//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: The Maid // by Dinkledash //------------------------------// Lady Rubymane cast about, looking for the intruder. "I know you must be in here! You keep bringing me food, to tempt me! Well, it's not going to work, I tell you!" The scent of the hot vegetable bullion wafted from the tray, causing her to nearly drool on herself as she looked at it through slitted eyes. There were salted crackers, as well, and a cup of soothing camomile tea. "Weak... I'm so weak." Disgusted with herself, she gave in to her hunger and ate, slurping loudly, spilling some soup, leaving cracker crumbs around. She nearly threw her cup down as a gesture of defiance, but she knew there would be no point. As mysteriously as the food appeared, the spills, crumbs, and shards would vanish, to be replaced with some other temptation a few hours later. Her stomach full, she grumbled and leaned back in her cushioned chair, the pillows having been plumped somehow. She gave a start, seeing one of her favorite crime thrillers, The Prench Connection, sitting on the end table. It had not been there a moment ago. The elderly unicorn sighed, shook her head and leaned back, the book floating before her eyes, escaping once more into the grim world of "Popeye" Soil, earth pony detective on the mean streets of Manehattan. Clementine watched, perched on the window seat not five feet away. She had learned that by moving quietly and merely wishing not to be seen, she was practically invisible to not only Lady Rubymane, but to any unicorn. Having ascertained that her ladyship would not be in need of the commode, she quietly and carefully gathered the tray with the bowl, spoon and teacup out of the main part of the library. Lady Rubymane had long since piled up furniture and heavy books against the doors leading to the main hall and the lumber room, but apparently did not know about the trap door in the small reading room where Clementine kept her desk. A network of servant's passages connected all the major rooms with the wine cellar, a secret known only the Mr. Glass, who swore her likewise to secrecy. When Lord Fire Opal first built the manor a hundred and fifty years ago, he had been of the opinion that servants were at their best when they literally sprang from nowhere when needed and vanished when that need no longer existed. Perhaps this was not a particularly great idea, as he came to a sticky end, dying mysteriously in his bedroom with no way for anypony to have gotten in or out, or at least none that the constabulary knew of. This information was passed from butler to butler, and access was controlled through the wine cellar, of which the butler was practically lord and master. So this became the logical place for the two of them to scheme. She carried the tray down the small set of steps, reached back up and quietly closed the trapdoor, then carried the tray back to the cellar. It was dim and the ceiling was low, but a lantern hung on the wall at the halfway mark and provided sufficient illumination to make the transit safely. She emerged from the gloom of the tunnel into the gloom of the cellar, put the tray on one of the tables and then pulled a bellpull that rang in the butler's office. A minute later, Mr. Glass was there, a candle burning to provide some illumination, and a tray with what appeared to be a slice of apple pie and cheese and a mug of soft cider. These he placed before her on the table in the middle of the cellar as the light glimmered off hundreds of wine bottles in racks all around them. "Bless you for a good pony, Mr. Glass. I was famished!" She picked up the cheese, took a bite, then took a fork to the pie, mixed the two in her mouth and sighed, washing down the mouthful with the cool cider. "Oh, that's good." Mr. Glass nodded, smiling. Since they had entered into their conspiracy together, they had developed a more familiar relationship, at least when nopony else was around. As far as other members of the staff were concerned, Clementine was the only pony allowed in the library, and she took care of all of her ladyship's personal needs in her time of convalescence. That much was true and nopony needed to know any more details. She felt guilty about not telling Cookie the whole truth, but as Mr. Glass pointed out, it was not her truth to tell. He let her take several more bites before asking, "Any news?" "She threatens. She rages. She glares. But she eats, Mr. Glass. She drinks her tea." Clementine gestured at the empty bowl and cup. "I left her reading a novel. She looks so much better than she did this spring, but I fear that if we stopped, she would slip immediately into decline. She shows no sign of wishing to go out into the world." It was summer now, and though it was cool in the cellar, in the rest of the house it was quite warm, so windows had been opened. But not in the library. The humidity would be bad for the books, but only Rubymane knew the air cooling spell, so it could get stifling. A drop of cooling perspiration ran down her back, making her shiver. She told Mr. Glass of Lady Rubymane's condition, while Mr. Glass told her of the outside world. She knew that Mr. Glass had sent Thistlewhistle to care for Pansy Pea and sent a letter to summon the doctor. Pansy had recovered after several weeks and was working again in the gardens. Bumblebee attained his cutie mark, which was, to nopony's great surprise, a beehive, and he had been apprenticed in an apiary on the outskirts of Stablesboro. He promised to return when he had learned his craft, and set up beehives in Fetlock at his parents' old farm if the baroness would permit it. As her ladyship had promised the village an ale, Mr. Glass took it upon himself to order up five casks from the Baltimare brewery for the solstice in celebration of Celestia's bright sun, paying for them out of his discretionary funds. He told all the other servants to attend and enjoy themselves, though of course he and Clementine stayed to care for Rubymane. He told her about the dancing and the pie eating contest and even about reports of an unseemly fight that broke out between Thistlewhistle and one of the maids. He was surprised when Clementine guessed that it was Gooseberry. He rolled his eyes at her and intoned, "Mares, what can you do?" to which she responded with gales of laughter. He was secretly quite droll. Mr. Glass had been able to handle the finances up to a point, but with harvest fast approaching, so were taxes and dues and the renewal of licenses and charters, and he was simply not authorized for any of these functions. Her ladyship could either handle it herself, or formally appoint an estate manager, or else matters would simply start to go into arrears, with all the unpleasant repercussions thereof. So there was some more urgency in their recent discussions. "You haven't found anything, a diary, letters, any kind of information that could help snap her out of this funk?" Glass looked down at columns of figures in his ledgers, budgeting the weekly grocery purchase based on the menu Cookie had provided. He was equipped for managing the manor, but not the entire estate, even if he had been given the authority. She shook her head. "I have been searching, Mr. Glass, but the library has a lot of possible hiding places." "You have to keep looking, my dear. I know I'm putting a lot on your young shoulders, but because of, well, whatever this is, you are the only pony who can help her, and frankly, help us." He paused, putting down the papers, and turned to face her, giving her his full attention. "I have noticed that you've grown in the past three months, emotionally as well as physically. I am very proud of you." She couldn't help but blush. "You are hard working, intelligent and resilient. You are discreet, and not selfish, greedy or haughty. You lack polish when it comes to the finer points of protocol, but that only comes with long experience. And in any event, protocol is not always our primary concern, as our current circumstances would indicate." She sat quietly, wondering where this was leading. Mr. Glass was going with this. He hadn't been stinting of praise lately, but this felt like more of a summation than a pep talk. He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a document that bore a seal, and passed it over to her. "I have made up an affidavit as to the amendment that Lady Rubymane made to her will, in what I consider to be her last moments of lucidity to date. This document affirms your inheritance of 1,000 bits, and all the books in the manor library, on condition of your application to the Royal Academy when you are of age. The age requirement, according to my research, is thirteen. You look to be about eight, is that correct?" "I don't know, Mr. Glass. Cookie said I was less than two when she found me, and it's been six springs since then, so I'd say you're right." He narrowed his eyes. "I know you believe that. I'm not certain that I do. You don't behave like any eight year old I've ever seen. I'm no magician, but I know that you are the subject, perhaps the victim, of a powerful spell, and spells can be used to alter appearance, including one's age." She blinked. "But I have no memory of my life before I was taken in. The earliest thing I can remember is dropping a teacup in the kitchen that I was supposed to be washing and crying so hard I that my throat closed up. Then Cookie gave me a bit of honeycomb and washed my face after because I made a mess with it. And the tears were a mess too, I suppose. I must have been three or four." He steepled his hooves thoughtfully. "I suppose memory could be altered too, though I've never heard about that. But as I said, I'm no magician. Who taught you to read?" She stared at him. "I... I don't know. I suppose it must have been one of the staff, but I don't remember." "As far as I know, I am the only member of the staff who can read, and it was not me." Her brow furrowed. "You said that my appearance might had been altered as well as my age. What made you think of that?" "As butler, I have long ears." One of his ears twitched, and Clementine smiled, lightening the mood. "I hear things, and I have heard some of the earth ponies remark upon the pretty unicorn maid with the golden hair who works in the library. I thought they were being sarcastic, quite frankly." "Yes, and why should you not. Mr. Glass? My looks are nothing to write Princess Celestia about." He rolled up his sleeve to show the bound lock of her hair, mousy and wiry, that he had moved from his rear leg to his right foreleg, in a place where it would not show under his jacket. "What does this look like to you?" "A rat's tail that's been run over by an ox cart and left in the rain." "Even so, it appears such to me. Now, please go to the far end of the cellar, over there. I shall go to the door." She cocked an eyebrow at him, but stood from the remains of her snack and backed to the rear of the cellar as Glass walked to the door, taking the candle with him. He held up the candle to his arm. "What does it look like now?" It was a distance of about twenty feet. She squinted and peered in the darkness at the lock, now illuminated by the candle. "That's odd. In the light, it almost looks like metal?" "Gold. A shade of blonde I did not know was possible outside of story books. And wavy, not kinked and wiry." He took a few steps closer and the metallic effect vanished, her hair returned to its expected level of drab and unmanageable. "About five yards, I should say. That's the range of the alteration spell." His gravelly voice sounded like it was coming from every direction in the small room, as she walked shakily back to her seat, her eyes wide with shock. "It makes sense now. Every now and then somepony... earth ponies! Always earth ponies! They would make some comment about my appearance, and I thought they were being kind, or mocking and cruel, depending on who it was. But they aren't affected by the... glamour." His eyebrows rose. "That's what Lady Rubymane called it. And I promised I'd never tell anypony about it, but I suppose I've broken that promise now." "For the best of reasons, child. If child you are." "The brigands, in the village. The ones who foalnapped me." Glass nodded. "Perhaps they didn't think I was as young as I appear." "They were still scum, Clementine." His voice was firm. "Their end was well deserved, and of their own doing." "I suppose so, but it makes more sense now. They said I was... filling out?" "No, it makes no sense that they could see through an age spell but Cookie and the others here could not. Don't spare them any merciful thoughts, even if that were a reason to. Don't spare them any thoughts at all. The don't deserve any." He scowled, plainly angry, but not at her. "Besides, if you were filling out, as it were, you would be taller. I don't think an illusion could change the size of your clothes. Age-related spells are actual physical changes, from what I've read. Not that it's much." He sighed. "We should get you to an expert, but since Lady Rubymane is herself an expert and took no action to dispel this glamour as you call it, I can only think she has a very good reason." "She did say that if I told anypony about it, she'd keep me in durance vile until my cuteceañera." They both chuckled. "Who knows when that will be, or even if it has been? Does a reverse aging spell undo a cutie mark? Would your illusion cloak it? This is all quite beyond me." He shook his head in bewilderment. "What's important is finding out who you are, what happened to you, and what can be done about it, if anything. But there's one thing even more important than that." "Seeing to her ladyship and getting her well again." Her voice was serious and quiet. "Absolutely. We are united in purpose, my mysterious friend." He rose. "I will meet you back here after the first supper gong with more provisions. Oh! One more thing, I have a second copy of the testament to your legacy that I will keep in my records, but it would be good if this one could find its way into her ladyship's papers. In the eventuality that it might be needed before she recovers her faculties." He looked grim. "But as you said, you haven't found those. Even so, it would be better for this to be in the library, to help establish its provenance. Master Goldbolt is an empty-headed spendthrift, but not a villain from what I've been told. However, he may have grasping advisers who would challenge bequests to the staff." She took the document, folded it and placed it in its envelope, then placed that in the pocket of her apron. "I don't care much for the bits, Mr. Glass, but the thought of her books being used as decoration in some foolish pony's library or sold to pay off gambling debts rather than being read and enjoyed is dreadful." "I don't know if you understand, Clementine, but there are several books in that library worth more than a thousand bits and many dozens worth hundreds. According to my ledger, the value of the books in the library is in excess of twelve thousand bits. When the inevitable does happen, you will be quite a wealthy pony." Twelve thousand bits? Clementine frowned. "That doesn't matter, since I would never sell them. In any case, I don't want to think about that." "Just wanted to let you know where you stand." "Thank you Mr. Glass. I must return to my lady." She stood and patted the envelope in her apron. "And thank you again, for this." "No, Clementine, thank you." He stood and gave her a shallow bow. She smiled and replied with a curtsy, then opened the passage door, returning to the library. As she closed the trap door behind her, she heard gentle snoring from the great chair. She crept past the elderly mage, lifted the hinged windowseat and took a blanket from within the storage compartment, carefully closed it and gingerly, tenderly laid the blanket across Lady Rubymane. Then, tempting fate, she kissed her gently on the cheek. The old unicorn stirred, but did not wake. There was, perhaps, a small smile that was not there before. Now, if I were a baroness' paperwork, where would I be? A safe? I've never seen one. Her bedroom is utilitarian; everything she truly values she keeps here. She's a mage, so perhaps they're stored in a magic box somewhere. Hmm. She looked around the room for any square or rectangular objects she hadn't checked yet. There were numerous boxes, but most of them contained momentos of some sort or small precious objects, sometimes with notes as to their origin. Some were empty, presumably being containers for objets d'art that were on display. There were keys in one of the drawers of a small desk, and she had identified every key as belonging to a particular lock; all were accounted for. Nor were there any locks without keys. She had also practically disassembled that desk; there were no secret compartments within. There were some unusual objects that appeared to serve no purpose and were not particularly decorative, but at least one contained a secret, of a sort. The small, grotesque bronze sculpture of a diamond dog that sat on the end table next to the reading chair had a base that unscrewed if you held the dog's foreleg down, but all it contained were a few hard candies that looked like they had been there for ten years. There was a horrible looking glass eyeball the size of your hoof that stared madly at you no matter what direction you turned it; the iris changed color as the angle did. And then there was a wooden, carved book, titled, Obscure Portents in raised letters. The workponyship was very fine, but it didn't appear to serve any purpose other than decorative, and it's not as though it would stand out as a decorative piece in a library. So... the book. It could have documents in it. But if it's a magical lock, with an invisible key or something, it hardly matters. She stared at it, then walked to the west-facing window where the afternoon sun bathed the room in an orangey light. There was an incidental table there with a magnifying glass, and she lifted it to study the carving. She looked closely at it for several minutes, not certain what she was looking for. A hinge, a seam, a sliding piece of wood, anything. There must be some-ah! She looked at the letters and noticed that the raised edge of the first letters of both words were lighter in color than the others. Wear? She pressed down on the "O" in Obscure and the "P" in Portents and heard a quiet snap inside. Yes! She looked, but didn't see any other change; no drawer popped out or hinge opened. For several minutes she pushed, twisted and slid the surfaces in futility. Oh! Ha ha! She pressed down on the "e" and "n" in Portents and there was a second snap. The bottom part of the book slid out easily, revealing a velvet-lined chamber within that contained documents and other objects wrapped in cloth to muffle and protect them. There was indeed a copy of the will inside, as well as newspaper articles about her husband and children, a small book with an illustration of a ship in a storm titled Sea Spray and Cold Iron, and a number of miniature paintings of her handsome husband Lord Springheart, her gallant son Galeheart in his dashing uniform, her daughter Softmane, who was quite pretty but apparently felt the need to wear glasses and read a book while posing for her portrait -you show 'em, sister- and lastly one of Rubymane herself, in the full flower of her beauty. But great beauty though she was, the pony she was painted beside undeniably outshone her. They were seated together at a table, playing a game of chess, the other player nearly a head taller, even seated. A gold crown rode her brow and violet eyes sparkled merrily under a mane that seemed to glow and blow in a wind that came from another world. By Celestia, that's... Celestia! She placed all the miniatures carefully down, then picked up the one of the royal chess game, looking at it with the magnifying glass. The workmanship of this one was clearly superior; presumably it was Celestia's own artist who painted it. It was older than the others; Lady Rubymane appeared to be barely out of her teens, her green eyes with highlights of gold and the texture of her lustrous eponymous mane picked out exquisitely despite the small size of the picture. With a finely crafted gold frame, it fit neatly on her hoof. It wasn't just the artistry either; she could swear the picture moved. That pawn was definitely not in Lady Rubymane's hoof when I first looked at it! She watched, fascinated, as the scene slowly changed in subtle ways, the expressions changing from laughter to concentration as they considered moves, the pieces being taken on either side, and always, Celestia's multicolored mane waving as though blown by the ether. She looked up with a start and realized the light was starting to fade, and she didn't want to light any lamps or candles as that could upset her mistress. Let me see these newspaper clippings. Oh. They're obituaries. She read of the accomplishments and tragic deaths of Rubymane's children, Galeheart in a useless skirmish with some dragon brigands, and Softmane in a tragic laboratory accident, after somepony had mislabeled a bottle of chemicals she was using to dope a new kind of optical glass. She winced at the thought. Finally, she read the obituary for Lord Springheart, written by the princess herself, and realized why Rubymane never appeared to have guests. She has been in official mourning for ten years. Then, an idea struck. She wrapped the pictures up and carefully placed them, the will, the book, and after a moment, the envelope with the testament to her own bequest into the puzzle box, then closed it. It didn't latch until she pressed the "O" and "P" again while pushing upward on the bottom of the box. That's why there's more wear on those letters than the "e" and "n." She placed the box back where she had found it, then went to her own small writing desk, took out paper, pen and ink, and lit the lamp. If she wakes, she shouldn't see it in here from her chair. She started to write. Dear Princess Celestia, I am Lady Rubymane's maid, Clementine, and I apologize for writing to your highness unbidden, but my lady is in a bad way. She has been mourning the loss of her husband for ten years, and now, after simply hearing his name mentioned, she has locked herself away in her library and is attempting to refuse all food and drink. She has stated that she wants to be left alone to die. I love her, all her servants do, and the ponies down in the villages miss her. I read the obituary you wrote for Lord Springheart, and I know that you and she were close when she was young, so please, your highness, could you give me some advice on how to help her? Forgive my presumption, but I must beg the favor of a reply. Your humble and obedient subject, Clementine Maid of Sparoak Manor Library She shook sand onto the paper to dry the ink, then blotted it. She folded it, placed it in an envelope, and addressed it to "Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, Canterlot Castle." Then she melted some red wax onto the edge of the envelope and pressed Lady Rubymane's seal into it, impressing the waxen blob with the coat of arms of Sparoak, which consisted of a ship and a book. She inhaled the sweet smell of the beeswax. A letter from some maid would find its way to the bottom of a stack somewhere on some clerk's desk, but one bearing Lady Rubymane's seal may be delivered to the princess herself. Or at least I hope so. It's a minor deception at worst. But how do I get this to Canterlot? She briefly considered asking Mr. Glass, but something in one of the adventure novels she had read made her hesitate. He may need "plausible deniability." If somepony at the palace took offense, or if Lady Rubymane were to consider this to be disloyalty or interference, better it be the young maid nopony can seem to remember. She started walking around, looking at the books on the shelves. Lady Rubymane had instructed her as to her library management system, with novels arranged by author's name and title on the shelves to the right of the sitting window, where guests would be most likely to peruse, at least when she had guests, with poetry, histories, biographies, magical research materials, reference books, classroom textbooks, and finally miscellaneous works and foreign language books being on bookcases progressively further back in the room. There was even a case made with diagonally crossed planks used to store old scrolls, the oldest protected with cylindrical copper cases coated in a lovely verdigris. So... reference books. Dictionaries, thesauruses, atlases, seventeen volumes of Encyclopedia Equestriana, the Earth Pony Almanacs from Anno Celestia 461 through 474, The Laws and Regulations of Equestria... let's see. She took down three large tomes, the first of which appeared to be hundreds of years old, the other two more recent, and took them back to her nook. She groaned when she realized the first book, Lex Equorum, was written in Old Ponish. With the aid of her Old Ponish-Equestrian dictionary, she could slowly pick her way through the ancient tongue on simple subjects, but reading a law book written in it was out of the question. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized the second book was an Equestrian translation of the original, and the third, even better, was a modern revision with an index. She turned to the back. Mail... M... M... M... here it is, Mail, Royal. Title 8, Chapter 72, pp 240-296. She turned to page 240 and saw list of dozens of subheadings, each beginning with a number marked with an odd squiggle she hadn't seen before. They covered all manner of manner of circumstances including the disposition of lost mail, penal codes for tampering with and theft of mail, specific penalties for assaults on Her Highness' Royal Postponies, the issuance of stamps, the construction and management of post offices, and many more. A section labeled "Rural Post Offices" caught her scanning eye, and she turned to squiggle 1285 on page 267, and saw that it too was broken down into numbered paragraphs with lettered sub-paragraphs. § 1285 - Rural Post Offices 1. Each County, Barony or March outside of city or town postal service zones which has a resident population of no less than 100 ponies shall have constructed within the demesne of the responsible peer one post office to be made available for public use. a. The post office will be operated by a rural postmaster or mistress, a Royal Officer with all the privileges and duties that entails. b. The cost of building and maintaining the post office will be borne in entirety by Her Highness' Royal Mail. c. The land upon which the post office is built will be leased to HHRM in perpetuam from the demesne of the estate in return for the sum of one bit per annum. 2. The rural post office will be located within the largest permanent settlement within the demesne. a. The building site will be in a central location on a leveled and cleared lot no less than 20 yards by 10 yards. b. Each rural post office will have a customer service area, a sorting and storage area separated from the customer service area with a lockable door, a private office for the postmaster or mistress adjacent to the sorting room, a safe with keys controlled by the postmaster or mistress to be used for storing cash and any valuable property that comes into possession of the postmaster or mistress. c. The roof of each rural post office will have a raised platform to be used for the purposes of the Pegasus Express high speed air post as described in § 1289 - The Pegasus Express. The tall platform on that rooftop in Fetlock must be where the post office is! She spent a few minutes randomly reading about required hours of operation, stamps, rates, delivery schedules, post office inspections, penalties for mail fraud, items required to be prominently displayed in a post office and a few other sections that caught her eye. They seem to have rules for every possible eventuality in here! The first gong sounded, so she stopped in her perusal of postal regulatory minutiae, restored the books to their proper places, and checked on Lady Rubymane, who slept soundly. She snuck back to the wine cellar and Mr. Glass was already there, waiting with a basket containing vegetables and some dipping sauces for her ladyship, and a bowl with a hearty bean salad and another glass of cold cider for Clementine. She thanked him and dug in, but as he left to go, she stopped eating and said, "Mr. Glass, would it be alright for me to run down to Fetlock tomorrow? Just for a short while; it's not like Lady Rubymane would miss me." He raised an eyebrow. "Whatever for?" "I was wondering if Callie Flour might know of any herbs or plants that could help speed her ladyship's recovery. Perhaps we could try adding something to stimulate her appetite, maybe give her more energy." A lie, but for the best of reasons. Or maybe a half-truth; I'll still visit Callie Flour. He pursed his lips. "It's worth exploring. Just don't be long, please, and be careful. You're the only pony who can care for her." She felt sick to her stomach. The bean salad had been very appetizing before, but now she had to stop herself from pushing it away. "Yes, Mr. Glass. I'll be careful." "In that case, here." He placed the key to the cellar door on the table. "Lock the cellar door behind me when I leave. You can give it back to me when your errand is finished." Her heart skipped a beat as shame blossomed within her. "Mr. Glass!" "Not to worry, I'll use the spare in the meantime. I don't think I have to worry about you raiding the cellar in any event." With that he nodded and withdrew to join the rest of the staff at dinner, while Clementine's stomach roiled. She forced herself to eat, knowing she'd need the energy tomorrow, then returned to the library and, after checking on Rubymane, laid down on the windowseat cushion and watched her lady, trying not to think about lying to her friend, until she could no longer keep her eyes open.