//------------------------------//
// Chapter 39: Who Shot the Cannon? 
// Story: The Magical Quest Starring Mickey Mouse: The Equestrian Adventure 
// by wingdingaling 
//------------------------------//






	Chapter 39

Who Shot the Cannon


The Big Bad Wolf was growing impatient. After being tossed out of the scrap shop, he sent a direct message to the home office, asking for the boss’s help.
At the edge of the small town, the glutton sat on a bench at a wooden platform, awaiting the arrival of a sky tram. He had already finished the kofta he had stolen from a shop, and tossed the kabob away.
With a quiet huff, he idly tossed one of his cleavers into the floor, kicked it into the air by its handle, caught it, and repeated the process.
It was humiliating for him to have to get help from a superior not once, but twice. Such a thing brought shame to the ‘big bad’ moniker. But if he was going to succeed, he would need help.
Any help would do. The boss had an entire rogues gallery of arthropod assassins to do his bidding. And even though Big Bad hated every single one of them, he would finish the job he was given no matter what. Even a blow to his pride was preferable to failure.
Before him, the cables of the sky tram started to wobble. Looking down the line, the glutton saw a tram approaching.
This was it. With the arrival of the tram, success was within his clawed grasp.
Big Bad pocketed his cleaver, leaving it exposed just a half inch in case any of the boss’s thugs attempted anything drastic. Prepared for the worst, he walked to the edge of the platform just as the tram arrived.
With a hydraulic hiss, the doors opened revealing the passengers within. Among them, Big Bad was both surprised and relieved to see one particular face.
“Boss,” the glutton began, “We got a problem.”



In the scrap shop, another meeting was underway. And just as unpleasant.
The elderly zahak filled the doorway, blocking any from proceeding.
Fluttershy peered out from behind Donald, warily eyeing the zahak for any hostile movements.
“Ma aldhy tafealuh huna? 'Akhraj min mutajari! 'Aw hal turid 'an yantahi bik al'amr mithl aldhyb?” the zahak said.
Only Uncle Scrooge understood that they were being threatened to leave the shop. It was a lack of understanding that led Applejack to escalate the situation.
The farmpony prided herself on being able to placate even the unhappiest customer. Even without her magic, or the ability to understand the camel language, she felt as if her friendship with Paya had given her an understanding of others that went beyond language.
Putting on her friendliest face, Applejack took a step forward and greeted the zahak with an enthusiastic, “Howdy.”
Even though they could not see his mouth beneath the turban that wrapped around his head, the way the zahak was growling made them all think he was angrily baring his teeth.
“Hola?” Applejack tried again.
The zahak reached up to grasp a metal cable that hung above the door frame. With a strong pull, something terrible happened.
The wall next to the door opened up, revealing a view to the scrapyard beyond. From there, a cannon made from old parts wheeled its way in and pointed at the intruders in the shop.
“EEP!” Fluttershy gasped, as she ran out from behind Donald, making the duck spin from her speed.
She found more solid cover behind the counter, where only her shivering tail was seen protruding. Behind the counter, Fluttershy found something else. Something that seemed a memento of another time in their attacker’s life. But, she could not focus on it when she was a hair’s breadth from being blown through the wall.
“Perhaps I’d better take things from here, lass,” Uncle Scrooge said to Applejack.
The tycoon took a single careful step forward, until the zahak reached into his robes and produced a silver lighter.
On the counter, the beetle stopped eating the leftover food for a moment, and observed the standoff between the two elders.
<”Good mornin’. An’ peace to ye on this fine day,”> Uncle Scrooge said, knowing that speaking the local language and observing the social customs of another culture was the surest way to get on someone’s good side.
The zahak flicked the lighter open with his thumb, creating a small, but powerful flame.
“You speak camel terribly. And I find your attempt to relate to me by emulating my social customs condescending,” he said in a language everyone understood.
“Ah, yes. I see,” Uncle Scrooge said, ever steady and collected, “I suppose I should waste no time in explaining that--”
“Don’t bother explaining. I know why you’re here. Our magic was not enough. Now, you and those devil bugs want our very lives! But, I’ll tell you this: my life, my ambitions, my hopes and my dreams are not for sale! And I would rather see them blown to Maha, down to Duzakh, and back to the mortal plane, than ever see it in the hands of you swindlers!!” the zahak shouted, as he thrusted his lighter, barely an inch from the cannon’s fuse.
“Easy there, partner! No need to fly off the handle like that!” Applejack said.
“Fly off the handle? Is that your idea of a joke!?” the zahak said, as he stepped inside through the door frame.
From behind her hiding place, Fluttershy had been peering out to see what was happening. When she saw the zahak in full, her face turned sickly green, and she became very aware of her own wings.
“Wak!” Donald exclaimed at the sight before him.
The zahak had only one wing protruding through the back of his tattered, grease-stained robes. How or why that was so, nobody dared to ask, for fear of offending him into firing his cannon.
“You have five seconds to leave my shop unhurt. Or else you can leave with a serious bruise,” the elderly zahak said.
Uncle Scrooge knew full well the power such a cannon had, having used his own relic from the Boer War as a deterrent against freeloaders asking for handouts. And if the cranky old zahak was anything like himself, he was not afraid to use it.
The tycoon raced for something to say.
“Now, wait just a darn minute!” Applejack interjected.
“Applejack! Don't you think you said enough already?” Donald tersely asked, as he inched toward the door.
But, the farmpony did not listen.
“We just came into town, an’ ya treat us like a bunch o’ rustlers! Fer all you know, we could be here to help ya put yer life back on track an’ make yer dreams come true!”
The zahak stared at Applejack, hovering his lighter over the cannon’s fuse.
“We got our own dreams too! An’ our own ambitions! The nerve o’ you thinkin’ yours is so lofty that ya’d turn us away at first sight is downright unfair! I’d be surprised if ya had a friend in the world, if this is how ya relate to any creature what walks into yer shop!”
The zahak focused his glare on Applejack, his lighter hovering dangerously close to the fuse. In a moment, the zahak snapped his lighter shut, and placed it on the counter.
A sigh of relief whooshed through the shop. Even the little beetle heaved most of the air from its tiny body, before it resumed eating. It had just finished the barley, and went on to eat the overturned plate of fruits and vegetables.
Uncle Scrooge put his hand on his chest, feeling his heart patter the same way that it did after the trolly ride into the town. He could not explain the sensation. Admittedly, his nerves were slightly rattled from facing the mouth of heavy artillery, but not enough to make his heart race as it was.
“Take what you need from the scrapyard, then leave. But, my shed is off limits. Anything in there isn’t for sale,” the zahak said, before picking up the overturned chair behind his desk, and sitting down to cobble together what looked like a small engine.
“Yes. I think we’ll be on our way,” Uncle Scrooge said, as he started turning for the door.
“Actually, there’s somethin’ I’m lookin’ for what might be in the scrapyard,” Applejack said.
“Yeah? What’s that?” Donald wondered.
“Come on. I’ll show y’all,” Applejack answered, before leading the ducks to the back door.
Once the three reached out back, they saw truly how expansive the scrapyard was. It seemed to go on for acres in all directions, and was untouched by the intrusion of the railway. Donald stepped into the middle of the wide path in the middle, thinking that an aircraft carrier could have been placed on it.
And to either side, a maze of winding paths wound through the many piles of junk, which were organized by quality of metal, weight, composition, function and every other facet imaginable.
“Applejack, just let me say that that was some mighty fine negotiatin’ in there,” Uncle Scrooge congratulated.
“And how. That was some buttery smooth shmoozin’ just now,” Donald added.
“Weren’t nothin’. Just somethin’ I picked up workin’ in my business,” Applejack answered.
“Is that so?” Uncle Scrooge asked, as his eyes glinted behind his glasses. “I had ye pegged as a business mare the moment I saw ye at that quaint little casa in the mountains. Tell me, what business are ye in?”
“Oh, boy. Here we go…” Donald muttered, knowing his uncle’s enterprising instincts were kicking in.
“Apples. I grow ‘em, harvest ‘em, an’ process ‘em’ myself. We got applesauce, apple pastries, apple jam, apple cider, or just plain ol’ apples as is,” Applejack proudly proclaimed.
“Ach, good salt o’ the earth, ye are! I’ve had my hand in the soil a part o’ my life, myself,” Uncle Scrooge chuckled.
“Chippin’ mud off of people’s shoes,” Donald said under his breath. But, not enough to avoid his uncle’s cane cracking onto his head. “OW!! WAA-A-A-AK!!!”
“A little back-breakin’ labor in the dirt’d do ye some good, nephew,” Uncle Scrooge said, pointing his cane in Donald’s face.
The duck’s face turned bright red, and sweat poured down his forehead. So much did Donald’s temperature rise, that it singed the end of his uncle’s cane.
Donald was about to let loose a string of garbled curses and swears, until the cane before him was lowered to the ground for his uncle to lean heavily on.
“Mr. McDuck?” Applejack asked.
“You feelin’ okay, unc?” Donald asked, his rage simmered down to concern.
“I’m fine. My nerves are just a bit frazzled from facin’ down that cannon is all,” the tycoon answered.
Donald knew his uncle better than almost any duck or dognose back home. The only thing that ever shook him up was the thought of losing any amount of money. Seeing Uncle Scrooge in such a state made him wonder what was truly wrong.
“So, what is it ye need in this junk heap?” Uncle Scrooge asked Applejack.
“Beats me. But, this is where that magic light o’ yers led me an’ Fluttershy, so I’m thinkin’ this is where we’re needed to be,” the farmpony answered.
Donald began impatiently pacing.
“I wish it would be a little more specific. Like, showing us the exact object, person, or place of interest that we should--” Donald said, before he trailed off.
There before them, up against the shop at the very nearest end of the long, wide, straight path was the shed they were told to keep away from. If there was anything to be found in that place, the shed was sure to be it.



Inside the shop, the elderly zahak sat at his counter, idly working on the engine before him. With a quiet sigh, his single wing drooped as he stopped wrenching in a bolt.
“Excuse me…” Fluttershy’s voice quietly called.
The pegasus winced, as the zahak turned his gaze toward her.
“M-Maybe you just need a bigger bolt?” Fluttershy suggested, as she offered a single, slightly larger bolt.
The zahak took the bolt, examined it briefly, then placed it on the counter.
“A larger bolt’s no good. The threading of the socket on this thing is stripped,” he answered.
“Oh...Do you, um, need a needle?” the pegasus asked.
The zahak stopped what he was doing altogether, and turned in his seat to face Fluttershy, who hid behind her mane.
“You clearly know nothing about machinery or hardware. Why are you here?” he asked.
“I...um…”
Fluttershy thought back to the day of the Ponyville harvest festival, when she first met Donald and joined him in his magical quest. How even though she knew the road ahead of her was fraught with danger and peril she went along, if only for her responsibility as a Bearer of Harmony.
“I...came because I wanted to help,” Fluttershy answered.
“Then, whatever it is you came to help with, it’s no good here,” the zahak answered, before returning to his project.
“But, what if we got your friend to help?”
“Who?”
“Your friend. The camel in the picture you have in the cubby under your desk. The one where...you had both your wings…” Fluttershy answered, as she folded her own wings closer to her body.
Once again, the zahak sighed, and his wing drooped.
“Khabuubhi can’t help anymore, where he is. That picture was taken from a different time, when we both had our heads filled with fruitless dreams and desires doomed to never come true,” the elderly zahak said. He turned back to his counter and folded his hands on top of each other. “I’m old now. I’ve learned from a lifetime of mistakes that I can never be more than what the reality around me dictates. I’ve even forgotten how to fly.”
“But, you both look so happy. Don’t you remember what it was that made you feel that way?” Fluttershy said.
“Yes. All too well. But, I learned that happiness is only the product of delusion and ignorance. A fantasy that pulls you from the terrible world we’re all born into. It’s because of this that I feel terrible for any creature who is always smiling,” the zahak answered, before coughing violently.
“Do you need to lie down? I could get a doctor. Or--” Fluttershy began, before the zahak raised his hand to stop her from speaking.
“No doctor can help me. What I have may well be my last illness. Someday soon, I’ll be seeing Khabuubhi again. And when that day comes, my dreams will be in the evil hands of the railway syndicate,” the zahak answered.
Fluttershy’s ears drooped at the words she heard. Of a life cut short, and another continued unfulfilled. Admittedly, he was on to something when he mentioned those who smiled all the time were wrapped in delusion. Pinkie Pie was certainly evidence of that. But, it was ponies like her who brightened the days of the others around her.
She wanted to offer some word of comfort or kindness to the zahak, but could think of none. All she could think was the simplest, most basic form of such a thing.
“My name’s Fluttershy,” the pegasus said.
For another moment, the zahak stopped what he was doing, and only shifted his glance to her. For several seconds, he remained silent. Until he finally spoke.
“Alshuhum Qard,” he said.
For reasons she couldn't understand herself, Fluttershy smiled at hearing the elderly zahak’s name. And even though she could not see Qard’s mouth, she thought she could see his eyes soften slightly.
Without warning, or with any prior action, the cannon suddenly discharged, blowing its payload of scrap ammunition through the closed bay door at the front of the shop.
Silence filled the room, as a thin plume of smoke drifted up from the mouth of the cannon.
Applejack, Donald and Uncle Scrooge all rushed in from the scrapyard.
“Great gallopin’ golden delicious!! What the hay just happened!?” Applejack exclaimed.
The answer was made obvious by the smoking cannon before them.
None of them had gone near it. Nobody could have possibly set it off. Now, it seemed that somebody outside the shop may well have been put in danger for the sudden carelessness.
Movement was seen beyond the holes that were punched through the bay doors of the shop. Somebody was outside, making their way in.
With a loud squeak, the large bay doors were slid open, revealing once again the Big Bad Wolf.
The glutton bared his teeth at the company he saw within, glaring particularly nasty at Donald and Fluttershy. But, he was not the worst of their worries.
From around the door frame, another creature appeared. One that was far different than any other seen in Kamelut. One look, and Uncle Scrooge knew he had found who he was looking for.
It was a fly. A six foot, bipedal fly, dressed in a pressed white suit, gold cufflinks, polished black shoes, and a red necktie. In his mouth, a stub of a cigarette was seen. In one hand, he carried a cane with a large, silver handle. In his other hand, he carried a white trilby hat, with a metal rod stuck straight through the top of it.
He seemed extraordinarily old. Older than Granny Smith, Uncle Scrooge and Alshuhum Qard put together. His hands and face were wrinkled. His hair was as white as his suit. But his eyes were as sharp and alert as a creature who was likely only a quarter his age.
Casually and calmly as ever, the fly walked into view, pulling the metal rod from his hat. Never once taking his eyes from the company in the shop, he placed his trilby atop his head, and straightened it out.
With a simple exhale, he spat out his cigarette stub and crushed it on the ground beneath his shoe.
The fly’s massive compound eyes slowly scanned each of the creatures before him.
Uncle Scrooge knew that look. He was analyzing them all. Looking for clues to something he could not immediately deduce.
The fly twisted the handle on his cane. With a quiet click, the handle was removed, and something was drawn from within.
Donald’s color drained when he saw what was taken from the cane was nothing meant to make friends with. He knew the handle of the cane looked familiar, but now saw that a six-shooter had been drawn from within it. And a large one at that.
The fly held out his empty hand.
Big Bad reached into his pocket, and used his thumb to flick a single bullet into his boss’s waiting palm.
“Alright--” the fly said, calm, collected, and with a hint of contempt in his voice as he loaded the one bullet. He twirled his firearm once, and held it up in a duelist stance, “--Who shot the cannon?”
Nobody dared to answer.
“It’s a simple question, people. I wanna know who it is shootin’ off heavy artillery around here,” the magnate insisted.
Still no answer.
With an impatient sigh, he stepped into the shop. Slowly and deliberately, he started walking past each one of the creatures inside.
“Let me put it to you this way: it’s just a matter of a lapse in civility,” the fly said, as he slowly circled around Applejack and Donald. “When someone starts blowin’ away whole chunks o’ construction on the DiMosco railway, an’ everybody else caught in between, we got us a problem.”
Looking to the open bay door, everybody could see that a chunk of one of the railway supports was blown off, with other bits of scrap stuck in the wooden framework.
“There are people out there who frown on progress. Don’t wanna lift a finger, or offer a red cent to the folks tryin’ to make a change for the better,” the magnate looked directly at Applejack. “An’, as you might say: one bad apple ruins the bunch.”
Even though he had not been looking at her before, the farmpony felt as if the fly were talking directly to her the whole time. One look to the fly’s weapon recalled a similar one used by the sheriff in Santillama. Even though it was much smaller, she didn’t dare tempt its lethality.
“Sometimes, folks just lose their tempers,” the fly continued.
Donald nervously tugged his collar.
“Sometimes, enough is enough. An’ folks tend to act out in belligerent, often unneighborly ways. It wouldn’t be the first time any of us felt that way. But, how many of us act on those repressed, insane urges?”
Qard glared reproachfully at the fly in the room.
From her hiding space behind the counter, Fluttershy dared to peer out, and found herself faced with a pair of knees, dressed in pressed white fabric. Slowly, her gaze drifted up, and she saw the magnate looking down at her.
“An’ a lot o’ the time, it’s the folks we least suspect who do the most extraordinary, crazy, off the wall thing you’d never think they had the grit to do.”
Fluttershy’s knees trembled as the fly knelt down to her eye level.
“Somethin’ you wanna tell old Bosco?” the magnate asked.
“I...I, uh…” Fluttershy stammered.
“Fer Celestia’s sake! Leave her alone!” Applejack blurted out.
All eyes were on Applejack. She stood firm and resolute, staring down the railway magnate with the same fury she reserved for apple poachers.
DiMosco stood up and twirled his revolver on his finger.
“Well, lookit you. Stickin’ up for the little folk. Tryin’ to play hero,” the magnate chuckled, as if he mocked such values. “Sounds like we got us a culprit.”
With only a glance toward Big Bad, DiMosco signalled the gluttonous wolf into action.
Big Bad reached into his pockets, and slowly drew his cleavers.
Before he took two steps toward Applejack, the glutton’s nose was struck by Scrooge McDuck’s cane.
“Wait just a second, ye buzzin’ blowhard!” the tycoon threatened.
“Uncle Scrooge, don’t escalate things,” Donald warned.
Uncle Scrooge did not listen.
“I’ve seen my share of turns o’ the century! An’ in that whole time, I never met a businessman as vile as yerself!” the elderly duck shouted. “I came here wonderin’ how ye amassed such a money bin! An’ now I know that it was built on the back of an unscrupulous, amoral enterprise!”
DiMosco turned his gaze to Uncle Scrooge. His compound eyes flashed with amusement at the tycoon’s outburst, as he slowly stepped forth to face the duck.
“You consider yerself an honest businessman, do ya?” the magnate asked.
“Aye. That I do,” Uncle Scrooge answered, as he and DiMosco both stood with their weapons at the ready.
“Well,” DiMosco began, “I seen more than my shares o’ turns o’ the century too. An’ I learned more than you ever did. All wealth, all success, is dependent on a distinct lack o’ sentiment. Just take a look at the dirt-pusher, the panhandler, the shut-in an’ the grease-monkey,” he said, indicating everyone else in the room. “They all got somethin’ keepin’ ’em back from true greatness. But, you. You let go o’ yer humanity a long time ago, didn’t ya? Did some real bad things to get to where you are now.”
“Ye don’t know a blasted thing about me,” Uncle Scrooge rebutted.
DiMosco chuckled again, before answering.
“I know you better than anyone else in the world. ‘Cause I’m you, duck. I’m just better at bein’ everything you are. Tougher than the toughies. Smarter than the smarties. To top it all off, I got me a sweet little money bin. Ya do got one o’ those, don’t ya?”
“Yes…” Uncle Scrooge answered through clenched teeth.
Nearby, Big Bad noticed Fluttershy in her hiding spot, and slowly started making his way toward her.
Donald noticed the glutton’s advance, and quickly got between him and his pegasus friend. His worry rose when he saw Big Bad lick his chops, without even stopping.
“Hold up,” Applejack said, taking her place beside Uncle Scrooge. “I’m a completely honest businessmare! An’ I got me plenty o’ bits!”
Instead of a chuckle, DiMosco let loose a loud, hearty laugh.
“Sweetheart, you ain’t even in the same league as us,” the magnate said.
Big Bad continued his advance on the prey before him.
Qard stood from his seat, walked to his cannon, and pointed it directly at the glutton.
Big Bad was not intimidated. He knew that the cannon had already been fired, and was out of ammo.
With a strong push, Qard jabbed his cannon forward and knocked the wolf back.
Everyone watched as the glutton rolled backwards, and crashed into a wall.
DiMosco turned to look back at everyone else one last time, before he backed away toward the door.
“Tell ya what,” the magnate said, as he sheathed his firearm back into his cane, “I’ll let y’all think over what ya wanna do next. If ya wanna join the syndicate, or if ya wanna sit back an’ let yer lives pass on by. It’s all up to you. Just make sure y’all stick around long enough to regret it. Or not. Let’s go, Zeke.”
Big Bad picked himself up from the floor, and glared daggers at Qard. He was going to get the zahak back for the blow that was inflicted on him, and he was going to make sure that it was dire. Before he would do any of that, he followed DiMosco to the door.
“Oh. One more thing,” DiMosco said, as he looked directly at Uncle Scrooge. “If ya do decide ya wanna be a part o’ my business family, I think I can set aside some room in my money bin to fit yers inside.”
Scrooge nearly snapped his own cane in half at the insinuation. And kept his eyes on the two interlopers, until they disappeared from sight.
Fluttershy whimpered, and sank shivering to the floor.
“Fluttershy,” Applejack said, as she went to comfort her friend. “It’s alright, sugarcube. They’re gone now.”
“They’ll be back,” Qard said. “They’ve been harassing me for days over my cooperation with them. If you’re smart, you’ll leave and never return to my shop.”
“I don’t know if it’s all that simple,” Donald said. He took one last look to the cannon, and examined the fuse. “Who shot this thing anyway?”
Down on the floor, the beetle had just made its way down from the countertop. After a brief search, it found the silver lighter.
After the fall it had taken from the countertop, it had closed itself and extinguished its flame upon landing. It was no problem. The beetle simply opened the lighter again, used a nail that it took from the countertop, stuck one of the vegetable slices that was knocked to the floor, and began roasting it as if it hadn’t a care in the world.
There came a sudden clamor from outside in the scrapyard.
Qard’s eyes flashed with fury, as he rushed to the back door.
They all came to the same conclusion. Everything that had happened just then in the shop was a setup. A diversion for the express purpose of keeping them busy, while the real plan was being executed out back.