelerator gingerly until the automobile was bumping along a little faster, then smoothly pushed down on the clutch and let it back up. The automatic shifter clunked beneath the vehicle, and their speed picked up to a fairly brisk trot down the uneven path. They were rocking back and forth slightly, so Jon got a good grip on the door handle only to have it come off in his hand with a rattle of loose screws. That’s the problem with having multiple mechanics put this thing together. He tossed the handle on the floor, then tried to wrestle the glove compartment closed from where the bumpy road had knocked it open. The garden path was perfectly smooth for the occasional fertilizer wagon or lawn equipment, but it was not designed for the wide body and inadequate suspension of the big roadster. Some vehicles had latching seat belts to hold the passengers in place during a rough ride, not this one as Jon discovered when Blueblood took the curve at the bottom of the hill at the same speed. He slid across the smooth leather seat and bumped into the prince, only to have Blueblood give Jon a solid shove back to his side of the car. It was at that point when the interior rear view mirror fell off and the door on Jon’s side abruptly popped open that he began suspecting Schadenfreude’s hoof in the mechanical failures. Particularly when Jon saw him alongside the garden path, snapping away with the camera before bolting to a different location for more photos. “I think we need to stop, Your Highness,” blurted out Jon while holding onto his door and trying to get it to latch. “Afraid of the speed?” Blueblood grinned in the breeze and jauntily took the next curve with the same reckless disregard for Jon’s safety, with flowers and bushes whisking past and ticking at the edges of the auto on the narrow path. “I need to get the screwdriver,” managed Jon while still hanging onto the door. “Some of the parts are vibrating loose. Like that one,” he added when the radio knob came off and the wireless set began blasting away jazz music at full volume, complete with deafening hisses and crackles from the nearby pony radio station. The radio startled Jon about as much as the mechanical failures, but not as much as Blueblood laughing about it. “You humans are such cowards. After I get familiar with this motorcar, I believe I shall enter your Indiana Five Hundred and show humans what we ponies are capable of.” He ducked to avoid a branch that swept overhead and thunked across the windscreen before vanishing behind them. “Once we get out into the open, I shall show you what this motorcar can do.” Jon eyed the key and considered just what kind of trouble he would get in for grabbing it and holding on until everything stopped moving. He was just getting braced to do the snatch when the roadster came out from the garden path back onto the gravel of the carriage driveway Then everything went straight to Tartarus. Blueblood moved the shifter into third gear and cycled the clutch again, only to have the engine give out a sudden bellow as if the accelerator pedal had been mashed to the floor. There was a sudden squeak of panic, which Jon was determined to say came from Blueblood if he survived, then the rear of the automobile seat smashed into Jon’s back. Gravel scattered everywhere as the roadster barreled through the circle driveway with Blueblood frozen to the wheel in terror and Jon scrabbling for the key, which he yanked out of the ignition after several frantic grabs. The engine seemed to take the removal of the ignition key as an affront, and cranked up its stentorian bellow instead of stopping. The auto careened past the grassy center of the carriage circle and shot like a suicidal arrow toward the thick wrought-iron gateway to the courtyard. Bushes flew past, and Jon could see Schadenfreude leap in front of the roadster with his hind legs braced in the gravel and his forelegs stretched out in a heroic attempt to stop the runaway car. The big Cord roadster went over him like a rocket-powered steamroller, with hardly a bump. “Gate!” screamed Jon. “Get out of the way! Get out of the—” A few curious servants at the iron gateway scattered in different directions as Jon reached up and grabbed Prince Blueblood by the horn, then heaved the both of them behind the dashboard moments before the car met the gate in an earsplitting crash. Shattered glass went everywhere, and the crumpled remains of the windscreen sliced by overhead like a crude guillotine. “My car!” howled Blueblood. He yanked himself out of Jon’s grasp and sat back up to grab onto the steering wheel, clutching it with enough force that it bent under his hooves. Things along the road down into the city were flying past far too rapidly for Jon’s taste so he did not try to throw the panicked unicorn out of the car like he wanted. In any event, their velocity was already too great, and the only thing jumping out of the car would do is leave their dead bodies in the road. “This is your fault!” shouted Blueblood. He stomped on the pedals to no effect, including the accelerator pedal and brake that were flush with the floor. “You’re trying to kill me!” “Then why am I in the car!” screamed Jon back. “Use your magic on the engine! Maybe you can get it to stop.” Although Blueblood did not say anything, his horn lit up with a bright golden aura. Unfortunately, whatever magic spell he used did not manage to shut the engine off, but instead caused the supercharger to cut in with a banshee wail of the damned. In perfect hellish harmony, the front wheels screamed into even more violent motion, black smoke erupted out of the wheel wells from where the abused rubber was making far too much traction against the stone road, and the resulting sudden burst of acceleration smashed the seat into Jon’s back. “You idiot!” screamed Blueblood. He slammed one hoof down on the clutch pedal, only for the transmission to shift gears again, making the automobile shoot forward with greater speed even while the clutch pedal joined its companions in remaining flat and lifeless against the floormat. A passing stone obstruction sprayed sparks down the driver’s side door and took the rear view mirror off in a spray of mangled metal while Jon struggled to hold on for dear life and prayed for something or somepony to stop their precious descent into the city. The Cord’s horn still worked, and Blueblood hammered down on the chromed ring around the steering wheel while heaving it back and forth. Screaming ponies scattered in all directions, their pleasant afternoon walk shattered by a snarling blood-red monster roaring down the hill at them. The roadster’s speed continued to rapidly grow every second as it hurtled forward, leading inevitably to a pile of pony bodies somewhere ahead if Jon did not do something, and fast. He reached out and yanked on the steering wheel. Their path swerved to intersect a stone wall ahead. He did not even hear the impact.