//------------------------------// // Chapter 42: King Thorax’s Surprise // Story: The Second Life of Moztrot // by CrackedInkWell //------------------------------// Words cannot begin to describe the efficiency of the Changelings once they’ve set their minds to it. Although nowadays the Changeling actors have rightfully earned their place on the stage, back then nopony had any idea of the full range of their capabilities. Their memories were just as remarkably sharp as my own. So much so, that on the first day they’d memorized their lines and then likewise the music on the next. And because they could transform into anything they desired from a pony to a rock, they never bothered with costumes, makeup or even set designs. Even now I am still amazed by how they could do naturally what ponies on stage have tried to do artificially. While the rehearsals were extremely short, I remembered being highly impressed with these actors and actresses. Their powers of communication were extraordinary; they asked me questions on what this or that character should say and do to make them sound natural. Even if they made mistakes, I would point it out gently and suggest another way. Which they did. By the time we rehearsed with the full orchestra, every line, every word and every note they sang was perfect, because they knew it all by heart. The night before the opera itself, I was in a guest room that King Thorax lent us, sitting on the edge of an open window and gazing at the stars. At the same time, I was improvising on my violin, searching for interesting melodies, hoping for inspiration. That is until Wilfried came in. “Wolfgang,” he said, “King Thorax wishes to see you.” I stopped playing. “Why? What does he want?” “He said he wanted to show you something. Although he never said exactly what it was.” Setting my violin aside, I asked him where the King was. “Waiting for you outside your door.” Curious, I went over to the curtain that separated the small guest room from the rest of the Hive. And there was Thorax wearing a suspicious smile. “Good evening Mr. Moztrot,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” “Oh no, not at all, Your Majesty. Is there something wrong?” He tilted his head a little. “Why would there be anything wrong? I just wanted to show you something that I think you’ll like. Come walk with me.” He gestured with a wing so thin that I could see through it. Still curious, I followed him as he leads the way through the maze of the Hive. A minute after we started he asked: “So… Mr. Moztrot, how are my Changelings treating you?” “Quite wonderfully,” I replied cheerfully. “Your subjects and yourself are amazing. As I said before, I have never seen anything like this kingdom before, and I have done my fair share of traveling.” “So no complaints?” I snorted. “Nothing but praises on my end. They’re friendly, delightful, intelligent and have a cornucopia of talents that are just waiting to be tapped into. I know it’s peculiar to say, but I feel like I’m home.” Thorax stared at me. “Wow, really?” “Yes.” I nodded. “You see, Your Highness, the home I grew up in was filled with geniuses that created together and laughed together. When I was a colt, I didn’t always feel that I fit in with foals; intellectually they couldn’t understand me or do what I could do. What few friends I had, where we could talk and joke on the same level, were almost always older than I was.” “Oh…” Thorax said as he nodded. “That’s why.” I blinked. “Why what?” He looked around the hallway we were trotting down as he craned his neck down to me. “You do know that we Changelings can easily read emotions?” I told him that I did. “Well… When we first met at that Music Festival, I immediately sensed your emotions, many of which were positive ones. But at the same time, I also picked up a few that confused me. I didn’t want to bring it up for fear of sounding rude.” I raised an eyebrow. “Such as?” “Loneliness,” he replied. “But not the kind that comes from depression, but a feeling that had sat there for years and years. For a long time, I couldn’t figure out why you would be feeling that deep down. Because I could tell that there was more to it than the, uh, funeral you had a while back.” My ears folded back flat against my head. “Oh… Was it that obvious?” “Not quite. Loneliness, like all other emotions, comes in a variety of distinct flavors. The only way I can describe it is like if someone were to make wine. Sure, the ingredients are the same but even the smallest deviation in how it’s made can change the quality and flavor of it. Same with emotions. Even if the same ingredients are there, the countless ways in how it was made could change the outcome. Like your loneliness for example.” “Understandable.” I nodded. “Do you still sense that now?” “Yes, but it’s been reduced quite a bit since you came to the hive. But anyway, I have a question for you.” “Ask away and you shall receive.” “What are you planning on doing after this?” He raised his neck back up to look down at me. “I mean, not for the next few weeks or months, but for the long term.” “Honestly?” I breathed in deeply. “I only have one main goal after this.” “Which is?” “I’m planning on going to Istally, to perform my Requiem for my other son that is buried there.” King Thorax gave an understanding nod. “Ah, I see. And after that?” “I… I don’t know. Maybe give public performances. Write more. Maybe get into composing for films or radio, or whatever that is exciting nowadays. I mean, now that I’ve been given a new life, health and wealth, the possibilities are endless.” “And… personal?” “What do you mean?” He shrugged. “I guess… are you going to date someone?” Now I was confused. “Date? Forgive me but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You know… asking somepony out, getting to know them… getting romantically attached.” “Oh! You mean courting?” I giggled. “Well, if you’re talking about flirting with mares.” “In a manner of speaking, yes. I wasn’t sure if I should bring it up since uh… you know.” I frowned. “Yes, I see what you mean. Coming to grips of Constanza’s and my children’s death has been hard but I’m getting better. However, what can I say, I love mares, so what can you do? Besides, knowing her, she would probably come back from the grave to haunt me just to get me to move on anyway.” “Out of curiosity, is there anyone who’s caught your eye?” “You mean besides the whorses?” Thorax almost snapped his neck as he looked at me in shock. “Wait what!?” I laughed uncontrollably on the floor. “Oh, Celestia! You should have seen your face!” He for his part rolled his eyes as he helped me back up. “Were you serious? I can’t exactly tell if you are.” “I was joking, Your Highness,” I said with a few snickers. “Although, to be serious, the answer is no. I have been working so much that I haven’t exactly slowed down, so to speak. Although…” King Thorax raised an eyebrow as I trailed off. “Yes?” “I would be lying if I said that I haven’t found a few ponies attractive.” “Oh?” “Like… Take my maid Fan for instance. She’s pretty, and we could hold up a conversation once we get started. And don’t let her appearance fool you: It may not look like it, but she’s a composer as well.” “Your maid is?” “I’ve seen it too. In fact, she was composing on the way here. As far as I know, she and her brother are composers. She focuses on the piano while her brother prefers orchestral pieces. And to be honest, between the two, the sister has more talent.” With a smirk on his face, he asked, “How come you haven’t decided to da- uh, court her yet?” I stopped and stared. “Is that even allowed? I mean, I’m her employer after all. (Alright, Princess Celestia pays her salary but still.)” Thorax paused too as he said, “Moztrot if you’re developing feelings for --” “Hold on, I didn’t say I was in love with her!” “Still, where would the harm be if you did? I mean, as long as she consents. You said yourself that your wife would want you to move on. And if you want to get into a relationship with your maid, then ask her. If she says no, then respect her decision. If otherwise, see where it could go. “Now I’m not saying at all that it would work, but as I said, I can sense that deep down you’re lonely. If you’re lucky, really lucky, perhaps asking her out might help.” As he started walking again he added, “But I’m getting off track. I have something to show you that I think you’d like.” Down several hallways and up a few staircases, the King of the Changelings led me through a curtain of a dark room. Before I could ask Thorax what was going on, lights suddenly lit up all at once with a room filled with Ponies to Changelings yelling out simultaneously: “SURPRISE!” I admit I was both bewildered and confused at first. Not until I saw the silver platters of alcohol did it occur to me that this was a party. In no time the sight of those bottles turned my perplexity into delight. As it turned out, the Changeling actors and the orchestra had gotten together on a sort of cast party in my honor the night before the big opera, with all the wine, spirits, beer and whatever modern creations I could chug down. Party or no, I never turn down a drink or two with good company. There was also another reason for the party. Unbeknownst to me, King Thorax had conspired with the orchestra on a surprise for me. I remember that while I was being served with a modern drink called a cocktail (a name in which to this day I still snicker at) Thorax came up to me with a smaller, younger-looking Changeling that held a clarinet in her hoof. At first, I was paying so much attention to the drinks that I hardly noticed their approach until Thorax tapped my shoulder. “Mr. Moztrot,” he said, “I want you to meet someling.” As I glanced over, the little one ducked behind the King. “This is Ocellus. She’s a rising prodigy in the Hive and do forgive her, she’s kind of shy when meeting new people.” “Ah,” I nodded as I turned my attention towards the Changeling in hiding. “Pardon me little miss, am I that scary looking?” A light teal head poked out with dark turquoise eyes peering over. “N-No.” “Then why are you hiding?” She ducked her head back with a squeak. Eventually, I got up to go around Thorax. “Let me guess, you are intimidated by me?” Ocellus nodded. “Why?” She blinked. “What?” “Why are you intimidated by me? I haven’t done anything to you, have I?’ “N-Not really. It’s just…” I pressed on for her to continue. “I just uh… wanted to p-play you something.” A realization came to me. “Oh, I see. You wanted to impress me, but you feel nervous doing so because you might make several wrong notes.” She nodded. “Ocellus isn’t it? Here, sit down, I have a story that might help a little.” She did so as I downed the cocktail mix. I then asked her how long she’d been playing the clarinet. “About two years,” she said meekly, “but I’ve b-been told that I’ve gotten better.” “Better?” Thorax questioned. “Ocellus, you play the clarinet like an angel.” “I see,” I said. “Now, did you know that I had an older sister?” She shook her head. “Like yourself, she was a musician too, and a great composer in her own right. When I was a little colt, she and I played together at courts and theaters all around. I noticed that whenever we played, she was almost never nervous beforehand. One night I asked her why this was, as I was afraid of playing the wrong notes. She told me that she had this trick: right before we went on, she would go into a separate room and then bash out sour notes that screeched. After she banged out enough noise to relieve her anxieties, then when she came on, she would be flawless.” Ocellus raised an eyebrow. “So… You want me to just make noise?” “Yes, right here.” “But they’ll stare.” “That’s the idea! If you get the bad notes out of the way, then you will be comfortable in playing the right ones. Here, give it a try.” She looked between me and her instrument. “I don’t know…” “Trust me. This tends to help. Make the funniest sounds you can think of.” After some thought, she brought the clarinet to her muzzle and a squeaky, wet, melancholic sound issued forth. Almost immediately I started giggling like mad as one farting note after another burst into the crowded room. Even convulsed as I was, I couldn’t help but harmonize by making similar sounds with my mouth. Fortunately enough this got her laughing as well between each toot and poot. Even though I can see in some of the Changeling’s (even the orchestra’s) eyes that they thought it childish, Ocellus’ mood did improve. She was beginning to be comfortable around me. One look and it was clear that her nervousness and anxiety had melted away. “Feel better?” I asked, and the young Changeling nodded. “So little miss, what were you going to play again?” “Oh! That’s right,” Thorax said as he spoke up. “I asked a favor from your orchestra and they agreed. It was Ocellus’ idea actually. She wants to play your clarinet concerto. All three movements.” “Really?” I asked, surprised, as I turned to Ocellus. “For someone who’s been playing the clarinet for two years, playing that is rather advanced.” “I know what you mean.” The young Changeling nodded. “I’m told that, for beginners, it’s like shooting a bow and arrow in the dark a few miles away from a target that’s about the size of a ring painted black. But with this, I’m told that I’m an excellent shot, Mr. Moztrot.” Looking up at King Thorax, he nodded. “She really is. You should hear her.” “Well, if you’re confident enough. Let us see what you have to show.” In a matter of minutes, the Changeling King assembled the orchestra. Music stands were set up and instruments tuned as copies of the concertos were being around. They insisted that I should conduct on account of I wasn’t quite tipsy yet. “Uh, do you need a copy of the music?” One of the members of the orchestra asked me as he hoofed me a copy. “You can keep it if you want,” I replied as I tapped my noodle, “it’s already here inside my head.” With the orchestra assembled, Ocellus meekly went up to me, clarinet in hoof. Before I could cue the first movement, she called out. “Uh. W-Wait. Mr. Moztrot, if you don’t mind. Could I rather just sit next to you with so many around?” I blinked. I have to admit that in all the years I have conducted, even with the hoofful of foal prodigies, such a request was never asked of me. “Well I… I suppose so?” She scuffled over by my side, sitting right next to me, clarinet at the ready. Looking up at me, she gave me the nod to go right ahead. So lifting my hooves I led the orchestra into the First Movement. From the start, I was rather impressed that this orchestra had managed to rehearse this as the sounds produced were so smooth. In the first two minutes of the Allegro, the strings from the violins to the cellos glide elegantly, with the winds and horns bringing back the nostalgic sounds of a garden party that Celestia would host. The very main theme to my imagination brought back memories of nights where hooves moved swiftly but gracefully while rare wines flowed from the fountains like a sweet spring. In my mind’s ear, even the blooming flowers had a melody of their own in this lively nocturnal air. Even the lively violins echoed the chatter and laughter from those guests long ago. Then, it was Ocellus’s turn as she drew the instrument to her lips. From my side, as I conducted, a humble sound came to the party. Far from simple, this new voice brought attention to herself as if she was the belle of the ball. Just by herself, warm notes with virtuosity danced among the greenery. The clarinet was completely in control as she played the simplified theme one moment and spun new steps the next. She was unpredictable but never out of place, even to me who wrote it! When it came to the difficult notations, Ocellus’ hooves moved with the speed of summer lightning as she scaled up and down the register without missing a beat. Even at the trills, they were clear as a keyboard. Never in my ears did it seem as if any note was out of place. Even in the lower register, she kept her breath even to let out smooth, low sounds. Yet her playing was vibrant as roses, flexible as water but disciplined as court dancers. Almost paradoxical to the orchestra but even with the variations it was still in tune at every bar. Every so often, I would glance down at the young Changeling as her eyes remained shut but her ears perked straight up as she paid close attention to the rhythms of the strings as she navigated through the polished Allegro. Even when the orchestra suspended itself for a brief moment, her instrument would take center stage with a single gesture. Her sense of grace and restraint served her well at the very ending of the movement that tied quite nicely together with the orchestra finishing. At the Second Movement, the Adagio, Ocellus, while keeping her eyes closed, went from focused determination to daydreaming. Right from the opening theme, her playing was gentle, as if she held a broken heart in her hooves. Not even from the first time this concerto was played had this lone clarinet sounded as if it were drowning in longing. Her playing was unquestionably beautiful, but behind it, there was something sad. The only way that my ears could describe it was as if one were to walk into a room where one was trying to comfort their beloved while the orchestra let those tears flow nonetheless. I never asked the young Changeling if she had lost someone once, but that night I could hear it in each phrase from the lonely high to the serious low. As if we had awkwardly stumbled into something private. Yet, when she played out the main melody, it was heartbreakingly tender. So much so, when I looked down, I swear that I saw tears rolling down her cheeks. If it hadn’t been for the revelation in Manehattan, I would think that this moment would confer to me what my work meant to these modern times. Those tears came about because it touched that Changeling’s soul, comforting her with a melody. Even the clarinet within that movement took up the role of a mother reassuring a crying child. Telling her that it’s alright, everything will be fine. In other words, it moved her to tears. As I conducted the orchestra, the soloist by my side, my thoughts turned to what King Thorax had said about moving on. Even in my own music of the Adagio, I could practically hear Constanza’s voice within the reassuring clarinet that I shouldn’t have to be alone anymore. That I should seek someone to be happy with as she had been with me. Perhaps… However, I couldn’t get too lost in my thoughts as before I knew it, the second movement drew to a close. Ocellus dried her tears before the final movement, the Rondo Allegro, could begin. She took the lead in a lively melody. Her tricks and virtuosity made her a ballerina for the orchestra to follow. I found this interesting. Here was a shy Changeling who mere minutes ago was petrified of making mistakes in front of me, but once she got going scaling the clarinet she became confident. Especially after the Adagio; how quickly she turned from one heartbroken to putting up a façade in a matter of a few bars. As in the first movement, she played with grace but more playfully this time around. Ocellus had energy to spare as she got around to the exciting bits and her hooves went up and down. In my mind, I had the image of a dancer, childlike but more experienced than the grown-ups. But still, the orchestra provides the scenery which the soloist dances before. Violins and violas flicker about like candlelight while the wind and brass mimic the spectators that “Ooh” and “Ahh” the soloist. Minutes later, a much calmer Ocellus finished off the closing trill as the orchestra played out the final few bars, bringing the concerto to a close. As expected, those within the room applauded the young Changeling’s efforts – and so did I. “That was wonderful,” I told her. She laughed embarrassedly but happily. “I take it that it was good enough?” “More than that, I think you surpassed the original soloist that played it first. You should be proud of yourself, little miss.” Taking hold of a wine glass, I called out. “Everyone! A toast! To young Ocellus, may her star rise ever higher and brighter.” “Cheers!” Of course, the only downside to attending parties with barrels of alcohol is that I tend to get blackout drunk before said party is over and wake up with a head-splitting, eye-stinging hangover. The kind that Wilfried would scold me over, that at my age I should know when to stop drinking before passing out somewhere. And of course, he did as soon as I was awake. Now that I think about it, that alone, I think, was a major improvement from the age I lived in: the servants back then would never dare upbraid their employer -- unless they wanted to be let go. Yet, in this modern era, I had to sit with a cup of coffee and my aching head while Wilfred lectured me as if I was a child. I confess that on some days I wonder if he enjoys doing that. “It’s already embarrassing enough when you slip into an alcoholic coma,” my butler rebuked. “But to be found passed out on the lap of a mare! If you’re about to slip into unconsciousness, then the least you could do is find a couch or a chair to knock yourself out on.” I smirked. “I didn’t know it was that kind of party.” This remark resulted in him rolling up some sheet music to batter the back of my head with. “Really, Wolfgang,” he rolled his eyes, “I know you’re a party animal, but one would think that you’d know how to restrain yourself when necessary.” “Alright Papa,” I muttered sarcastically. Before Wilfred could make a retort, the sound of someone clearing their throat was heard. We turned to see Ocellus poking her head through the curtain. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” “Is there something you need young lady?” My butler asked. “Right now isn’t the best time for Master Moztrot to receive visitors.” “Oh, I’m not visiting. I just wanted to come by to thank him.” “For what?” I questioned before taking a sip. “Well, giving me a technique for easing my uh… stage fright. That and for being willing to listen to me play. I was scared that you wouldn’t like it.” Another sip. “Ocellus… wasn’t it?” she nodded, “Did I toast you?” “You did.” Nodding, I added, “This might come to a shock, but even I have standards, including in music. If I didn’t think you were talented, I wouldn’t have done that. From what I heard of your playing, you deserved it. And yes, not only do I think so, but I’m rather surprised why you’re not in the orchestra to begin with. I mean you could easily play alongside the other clarinetists for tonight’s opera.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Personally, I see playing music as a hobby. I would much rather listen to someone else play than stand up there with everyling watching. I mean, playing for you was scary enough. Which is why I came up here to thank you… and uh… to apologize too.” “Why? What did you do?” “Nothing. It’s just…” She sighed. “I kinda came to you with the wrong mindset. That for a moment, I thought that you would be this uptight perfectionist. A snob basically. But once I got to start talking to you, not only were you the exact opposite of what I thought you were, but you’re kinda like Changelings my age.” “Finally!” I raised my cup of coffee. “Someone that actually gets it!” She giggled. “Anyway, thank you, Mr. Moztrot for helping. And I hope the opera goes well tonight.” “Would you be coming?” I asked. “I think I should.” She answered. “After all, I’m not the only Changeling in the Hive to not know what the Magic Flute is about.” For the first time that morning, I smiled. “My, you Changelings are in for a real treat.”