Sassy slunk through the shadows of a storeroom on the ground floor of the Governor’s mansion, taking pains to move silently lest she draw the attention of a pair of guards conversing outside. She’d managed to evade them by ducking inside quietly a few minutes earlier, and she wondered how long it’d be possible to hide amid its stacks of large crates and shelves full of fresh, doubtlessly ill-gotten produce.
Her first instinct had been to flee the mansion entirely, until a general alert had been called to watch for her. Given that the grounds outside had been designed to be protected by relatively few ponies, it struck her as prudent to find someplace to lie low and make a more detailed escape plan.
“What a fool I’ve been,” she whispered. “I came looking for safety, and found only corruption.” She blinked back the threat of tears as her mind drifted once again to Fashion Plate’s betrayal. “If only he’d had the decency to stab me in the back with an actual knife…”
And indeed, it struck her that death might be a greater mercy than to bear the Mistress’ displeasure for failing at her task—even though that “failure” might’ve revealed a greater threat than even the one she’d come looking for. The Governor’s alignment with forces disloyal to the Mistress might have any number of implications. Still more chilling, though, was that there’d be no telling what the Mistress might do to Canterlot as a whole once she found out.
At the back of the storeroom, Sassy spotted a smaller door that was cracked open—perhaps leading to a cellar for wine or other spirits. No light shone from within, so she ducked inside, slowly closed the door, and lowered its wooden bar into braces on either side. Now, with two doors between her and the guards, she finally felt able to catch her breath. But as she did so, she noticed that the air in the room was stale and cold, and carried a strange chemical tang that she couldn’t quite place.
She lit her horn and illuminated the mostly empty room. An assortment of metal kegs stood on end against its far edge. Closer by, however, was a wooden box that seemed out-of-place. It looked older and much more weather-beaten than the crates she’d found in the storeroom, and its size was such that a pony might be able to lie down in it. The chemical smell was stronger near the box as well. She approached it out of curiosity, seeing hinges on one side of what appeared to be its lid, and a latch with a heavy lock on the other.
“Sorry, you’ll have to get your own; that one’s taken,” came a voice from behind her.
Sassy whirled around, coat bristling with surprise. Standing in the doorway to an adjoining cellar was a stallion whose details were obscured by the shadows of his voluminous cloak. Nevertheless, she saw deep outlines on his face that made it look like he was smiling.
“Stay back or I’ll show you the Mistress’ wrath,” she called.
“Aww, sounds cute,” he taunted, giggling. “I mean, when you think about how many times I’ve gotten the jump on you already, I wonder… I just wonder… would it make a difference if you saw me coming?”
“What are you talking about?!” Sassy demanded. “I’ve never seen you before in my life!”
The stallion shook his head. “Oh, but irony’s a cruel mistress. Even crueler than yours, sometimes. I mean, how perfect would it be if I just…?” He heaved a sigh. “Alas. I’ll leave you with a joke, though; it’s a teensy bit off-color, but it’s a classic.”
Not wanting to see what might be coming, Sassy flared her horn and wove the quickest anti-magic spell she knew.
He cleared his throat. “Okay, here goes: what should you say to an idiot with two black eyes?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
Faster than Sassy could react, the stallion leapt forward, cocked his body to the side, and shot his back legs at her in a potent buck.
Sassy’s consciousness exploded.
Slowly, over the course of a much longer duration than she could properly track, Sassy came to the dull realization that she was no longer on her hooves, and that her head had hit the floor hard. But the feeling at the side of her head was nothing like the agony that poured from the front of her face.
Only then did she notice the legs very close to her eyes, and spot the pony squatting down next to her.
“Nothing! You already told them twice,” a voice said. Low laughter followed. It sounded distorted and distant, but Sassy could swear she felt hot breath on her ear.
There was a heavy clattering of wood next to Sassy’s head: the bar from the door. She heard it creak as it swung open. Then there were loud scraping sounds as the strange box was dragged past her.
“Before I go,” the voice called from afar, “I’ve heard you like to talk about the Nightmare as an all-consuming force of nature that can't possibly be stopped. But you're wrong! Stick around; I'll show you what a real all-consuming force of nature looks like.”
With that, there was another very distinctive sound: the storeroom door being unlatched.
“No,” Sassy said through what felt like a head full of cotton. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she struggled to shift her hooves underneath herself, but standing didn’t seem possible. Her fear of discovery came to a head, and she realized that what she faced was likely no longer a question of death at the Mistress’ hooves, or death at the Governor’s; death seemed inevitable, leaving only the question of how she would face it.
Sassy tried to feel for the pouch at the side of her armor where she kept a small amount of charcoal and parchment. Her horn wouldn’t light to make the effort easier; she reached for the magic again and again, but felt only a great wall of pain standing between her and it each time.
Slowly, painstakingly, she brought out the charcoal and parchment with her hooves, scrawled a short note, drew a crude rendition of her three-pin cutie mark in one corner, then folded it.
Once again, she struggled to get her hooves underneath herself. This time she had better success, though, and even managed to lever herself up off the floor. She leaned heavily on the wall as she stumbled the few paces it took to reach the cellar door, then staggered from crate to crate toward the door out to the hallway.
The hall was empty. The guards were gone, as was the pony who’d attacked her and dragged the box away. She didn’t hear anypony shouting or running nearby. So she called as loudly as she could despite her slurring speech: “Servant! Come here, servant!”
Her heart pounded with what seemed like a slow, irregular rhythm. She had difficulty marking time as she waited to see if somepony would come. But at length, she saw a servant approach, and her heart positively leapt when she saw who it was.
“Silver Shill!”
“Overseer, there you are… oh, but you’ve been hurt! I didn’t think the Governor had—”
“Listen.” Sassy stamped a hoof, and nearly lost her balance in the process.
“Please, ma’am. You’re bleeding…”
“I’m sure I’ll be worse than just bleeding once the Governor catches up to me. That’s why I need your help.”
Silver Shill swallowed. “Anything, ma’am.”
She held up the crude letter. “Get this to a guard. A bat-winged guard, you understand? And take this—” She fumbled around in her pouch again and produced a small signet pin “—so they know it’s genuine. And hurry!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Silver Shill said, hastening away.
Sassy found herself winded after dealing with Silver Shill. Her head still felt like agony. She knew she should flee back into the cellar and bar the door again, but it was all she could do to collapse on her haunches, lean up against the wall, and concentrate on breathing.
She heard the sounds of ponies galloping once again, and the clink of metal on stone. It was growing louder; getting closer.
“Come then, gentlecolts,” she called, her voice still sounding off. “I’ve fulfilled my obligations. Done my duty. Ready… to be finished.”
END OF BOOK 3: NO DREAMS MAY COME