Those two faced Swift River head on, Sandbar by dusting his shoulders off and Gallus by putting on a smile as fancy as he could muster.
The mare beside him gasped. “You were spying on us, weren’t you?”
“Very observant there,” Gallus said, smirking at her.
Sandbar smacked himself on the face. “This isn’t good, is it?”
Swift shook his head, walked up to them with a steady step. “Actually, you’ve done well, even if how you did it was…questionable." Made a light chuckle, bobbing his head up and down. "I guess you already know who I am.”
Gallus nodded. “Swift River, eh?”
Swift River nodded back. “And, you must be the new griffon in town." Leaned in to check out the details of his bird-like face. "If I'm correct, you're Gallus...right?”
Brushed the pony's snout away from his beak. "Yeah, I think that's enough."
Swift River smiled, maintaining that innocuous smile. “That’s good. I must’ve guessed your name right—overheard it, actually, by Bitter Citrus. You do know he’s not that bitter, right?” He laughed, tried to make his mare laugh, too, but failed in that regard. “You could call him ‘Sweet Citrus’—but, hey, when he asks, you didn’t get that idea from me.”
The mare looked at him in askance then left him content with himself.
“Anyway, it’s good to meet you for the first time!” and shook Gallus’s claw or, rather, had his hoof grabbed by Gallus’s claw in an attempt at a hoof-clawshake. Then, turning to Sandbar: “And, it’s good to meet you for the...hmm, more than the first time, th-that’s for sure.”
Sandbar smiled.
“Bet you haven’t met her, though,” he said, pointing to the mare with an air of confidence. “She’s Press Release, former journalist and present newsgetter. A really dangerous job for a precious mare like her, but she’s making the sacrifice.”
“Have you ever thought of making a sacrifice sometimes?” Gallus quipped, standing on his four legs prouder than before.
Sandbar stomped him on the paw.
“Ow!”
Swift River smiled, almost gave way to another chuckle. “I don’t mind, really. We all want to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good, for Equestria. Sounds noble and heroic, but I have to get past my own petty fears." He stopped, letting the point stand. "What if I have to die? I don’t like dying, but the best heroes die anyway and they don't care.”
Press Release gave him a skeptical look. “Are you saying I’m not willing to die for this?”
“Ah, yes!” the cashier remarked from his counter, holding up a golden coin as if to lecture upon it. “She’s becoming aware of your tricks, Swifty!”
He gulped, turned round to the cashier. “What tricks? It’s only a misunderstanding!” Turned to a maddened Press Release. “I know everyone here will do their part, up to being killed for the cause.”
“OK, I’m beginning to feel the romance in here,” Gallus said in snark, allowing a sly smile to creep up his beak.
Sandbar coughed, stealing the attention of those not-romantic ponies. “What Gallus meant to say was: it was nice to meet you here. How are you, uh, enjoying your stay here in Appleloosa?”
Swift River nodded. He rubbed his mane, trying to not laugh nervously. “I’m very sure you’ve got something special here. To be frank with you, I was expecting something more...tightly-knit as a community, but it’s the end.” Looked out the windows, seeing that dusty road and those ponies pulling carriages filled with passengers reacting to the dust with more coughs. “Brings out the worst of us.”
Sandbar took a step back, looking out there also.
“But, you don’t need to be spying on us anymore,” he said. “If you’re thinking about it, we’re not in a relationship at all. In fact, I just met her y-yesterday. Don’t know much about her, but, I’d like to know much about all of you, too, so we could work together—or, at least, so I could lend a helping hoof or two around.” Then, he let a laugh break in, having almost smashed one of the eight remaining plates in store with a reckless hoof swing.
“Right,” Gallus drawled out as the stallion laughed.
Press Release smiled. “Yes, it’s true.”
Sandbar ruffled his mane, sweat reappearing on his face. “I think we’re all ignoring the elephant in the room here…no offense to elephants.”
Swift River nodded, wearing an uneasy smile. “That any one of us could be a changeling.”
Gallus leaned on the shelf, resting much of his weight on it. “Exactly.”
Swift River kept up a good face. “I’m not a changeling.”
Chuckled some more.
“Well, you’re going to doubt me, but what can I do? I can’t say, ‘Yes’, right?”
Sandbar shifted his hooves, keeping an eye on Swift with both suspicion and scrutiny. “For starters, what about Zecora’s gel?”
“You mean the salve?” Swift River said. He gestured to his clean face. “You’re wondering why I don’t have it on my body, aren’t you?" He smiled a bit bigger. "Isn’t it for security purposes? I’m rather allergic to it, so I only wear it when I have to, then I wash off.”
“Me, too,” Press Release added.
The cashier brought down a spear from the wall and put it on the counter.
Everyone else looked at him.
The cashier raised his hooves, looking like a stallion in surrender. “Alright, I’m paranoid, so what?! I admit it! Can’t blame me for self-defense!”
Gallus turned to Sandbar. “Do you ponies have, uh, changeling senses?”
Sandbar shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here,” Swift River said, spinning his hoof to bring in the rest of the attention. “We’re clearly not getting off on the right hoof. Maybe if we talk later at some place more public, we could settle any doubts we have on each other.” He picked a can of chips from the shelf. “I hope that sounds reasonable to the both of you.”
Sandbar and Gallus nodded, grinning. “Yeah. It sounds very reasonable!” Sandbar said in a sprightly tone.
Swift River grinned back, his teeth reflecting the sunlight that could get in. “Then, you go and do your shopping, and we’ll do our shopping. Leave each other in peace; we’ll be friends in no time!”
And the pairs trotted off in separate ways, Sandbar and Gallus deeper into the aisles, Swift River and Press Release to the counter.
The cashier heard their approach, straightened up, took the spear back on his weapon racks over his head, serviced the ponies before him with a smile. “We never had any enmity before, OK? I apologize for my anxiety fit, but...changelings!” He held on to his forehead, feeling an ache coming on. “You’re making me nervous for my coat! You better stop scaring me like that—I have a weak heart!”
Swift River chuckled. “Me, too, but I can stomach some fears now and then.”
Swift River locked the door and entered.
On the second floor of the cabin, this bedroom was decent . The dusty bed lay there, its pillows and blanket folded up and collecting more dust. Pictures and photos of the country landscape littered the tables and the walls, depicting rural backdrops in an awfully pristine light with bright hues and cheery colors. There, at the other end, was the one and only window which gave him a great view of the desert; surely, why settle for pictures and paintings when you could get the real thing? The burning heat of the day, the frigid cold of the night, the risk of getting dust in your eyes on a regular basis—all these were simply the cost of having that beautiful land at the dawn, at the waking moment.
Swift River looked at the broom and dustpan beside him. He groaned. “Better than nothing. What was I expecting, a hotel? Hotel service out here, way out here...wouldn’t that be the headline of the day?”
He stopped, looked at the door behind him.
“Oh. That’s right. No headlines.”
The pegasus swept the room clean, ridding it of that horrible dust and that terrible dirt—well, most of it, anyhow. He got a bottle of perfume from one of the cabinets, uncorked it open, and showered the whole room with it, snuffing his sleeping quarters with a tantalizing, overwhelming smell of flowers. It did not give off a normal kind of stench, but it was a stench nevertheless.
Swift River looked at a little pincer hanging from the cabinet where he had gotten the perfume from. He placed it on his nose.
Felt the swelling pain on it, suffocating a bit.
He coughed, bent down.
“I’m not trying that again!” he shouted. “That’s bad! That’s really bad! Those Daring Do novels are getting to my head—it doesn’t work!”
After that awful experience, Swift River recovered and went on with the rest of his renovating work. He straightened the window curtains, arranged the chairs and the tables there, fixed the bed and made it well, even noticed the triangle hanging from a hook.
He grabbed the triangle and its accompanying beater. Swift hit the triangle.
A ding! came from it.
Swift shrugged. “What’s the use of it? For dinner time or something?”
He put it back on the hook.
Swift River trotted to the desk and sat on it, trying to relax there.
By the look on his happy face, it turned out that he succeeded.
Then, he noticed the drawers on the desk.
“Hmm….they better be empty.”
He took the leftmost drawer and drew it open.
Several pencils and ballpens lying about with some rulers and erasers. Blank pads of paper lay there, too. He grabbed the paper and flipped through the pages, but there was nothing written on them. Swift returned them inside and closed the drawer.
The next one was the center drawer. Inside sprawled a few more interesting items: some fake tulips and roses, a dozen marbles, and a comb. He picked up the flowers, toyed with them, and, with his hoof, felt the fabric that made them up. He tore off a fake petal and let it fall to the floor.
That poor, sweet red petal.
He put the flowers back and closed the drawer.
The final one was the drawer to the right. He opened it and was instantly confronted by several more photographs inside. He inspected each one of them—this one displayed several ponies smiling for the camera for the unveiling of the then-brand new town hall, that one showed Braeburn and a burly buffalo shaking hooves in agreement over some treaty, this other one showing yaks and ponies standing together wearing green shirts of wildly different sizes.
He placed the photos on the table.
Let out a muffled yelp, stood up, went to the door, and locked it. He walked back to the table—there, he gave a long glance at the locked door. Was the handle in the right position? Was that little button on the handle pressed? Did he turn that tiny lever thing on the other side?
Breathing fast, breathing fast—then, he caught himself, placed his hoof on his head.
“What was I thinking?” Swift said to himself. “M-Maybe...maybe I’m getting infected by Banknote. Gotta remember...stay calm, stay focused, stay OK, stay OK...you’re gonna be fine, Swifty, you’re gonna b-be fine.”
He closed his eyes, slowed his breath, and opened his eyes.
Relaxed again. Another success for this stallion.
“Now, where was I…?”
He looked to the open drawer on his right.
A crumpled piece of paper.
“Huh?”
He picked it up, put it down on the table, and flattened it. He glanced at the window, saw the rays of light, and brought the paper as close to the light as he could without letting it away from the table.
There was hoofwriting. Scrawled in bad shape and form, barely legible.
Thus, reading out loud:
Wildwood, I hope this reaches you. We just discovered another changeling spy for the seventh time this week. They’re learning fast. They’re understanding our codes, and we’re running out of ways to use them. Passwords and secret phrases aren’t going to cut it. I’m sure the deliverypony told you this, but don’t give the secret away! Whenever you go out, bring it with you in your hair. A changeling might as well move into your house without knowing the secret! Beware, keep your guard up. I’ll find a way to meet up with you Wednesday or Thursday, and I’ll get Braeburn and Silverstar into it. See you.
Swifty smiled, indulged in a fanciful giggle. “Now this is really bad, isn’t it? What happens if I tell them?”
Glanced at the locked door.
Silent for a while, breathing in the perfume-poisoned air.
“What happens if I don’t, though?”