Deep in the confines of the castle, Spike placed one jar after another onto the shelf, and didn’t dare turn around.
Although his stomach lurched at the thought of what he was doing, he insisted on doing it professionally, every jar’s label facing outwards. If nothing else, the clink of glass on stone, accompanied by the knowledge of how many were left, kept him calm. Here, at least he knew what he was doing.
Behind him, the room was engulfed by orange light. Occasionally, he wished he could turn around and hurry over to Master Crystal Pony Amber; whether to pat her, say something to her, or simply make sure she didn’t sit alone on the hard stone floor, even he didn’t know.
When she spoke, anger ran through his heart; her voice had withered to a rasp of a whisper.
“I need… water,” she said. “Crystallized water.”
“You’ll have your water,” said the stern voice, tinged with amusement, “once you’ve earned it.”
More jars clinked on the shelf. Spike moved back to the beginning to place the next row of jars before these ones. He could do that, at least. It was a long shelf; he’d be there a while.
Beyond the arched window, the stars were wonderfully indifferent. How he envied those stars.
“I confess I’m uncertain about this Twilight Sparkle,” continued the stern voice, less amused than before. “Postdoctoral Researcher on the Esteemed Unicornian Scholarship Fund, Head of the Equiverse Committee, greatest faculty member the University of Eohippus ever had… all that, and the result is this milksop?”
“Modesty is a brave virtue,” rasped Amber, “when one knows what one would be without it.”
“Modesty,” spat the voice, “is precisely the problem. Her so-called friends – toadies, nutcases, glory hounds, and empty husks that they are – amount to a bunch of lucky nobodies. On their own, I would not give them a second glance. It’s only thanks to Twilight Sparkle’s oversight that they function as an effective unit at all. Ah, but what a mind she possesses. What insight. A mind like that is the real prize. Yes, I must remember that.”
“It’s a mistake… to glorify the one over the many.”
“Ahaha… Master Crystal Pony Amber… Quote all the ‘sour grapes’ clichés you like, but my work here matters to the many. If you want a rebuttal; it’s a mistake to deny the one whatever credit she is due. I merely express my disappointment as to certain… irritating… shortcomings in my longed-for prize.”
“What is it you really want?” snapped Amber.
Spike froze in the act of raising the jar. No one dared to talk to the master like that. No one!
The silence hung from the edge of a blade.
Fortunately, the stern voice was indulgent; chuckles stroked and sheathed the tension. “Of course. Mages were never ones for small talk. Whatever the circumstances, we are good friends indeed.”
Amber grunted, whether through disbelief or grudging interest Spike couldn’t tell.
“You have seen the state of pony society?” said the stern voice. “‘Milquetoast’ would be too kind a word for it. Once there were dragons. Real dragons! Not these paltry baby forms. Dragons that ate mountains and drank from volcanoes. Dragons that laughed at magic and sang the world to life.”
Spike knew it was a vile dream. Dutifully, he forced himself to retch at it, though not too loudly. And yet, raising the next jar, he saw his small claws clenched around the glass. The jar was a building. The shelf: a city. This patch of floor: a mass of lowland crops and pastures. For a dream, he would tower over everyone who’d dumped clothes on him or dumped mops on him or dumped rakes and hedge-clippers and aprons and lists –
“The Golden Age,” said Amber drily.
Spike shook himself and returned to duty. Clink… Clink… Cl… ink… He turned his ear without actually daring to look behind him.
The chuckle worming through its stern voice, Amber’s “good friend” continued: “A touch idealistic, Amber, I grant you. I would not go so far as to use that term. Yet you can’t deny things were better back then.”
“The Golden Age,” said Amber, so drily the air crackled like kindling, “never existed. Your contempt for the present blinds you to the crimes of the past.”
“Bold words, I grant you that too. However –”
“What you pursue is merely a dream. For a dream, you would pile the world’s troubles onto Miss Twilight Sparkle?”
“She has the power!”
“Nevertheless, she is just one pony. Not even she understands what she is doing to the world.”
Spike unfroze; he was supposed to be shelving jars. Grimly, the clinking resumed.
“Very well, ‘good friend’,” said Amber. “Since I have only two choices, I will find out which is worse.”
“But you have no choice.”
“To every question the universe asks of them, everyone has the choice to say ‘no’.”
“Then you shall reap the consequences!”
“Ah. Is this before or after I have no choice?” So much smugness oozed through her tones that Spike grinned and had to stop himself cheering. “And the question now is: What do you want from me?”
The voice was silent for a moment. If Spike didn’t know any better, he’d swear it was being hesitant. Through the window, the stars sparkled onwards, and for a moment the sight of them calmed him down. He knew it didn’t really make any difference, but a glimpse of the night sky promised him wonders and freedom. Someday.
“So be it,” said the voice. “Insightful as always, my dear Amber. Getting to the point: I want you to apply your crystal pony magic.”
“Obviously,” said Amber. “But for what purpose? I was sure Twilight was your favourite.”
“Oh. What makes you think that?”
“I thought you wanted her power.”
“And so I do. She overflows with power. Her pathetic attempts to hide this fact only draw more attention to it.”
Working along the shelf, Spike kept his mind carefully blank. Or at least tried to: it was no good. Pangs stirred inside him. They still hadn’t given Amber the water she needed. His legs itched to run off and find some, but his head stayed them; should he disobey, the stern voice’s next words might be aimed at him.
“Well?” snapped Amber.
The stern voice didn’t respond.
Amber coughed.
A thoughtful hum. That wasn’t a good sign. The master never shouted. Every word carried with it the conviction of one who was never disobeyed.
“Amber, my dear, it occurs to me that you harbour more than mere sympathy for Twilight. For her, aha, efforts to undermine anything of worth. You are aware that she sides herself with the mob, the unwashed masses, the common herd. And that she will gladly use her natural advantages to forward that goal.”
“If there are higher things, then it is one’s duty to bring ponies up to it.”
“Really? Or to drag everyone down to some lowest common denominator?”
Clink… Clink…
Nearby, machinery clanked for a few seconds. Metal hummed. What sounded like a spanner banged against a hull.
They weren’t far from Moondancer’s prison. She’d already made fantastic progress, which Spike hated. He wanted her to take her time out of sheer spite for her captors, but the stern voice had actually complimented her once or twice. Surely anyone sane would have tried to stall.
“So you finally admit there are higher things?” said the stern voice.
Amber wheezed silently.
“Oh, don’t be such a baby. I would hardly let you die of dehydration, now would I?” Irritably, the stern voice clicked its tongue. “Twilight the Paradox can be dealt with later. Amber, focus. Who shall be the next target?”
“Please…” Amber’s next breath was a death-rattle.
“Who. Shall be. The next. Target?”
Coughing, Amber shuffled about. Spike knew what she was doing. He’d helped her set it up earlier. The bowl. The powder. The large book. Yet he didn’t dare turn around. Not while the master was still there. Not while Amber was how she was, otherwise he’d have to face what he’d done…
Don’t tell him, Spike thought. Please, please, please don’t tell him!
“You have something…” Amber stopped and gasped. “Something that belonged to her?”
A clunk hit the bowl. “That should prove useful, my dear. Primitive magic. Magic from the glory days when unicorn civilization was barely –”
“A yes… will suffice.”
The voice spluttered indignantly, and then fell silent.
Spike was down to three jars. It had been a long shelf. Slowly, he lifted up the third one…
Behind him, the thing scraped along the insides of the bowl as the crystal pony pushed it around. She muttered under her breath. Was it some kind of enchantment? Some subtle secret spell?
“It’s always intrigued me,” said the stern voice, “how crystal ponies featured in the old stories. In some ways, they complement dragons wonderfully.”
Amber hummed. It was a hum with a lot to say for itself on that score.
“I see…” she began.
“Yes?”
A pause, then… “A maniac out of touch with the modern world.”
The silence prepared to stab. Spike froze halfway towards the second jar.
Then… the stern voice chuckled under its breath. “Amber, Amber, Amber: always ready to hiss and spit. What on earth have I done to make you so disrespectful?”
“I have a list,” muttered Amber.
“I’m sure you do. But before we die of old age, tell me what you see. Less of the spite, if you please.”
Spike reached for the second jar. Once they’d picked a target, then he was going to have another attack of conscience, because they’d ask him to aim at it.
“I see…”
Lie! Lie! Tell a lie! Please!
“…a young filly. Mane as soft as the gentlest clouds. Heart as bright as the rising sun. Voice as sweet as the tender rain.”
“Yes,” muttered the voice. “Assume, for a moment, we don’t all see in simile. Tell me the… darling’s name.”
Spike shuddered; his claws unexpectedly knocked the glass, and he snatched for it.
At last: “Sweetie Belle.”
Triumphant laughter broke out. Spike grabbed the jar and rammed it onto the shelf in his haste. Horror, fury, disdain: his insides fought a sudden war, and he grabbed the last jar and held onto it tightly.
“Of all the amusing…” The stern voice fought against its own laughter.
Even under all that, Amber’s sigh was clear. “I am sorry… so sorry, little one…”
“What on earth is your problem?” Now the stern voice was free of any kind of mirth. Spike could imagine the scowl. “She’s perfect! Right next to Twilight’s side, no less. I thought as much. Greatness does rub off on other ponies.”
Smash!
The shattered pottery cracked and tinkled in the silence.
Spike fumbled not to drop his own jar. He’d never heard the crystal pony lose her temper. Somehow, through a voice straining against desiccation, it sounded worse, as though every word were sizzling and bubbling with poisoned acid.
“You are a fool,” she rasped. “The skies you wish to soar through are beyond your reach. The earth you wish to run from has neither beginning nor end. The seas you wish to cross are beyond your ken. Turn back now, or the price you pay for your arrogance will destroy you and those who stand by your side.”
Spike yelped. His jar slipped out and smashed on the floor.
His clawed hands wormed around each other. He could feel the stares.
Then the stern voice spoke in the rumbling tones of command. “Little steed, your bitterness is getting tiresome. But since you have so much sympathy for a unicorn who wastes her talents, let me retort: Miss Twilight Sparkle is correct in one particular. She is not better than anyone else. Not while she remains a mere steed. And I will prove it. After all, you and I were created by her ilk long, long ago. I know how her mind works. I know her weaknesses.”
Pitifully weak in itself, Amber whispered, “What of the foal?”
“And,” the voice ploughed on remorselessly, “I shall force Twilight and her ilk to suffer in turn. Suffer, as we have suffered! One little pawn at a time.”
Spike gulped. Not daring to move, he now felt the crash and bangs of the war raging around his insides.
“SPIKE!”
He almost swallowed his tongue. His clawed hand rose in salute. “Yes, m-m-master!”
“I am leaving. Take Amber back to her room and give her some water.” Moving away, the voice added, “And clean up this mess.”
“Yes, master! Quick as a blink, master!”
Then he turned around.
Alone.
Amber was slumped over the shards of her bowl. Damp patches darkened her blindfold. In the flickering orange of the torchlight, she seemed smaller.
Gently, Spike guided her around and walked her as though holding invisible reins. He didn’t trust himself to speak, in case the bile escaped from his twisting heart. Judging from her silence, she knew what he was thinking.
Amber was wrong. He had no choice.
Fluttershy was lighter than air.
This was not because she was insubstantial or blown about by the merest of forces, not this time. This time, it was because she was lifted up out of her clumped-up life and now looked down on the world from a giddy height, seeing its tiny beauty for the first time in her life.
The effect was somewhat spoiled by her bouncing off the banisters.
“You know what I think? Lemon?” She hiccupped.
“No. I think you’re gonna tell me anyway,” said Lemon wearily.
“You are the nicerest… nicenest… nicest pony I’ve ever met.”
“Am I.”
“I feel sooooooo cheerful. Isner? Isn’t that, um, nice?”
“Watch your step. The stairs are going round again. Nice and gentle.”
“Yesh. Nishe – Nice and gentetal. Gentle. You have a nice huggle.”
“If you say so.”
“That’s a hug and a cuddle. Hug cuddle. Huggle.”
“Just let me do the steering, Flutters. Whoa! Watch the next step!”
Fluttershy hummed a little ditty to herself, because it had asked her brain so nicely and she wanted to play.
Lemon Hearts had wanted to dispose of the cider. She’d gotten creative about it.
For instance, on her way through the back entrance, she’d stopped and suggested that, since the bottles themselves were inoffensive, the actual cider was all they needed to get rid of. And Fluttershy had suggested pouring it down the sink, a suggestion met with the sort of silence usually reserved for people who say, “This old mother of yours; why don’t we take her to a glue factory and sell her? It’d save on funeral costs.”
So – partly as punishment, Fluttershy suspected – explicitly as a test, Lemon had asked her if she drank. Fluttershy had said yes, everyone drank, and had failed to mention that “drink” in her world got no more adventurous than a glass of orange juice. Being the gracious host, Lemon had offered to pour out the first drink. Of course, they’d had to bunk off somewhere, because ponies like Twilight could be so unreasonable.
Feeling it would be heart-crushingly, catastrophically impolite to say no, Fluttershy had accepted the first bottle, but only after Lemon had wiped the neck with a cloth. No one had offered her cider before. Back at the museum, the only pony who even remembered to ask if she wanted tea had been old Pyre, and even then only when he’d invited her for a rare talk.
Surely, nothing that tasted so nice could be so bad, could it? Besides, Lemon did say it was made of apples. Basically apple juice.
Finally, they’d made it out the dome and along the streets, where Fluttershy had smiled and waved at many innocent ponies on the basis that she was the happiest mare in the world.
And now? Now, she groggily turned to smile at Lemon. Curiously, Lemon wasn’t smiling back. If anything, she looked at Fluttershy much as Professor Von Crackbrain must have looked at his creation before it broke out of its cage and wandered off to the nearest village.
“Um…” said Lemon.
“You’re very pretty,” said Fluttershy. Lemon’s face certainly glowed.
“You told me you drank. I am not altogether sure you understood what I meant.”
Fluttershy let the giggle frolic in the fields of conversation. “Silly pony! Everyone drinks. Seen them doing it. Outta coffee mugs.”
“Up you get, Flutters. One more step. So you live in which room was it now?”
“Room 36.”
Fluttershy jerked back as Lemon stopped on the steps.
“I thought you said it was 42?” said Lemon.
“Oh. Did I?”
“Yes! As we came in through reception!”
“Oh dear. Did I do a silly?”
“What?” Then Lemon groaned with realization.
“That’s OK. My legs know where they’re going.”
“Oh, good. Now we just have to wait until they agree with each other. Up you get, my lovely. Beddy byes, now. Blimey, you’re heavy.”
“My head feels funny.”
“That’s because you can’t hold your cider, honey.”
Oh, silly! Fluttershy held up the bottle so proudly grasped between her hoof and her ergot. “Can too.”
“Stop waving that in my face. Cor, you’re worse than Lyra. At least she goes quiet when she’s had enough cider.”
Lemon pushed the door to the corridor open. It wasn’t much of an apartment. Nothing shone or sparkled, not even through Fluttershy’s tear-streaked joy or childlike wonder. No amount of cider could make damp look good.
“What’s that smell?” said Lemon, sniffing.
“What smell?” Fluttershy wiped her nose on the back of her hoof. The room was blurred until she blinked and something ran down her cheeks.
“The smell like someone’s been dead for weeks.”
Pangs of grief slipped through Fluttershy’s heavenly brain. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “Someone did die.”
“What!?”
Fluttershy pointed. Halfway up the corridor, a dead plant lay crumpled on its flowerpot.
“Poor Mister Leafy,” she moaned in a bubbling voice. “I forgot all abou’ ‘im. I dononoro… I men, I never look after –” she hiccupped “– plants…”
“Sod almighty,” muttered Lemon.
“Sut langerid!”
“Oh, ‘such language’ yourself. Sod was an old Mage who specialized in grass magic, actually. Where do you think the term ‘a sod of grass’ came from?”
“Ah. You’re not a veran very ice pony. Are you?”
“No,” said Lemon flatly.
“That’s OK. I still… I sntill love you.”
“Really?”
“I love ev’ry liddle thin. Living thing.”
“Come on. Off to bed with you.”
“You really are verany pretty.”
“If you say so. Which room is it?” And because it had been a long evening, she added, “This time?”
Guided by what remained of her memory, Fluttershy stumbled, dragging Lemon along with her. There was barely enough room along the corridor for one pony; they kept bouncing off the doors and walls.
Of course, they said that if you drank too much fruit juice, it could do very odd things with your head. Apparently, it was all because horses through history had been forced to get as much nutrition out of their simple stomachs as possible, given that most of what they ate was about as digestible as wood. So when something with a lot of flavour came along…
Fluttershy frowned. So when something with a lot of flavour came along…
The clouds of concentration met a headwind coming the other way.
“You wanna know s’thing, Lemnon?” she said suddenly.
“Yes; how much further we got.”
Fluttershy stiffened like a mule, and Lemon cannoned off the back of her and scrabbled to hold on.
“No one…” burbled Fluttershy to the dead plant, “gimme cider before. You. You so nice t’me. An’ I fought – thought – you were, you were just a meanie, nasty, spitty ol’ bully… I wanna to scream at you.”
“Is that so?” Lemon said indulgently.
“I wanted you to, to, to go away and, and, and get sack. Sacked. Jan’tor. Runsplace. No! No, you don’ runs siss place. This place. You, you, you jan’tor! You loser. I fought. Thought.”
“Really,” Lemon said, less indulgently.
“Got a bucket,” Fluttershy sneered. “I never got a bucket. Ev’one hated me in that place, an’ I still nev’ gotta bucket. Ha. Serves you right. Miss… bullery. Bucket bully.”
“Does it.”
“Did id. Heard ‘em talkin’ behine my back. Nasty meanie-pants. Not nice ponies. But now… you so nice to me. Youra nicenest pony ever met. You been so nice to me. I wanna huggle you so much. You not a bully, really. You’re a heart of gold.”
“That I am. On we go, honey. Where’s your door?”
Fluttershy huggled her anyway. It was nice to meet a jerk with a heart of gold, especially when the heart of gold was shining so brightly that she had to squint to look at her. Wow, everything really was glowing…
They bounced off another door and stopped suddenly. Fluttershy patted herself down.
“I dun have my key…” She groaned. “My head feels funny.”
Lemon sighed. “Oh, I wish I could help you there, honey.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Yes. Getting into happy time is easy. Getting out of it, less so.”
“That’s the spirit!” Fluttershy toppled forwards, and only Lemon’s quick hooves prevented her from kissing the carpet.
“Up you get, me lovely. Whoa, you really like that stuff, don’t you? Remind me never to challenge you to a drinking contest.”
“Tasted nice,” said Fluttershy sullenly.
“So do cookies, and even Lyra knows when to stop there. Even if it is after the third jar.”
She stood and stared at the lock. Now that the happy feeling was relaxed and steady, trickles of habit came through to tickle her thoughts. Something she had to do, that she always did, just before going in…
“Come on, honey,” said Lemon. “The lock’s not gonna melt off if you stare at it. Where’s your key?”
“I must… do… something. First.” Sour reminders clashed with the sweet broth in her brain.
Perhaps sensing her trepidation, Lemon asked quietly, “What is it? If you’re worried about your lost keys, I could break in and open it for you. One of my best skills, that is.”
The memory tapped Fluttershy on the shoulder. Sobriety waved frantically at her, and then she focused and saw Lemon trying to catch her attention.
“Amber!” Fluttershy yelled, and she jumped so suddenly that her rear banged off the door opposite and knocked some sense into her.
“No, honey. I’m Lemon.”
“No, I mean, Amber!”
“Huh?”
“She’s my neighbour! I’ve got to check on Amber!”
“Why?”
Fluttershy gaped at her. “I always check on Amber.”
Lemon groaned with the tones of one already put out by several embarrassing hours. “What, is she your pet rock, or something?”
“No. She’s a crystal pony. I have to make sure she’s OK.”
“Why?”
Fluttershy frowned. As though reciting from memory, she said, “Every evening when I come home. I always. M-Make sure Master Crystal Pony Amber is taking care. Of herself. I knock on her door. I ask if I can come in. I tidy up her room. I give her the medication. And then I make sure she goes to bed. She always wants to stay up late. Reading.”
“Oh, for Sod’s sake.” Lemon let go of her and staggered. “Can’t she look after herself?”
“She’s old.”
“But still –”
“And blind.”
“Well, yes, but surely someone else can –”
“There isn’t anyone else. She lives on her own.”
Lemon turned away. “Oh, Sod almighty,” she said. “Did I ask for plucked heartstrings tonight?”
After some of the cider seeped back into Fluttershy’s mind, Lemon added, “So, uh, which door is hers?”
“The one opposite mine.”
“Ah. That’s convenient.” While Fluttershy spun round to face said door, Lemon said, “I didn’t know, OK?”
“Shh.” Fluttershy pressed an ear against the wood. “Amber? It’s me.”
“Crystal pony, huh? She’s a Mage?”
Fluttershy threw out the words. “She’s a ‘Life Force’ Mage. We met at the museum. Amber! It’s Fluttershy! Are you asleep again?”
Frowning, she backed off. “Strange. She’s not normally this quiet.” The handle rattled under her mouth’s grip, and she winced at the grimy metal icing her mouth with its clammy touch, like tasting a cooled kettle. “The door’s locked. She never locks it. I always have to lock it for her.”
“Maybe she’s asleep?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Fluttershy searched the door, even rearing up to press the wood with her hooves. “She hardly ever sleeps. It’s like she thinks so much she can’t drop off the same way we can.”
“Sounds like she’s overdue a nap, then.”
“Oh dear, and I don’t have her key, either. How can I be so useless?”
“Maybe she’s popped her clogs.” At the blank stare this earned her, Lemon added, “You said she was old.”
“She doesn’t even have clogs. What are you talking about?”
“Sorry. Just some grim humour.”
“Wha?”
“Bah, never mind. So what do we do now, Flutters? I’m probably missing some classy entertainment somewhere.”
Fluttershy winced and flicked her head; the cider was itching to come crawling back, but she had to think straight. Amber might be in difficulties. It was a special Fluttershy word, but “difficulties” was the nice way of putting it.
“I have to get in there,” she moaned, turning to Lemon for help. “Oh, I won’t rest if I don’t know she’s OK.”
“Sod almighty…” Lemon wiped her face. “OK, stand back. Give me two minutes and a chance to concentrate, I’ll have this thing open in a spell.”
“Lemon! Ow!” The cider stung. Fluttershy shook and hit her own head with a hoof, then winced as the bottle smacked off and rolled down the corridor. Horrified, she watched it clink off a door and stop.
“Um,” she said, rubbing her head. “Was that a cider bottle?”
“No, it was an empty bottle. Look, how else are we gonna get in if I can’t pick the lock? I’m not waiting all night for you to toss me one hare-brained scheme after another.”
Rare thoughts passed through Fluttershy’s brain. The cider, the happy feeling, the tearful glow, and the worry mixed with confusion muddled her mind until she was staring at a cocktail of impressions. Force the door. Teleport through it. Smash the walls. Hug it. Sing to it. Call for Amber. See the window –
A very un-Fluttershy idea stuck.
“We could get in through the window?” she tried. “No, forget I said anything…”
“Hm,” said Lemon. “You know, for someone as sweet and innocent as you, you have a very troubling mind.”
The ever-present blush surged through to her cheeks. “I only meant –”
“What about locks? Does she ever lock the window?”
“I… don’t think so. There’s just the latch.”
“Which side?”
“Which side? Inside, of course. But then how can we –?”
“Ah. Perfect.” Lemon winked at her and saluted. “HYou’re lucky hyou found me, Miss Fluttershy. For Hai have some hexperience with the hintrusion of certain hillicit premises, ma’am.” She winked again.
Fluttershy hit her own head. Where was this sting coming from? “Meaning…?”
“Meaning you fly me up the window, and I’ll wave my magic wand and have it open in a jiffy.”
Fluttershy’s cheeks overflowed with the stretching pressure of the blush. The strained skin twisted her face up into a grimace. Up till now, she’d considered merely shouting an unpardonable crime.
“But…” She covered her mouth. “You don’t mean… breaking in?”
“Amber needs her check-up, doesn’t she?”
Fluttershy knew this was just an excuse. She knew from looking at Lemon’s grin that the breaking-in part was the only attraction to a mare like that. But she knew – and she suspected Lemon knew – that the thought of leaving that poor crystal pony, possibly lying on the floor, or helplessly whispering her name…
She sighed and slumped; the cider washed over her brain. “Oh, all right,” she said miserably. “Just promise me we don’t break anything.”