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// Chapter Nine: Machinations 
// Story: The Cuckoo Child 
// by Nyarlathi 
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As time rolled along, Sparrowbee thought he was getting the hang of kindergarten. The routine grew ever more familiar, as did the glyphs and numerals that had been so puzzling before. More problematic was learning to grasp things with magic – a task that had many nymphs scrunching their faces and sticking out their tongues in effort – but it was definitely worth it. Alongside the clear mental imagery required, it was another opportunity to dip into the warm pool of his magic. It felt odd at first, actually wrapping his magic around something, but he and the others were quickly getting the hang of it. This was key, as one of the ways they had to practise writing and drawing was with their horns. Unfortunately, as not everypony they might disguise themselves as were unicorns they also had to practise it with their mouths. Not the most pleasant of prospects, but it did mean that those whose magic grip gave out still had a way to take part in the lessons.

Wing exercises, tiring as they were, had definite benefits too, and Dragonfly had even managed to reach the ceiling a few times. Seeing their whooping classmate take to the air spurred the others on all the more, but Elytron had noticed something that had them all concerned. “Why’re the grown ups getting as tired as we are? They’re s’pposed to be big an’ strong.” They murmured to the rest of their nest one lunchtime, to Silk’s wary agreement. Firefly thought aloud that maybe they’d been having epic night-time dance parties, to Honey and Chitin’s amusement. Unsure what to think, Elytron and Silk peer at Sparrowbee for his take on the issue.

Likewise amused by Firefly’s idea, but concerned that those in charge of their education were growing listless easily, he turned his attention out into the hivemind, feeling for Mx Cricket and Mr Scarab’s presences. He was careful not to poke them upon discovery, but he absorbed as much information as he could passively while he observed them. Upon returning his focus outwards, he took a slow breath and fixed his nestmates with a serious expression, hooves pressed together as if he were steepling fingers. The others leaned in a touch, and he wasted no more time. “They’re not partied out, they’re hungry.” He explained simply, to which Dragonfly immediately began to ask why they didn’t just eat already. Holding one hoof up, he shook his head. “I can’t tell for sure without them noticing that I’m peeking – it’s not out in the open. Look at the other adults, though… Do you see anyling who isn’t tired like that?” There was a pregnant pause, the assembled nymph taking a long look around them, realising with a rising sense of apprehension that it was true. Every single adult in sight looked worn around the eyes, droop-winged and dull-carapaced. Whatever it meant, it surely couldn’t be anything good.

In their startled focus, even Silk failed to notice that they had company until an unexpected wry chuckle made most of them jump. “So you noticed too, huh lil sprouts?” The older nymph who’d spoken showed some signs of developing female traits, along with the wirier frame and more specialised wings of somebuggy in the process of becoming a Scout. They didn’t yet know what that meant, nor her name, but they recognised her as part of Polyergus nest – which Sparrowbee idly recalled to be Sternite’s. “I heard most’ve the hive’s on half rations or less by now – not enough ponies in pods, not enough love to go around. I reckon it won’t be long before some’ve those grown ups’re too worn down and hungry to even show up – maybe not ever again.”

From her tone, it sounded very much as though she was trying to scare them, perhaps to distract herself from her own fear. Before she could move onto more detail, though, Honey decided to prevent her from waxing more eloquent and maybe upsetting all of them further. To do this, they employed a skill honed through grubhood practise – bursting into tears on cue. Playing it up like a consummate little actor, the diminutive nymph managed to both drown out whatever else their visitor had to say and attract quite a bit of attention. From there, it was practically grub’s play to implicate and thus drive off the older nymph. This time, anyway. Though they outwardly maintained their sniffles, Honey projected a sense of satisfaction to the rest of Joro as they were ‘consoled’. While it wasn’t the sort of skill that could weather overuse, it was cunning, and Sparrowbee decided to send Honey a faint sense of approval, drawing a little smile.





From a different table, another older nymph watched them. He’d been the one to send his nestmate over to spook Joro nest, though not simply out of petty spite. He’d noticed the clear leadership that nest possessed, the way they already confidently expected nymphs their own age and slightly above to join in with games they ran. He’d had his eye on them since that first game of charades, when they’d seemed to have altogether too much of a clue about what was going on for being such new nymphs. It was distinctly worrying. Not only because, as one of his more fretful nestmates pointed out, nymphs in stories who seemed to understand too much were often what they seemed, but more because it meant he had competition. True, as the older nymph, he had time on his side, but Sternite had no intention of taking that for granted. If he wanted to secure his coveted place in life, he had to be proactive.

Much like a pony’s cutie mark, a changeling’s caste wasn’t set in stone from the start – it was something that developed over time, influenced by a nymph’s preferences and proficiencies and could be redirected partway. In that regard, it was a little like a nymph’s developing gender, but much more important from Sternite’s perspective. After all, while many of those with an aptitude for command could easily find themselves as Warriors with command positions, somebuggy as precocious as Joro’s dominant mind needed careful watching, and maybe more active intervention. Especially with love shortages a factor, he needed to secure his place if he was going to become a Prince. He already knew how to handle much of the youthful population, but with the younger ones, he wasn’t yet sure which buttons to press.

Brushing his mind against the others of his nest, he sought ideas, unwilling to leave planning for later. Then, as one suggestion ghosted across their thoughts, he smirked. Yes… Introducing them to a cluster of the Caste Questers could throw enough monkey wrenches into the works. Royal caste was something that usually took specific and continued effort to attain, and the chaos of the club who’d try anything at least once as they tried to find themselves ought to muddy the waters before this Sparrowbee realised what race he was falling behind in.