//------------------------------//
// Chapter 5: Course Correction 
// Story: The Legacy of The Shattered Dream 
// by Natomon01 
//------------------------------//


****** Nothing Human ******


Life was worth living again. At least that’s what it felt like as Charlie woke to fresh sunlight beaming in through his stateroom’s window and hitting his face. It meant the Amerigo’s best means of convenient natural concealment was gone. He didn’t care, though. After a perfect evening consisting of an otherwise ubiquitous shower and hot meal. He’d drifted off while listening to a favorite Fleetwood Mac album, and he’d slept a delicious sleep. Was that possible? For sleep to be “delicious”? Why not? The combination of a full stomach, music and the newly-restored vibrations of the ship’s transmission shafts had made for the best night’s respite in weeks!
He smiled as he lay there drowsily enjoying it. He glanced over at the wall clock; its seconds hand ticking along steadily now that the main electrical buses had been restored. A few ticks later he started suddenly as he realized just how late it was. Summer, the head stewardess, her name short for “Summer Soft,” hadn’t woken him up like he’d asked! The confounded mother hen! 
“Why does she always think she knows what’s best?!” Charlie lamented as he peeled back the covers, bracing himself for the cold shock, but it didn’t come. Central heating had been restored. He let his feet touch the deck. Again, there was no temperature shock, just the soft vibrations of the ship’s power plant.
“Better get dre-…” his thoughts were interrupted as he realized he was still tethered to the tape recorder on his nightstand. He gingerly removed the headphones, taking care to inspect them for damage as he did. Thankfully, he was relieved to see there was none. He’d already repaired them twice that year alone. They’d no doubt reached the end of their useful life and would probably soon stop working altogether. He’d wondered several times if it would be possible to manufacture a replacement set, but every time he’d come to the conclusion that such precision tooling was likely beyond any skills or resources that he or Kearn possessed. It had been difficult enough to work out a process to manufacture conventional speaker diaphragms from cardstock paper or light-bulbs from silica and hair, and even though a unicorn skilled in telekinetic manipulation could theoretically replicate the shape of almost anything, the process could sometimes result in the destruction of the original.
Charlie stowed the electronics on his nightstand and went about securing the rest of his cabin and its contents for flight. Looking towards the foot of his rack Charlie realized that Summer actually had been there. She’d just been silent. A stack of freshly laundered clothing, which included his mended deck jacket, had been set on top of his wardrobe. She’d take extra care to lay out his one-piece coveralls, duty belt, and flight safety gear. Summer had even been thoughtful enough to set a plate of food on his desk; biscuits and hard-boiled eggs. Charlie shook his head, rebuking himself for his earlier thoughts. Such thoughtfulness on Summer’s part might indeed allow him some additional time. After all, having had a good night’s sleep under his belt would be an asset that day. He wondered if she’d done the same for Kearn as well. He kept one eye on the wall clock as he went about his various grooming rituals. Despite his earlier panic, he wasn’t exactly “late.” He’d wanted to get up early to eat breakfast with the crew and to allow the various department heads to present their underway checklists in an informal setting.
“Ready at last” he said aloud with satisfaction as he glanced into the mirror and adjusted the straps on his duty belt and safety gear. He stepped into the corridor seconds later and almost collided with Kearn who was rushing out of his own cabin door.
“You too?”
“Yes. Me too” Kearn said, pausing to adjust his own safety harness. “I thought Summer Soft was supposed to wake us.
“She had other ideas. I’m sure it made sense to her” came Turner's voice from the opposite direction.
They both turned to see the unicorn striding towards them, also regaled for flight operations. Additionally, he was carrying a pair of saddlebags filled with various papers. “Don’t worry about your precious checklists. I’ve got them all right here” he said grinning cheerfully. “I need to put my best hoof forward if I’m going to be your executive for this cruise.”
“Whatever” Kearn snorted before turning and dashing aft towards the crossover and his beloved Platform.
Charlie sighed and headed the opposite direction.
“So when did Lance and Salt release you?”
“Last night. I think Salt finally got tired of me.”
“How do you feel?”
“Normal” he smiled. “If you’re asking me what I thought of my recent experience. I don’t think much of anything. I can’t really remember much of it.”
“You can’t remember?”
“Oh I can remember every detail of what happened. I just don’t remember why? I can’t remember what I was feeling at the time.”
“Was it like...?” Charlie paused for a moment as he thought. “What it like being drunk?”
“Maybe, but even when you’re drunk you can remember how good or bad it felt. I don’t have a hangover, though. So I suppose it’s a tradeoff. But Ripple on the other hoof-”
“Yes, about Ripple?” Charlie interrupted. “How’s she doing? I haven’t heard anything new from Lance.”
“With good reason” Turner nodded. “He’s buried himself in his books and I think he’s trying to design some fearsome new surgical tool to remove those little crystal points from her horn.”
“Well good for him, but what about Ripple?”
“Well she’s been awake for the last day and a half. I spent some of it with her by her bedside.”
“Spent? Spent how?”
“Various things. Talking and reading to her mostly. Anything to help calm her down and distract her.”
“Anxiety issues?”
Turner rolled his eyes.
“Just you try getting one of your limbs paralyzed. She’s afraid that she’ll never get her horn back again. Also…” he paused and stared at Charlie directly “She’s afraid that you’re angry with her. You’re not, are you?”
“I honestly hadn’t taken the time to be mad at her. Yes, she did something very stupid, and I think it’s a given that Kearn isn’t going to let her back on his Platform any time soon, but angry? I’d say ‘no’.”
“You might want to make that clear to her then, before she gets any more emotional.”
“Ripple? Emotional? I never would’ve guessed” Charlie Chuckled as the two of them finally arrived on the Amerigo’s main bridge.
It too had come back to life. The main electric lighting, now fed from the ship’s alternator plant, glowed with the usual warm softness instead of the flickering yellow of the emergency lights, or worse, no light at all. The stations and their various panels radiated their own soft and friendly light. Charlie looked above him to see the butt ends of the slowly rotating port and starboard transmission shafts, and now that the bridge’s tapshafts had been re-engaged, the ship’s-service equipment could function. The ventilation fans were moving in the fresh air again. The combination of light and constant motion all around seemed to have successfully brought to crew back to life as well, as they were all busy with their own tasks preparing to get underway. As Captain, Charlie couldn’t help but feel pride, not only in his crew but in the environment they’d all been able to create together. 
He stopped at his own station or “Perch” as it had been dubbed. Despite what Star Trek seemed to imply, a captain’s position on the bridge ought to be efficient as possible, and rather tight. His station though located centrally on the upper bridge, consisted of an area only a bit larger than your average telephone booth. It was for this reason he’d chosen to make his own captain’s chair very simple. It had more in common with a bar stool or a barber’s chair. To his to his left he could reach for the various jay-handsets or he could view his own quick status board. To his right was his own small desk and equipment rack. Though he called it a “desk” it was really more the size of a speaker’s lectern, but it proved preferable to constantly holding a clipboard in his lap. Just behind him the chart table was a few steps away, but even closer was his access to the twin periscope wells. From his central position he had a clear elevated view from the upper bridge level and could easily look over the ship’s sunken cockpit extension. Ahead of that was the most impressive feature. The panoramic windows.
He checked that the power-lights were on for his PA system amplifier before reaching for the microphone hung next to it.
“I’d re-think that” came Scotch’s voice.
“Huh?” Charlie turned to face him.
“Kearn had me check all of the loudspeakers, and it looks like the moisture out here ended up ruining most of the diaphragms.”
Charlie sighed. He should’ve guessed.
“And I suppose we don’t have any more spares?”
“Correct. We’ll have to make more.”
“You didn’t come all the way up here to tell me that did you?”
Scotch shook his head and rummaged in one of his saddlebags before depositing a stack of Kearn’s checklists on Turner’s nearby chart table.
“I’ve assembled the section chiefs for all of the departments to give account and then pass the word when we’re ready. I thought you’d want to do things that way.”
Charlie nodded agreement before Looking at Turner.
“Oh. Right” the stallion replied with some mild embarrassment. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not used to being the first officer.”
“Well then get used to it!” said Headwind striding up to the small gathering that had formed. “This is hardly the time to forget yourself.”
“Let’s just get this done” said Charlie holding up his hand. “We can argue about the merits, or for that matter need, of military finesse later.”
Turner Cleared his throat.
“All departments have submitted their checklists, and there are no anomalies documented within them that haven’t been dealt with. I’ve also confirmed that all members of the ship’s crew are accounted for. That includes the ones who were running the trading post and... our usual first officer” he added. “I’ve designated a replacement helmsman since I’ll be filling Crack’s position. Finally, I’ve computed and submitted our course and plan, which includes necessary piloting considerations and our expected translation-envelope.”
Charlie nodded briefly. Just as Headwind wasted no time.
“I feel the tactical situation is sufficient; if not for one minor detail.”
“And that is?”
“Why are we doing this in broad daylight? The more light, the greater the chance of making ourselves noticed. I’d recommend at least waiting for twilight or perhaps just before dawn the next morning.”
“You do, do you? Has it also occurred to you that our liftoff and translation from out between these unfamiliar peaks with the updrafts we’ve observed here will require very fine control? Add to that, nighttime condition and even Turner would need to be almost clairvoyant to avoid knocking his elevators on something. I’m not going to risk it, and I’m sure you don’t want to either.”
Headwind, also referred to jokingly as “Headstrong” seemed ready to respond, but Charlie interrupted him.
“My decision is final. Or, did the scouts see anything that might give us pause?”
Headwind seemed to relent and he shook his head in defeat.
“I’ve recalled all of my weather team except for Ellipse. She’s going to be the guide while we pilot off of this mountain. All scouts report the sky is clear of any potential contacts or weather. There are also hardly any cumulus clouds to be seen either. I’d recommend that we translate to cruising altitude as quickly as possible and see if we can’t harvest some cirrus clouds. It’s not ideal material for the shroud, but it’ll have to do.”
“How full are the shroud-accumulators right now?” asked Charlie.
“About one-eighth or so. Not enough to produce a convincing shroud.”
“I suppose it depends on who you’re trying to convince” added Scotch. “I agree with Head, though. We should try to get some cloud media any way we can. Even if it’s not the best kind. Ordinarily Kearn would just have me make it from the ship’s water reserves, but as I’m sure the quartermaster will tell you, we don’t really have enough to use with such abandon. Kearn told me to ask that when we do land we ought to do it near some water.”
Charlie nodded again and looked at Turner.
“I’ll see what I can do about selecting a good place, but how about the Assembly? I know that it’s foremost on everyone’s mind right now. After all, that’s why he won’t leave the platform right now and why he asked you to come in his stead. Isn’t it?”
“Probably” Scotch nodded. “As far as the repair goes, I haven’t seen Kearn in any obvious panic. He’s also not smoking any more than usual. So I guess he’s not too worried right now. He did ask that I make sure we’re going to use an airfoil translation this time. We are, aren’t we?” he asked looking directly at Turner for affirmation.
Though it might have been altogether unwarranted, what everyone was acutely aware of at the moment was the makeshift part at the ship’s heart and what a failure could mean. It was important to avoid any unnecessary stress on the Harmonic Assembly until a suitable replacement could be installed. The Amerigo’s usual climb to cruising altitude was a simple enough matter, but it relied on using the Assembly to lift the rest of the ship’s mass directly; a quite advantageous capability that was granted by the Elements. Yet, there was another method still. By using the ship’s aerodynamic control surfaces, enough lift could be generated to gain altitude through forward motion. The catch was that it required an appreciable amount of speed to generate the necessary lift. Thus, a long run-on course was needed; usually requiring a corkscrew-like flight pattern or carefully planned back-and-forth turns.
Turner nodded back at Scotch to confirm that he’d planned the most easy-going strategy.
“I suppose we can look at this as a chance to see just how airworthy the superstructure is” Charlie said smiling nervously.
“Just how much do you trust that slap-dash fix you made anyways?” came the voice of the Amerigo’s quartermaster.
Samaritan, or “Sam”, as Charlie had chosen to call him was not only in charge of the ship’s supply department, but also ran the galley; keeping everyone’s bellies filled. For this reason one of the first things that a greener would learn was that they should try to keep him happy at all costs. Yet, being that Sam was a mule, the challenge could prove somewhat problematic.
Charlie was about to respond but Scotch did first, in what he must have felt to be righteous indignation.
“My- Our work is not ‘slap-dash’ as you’ve chosen to put it! We worked very hard on that shaft I’ll have you know! We turned it out, laminated another layer on, and then, just for good measure, we put metal bands and caps over the ends! 	So don’t go saying that we-!”
“But you still made it out of wood. I may be no engineer, but I know that wood and metal are two vastly different materials. No one that I’ve ever heard of cooked using a wooden frying pan. So there! I don’t have to be Turner to do the maths in this case. The part you replaced, that by the way was made of metal, couldn’t handle what that mechanical monstrosity required of it, and you expect me to believe an inferior replacement should be trusted?”
“Before you two say something that you’ll both regret, I’d just like to ask one question” interrupted Charlie. “Do you all trust me?”
Each of them looked at each other before nodding slowly.
“Good. I was beginning to worry. The reality is that we’re not in an ideal situation here, but you all need to keep in mind that while you trust my judgment in this matter I trust Kearn’s judgment. He knows what he’s doing, and also, we’re not going to use the piece forever. Just until we can manufacture a new one. Isn’t that right Scotch?”
Scotch nodded vigorously.
“That being said though as a precaution I want all crew members, myself included, to keep their harnesses on and their safety lanyards attached to the closest safety hitch.”
Charlie’s order was greeted by a chorus of groans.
“Yes. I know it’s inconvenient, but I don’t want to take the risk of injury due to a… a bumpy ride.”
Charlie wished he could placate their fears, but he wasn’t so sure about things himself. He’d considered an evacuation drill but thought better of it. Running such an exercise might send a negative signal about just how safe they all really were. He dismissed his own trepidation. After all, how long could it really take to turn out a new shaft anyways? Not more than a few days. They could change it out after they’d set down.
“Now.” Charlie cleared his throat. “Sam. Are you stowed and ready?”
“Yes. I’m as ready as I can be” the mule replied slowly.”
“What did the trading post manage to acquire?”
“Nothing extraordinary. We sold a few copies of our latest wind-tables to some traders coming up the highway. From that we managed to procure a few sacks of grain, some fresh fruit, and a few casks of cooking oil in return. I hope you all like rye, because that’s what the watch biscuits will be for the next little while.”
“No eggs?” asked Turner, somewhat disappointedly.
“No eggs, but our own stores of dairy have increased since we’ve been here. I’d say the vegetation here agrees with Red. She’s produced nearly a third more milk than usual. I asked her to turn most of it into mozzarella. As for the rest of the curds, you’ve all got a choice between jack, which I can throw some dried peppers into, or if you want to wait a bit longer, swiss.”
Saw was met by a chorus of requests for swiss cheese.
“I guess it’s swiss this time around” Charlie said as he finished counting the votes. “How much did Red grace us with?”
“About twenty pails.”
“I swear, we’re lucky to have that cow. I’d pay her in gold if she cared about it. How does she produce so much?”
“I heard she got herself… enhanced” said Headwind.
“Come on Head” Charlie replied as he tried fighting back a rather inappropriate mental image.
“Actually…” Penny, who’d been silent up to that moment, responded. “It’s no joke. It’s a zebra spell given in a potion medium over a few months. When my mother had triplets. She was prescribed a somewhat milder form so she could feed them all, but it was more or less the same kind of thing that cows sometimes use for productivity reasons.”
Salt, who was standing next to her, simply nodded back at Charlie’s bemused expression.
“Don’t look so surprised. I thought you’d said something about the females of your race doing the same thing?”
“W- well… yes. I suppose some of them do, but it’s for… vastly different reasons.”
“Really?” Inquired Turner; his ears perking up with interest. “You’ve never mentioned that to me. I do however remember you mentioning once, and I let it slide because you were a little drunk, that human males sometimes get their-”
“That’s it!” Charlie said banging his heel on the deck so that the entire bridge could hear. “We’re getting underway before we all regret this conversation. Unless there are any more germane questions or comments before we do?” 
They all shook their heads one after another. Charlie nodded back before clearing his throat.
“Station the maneuvering watch!” he shouted.
His order was met by the various department heads and section representatives stomped their hooves, and/or paws, in acknowledgement. They turned and trotted, some galloped, away to pass the word. Charlie and Kearn took their positions overlooking the lower bridge.
The next few moments were relatively uneventful. Charlie took position by his perch and was careful to buckle his safety strap onto an overhead runner bar. Turner, who likewise had fastened his own lanyard to a hitch, uncapped the earpice on a nearby jay-set and stood overlooking the rest of the watch-standers as they prepared for the order. As the Amerigo now stood it was basically a coiled spring. One that was ready to leap into the sky as soon as the order was given.
“All hull sections report that they’re secured for flight!” Turner finally stated as he grinned from ear to ear with coltish excitement showing through.
“Very good X.O.” Charlie acknowledged as he tried to conceal his immense relief that Kearn hadn’t figured out some reason to keep them there for another day. “Please take us up to join the pilot guide.”
Turner nodded as he jumped down from the upper bridge into the cockpit area. He was immediately replaced at the jay-set by an extra who’d been waiting for him. Charlie couldn’t blame him for such a hooves-on approach. Turner was too involved in his own area of expertise to ever seriously think about permanently occupying the executive officer’s position. Being in a command related position entailed trusting others to do their jobs without micro-managing them, but perhaps Turner had a good reason for observing his cockpit staff so closely today.
The unicorn levitated out a pre-scripted bell-order in the form of a punch card. This he presented to the bridge’s telegraph operator. The Amerigo’s telegraph system had proven an excellent addition to the Bridge and the Platform. Charlie had fought with Kearn and Crack over whether developing such a device was a waste of resources or not, but the ease with which it could deliver instructions to the Platform’s pusher operators had ended up carrying the day.
The telegraph operator carefully examined the card, inserted into the intake slot and pulled the execution lever to send the bell-requests to the pushers. Each of the six pusher telegraphs’ needles swung to their new ordered bell, letting out a satisfying click-clack noise. Seconds later a chorus of tiny bells and blinking green electric lights indicated acknowledgement from the Platform. 
Turner smiled before grabbing one of the signal ropes in his teeth. The ship echoed with the sound of the steam-operated klaxon. Though the similarity had been unintentional, the sound reminded Charlie of old World War II submarine movies. He could still remember how his grandfather had told him “Nothing says excitement like closing the sub’s main induction!” Charlie smiled again as he wondered what his grandfather would say if he were present at that moment.
His thoughts were interrupted as a chorus of creaks and groans reverberated throughout. The hull-popping noises were quite normal as the Amerigo’s mass was transferred from the landing struts to the superstructure, but with the recent issues it seemed wise to pay closer attention to the sounds. Charlie glanced at the structural-stress indicators, but was relieved to see that their needles, though wobbling ferociously, hadn’t left the green. The deck’s gentle vibrations seemed to deepen and the characteristic rumbling drone produced by the Harmonic Assembly’s atmospheric disturbances could be discerned. That sound would soon fade out as the ground was left behind. The lights dimmed momentarily before brightening again. Charlie looked downward through the cockpit’s glass viewing ports. As expected the grass and other foliage stretched towards ship; drawn by the ever-strengthening field it was now emitting. That phenomenon still wasn’t fully understood, even by Turner. It seemed odd that a pushing force could cause attraction. It was more likely there were secondary forces at work.
The ship now bobbed slightly, feeling as though it were adrift on the sea. The landing strut status board’s lights had gone clear to indicate that none of the landing gear was touching the ground. The ground in question was steadily receding to reveal the delta-shaped outline of the ship.
“We’re levitating! Standing by at treetop broach” Turner stated with satisfaction. Charlie nodded back.
“Stow the landing struts. Prepare to commence piloting. We need translation completed in the hour” Charlie said as he turned to face Headwind, who was engaged in raising one of the topside periscopes. “Is that satisfactory?”
“Yeth. I thnk tho.” he replied without pausing, his mouth still gripping the crank handle.
Charlie waited for the scope to settle in its raised position with a clank. He pressed his faced into the padded eyepieces, taking care to adjust them to the width of his human eyes.
“All clear” he delivered after rotating a full 360 degrees. “I have the pilot guide. Three, one, one, relative-bearing. X.O., you may commence piloting” Charlie instructed as he turned the scope over to Head.
Turner stamped his hoof in acknowledgement before ordering a new course and bell. The ship lurched forward under the new bell, and then swayed from side to side as the aerodynamic control surfaces were configured. It began to steady itself as it picked up speed. Everyone’s eyes glanced at the altitude scope from time to time; the mercury in its bulb rising little by little. Any noise from the ship began to blend with the noise of rushing air as they picked up speed and altitude. The trees below them seemed to flow past like a lazy river, gradually becoming more swift.
At last they were flying! Charlie grinned with relief and satisfaction as he took a seat on his perch. This was where the ship actually belonged. Who cared if gravity disagreed? “Law of gravity indeed!” That had been one of the first “natural” laws that had ever been broken, and not just by humankind now either!
“We’re signaling the pilot guide now” said Turner as he climbed the ladder-well back to the upper bridge. “As soon as she’s aboard we’ll commence the first turn.”
Charlie nodded.
“So how did I do?”
“You mean as X.O.?” Charlie thought for a moment before he shrugged. “No too shabby I suppose, but I’m most appreciative of was how well you got things planned and executed before we even briefed.”
Turner smiled at the praise.
“But… it’s not as though the first-officer position is up-for-grabs. You don’t really want to be X.O., do you?”
“Not particularly. It’s just fun to take on different roles sometimes.”
“Well good. Because Crack would be downright miffed if you challenged his ability in the middle of his tenure. So don’t get used to this. He’ll hopefully be back very soon. He may even be waiting for us when we land in a day or two if he’s finished his mission.”
“Do you think he’ll be successful?”
“I have no idea” Charlie shook his head. “It was his idea, but if there’s anyone among us who can figure out how to manipulate an entire den of griffons it’s him.”


****** Broken in Transit ******


Aureate felt sick and drained. She’d tried her best over the last several days to play the part that Larder had insisted upon. That part being the helpless shut-in. “Sequestered for her own, and probably others, good” or so both he and Light Paw had said. Even though she usually had Larder’s house to herself, she had to have some more space! She needed engagement! Anything! “Stir-crazy,” that’s what she’d heard it called before, and that combined with the worry about what was happening to her friends, family, and even the Artifice-… No! Megah! It was all enough to make her feel physically sick too! Perhaps, it could be chocked up to the smell of the house. Larder’s dwelling reeked of tobacco smoke, and that, coupled with the downright noxious blend of spices he placed in most all of his food, was probably enough to make anyone ill!
Larder had attempted to keep her occupied while he wasn’t there. He’d given her permission to read his semi-secret collection of books; those she could decipher at any rate. He’d also allowed her into his basement “larder,” for lack of any better term to describe it. Aside from books of all sorts, everything from furniture to, spices, to uncut diamonds and a supply of some of the finest-looking steel ingots Aureate had ever laid eyes on had been laid out before her when she’d first walked in. Larder really did seem like he had everything. The mass of material possessions was indeed impressive, but it left an important question. Just how had Larder managed to conceal this for so long? It had made her rethink her estimation of city-level traders.
Regardless of how he got it all in there, or where it even came from for that matter, Larder had been eager to include her in his method of distributing his wares. Here came another shock. Though many of the “stock-picks” he’d asked her to pull together for him had raised here eyebrows based not only on what they were but also on just who was ordering them. For example, the local Sheriff had a taste for black pepper that was imported from some non-aligned equine principality, one of the most popular local taverns consumed vast quantities of distilled grain spirits, a sure sign they were stretching their supply. And finally, the Stone Nation Diet, in addition to a plethora of bureaucratic items, always seemed to have a need for shelled roasted nuts of all sorts!
Aureate had first engaged herself in assisting her host behind the scenes since she’d been curious about just how he could throw his own honor to the wind, or at least skirt the law so casually, but after almost a week she’d come to the conclusion that Larder didn’t seem at all to be doing anything terribly untoward. With the exception of re-labeling certain locally-made products of sorts as imported so as to dodge a longstanding tax on producers that had once been levied by the Guild. This was something Larder called “reclamation,” and although it was technically illegal, Aureate couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t support it. Larder least of all, considering his rather cynical and, at times almost hostile, attitude towards the organization that Aureate had been forced to hide from.
For the first time in Aureate’s Solarclaw’s life she’d found that the only thing that was worse than finding out just what the Guild was up to was not knowing what they were up to concerning her. It was because of this that her de-facto incarceration was made that much more unbearable. Whenever she would ask Larder what was happening he would simply give her the line: “It’s best you don’t know right now.” She’d begun to wonder lately if Larder even knew anything more or had even managed to forward a plan to begin with. She had to know! She just had to! She at least had to know about her family and, just as importantly, her friends. She could no longer afford to take “no” for an answer, but as luck would have it, the answer ended up crossing the threshold of Larder’s door shortly after she’d made up her mind.
Aureate had just finished putting together a shipment of unmarked steel-blanks that were clearly intended for making weapons when she heard what at first she thought was the familiar sound of Light Paw’s step on the floor above. She was about to run up the cellar stairs to greet her friend when she heard a much different step and then a much more unfamiliar voice accompanying it. She fell as silent as she could, trying to assess just who had entered the house upstairs. Whether or not it was intentional, living with Larder had made paranoia second-nature to her, but this turned out to be unwarranted when she heard Light Paw speaking normally to the stranger as though nothing were amiss.
“Lard!” Light Paw called out. “Where are you?”
“He’s not in” Aureate called back up the stairs; still not sure whether or not she should reveal herself to the newcomer.
Light Paw’s head poked though the curtains at the top of the stairs. 
“Where’s he gone?” she asked.
“It’s best if I don’t know right now” she cracked sarcastically.
Light Paw just shook her head in amusement.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“He never misses a meal” Aureate shrugged. “So… within the hour perhaps?”
Light Paw just shook her head again, this time in frustration. “I’ve about had it with that one” she muttered.”
Aureate gave a weak smile.
“Who’s that up there with you, or do I want to know?”
After pausing for a second or two, Light Paw drew back the curtain and beckoned Aureate to come up the stairs.
“I suppose you’d better just get acquainted now. I wanted to talk to our ‘glorious leader’ first, but I’m sick of waiting for him.”
Aureate emerged from the cellar to see a rather curious-looking griffon seated at the table where Larder would typically receive his callers. His greasy-looking black crest definitely looked like it belonged to the usual type who would sit at that table, but that was all. His gaze was quite focused. His eyes were engaged in carefully scrutinizing her as she moved into view. Not just her either. It was almost the as though he was inspecting the room they occupied, and she just happened to be a part of it. Definitely not there to do the usual business she concluded. His physique was also interesting. He was far too fit to be a merchant. Both his wings and his hind legs were well-toned. If he’d been closer to her age she might have considered him attractive. Though, he was clearly at least fifteen, maybe twenty years her senior.
Aureate simply stared back at him before turning to her friend.
“So what does this one want?” she asked.
“To help” he interrupted before Light Paw could speak.
“What makes you so certain that anyone here needs your help?”
“Your friend Lieschter does.”
“Lieschter?” Aureate replied, perhaps a bit too quickly.
She dropped back tring to feign disinterest in what he’d said, but it was clear from his widening grin that he found her reaction telling.
“So there is chemistry” he cackled with wry amusement.
Aureate just scowled back at him.
“Just what does Lieschter need help with, besides being released from jail?”
“A great deal” he replied. “He’s been caught up in what’s called a ‘quicksilver.’”
“Quicksilver?” inquired Light Paw. “I’ve never heard that term.”
The newcomer was silent. He appeared to be thinking. Moments later he reached into his hauberk and pulled out an object that was strung about his neck. At first it simply looked like a wad of dirty cloth, but as he undid the lanyard from his neck he pulled away the cloth wrappings. They gave way to show a glass or crystal phial; inside of which seemed to be a lump of metal.
Aureate shrugged.
“So what? It’s just a piece of silver in a-” 
She didn’t finish her sentence, as the glass was tilted to one side. Aureate and even Light Paw, who seemed to know what to expect, both watched in astonishment as the contents shifted its form and literally flowed from one end to the other. He repeated the motion in the opposite direction before quickly re-wrapping the trinket and placing it back in its hiding place.
“W-what is-… what was that?!” Aureate sputtered in astonishment.
“Quicksilver. He just told you” came Larder’s voice from behind them.
They all turned to see him striding into the room.
“How long were you there?” asked Light Paw.
“Long enough to at least realize that you’ve invited someone into my home that’s more than he appears at first glance.”
Larder halted and carefully scowled at their guest; sizing him up for several minutes.
“Who are you?” he inquired after several moments of silent treatment.
“My name is Crack. I-”
“No. Who are you with?”
“You tell me” Crack retorted.
Larder was silent for a few moments more, but finally shook his head and sat at the table.
“I was afraid that you were a dramatis from the guild.”
“What reassured you then?”
“A Guild agent wouldn’t wear such an obvious disguise. I can see that your crest has been tied back with a plumage net. It’s quite a job, but whoever’s idea that was should have known that such a costume needs to be rearranged once a day at least. You can drop the Ice-Nation accent too.”
“Oh” Crack’s voice flattened out a bit. “Am I still doing that? Sorry.”
“So, you’re really Shore Nation?”
“Yes,” he nodded back “and I can see that you’re a dawnling. I haven’t met one of you for a while. I think the last time I saw one of you was during the-”
“Forget your dens!” Aureate interrupted. “What is this ‘quicksilver’ stuff, and what does it have to do with my friend?!”
Larder and Crack looked at each other. Larder simply motioned for Crack to continue before turning towards his pantry.
“Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Quicksilver is a rather interesting commodity, but I suppose it depends on where you are. It’s mostly used for alchemy. Though, some jewelry has quicksilver facets. In some places it’s also called ‘silver blood,’ but that’s not because it’s actually blood in any sense. It’s mining and refinement can end up extracting a cost of blood.”
“Blood?” Light Paw asked, her interest apparently piqued.
“The miners typically become ill and die” said Larder as he approached the table again and deposited a large plate of various sandwich fixings. “It’s for that reason they’re usually convicts.”
“Do you mean that Lieschter might be-?”
“You needn’t worry about something like that. Liechter isn’t in any danger from the Law” Crack reassured Aureate. “Besides, it’s the law that shuttered the mining of cinnabar ore before any of us were born. First it was the independent dens like Stone Nation and then even state societies like the Imperium that were forced to follow suite or look foolish.”
“Does that mean that it’s illegal?”
“Not at all” Crack shook his head. “It’s just sourced from foreign suppliers; zebras mostly.”
“So…where did you get yours then?” Inquired Aureate.
“I’m not sure where mine originated, but it was given to me by some friends.”
“And I suppose you have a box- ah… jar of this stuff hidden away somewhere?” Light Paw said wryly as she eyed Larder.
“You have not, because you do not ask” Larder replied cryptically.
“Again. What does it have to do with Lieschter?”
“Think of your initial reaction when I pulled it out and showed you. It nearly drove you mad with desire. Of course, like any shiny object any mature and/or sane individual would dismiss that immediately.”
Both Aureate and Light Paw nodded slowly.
“But…” Crack continued “quicksilver is different. Downright cruel actually. It suits one’s deepest muse. You believe you’ll never get tired of looking at it. It tricks you in the most cruel way as it flows. Your mind can’t focus in on any one portion of its beauty. I’ve seen grown adults chase a speck across the floor only to cry when it disappears into a crack. Just think, how would you have reacted if I’d uncapped my phial and poured the contents on the ground how would you have reacted?”
“You don’t have to ask” Light Paw replied.
“And it’s precisely the reason that they’re keeping Lieschter locked up” Larder finished for Crack. “There are likely those in the Guild who plant to draw out any of Aureate Solarclaw’s allies, perhaps even herself, before we’re ready for that.”
“How?”
“By pouring, so to speak, your best friend all over the ground.”
“Basically,” Crack continued “a quicksilver is intended to make you look like a fool in a very public way. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. They're hoping that you'll take some kind of illicit action in your desperation.”
“And it’s precisely that reason” Larder shot an accusatory glare at Light Paw “I asked you not to go near him if it could be avoided.”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been following your advice” retorted Light Paw. “I’m hiring Crack to ‘go near’ Lieschter. We may need him in the near future, and if nothing else it’ll just make those pretentious, pompous, and overly-fed maistros and matriarchs to be put-out in a way they’re not used to dealing with.”
Larder was quiet for a moment before speaking.
“While I support what you’re lobbying for, I have to stress the need for us to coordinate fully.”
Light Paw smirked back at him, apparently knowing that she’d just won the argument.
“Just what do you think this barrister can do for us?” Larder asked. “Because as it stands, he’s part of this tapestry whether he likes it or not.”
Crack nodded his head while almost glowering back at Light Paw.
“What?” she returned. “You said you wanted full-disclosure if you were going to help Lieschter dodge that nuptial contract. Well, here you are!”
“I already know that I’m not getting full disclosure about whatever game you’re all playing here, and I don’t really want to know what she” he pointed back at Aureate “did or did not do to earn such a predicament. I may not be a master of intrigue, but I know enough to conclude that you don’t go head-to-head with the Guild for one sorry little pack beta, no matter how sad his estate might be!”
The words pricked Aureate like one of Lieschter’s errant blow darts. He was correct. All this, and who knew what else, was because of her. She stared back at him blankly as he continued.
“I can almost certainly guarantee that unshackling Lieschter from a mere marriage contract won’t solve Aureate’s long-term problems. It may actually create more The Guild has a long memory, especially for their grudges. You might succeed in helping both of them climb out of the pit that’s been dug for them, but there’s bound to be another in the near future; one that might even be big enough for all of you.”
Crack stopped to catch his breath and grabbed a few items from the serving dish. Larder broke the silence a moment later.
“You are correct that any victory might only be a reprieve, but I’m counting on her uncle to protect her as soon as it becomes politically… permissible.”
“That could work, but it would take a significant amount of clout to achieve” Crack nodded, speaking between bites. “I may not be too keen on learning too much but I suppose I would like to know just who her uncle is.”
“Crownwing” Light Paw stated matter-of-factly.
Crack dropped the piece of cheese he was about consume.
“Crownwing? As in…?”
“As in the Protector of the Skyfire Confederacy of Free Dens and Lord over Deep Harbor!” Aureate replied with a hint of frustration.
Crack looked like he was going to be sick. After a moment he sighed, bowing his head.
“Suddenly this all makes too much sense. I’ll excuse myself if you don’t mind.”
He stood to go but Larder rose from his seat and moved to block his path. Light Paw also rose and could be seen leaning towards the door.
“Out of my way!”
“We can’t let you leave just yet” Larder replied.
“So then, I’m a prisoner? All because I know too much?”
Larder seemed apologetic. His expression turned conciliatory.
“Please sit back down again, and let me make it up to you.”
The two stared at each other for what seemed like ages, but Crack sighed and sat back down eventually. Larder and Light Paw followed suit.
“Now…” Larder began “Your involvement, through Light Paw’s overreach and her inability to keep her mouth shut,” he shot an irritated look at the griffoness as he spoke, “may be a blessing is disguise. While it’s true that I wouldn’t have brought you into this willingly, I think that your services in dealing with our jailed associate’s plight could be beneficial. Call it a miscalculation, but I’d underestimated the general disdain that the local Stone-Nation ‘puritans,’ for lack of a better word, had for him.”
“Then…” Crack began. “Then you don’t intend to have me fight your other battle? This latest attack on Crownwing?”
“Crownwing?!” Aureate blurted out in surprise. “ As much as I may care about what’s being leveled at my uncle, I’m the one hiding in a black-marketeer’s basement here!”
Crack rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“If you haven’t figured out what’s really going on here the way I was just able to then you’re either dense or you’re in denial! This whole song and dance is political! Why do you think that the Guild would suddenly care about ‘justice.’ This is a political attack on a personal level that’s aimed at your uncle. Now as I said, I have no Idea what it is that you did or didn’t do recently, or whatever this ‘Artifice’ thing is, and I think it might become toxic for me if I found out much more, but I’ll wager a guess that the Guild, which for all intents and purposes exists above the law, doesn’t care too much about making you suffer. What they really want is to blackmail your uncle after they’ve got you dead-to-rights in a kangaroo-court!”
“Oh but don’t underestimate the Guild’s thirst for vengeance” Larder responded. “While most dens have their own flavor of the Guild, out here in Stone Nation they tend to rather vindictive, and they’re no-doubt still seething over what Aureate Solarclaw recently deprived them of.”
“And just what ‘flavor’ do they have in the Dawn Imperium?” Inquired Crack “It must be very bitter. I can hear the loathing in your tone. Just what role do they play in your country?”
“Enough” interrupted Aureate. “I am being used then. But…” she fixed Crack in her gaze. “Let me be clear. I am not in denial. I’m just low on information at the moment, and I don’t need the likes of some Shore-Nation character to sit there and evaluate me. Either agree to help my best friend or get out!”
Larder opened his beak to say something, but Aureate cut him off.
“I don’t care about him exposing our little subterfuge or whatever it deserves to be called, and neither should you. Because if he doesn’t help Lieschter I’ve got half a mind to do something very rash! That's what this 'quicksilver' stategy is all about isn't it? To make me look foolish? I’ll head out of that door and demand his release in person! So there!”
“Do you even know what they’d do to you?!” Light Paw said with alarm. 
“From what I’ve garnered, nothing. There’s no valid warrant against me thanks in part to your efforts. You two have already managed to defeat their most convincing pieces of evidence. That was brilliant by the way. You’ve sowed enough confusion to turn any audit hearing into a hopeless muddle.”
“You know that they won’t just give up that easily.” Larder shot back. “I actually like the idea of our friend here turning Lieschter’s plight into a popular struggle of sorts. You know, the kind that garners town criers a healthy following. You see if they can’t have you then they’ll just try to make life hard for your friend out of spite. If Crack makes a fight against the marriage contract a public spectacle and, just incidentally, makes Lieschter a sympathetic figure-”
“And a distraction” added Light Paw.
“True, but that’s only part of it. You see when the public starts looking for a culprit of the injustice all we’ll need to do is give them one. 
“The Guild?”
“Yes. After all, we all know it’s them and their cronies anyway, but when that happens they’ll have no choice but to cut their losses and just let their puppets take the fall. And when that happens,” the corners of Larder’s beak widened in a devious and satisfied grin “who on earth would take them seriously if they try to bring up their nonsensical and confused narrative about Aureate and the Artifice.”
The rest of them looked back at Larder incredulously. He simply sat back and pulled out his tobacco pouch.
“Never have I head a more contrived plan” Crack said shaking his head. “If I didn’t know any better, and I don’t by the way, I’d say that you made up most of that in the last few minutes. Am I correct?”
Larder shrugged as he trimmed his smoke.
“Your partially correct. I’d considered certain elements before you arrived, but I’d thrown them out for one reason or another. However, Light Paw’s bringing you into our little cabal has made me reconsider a few details.”
“Well” began Crack “there are parts of your plan I like, but the biggest problem you’ve got is the fact that I haven’t agreed to participate yet.”
Aureate and Light Paw both burst out laughing. Though, Larder’s self-satisfied smirk never wavered.
“But you will” he replied simply.
“I came here not to fight the Guild, I’m getting tired of that word by the way, but for other reasons entirely. It most certainly wasn’t to participate in whatever personal vendetta you’ve got against them. Now, I agreed to dismantle a marriage contract at Light Paw’s request because she might’ve turned me away at the gate if I’d refused to offer my services. Which…” he looked squarely at Larder. “Which brings me to why I allowed her to bring me to see you. I require payment for my services. My question now is, can you afford my price?”
“And you ‘price’ is?”
“There’s a valley several leagues east of here. I believe you call it ‘Triad?’ is that right?”
Aureate nodded slowly as thoughts of what had happened there to begin her current predicament came flooding back.
“So... what about it?”
“I need it devoid of all attention for a certain span of days.”
After having laid their cards on the table several times throughout their earlier conversation, Aureate had thought she wouldn’t be surprised anymore. She was wrong Even Larder appeared stunned at the sheer audacity of the request.
“Well you’re not asking much” Larder replied with sarcasm seeping through. “Dare I ask why?”
“You may ask, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll answer.”
The room was silent for several moments. Larder, not surprisingly, broke the silence.
“I can do that” he said simply.
“You can?!” the three of them said in unison; all equally astonished.
Larder, now acting as though Crack’s request was the most natural thing in the world, calmly lit his tobacco on the table’s oil lamp.
“I will of course need some time to fully orchestrate your request. Not too long, but in return I’ll need your assurance that you’ll pursue our matters here to the best of your ability, and… that you’ll accept whatever unforeseen consequences that may come as a result. Oh, also, I’m afraid that you may end up learning more about Aureate Solarclaw’s predicament than you’d care to. It’s just inevitable. Can you cope with all that?”
Crack eventually nodded his agreement. 
Little more was said that evening and the four of them did their best to avoid the heavier topics of conversation. They sipped their host’s wine and traded songs and stories before Light Paw and Crack excused themselves.


****** Out Too Far ******


The air was warm but at the same time filled with refreshing trade-winds that characterized this portion of the world. The days here were long and bright while the nights seemed longer and brighter still. There was real joy in the island harbor town that occupied the cay. It permeated the air much like the salt from the beautiful blue waters that surrounded the coral atolls. The mariners who stopped off here, both Equestrian and Zebra alike, wrote songs of the water’s beauty, but they could scarcely find the proper words to describe the land. This island, just far enough from land to be considered distant, truly deserved the title of “Royal Signet”; the jewel that had to be kissed before proceeding into the Equine-Controlled trade routes.
All of that may have been true once upon a time. Perhaps back when Nakaru Cay’s name actually meant something to the inhabitants. In actuality, the “joy” came from the tariff money that was leveled against the fat merchants that sailed in from zebra-controlled waters. All traders that passed through this corridor that was just off the continent’s “Southern Horn,” as it was called, had to submit to inspection and subsequent taxation. Though it was possible to bypass the checkpoint, it would be impossible to offload any goods on the legitimate market without a signed and sealed commerce letter. A letter that could only be granted by a customs chamberlain upon passing an inspection and then paying the allotted duties.
There were of course understandably legitimate reasons for regulating the trade routes in this manner. Most of them made sense, but one of the stranger caveats was to supposedly make piracy unprofitable. Ironically, this was openly mocked by pirate gangs who’d discovered that simply hoisting false colors and accepting tariff payments under false pretenses was a far easier and tidy method than more-traditional violent ones.
While the system that operated out of Nakaru Cay had its flaws, it was still a prosperous center of commerce for everyone, both equine and zebra, who called it home. Goods from throughout the known world poured through this hub of commerce. The local taverns served up choice imported wines and ales. Foreign music made landfall regularly and the sounds mixed with the beauty of the surroundings. Talented bards could make a comfortable living from tips alone. 
Then there were the local industries dedicated to processing the exotic fruits and grains that arrived. Windmills, for grain and nut-flour production, were a familiar sight. They dotted the white-sand shores as well as the tops of the foliage-covered inland hill crests. Because of their ubiquitous nature, no one considered it strange that close to two years prior another one had been constructed. From the outside it looked as though it were any other grain-mill, but if anyone were to observe it for any length of time they would come to a very odd conclusion. This mill, despite its blades turning in the wind like the rest of its brethren, had never actually produced a single bag of product.


*** ***


One after the other the troupe of filly’s and colts, of whom Skelter was one, raced past the daydreaming sentry as they exited the busy marketplace. They left nothing but hoof-prints in the soft earth and a very irate pair of shopkeepers. The shouting behind them jolted their final obstacle from his thoughts, but even if he’d been fully awake he would’ve been hard-pressed to corral no less than ten of the town’s misbehaving foals.
He tried, though. Diving into their path he missed the first two; a pair of earths. He would’ve run after them if he hadn’t had three young pegasi to contend with next. After having the young-wings boost themselves beyond his telekinesis he gave up, and let the rest of them, a pair of zebras and three unicorns, past without a fight. Seconds later the two merchants gave up too and stopped by his side. The gang had won again; much to the chagrin of the local commerce council.
“I know who your families are!” one shouted back.
Skelter paused and stuck out his tongue; as did a few of his peers. They commenced running again promptly. Though they knew they were no longer being followed, they still had to make sure. They jumped onto the crest of the street-side stone wall and effortlessly danced their way between buildings; just out of reach of any pursuing adults. They laughed as they shouted jokes about the owners of the tea pavilions they’d just collapsed, with their patrons inside.
Gradually the buildings round them thinned out and they realized they’d reached the outskirts of the town. Up next windmill blades swooshed their way through the notches cut for them in the wall. This had to be the most frightening challenge that Skelter’s new playmates had pushed him into. The windmill turrets would be rotated to face the wind or they might be braked if they weren’t in use. Thus, there wasn’t any regularity from day to day that could be memorized to help you avoid the blades when making your way along the length of the wall, but to pause and think was seen as weakness.
Skelter galloped full-bore towards the first gap. He cleared it and felt the puff of air blow his tail about as the blade came down where he’d just been. He could hear others as they jumped behind him. He turned his head and looked briefly as they followed. He almost regretted that as the upcoming blade grazed his muzzle causing him to yelp in pain. He brushed it off a second later and continued hopping over the gaps as they came, but moments later a terrified squeal signaled a new problem. Skelter looked over his shoulder again but didn’t see anything. He then realized that everyone else was looking up. He looked too and could see a terrified pegasus filly clinging to the windmill blade that she’d collided with while jumping. It seemed almost amusing as the great construct lifted her into the air like some great-angry beast of the sea.
“Don’t let go Maroon!” yelled Tok; one of the zebras.
“Actually…” Skelter shouted. “Let go when you get to the top. Use your wings on the way down!”
Whether Maroon heard him, or she just lost her grip when the blade reached the apex, Skelter wasn’t sure, but she did just as he’d suggested. She fluttered down as slowly as she could, her still-juvenile wings fluttering so fast that they blurred. Instead of landing on the wall she drifted off to the side and landed in an empty cart in the back lot of one of the mill sites. She was breathing heavily when the rest of then jumped down from the wall to see if she was alright. She was clearly exhausted and dazed from her experience but otherwise unharmed.
“That was amazing!” shouted Maroon’s brother Whisk. “I want to do that too!”
“This isn’t exactly the place” Tok interrupted.
“Stop being a downer!” Whisk shot back and seemed prepared to spring upward and grab hold of the next blade he came into contact with.
“If you haven’t noticed where we are, this is Mr. Midnight’s mill-yard we’re all standing in!”
Everyone fell silent as they realized that their friend was right.
“So?” Skelter broke the silence. “It just looks like any other mill.”
“That’s because you don’t know anything about him yet” Whisk retorted. “He’s the meanest and scariest stallion in town. That’s why nobody talks to him.”
It was true that Skelter hadn’t lived in Nakaru for very long. His father, being a government commerce minister, would move between a new posting every few months to a year. In fact, Skelter never really lived anywhere long enough to truly get to know anyone around him. It was probably the reason that he’d stopped paying attention to those he didn’t know well. He also blamed this lack of stability for his still being a blank-flank.
“Midnight…?” Skelter said scratching his head. “Who’s he again?”
“We told you about him” came Tok’s exasperated reply. “He’s that stern old unicorn that never talks to anyone else.”
“And my father says we receive shipments for him from all over” Chimed in another zebra by the name of Prog. “Some of them are from the Griffon Confederacy.”
“So what” Skelter said dismissively. “My father says that lots of the goods we get through here originate from griffon lands, but nobody can prove it. He is a duly-appointed chamberlain after all. Besides, has anybody here actually ever seen Midnight being mean to anyone else?”
One by one everyone shook their heads slowly.
“So it’s all just hear-say” Skelter said with thinly-veiled satisfaction in his voice.
Skelter was enjoying himself now. Here was the first group of fillies and colts who’d been willing to invite him in since he could remember. Of course, he knew it wasn’t out of altruism. They’d wanted his family’s status to shelter them, and also to share a few luxuries here and there. Things like honey-pickled peaches or iced-cream; a confection that was almost unheard of in this palm tree-infested part of the world. They also seemed struck by his accent and diction.
“It’s all just speculation. Maybe we should just knock on his door and talk to him.”
“No!” cried a unicorn by the name of Doppler. “If you cross his door’s threshold you’ll never come back!”
“More of this?” Skelter rolled his eyes. “And I suppose you’ve seen- ah experienced something to make you believe that. Hmm?”
Unlike the rest of them, Doppler actually looked as though he were truly terrified of something. His eyes darted back and forth, looking at his friends. When he finally spoke it wasn’t what Skelter had expected.
“He doesn’t want us near his mill.”
No one could have been surprised by the sheer spectrum of different types of laughter which rose, crested, broke, and then eventually ebbed; leaving Doppler an embarrassed wreck.
“He yelled at me to get away from his cart while he was backing it into those double doors over there!” Doppler fairly screamed back at his playmates as he wiped tears of anger from his eyes.
“It’s never nice to get yelled at…” began Skelter; a little ashamed of himself for laughing too. “But what does that prove?”
“His storage-wing used to make strange noises. He must have something in there that he doesn’t want anyone to see; something that even he’s afraid of.”
“And what would that be?” Whisk asked, clearly unable to hide his amusement.
“A monster” Doppler almost whispered with a mixture of fear and shame for what was sure to follow.
Next, more laughter, but not as bad this time.
“Alright…” Tok was one of the first to recover though his gut still seemed to be spasming as he spoke. “Not everyone has a such a vivid imagination like Doppler here-”
“Coming from someone who doesn’t even know the meaning of that word” interrupted Prog.
“What? ‘Vivid?’”
“No. ‘Imagination.’”
The rest of the assembled snicked at Prog’s joke, but Tok just tried to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“What I’m trying to say is that we don’t all have to believe foals’ stories like Doppler does to know that Mr. Midnight should be left alone. My mother says to stay away from him because he’s probably some criminal who makes illegal rum.”
“My parents say that he uses that mill to make eastern black fire powder,” added an earth filly named Three Square “and that if he thinks he’s in danger of being caught he’ll just drop a torch on it and get blown to smitherines!”
“Look!” Skelter could hardly contain himself. “These are all just things your parents tell you so that you’ll stay away! There’s no rhyme or reason to them at all!”
Up to this point Skelter had behaved the most sensibly of all his friends, but moments later he departed from his usual sensibility with what he said next.
“I’ve got half a mind to prove my point to all of you by heading inside that mill over there and coming back with the truth about whatever’s actually inside!” 
Skelter’s playmates were stunned at the sheer audacity of his statement, but none was more stunned than Skelter, because he knew that there was no way out of what he’d just said.


*** ***


Skelter looked back to see his playmates retreat a “safe” distance from the mill he was about to break into. It just then occurred to him that he would be breaking the law. It wasn’t like anything would ever be done to him, though. Here he’d been pleasantly surprised to find that the locals around Nakuru seemed to tolerate far more from younger colts and fillies like himself. Yet, that didn’t stop mothers and fathers from practically wearing a bald spot on the rump of a disobedient foal! Skelter wasn’t sure what might end up being worse, receiving a whipping in the woodshed and nothing but course oats and water for a week, or knowing that the gang would have something on him. Still, Skelter almost smiled in spite of himself. He was probably through proving himself now; or soon would be.
He turned to face the mill’s storage wing. Skelter could tell after staring at it for what felt like forever, that his friends were right about one thing. It hadn’t been opened up in a while. He could tell by how the dirt and weeds directly in from of the large double doors were undisturbed. There was a large padlock holding fast a heavy-looking iron bar that spanned their width, holding them shut. That clearly wasn’t the way to enter. He next turned his attention to a stone-lined drainage culvert that ran along the length of the building, just below the foundation, but not only was it filled with a disgusting-looking black muck, none of the openings from the building were large enough for him to fit through. Maybe some years ago he would’ve been able to manage it.
He eventually set his sights on a rooftop panel that, from the ground at least, looked as though it might lift up from the inside to allow for fresh air. Skelter had been told once that mills, especially those producing confectioner’s flour, could be dangerous if the dust became too thick in the air.
“Yes” he thought to himself. “That’s my way in.”
He was strategizing how best to make his way up when he realized someone was approaching from behind. He whirled around to see Three Square coming up from behind. Skelter exhaled with a mixture of relief an annoyance.
“What do you want?!”
“I’m going with you” the earth filly replied simply.
“What?”
“I said that I’m going with you.”
“Why? I thought the rest of you were all just too scared to come.”
She shook her head.
“Firstly, I’m curious too. Second, I’ll be the bravest filly in town if I do this with you. Finally, I think that what you’re really afraid of right now is this just being some setup where we all just dare you to do something stupid and then we run off and tell the grown-ups.”
Skelter nodded slowly. He had thought of that but tried to push it to the back of his mind.
“Don’t worry” the filly continued trying to sound cheerful. “We like you too much to do that.”
Skelter smiled back, responding to Three Square’s act in-kind, but He could tell how nervous she was. Her forelegs were quivering.
“So…” he began “any ideas how to-?”
“The wall” Three Square interrupted.
“Huh?”
“The wall” she repeated. “We’ll straddle the ledge where it tees off from the main one that we all walked in here on.”
Skelter looked and realized she was correct, but the trouble was the drop. If they missed when trying to jump or slipped off of the tiles when landing on the roof, it would mean a great deal of cuts and bruises, or worse. Though, moments later their hooves clattered on the clay roof tiles. Skelter examined the one his right foreleg had contacted. It had cracked, but he decided not to say anything. After all, a cracked tile would be the least of his worries if he and Three Square were caught.
They both looked at each other nervously; both wearing an expression that read “Let’s just get this over with.” They nodded to each other and picked their way up towards the peak of the rooftop where they stood gazing down at the rest of their playmates. They were greeted by much similar expressions to their own. A few of the fillies, as well as Doppler, seemed genuinely panicked; almost as though a ghost-story were being recounted.
“Well, just get on with it!” yelled Whisk. “You won’t have all day!”
Skelter shot him a dirty look and turned his attention towards the panel they intended to enter through. As he’d thought, it was hinged on the top end. In fact it almost resembled a ship’s deck hatch, but this one had the square-shaped holes filled in with chunks of course glass; probably from a local artisan’s rejects.
Three square was poking and tugging at the lower end trying to get it to move. Skelter shook his head and lowered his horn towards where he believed the latch or bar might be. Over the next several moments he sweated as the weak field of his untrained horn fumbled with whatever was holding the hatch fast-shut. He was about to give up when it sprung upward unexpectedly. Three Square leapt to one side. A good thing too. If she hadn’t it might’ve hit her under her muzzle. They both looked down to see nothing more than the floorboards of a loft. Three Square jumped down through the opening without hesitation. Not wanting to be upstaged, Skelter jumped in after her.
As their eyes adjusted they saw nothing that spoke to anything nefarious as the stories about Midnight had suggested. The loft was clearly his sleeping quarters. There was a bed, a small table next to it, and a chamber pot. Opposite was what appeared to be a wardrobe which stood next to a writing desk and bookcase. At the far end there were various clay pots and sacks that obviously contained foodstuffs. 
The presence of writing implements and books piqued Skelter's interest. Though not unheard of, were certainly uncommon. It spoke to a level of sophistication that out here wasn't exactly expected. Of course, he himself was literate. Skelter's father worked for a government commerce ministry after all so he'd had the means to educate his children. Yet Three Square on the other hoof, was as common as they came. She might never get the chance to become literate. The same could be said for the rest of their playmates with the exception of Tok and Prog; Zebra families had their own literacy traditions. However, this revelation made Skelter wonder just where Midnight was from and what he was doing living in a place like this.
At that moment Skelter almost felt ashamed. They’d just done something egregiously wrong, and all on a dare too! He turned to his cohort and was about to suggest to her that they leave, since they’d essentially done what they said they’d do, when his ears perked as they detected a strange sound. He looked at Three Square and could tell she heard it too.
From below the loft’s floorboards there came a strange faint droning peal. The only way to rightly describe it was a whining or buzzing noise; like that of an insect. Yet, this was unlike any insect Skelter had ever heard. The tambre was rough and harsh, and instead of changing pitch frequently like a honeybee or a fly, as they flitted around the room, this seemingly had no end. It was otherworldly, as though the sound was being held in time.
The two foals looked at each other; each hoping that the other had some answer. Eventually, Skelter just shook his head to indicate that he had no clue. Three Square seemed disappointed, but Skelter could see curiosity creeping back into her eyes. The same feelings could be said of himself.
“Well?” inquired the filly, almost in a whisper. “Don’t you want to know what it is too?”
Skelter though for a moment. He still felt shame for encroaching on Mr. Midnight’s private residence. Despite this, curiosity soon won out. 
“Yes” he answered, nodding back at Three Square.
They made their way over to the far end of the loft where hung a crudely-made wooden door. Skelter took the latch in his teeth and tugged. It swung open noiselessly revealing a set of stairs that hugged the stone wall of the building. They began making their way down the steps cautiously. The sound was louder now. It had an almost piercing quality to it.
As they made their way down to ground level it was difficult to see, on account of the low light. A few slivers of daylight worked their way through a set of closed-up wooden shutters in the building’s western wall. As their eyes adjusted further, the two of them could discern objects hung from the rafters overhead and larger shapes that sat on, or appeared to be coming up out of, the floor.
Skelter was squinting, trying to employ a technique his father had taught him for reading in low light, when suddenly the room was flooded in light. He jumped as the light was accompanied with what at the time seemed like a deafening crash! Though, the magnitude of the sound was likely colored by his own nervousness. Skelter could see that the shutters had just folded open. He turned to see Three Square standing not too far away with a wooden peg in her mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief but shot her an annoyed glance.
“Tell me when you’re going to do something like tha-…!”
He stopped mid-sentence as he realized he could now see clearly the contents of the room, and they were truly strange to say the least.
The pair found themselves standing on a dirt floor in what Skelter could only describe as some kind of artificial jungle. Suspended overhead was a network of metal bars that he recognized immediately as copper. They crisscrossed throughout the room like a maze, but they all seemed to come through an opening in the far wall, that he guessed was where the windmill’s inner workings were kept, but they led to an equally strange-looking assemblage of ceramic pots in the center of the room. Throughout their somewhat circuitous route to or from the pots they passed through various smaller pots, boxes, or what could only be described as clockwork-infested contraptions.
“What is it all?” whispered Three Square; her voice seeming to falter.
“I… I don’t know?” he answered after a pause.
He swallowed hard. He was now convinced that coming inside here was a mistake. Not just because they were trespassing, but also because the two of them knew without doubt that Midnight clearly had been keeping a secret of sorts hidden inside his mill. Yet even after seeing it, neither Skelter nor his companion had any inkling of what it even was. It was because of this that he knew he had to keep looking, even while another part of him screamed for him to quit while he was ahead.
He soon found himself examining a large wooden box that had been mounted on the far wall next to what looked like a workbench of some kind. It was from this that the strange hum emanated. Several smaller copper rods entered the top. They were bare copper, just like the rest, until they extended below a red line that was painted on the wall above. As they crossed below it they were wrapped in what looked like marine rope and then doused in what had to be beeswax.
The box itself actually seemed to smell very nice. Its aroma was that of cedar wood mixed with the scent of beeswax, and the warmth that also emanated from it likely enhanced the pleasing odor. As he pressed his ear against it, Skelter could not only hear the sound more clearly, but he could feel it as well. It almost felt as though something inside was alive.
He stood back and further scrutinized the strange thing they’d discovered. At this point his trepidation had been largely replaced by insatiable curiosity. Even Three Square appeared to be letting her own curiosity take over. She too put her ear to the box and listened before turning to Skelter with a confused look.
“Is that what a beehive sounds like?”
“I have no idea” he replied. “But, my father says that some kinds of machines can make noises on their own. He once told me about a kind of clock that chirps like a bird.”
“Why?”
“To mark the hour and the half-hour.”
“Is this a machine then? Is it telling time then also?”
Skelter just shook his head to indicate that he didn’t know. He panned his gaze around the room taking in the plethora of bizarre objects again. 
“What is it that Midnight does here?” he mused. “Midnight!” he realized with a jolt.
The stallion wouldn’t be gone forever, and just how long had the two of them been inside here? Their friends were probably growing restless too! He turned back towards his filly companion to find her staring at something on a nearby table. It was an open codex of some kind. It featured some kind of sketch consisting of a network of colored lines and various symbols that made no sense.
“This is kind of pretty” Three Square commented. “Even if it doesn’t make any sense.”
Skelter was about to suggest that they both exercise cowardice, or whatever the better part of valor was, when something truly unexpected happened.
The humming-buzzing noise that had lured them both to their present location ceased and was replaced by a rapid clicking sound. They both stared at the box for what seemed an age as though they expected something to happen. They weren’t disappointed, but what took place next was almost overwhelming.
“Klunk! Klunk!” it seemed to almost bark at them as several barely discernible flashes of blue light shone through small holes cut on each side. Elsewhere throughout the large room other boxes also made similar noises; producing a terrifying cacophony. The machines were alive! Skelter concluded. They’d been brought to life by some unholy power! Midnight must be some kind of dark wizard after all! It was all true! All of it!


****** Distant Voices ******


“All of you hurry up and get hitched!” Penny called out to her team. “We’re about to interface!”
Dozens of muffled hoofsteps clattered throughout the entire length of the ballroom as Penny’s drafters scampered to their positions on the glass floor. She couldn’t help but smile with amusement as some of them slid a bit past their marks due to the cloth shoe-covers over their hooves. Once assembled she tugged the lever to lower their drafting hitches into place.
“Perfect” she thought to herself.
What luck that Charlie had agreed to let her finish the leg of the survey they’d been on before being interrupted. This at least would allow them to track the land’s topology into what she believed to be the Triad Valley. From there it might simply be a matter of extrapolating the contours of the surrounding landscape. That alone, might be worth enough to make up for the time lost by what she still feared might be a waste of time. She had every reason to trust Charlie, Crack also, but she was less sure that the adventure they were now on was little more than the product of an injured unicorn’s hallucinations.
She shook her head and peered through the dorsal-periscope’s eyepieces and smiled with satisfaction upon recognizing some of the characteristics of the land below. Though, this was good it might not be sufficient. One valley often looked nearly identical to another one that was just a ridge over. She glanced at the compass needle on the nearby pedestal and saw with satisfaction that the Amerigo appeared to be on the appropriate bearing.
Nearby, the pointer of the barometric altimeter also showed they’d achieved their target altitude. The ship had finally finished its arduous climb; inching its way back up into the sky at a snail’s pace. Though the shroud’s accumulators had been refilled with clouds, she’d been able to convince Charlie, Turner, and even Headwind to delay fully shrouding the Amerigo until their first drafting run, or “dance,” had been successfully completed. They had to regain their last position beyond a shadow of a doubt. That was the trouble with trying to chart something that had never been cataloged like this before. Most of the land below was altogether unknown. For this they would need to rely on something unconventional.
“Has the Bridge reported back yet?” she asked the jay-talker.
When she received no immediate response she turned in annoyance, and saw the mare staring off into space. Penny rolled her eyes. Maybe it had been a mistake to accept Ripple into her team while conducting such a critical exercise, but Charlie and Turner had asked her personally. She’d wondered if it was an unspoken condition of allowing her team their current chance.
“Jay-talker. Ripple!” she barked.
Ripple immediately snapped to attention.
“No Mam! I haven’t gotten a message from the bridge about the Nakuru crier.”
Penny nodded in acknowledgment.
“You know… I didn’t put you there just so you could stand there and day dream.”
“I- I’m sorry. I’m trying, but I’ve never done this before.”
“Never used the jay? I find that hard to believe.”
“Oh, I’ve used the jay plenty of times. It’s just not as clear in this hull section. I’m trying to figure out who’s saying what.”
“It’s clearer on the Platform?” Penny asked.
Ripple nodded back.
“I’ll do better next time. I’d rather be back at my old job, but Copper Lance and Kearn don’t think that’s a good idea this soon after the accident.”
“From what I’m told,” began Penny, “you’re the one who caused the ‘accident’ as you say.”
“Ah-. Y-yes” she stammered. “If you’d rather I wasn’t here because of that then-”
“Calm down please” Penny interrupted. “I’m not the Harmonic Elements. So you needn’t worry about poking another bear like that while you’re under my auspices. By the way, do you know when Kearn will want you back?
Ripple shook her head.
“I don’t even know if he wants me back. Maybe when my horn gets better.”
Penny nodded.
“Well, it’s not so bad working for me. Just show up on time and do what’s expected of you. When it gets better maybe you can try your horn in the cartographer’s shop. How’s it been feeling lately?” She gestured to the bandage-wrapped protrusion in the center of the mare’s forehead.
Penny was fully aware of just how pointless it was for an earth like herself to ask a unicorn how their horn was feeling when she had no basis for comparison. Still, she remembered from her fillyhood that she’d often imagined how it might feel to have one; wings too on occasion. Ripple just shook her head at the question.
“It… It feels like I don’t have one” she replied slowly. “Like there’s a hole in my head. Does that make sense?”
“Maybe” Penny shrugged. “I’d have to think about that for a bit. Do Copper Lance and Salt have anything planned yet? Some kind of medicine or surgery for… you know.”
Ripple shook her head again.
“I- I’m scared that I won’t get it back. It’s also Ironic that something I can’t feel at all has become the most sensitive part of my body. I’m also afraid that my… my ordeal did other things. Copper Lance, Salt and even Turner aren’t saying anything to that effect, but I think it’s clear that they are too.”
Penny was about to ask Ripple what she meant by that when the mare snapped to attention and put her hoof to jay-set earpiece she was wearing.
“Nakuru-Spark. Received at 10,000. 202 bearing. Message acknowledged” she answered back into the speech-bell that was hung around her neck before looking up at Penny. “That was the bridge they just said that-”
“I got it” said Penny as she was already rushing back to her desk. She took a pencil in her teeth and jotted down some quick figures. Seconds later she grinned with satisfaction. Before looking up and out across the ballroom at her "dancers," all ready to commit the terrain below to permanent record with their own dance steps.
“I was right. I have our position. We’re just a few clicks out from the pickup point. I’d say ten minutes. So, has anyone decided what they’d like to dance to? What’s the ground down there look like today?”
“I think it’s a waltz” a stallion piped up.
“I’d say a tango actually” contradicted a mare.
“We need something with a quick tempo but very energetic” another stallion added. “I vote for ‘Dis-Ko’ or whatever it’s called.”
Penny thought for a moment before deciding. She didn’t particularly care for much of Charlie’s types of music. Though, some varieties, mostly instrumental, had grown on her. In this case it might be the right call. She turned to Ripple.
“Send to the bridge. Keep the wire-ears trained in Nakuru’s direction and have them report if the cry’s quality drops for any reason. Also, tell them we need to hear something by…” she racked her brain trying to remember how to pronounce the strange name. “Walter Murphy.”
“What song?” Ripple inquired.
“The one called ‘A Fifth-of Beethoven’.”


*** ***


Both Skelter and Three Square had instinctively dropped to the ground. The pair shut their eyes tight, held their hooves to their ears, and waited for the room’s contents to mete out whatever punishment the two trespassers deserved. Moments later though, the noise ceased.
Skelter opened his eyes cautiously. The room looked just as it had before. He picked himself off the dirt floor, still shaking. Three Square did the same. The two panted in short gasps as they gazed around in bewilderment. There still were strange noises, but they seemed to emanate from elsewhere in the mill. Skelter could just make out, though an opening in the far wall, that the mill itself had begun turning that very moment. But who…? No, what had started it? And what was the strange chirping noise coming from behind an adjacent door?
Skelter opened his eyes cautiously. The room looked just as it had before. He picked himself off the dirt floor, still shaking. Three Square did the same. The two panted in short gasps as they gazed around in bewilderment. There still were strange noises, but they seemed to emanate from elsewhere in the mill. Skelter could just make out, though an opening in the far wall, that the mill itself had begun turning that very moment. But who…? No, what had started it? And what was the strange chirping noise coming from behind an adjacent door?
“W- we sh- sh- should leave” Three Square stammered.
Skelter’s curiosity evaporated as he suddenly remembered he was supposed to be afraid.
“Y- yes” he nodded back. “I’ve had enough.”
The both of them had turned back to the staircase they’d used to gain entry when they heard the sound they’d secretly been dreading. Outside of the building’s small exterior door. They both heard the dull jingling of a ring of keys; this followed by the clattering of the door’s bolt mechanism. The pair immediately searched for a place to hide.
As they dashed past the strange pots, Skelter noticed that they were actually much bigger than they appeared at first glance. There were about two-dozen of them, and they stood atop some kind of wooden supporting frame. Their extra height had been concealed because the whole assemblage was sunken into a shallow pit; the bottom covered in sawdust. Both jumped into the narrow gap in between the pots and the sides of the pit and crawled underneath the wooden structure. It was a tight fit, but they were more or less concealed there.
From their hiding place there was little they could do but listen. So listen they did. There was the sound of the exterior door opening and then closing again. Midnight grunted as though he were carrying something heavy. The faint ringing of a telekinetic field, several dull thumps, and grating noises of something being dragged seemed to confirm this.
“Whew” came the stallion’s exhausted sigh. “Well, you’re all doing well in my absence” he cheerfully remarked to the empty room.
Both Skelter and Three Square looked at each other in surprise. He couldn’t know they were there yet. Could he? Or, had someone been there all along?
“You even decided to start on your own like you’re supposed to” he said with satisfaction. “I guess that means I won’t need to tear you apart like I was planning today.”
“Tear?!” Skelter mouthed at Three Square.
“Apart?!” she mouthed back.
The sound of hooves clattering on the wooden walkway that had been constructed around the pit interrupted their thoughts. Skelter looked up through one of the gaps in between the pots and could make out the black-coated stallion’s head as he moved around the apparatus that the foals were hiding underneath. Though, he thankfully still seemed unaware of the two. He seemed to be focused on the intricate mass of metal bars and braided wires that went down into the containers.
“If all of you were actually alive then I’d speak this kind of praise to you more often. Regardless, sunlight must be good for you. Maybe I should forget to close the shutters more often.”
Skelter and Three Square realized with some amount of relief that Midnight was merely thinking out loud. Three Square even grinned and made a ‘crazy’ gesture rotating her forehoof next to her head.
“Well,” Midnight continued with his monologue, “Since we’re running like we’re supposed to, now’s as good a time as any to examine fluid quality.”
Skelter and Three Square could see very little of what Midnight was doing, but from what they could ascertain from the occasional view of him in between the pots, he donned a strange looking hood and face-mask, probably made of silk, with little glass circles over the eye-holes. It looked vaguely like a Royal-Bolt’s mask. Except for the fact that the muzzle end was covered with some kind of thick cloth or maybe a sponge. The stallion’s labored breaths as he drew in air through the membrane could be heard.
Next there was a loud popping noise; as though someone has removed the cork out of a bottle. The sound made both of the foals twitch, but Midnight was humming something to himself as he worked. He appeared now to be using his horn to insert a long glass tube into the top of one of the large pots. Seconds later the tube filled with a clear liquid that had to be coming from inside the pot.
“So…” Skelter silently concluded. “It looks like he does make spirits here. This really is an illegal distillery.”
Midnight withdrew the tube and emptied the contents into a small glass. He appeared to study it for several seconds. Though his face couldn’t be seen, he appeared pleased with what he saw since he grunted with satisfaction and poured it back where it had come from. This action he appeared to be repeating for each of the pots individually; to the same result. On a few he expressed dissatisfaction and would carefully add more of some of the clear mystery liquid from a large clay jug he’d levitated over. All of these actions were executed with precision and efficiency but, on one he appeared to spill a bit. He uttered a muffled curse but moved on to the next pot. Both Skelter and Three Square watched intently until their attention was redirected by something truly unexpected. 
The spilled liquid that had run down the side of the pot and was settling on the floor of the pit. What was surprising though, was that wherever it touched the wooden frame that held up the pots, to the place it finally settled in the sawdust, it sizzled and emitted white vapor. What was it? Skelter wondered. He’d heard grown-ups tell jokes about strong drink. But not like this?! The smell stung their nostrils. Skelter waved it away and held back a sneeze in an effort to remain quiet but, Three Square, on the other hoof, wasn’t so lucky.
Her sneeze wasn’t the loudest ever, but it was enough. Midnight’s head pricked up and he immediately stopped what he was doing. His head dropped out of sight and could be heard tearing off his mask and hood. When his face came back into view his expression was one of puzzlement and concern as both his ears swiveled back and forth; trying to pick up another noise.
The two froze in terror. Skelter looked at his companion and could see from her twitching nose and ears that she was going to sneeze again. All he could do was give her a wide-eyed pleading expression, but to no avail.
Her next sneeze was far more powerful and punctuated by a coughing fit provoked by the noxious vapors. Seconds later, the boards of the pit’s circular walkway were being lifted away and a stallion’s frame dropped through the hole that had been made; landing with a soft thud. 
Skelter's previous ridicule of just how silly his playmates' fear of Midnight was seemed to mean little when he was staring them down just a few steps away. The intruders found themselves at the mercy of someone who they’d come to believe didn’t understand the meaning of the word. Which is why they were surprised when instead of lunging at them in retaliation for their crime he simply uttered an annoyed groan. He kept staring in disbelief and annoyance for what was probably only a few seconds, but it felt a good deal longer.
“What-!? W-what?! What are you-?!” the stallion stammered. His anger was apparent, but it didn’t seem like malice. “W-Who!? Oh, wait! I know you-two! You’re part of that little band of hooligans who knock over those stalls earlier today. Aren’t you! Now you’re trespassing on private property. What in the world makes you think any of that is permissible?!”
They simply stared back at him, too afraid to answer.
“An adult is speaking to you, now answer me! I assume you’ve got voices?” he growled sarcastically. “You were loud enough earlier today!”
“I ah-… I- I-” Skelter stammered.
“Please don’t hurt us” Three Square said timidly as she looked away trying to avoid eye contact.
Midnight rolled his eyes in frustration. His next choice of words, though perfectly right and true, were perhaps poorly chosen.
“One of the reasons that fillies and colts aren’t supposed to trespass if precisely because they may get hurt! Why on earth do all you little fools think those rules don’t apply to you!? Now come here!”
He stretched out a telekinetic field towards them, but when Three Square whimpered softly Skelter responded by striking Midnight’s horn. The stallion grunted in pain.
“Why you little hellion! I ought to-!” he was interrupted mid sentence as Skelter kicked sawdust into his eyes. The stallion reeled back striking his head on the underside of the walkway. There was a clattering above as several, glass jars, funnels, and the clay jug that Midnight had been using, fell down from where they’d been. The jug rolled to the far side of the pit; all the while spilling its contents.
Midnight wiped the debris from his eyes and seemed prepared to continue his tirade when he stopped. A look of horror replaced the anger in his eyes. As with the earlier spilled liquid, it hissed, bubbled, and emitted white fumes.
“No!” he simply said with mounting panic in his voice. He next turned to the two foals. “Do as I say” he wheezed as the plumes of vapor, much greater than the previous ones, began enveloping all of them. “You need to get out. Please trust me. I’m only trying to help you!”
Skelter was too confused to do anything, but he began to notice that his eyes and nostrils were starting to sting. He was about to sneeze but realized as he did so that it erupted into a horrible coughing fit. He felt as though he were trying to cough up pieces of broken glass. He turned towards Three Square in a panic to see that she was in her own coughing fit. She’d collapsed onto her side and was coughing violently with little bits of greenish foam dribbling from the corners of her mouth and snot coming out of her nostrils. Skelter watched in disbelief as she failed her limbs and her eyes started to roll back into her head. He probably would’ve stayed that way, but seconds later came the sound of the wooden supports snapping. He then felt himself being taken in Midnight’s telekinesis and tossed up and out of the pit. 
He got to his hooves quickly and rubbed his eyes. They weren’t burning as much as they had been now that he was out of the pit, but he strained to see. For some reason everything was dim and fuzzy, but he could make out that the pots were all tilting crazily to one side and the white fumes were billowing out of the pit and rolling across the floor in all directions. He could hear other wooden supports as they collapsed, causing the pots to tilt in other directions. They almost resembled a sand castle being dissolved by the incoming tide.
“Three Square! M- Mr. Midnight!” he shouted with sudden realization that they were both still in the pit.
He was about to run towards them again, but a split-second later Midnight shot up from the pit dragging the filly along by her mane; securely clenched in his teeth. He set her down and almost collapsed but steadied himself before turning towards her again.
“Please! Oh please get up little one!” he wheezed as tears dripped from his swollen eyes. He sounded genuinely afraid for her, Skelter thought, but maybe it was just the fumes that were making him cry.
Midnight struck Three Square on her rump. This produced a weak cry from her, and she rolled over onto her stomach. Next, she attempted to open her eyes, but when she couldn’t she reached up with her forehooves.
“Don’t touch them. Keep them closed” Midnight said pushing her hooves away, but His voice was taking on a new quality. It was raspy, almost like an elderly stallion. “Young stallion” he said turning to Skelter, “We need to get your friend out-”
Midnight was interrupted by several popping noises that were accompanied by bright blue and greenish flashes. They both turned to look at the wreck that midnight’s pots had turned into. Their supporting timbers gone, many of them were simply hanging by the copper bars and wires. The suspensions above were slowly buckling under the weight and were shedding their various components. Every time a piece of metal fell and touched between two different bars it erupted in a blue flash and sent sparks flying everywhere. A few had knocked against each other and cracked. They now oozed the mystery liquid. Midnight’s face appeared to alternate between several emotions as he stared at his pots. One surprising expression was anguish. For the first time, Skelter felt sorry for Midnight. Especially after realizing once again that this was, at least partially, his fault. He was about to say he was sorry, for whatever that was worth at the moment, when Midnight’s panicked expression reappeared.
“Run! Out the door! Don’t look at it!” he almost shrieked.
If Skelter had been a bit older he might’ve listened, but his own foalish nature compelled the colt to focus his attention just where he’d been told not to. Just a second was all it took to see one of the large copper bars come free from where it had been mounted in the overhead. When it landed in the center of the rat-king of wires and other copper bars it erupted in a vermilion flash that was far brighter than any lightning bolt touchdown he’d ever seen! This sight was accompanied by a new kind of pain.
“My eyes! My eyes!” he screamed as he dropped to the floor with both of his forehooves covering his face.
“I told you not to look, you little fool!” Midnight snapped at him. “Now come on! We need to get outside before-!” 
Midnight never finished his sentence. Skelter’s ears were next assaulted next by a deafening explosion, as if a wine barrel had burst. Seconds later his nose was bitten by the smell of rotten eggs. Dazed, the last thing that he could recall was being pushed into the sunlight and then a whimper as his filly companion was deposited next to him. After that, blackness came.


******* One Little Coin *******


Penny watched her dancers with pride. They hadn’t missed a beat, literally or figuratively. They’d separated into two lines with each moving from one end of the transparency; through which they could view the terrain below. As they danced, their drafting hitches, the strange-looking swinging-arm-like devices they’d been hitched to, translated their physical movements to the several dozen styluses of the central drafting table. Each stylus flitted back and forth as its dancer emphatically made a footfall in time to the music that issued through the newly-replaced ballroom speaker-bells.
Walter Murphy had been a good choice. For its “syncopated” rhythm, Penny had encountered few art forms that could match “Dis-Ko.” A very curious, though at times obnoxious, form of Charlie’s music recordings of the “Sehven-Tees.” Even Ripple, standing beside her, rocked her hooves and bobbed her head involuntarily. That was to say, she did until unexpectedly stopping and staring off into space again. Penny was about to remind the absent-minded mare where her attention was needed when she seemed to come out of it on her own; looking very confused.
“Something you’d like to say?” she inquired.
“Umm. No. It’s nothing. I just-”she was cut off as she clutched her jay earpiece again.
“Message from the bridge” she said looking up with bewilderment in her eyes.
“And?” Penny prompted.
“And it looks like the Nakuru-Spark town-crier just faded out in the middle of its wail. We won’t have any direction confirmation if we lose our place.”
“We can get by without it. We got the bearing at the start, and that's what counts. Besides,” Penny waved her hoof in a reassuring gesture “the Town-Criers do that sometimes” Penny reassured Ripple. “The custodian will fix it as soon as he’s aware. But, you ought to know that. You helped build a few of those. Didn’t you?”
Ripple nodded.
“Then why do you look so disturbed?”
“I’m not worried about the Nakuru crier” she began slowly. “It’s just that before that message came from the bridge…”
“Before…?” Penny prompted again.
“It’ll sound rather implausible, but before the message reached me I could have sworn I knew the Nakuru town-crier had stopped.”
"Without hearing anything about it before?"
"Right" Ripple nodded, but then shook her head as though trying to dismiss her previous statement. "It makes no sense I know-"
"Or" Penny interrupted. "Maybe it's a sign your horn is getting better."
Ripple  seemed to ponder the more optimistic theory for a moment before smiling and nodding in agreement.
"Maybe you're right."