Clementine rose in the gray of pre-dawn, to see that Rubymane had also awoken and was looking about the library. She was tearfully sniffing as was often the case when she woke and, perhaps, had brought an end to dreams of her lost family. A certain odor in the air informed Clementine that the commode had been used, so she moved slowly to the corner where it had been placed, took the covered bucket from under the seat and made her way to the wine cellar. She almost rang for Mr. Glass when she remembered she had been entrusted with the key. She flushed hot with shame at the reminder.
She let herself out and carried the nightsoil out into the main hall and into to the discreetly placed garderobe, where she disposed of it, taking some scented water from a pitcher placed on a stand next to the garderobe box seat and swirling it about the bucket until it was clean and the smell much diminished. She then relieved herself and washed up with the scented water, carrying the bucket back through its circumloculous route to put it back in place.
She then returned to the kitchen to fetch breakfast for the lady. It's nice not to have to wait for Mr. Glass to let me in and out of the cellar. Must be more convenient for him as well. She left the porridge, some apple slices and a glass of milk, smiling when Rubymane noticed them and, after some huffing and groaning, gave in again to her stomach's needs.
Clementine returned to the kitchen and quickly downed some porridge for herself, grunting morning greetings to the new pot pony and giving a hug to Cookie when she ran into her on the way to their shared rooms. "Child! Where are ye goin now!?"
"Cookie, I'm so sorry but it's something important for her ladyship. I promise to explain it all as soon as I can!" The earth pony's face fell. "I mean... as soon as I'm allowed to."
"Allowed... oh, I see. Well, yer gettin' bigger now I can see, and carrying some burdens maybe only those upstairs carry, eh?"
"Yes, something like that. I love you!" She kissed the now mollified cook on the cheek and ran into the bedroom, where she quickly got out of her uniform and changed into a simple traveling frock. It was too warm for a cloak, and she'd be less likely to attract attention than she would in her uniform. She took the letter out of her apron and stuck it into a cloth tote that she slung over her shoulder, then bounded out back through the kitchen, waving to the staff, to exit through the house via the herb garden door.
She had been taking opportunities to run around the manorial grounds, along the inside of the fenceline, to try to get herself into better shape whenever possible for the past three months. That translated into roughly 20 minutes of running, or short runs broken up by trotting, about three times a week. Lately, the amount of time she had to spend trotting had been diminishing, though she found that the shortness of the course and the obstacles that got in her way tended to break her stride. When she saw the road down to the village open before her on a clear, cool morning, she smiled and broke out into a true gallop for the first time ever.
This is wonderful! The four-beat rhythm seemed more natural to her than the constrained, three-beat rhythm of the canter. She found her body at full extension in mid-air and whinnied in delight as she plunged down the track. After about two minutes of wild downhill abandon, she slowed to a canter as she came to the first curve, not wanting to risk dashing headlong into a cart or some messenger pony running up from the village. It was only then that she felt the burn in her lungs, her sides, in leg and shoulder muscles she'd never used before. The ache was glorious.
Her conscience cautioned her not to overdo it, as she was the only servant able to effectively deal with Lady Rubymane at the moment, so she was more restrained on the second straightaway. This part of the road was more level and also more rutted from wagons, as the village's outlying farms started popping up. She galloped, but did not reach for full extension, just doing what she had to in order to keep that four-beat rhythm thrumming. She felt herself warming up as her heart beat, fast and strong, controlling her breathing as she had read in A Student Athlete's Guide to Kinesthetics. This was the longest straightaway of the road, an elevated section with fields on either side and the remains of wooden rails that must have been damaged by the flooding.
The road turned from packed earth to bare cobbles at the lowest point, where perhaps the entire road had washed away in the floods and been repaired. Her hooves came down on the stones with sharp retorts. At first she just listened with interest as the road conditions changed but then she started to feel pain in her hooves and more particularly her pasterns, the part of her legs immediately above her hooves. She slowed down and then stopped entirely, suddenly realizing she had to limp on her rear left leg. She gingerly put weight on it and winced as pain shot all the way up her hindquarters. Idiot! "Always consider your surface when choosing a pace." Well, now I really DO have a reason to see Callie Flour.
She sighed, looking at the remaining distance to the next turn. What had before seemed like a minute of near flight now took four minutes of slow, painful walking. The turn was an other two minutes of limping, taking care not to turn her pastern in the deep ruts that maneuvering carts had left behind, and then she was able to see the village, another half mile down the road. The post office Pegasus Express platform was visible, but it was another fifteen slow minutes of painful boredom before she got to the first cottages. Callie Flour's cottage was to the right, the post office to the left. She figured she better take care of the letter first, and hobbled her way to the door of the small building. The door was closed and locked, and this surprised her, given that post offices were supposed to be open during daylight hours.
She knocked on the door. "Hello?" She knocked louder. "Hello? Postmaster? Postmistress? Hello?!"
An old earth pony stallion with a deep red coat and a stringy gray mane, missing most of his teeth, came ambling around the corner of the building. "'M'lady, wotcher doin' out 'ere by yerself beatin' on yon doorway and wakin' old ponies from their, ah, after-breakfast nap?"
"Oh, I'm not... ah, that is to say, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Are you the postmaster?"
The old steed gave out a half-laugh, half-cough. "Ooo, me? Oi, that's rich, m'lady! Nah, ol' Barley Barrel is just a pensioner, ya see, barely scrapin' by, 'ardly enough bits ta keep body an' soul tegether, see?"
"Oh, I, ah, I see, yes. Do you know where I might find the Postmaster, er, or Postmistress? The office should be open at this hour." She smiled, hoping for charm but not really knowing what effect her smile might have, never having thought much of it herself when seeing it in a mirror.
"Weeeeeell, Gravelgrit be 'ere, an' 'e be ain't 'ere, if ya take my meanin', m'lady."
What kind of a name is Gravelgrit? "I... don't think I do, Goodcolt Barley Barrel."
"Well, that is ta say, I think I may know whereabouts 'e might be if I could only remember, but a bit o' ale is always good illubrigation for the ol' poll," he said, tapping the top of his head.
Illumination? Lubrication? Irrigation? "Ale? But it-it-it's just after breakfast."
"Yes m'lady, and I find that me memory go all a-scattery after a breakfast, but an ale, that's wat line up all 'em times an' places an' ponies an' all.
"But is there an alehouse open at this hour?" She looked about in confusion. As far as she knew from her reading, any alehouse would only be open in the evening hours, after the fieldponies returned from work.
"Weeeeeell, m'lady," he said with a gap-toothed grin, "it ain't the ale really, so much as the anticipation, the expectation, the coming consumption of the ale, ya see, that would set me ol' mind in proper workin' order."
Those are some impressive words for a pensioned field hand. "So..." she frowned for a moment, then continued, "you want me to bribe you?"
He drew back as if slapped. "M'lady, you do me a grave injustice, ya do! A bribe? Why 'tis a corruptified dishonestry! A bit 'o ale money ain't no bribe, it's more like, due renumberation. A fair wage for services renderized. A... an honorable terrarium!" He smiled roguishly at that and she had to fight hard not to giggle.
"I'm so sorry, Goodcolt Barley, but I am just a poor servant out about her mistress' business and I've not a bit to spare. Could you aid a maid in distress?" She tilted her head down and looked up with the most soulful expression she could muster, blinking what she hoped looked like long, thick eyelashes over eyes of deepest amethyst. She winced as her weight shifted and looked down at her injured leg.
"You're hurt!" Concern shown briefly in his eyes. "Er... you've a managed to put some hurteratin' on that there hooflebone, I sees. Allowify me, m'la... er.. m'maidy?" At that she did giggle, lifting the injured pastern so that he could see. "A sprainified hooflebone!" His voice got quieter as he leaned in. "You have a sprained pastern miss, and you'll need to get it iced and elevated. And I'll kiss my own croup if there's any ice in this metropolis."
She whispered in reply, "You sir, are an educated gentlepony." This close, she could see that his missing teeth were actually blacked out and he didn't smell like an ale-soaked pensioner; in fact he wasn't even all that old - his mane had been painted and lines around his face added with a pencil. "Who are you, and what are you doing here? Are you a spy from Bee's Cove here to evaluate the hops harvest? An adjunct professor taken to the road after spending too much time adjacent to the department chairpony's daughter?"
At that, he chuckled. "Just a beggar who goes from village to village, never spending too much time in one place." Placing her hoof down gently, he continued quietly, "Miss, you can't walk on that. Please wait here, I'll go fetch that reprobate Gravelguts for you. He'll be at the fishing hole."
"And your honorarium?" She was smiling broadly at him.
"Well, ah," his volume increased, "it wouldn't be right ta take advantageous of a filly out an' about on 'er mistresses' busyness an' all that, an 'er 'injurificated. Ol' Barley Barrel may be downish an' outish, but 'e ain't never done what ain't right. Mostly."
Now a chuckle came bubbling up out of her belly, a real one, that broke out of her throat and seemed to release the tension she'd been feeling for the past few months. She felt an irresistible impulse and leaned forward to kiss the rogue on his cheek, which felt soft and warm under her lips, even as he stiffened in surprise. She pulled back after a moment and smiled at him, making direct eye contact.
He stared back, his cheeks flaring red as his hoof went up to gently touch his cheek, where some makeup had rubbed off. He brushed it smooth, his mouth hanging open, his green eyes bright with amazement. His eyes! He's not much older than I am! Well, as much as I could be, in theory anyway.
He looked around, then leaned back to whisper in her ear. "You are really much too young to be kissing anypony except your immediate kinfolk!" There was some anger in his voice, but also concern, like he was an older brother scolding a little sister.
"But I don't have any kinfolk, and I have to kiss somepony. Don't I?" She felt totally safe with this pony for some reason, and she wanted to pay him back for his attempt at deception, humorous though it was. "Anyway, I'm older than I look. At least I think I am."
"Oh no no no no no! Bad filly! As if I never heard that one before!" He scowled at her. She looked down, suddenly quiet and not smiling. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean... you're very pretty. Beautiful, actually. When you grow up, you'll break every heart from here to Canterlot, and I'm not just saying that. But if you go around teasing grown stallions at your age, something awful might happen."
"You're not like them. Like that, I mean." She wiped her mouth at the memory of stale ale, her lips being forced open, her useless horn being twisted. "You'd never hurt me. I feel safe with you."
"You're right, I wouldn't." His face was suddenly inscrutable. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
"I didn't tease them. I was just fetching water." She felt suddenly wretched.
"Who? Somepony around here?" He scowled, and she realized while she felt safe with him, he was nopony to be trifled with. He had gone to a state of full alertness, and the way he carried himself spoke of unusual strength and agility. Is he a soldier? He's not very tall or bulky.
"Not anymore. They're gone." She looked at him seriously, feeling somewhat better than she did a moment before, but not wanting to tell him that she was involved, however tangentially, in two deaths. "They won't be back."
"Good. Are you alright then?" She nodded and smiled, though it was a sadder sort of smile now. "Very well. I'll fetch the Postmaster and be back in about ten minutes. Stay here, don't wander and don't kiss any stallions until I get back." His eyes bulged and he blushed. "Or after I get back either!" She giggled again and fluttered her putative lashes at him. He rolled his eyes and turned, trotting off to the woods to the northwest.
She waited, imagining what he might look like out of his disguise, this mysterious, chivalrous and humorous earth pony. I shouldn't have done that to him, but it was so much fun! Until it got weird. Who am I kidding; I'm just a filly, and he's a grown up stallion of the world. He's probably romanced a dozen mares. With those sparkling green eyes of his. And those cheekbones. And those lean muscles... right. Multiplication tables, Clementine! One times one is one, one times two is two... She sat down and took a load off her sprained pastern.
By the time she was multiplying forty nine by seven, a shape appeared above the treeline and flew towards her. A pegasus, of course! She had seen pegasi messengers before at the manor house and had read about them in books, but she'd never met one. Pegasus characters in novels she had read tended to be boastful, lazy, and prone to pranking, but they were also brave, honest and loyal, which of course must just be a literary stereotype. In real life, individual pegasi would be a different and varied as unicorns and earth ponies. This pegasus must be judged on his merits. Wait a second, pegasi don't have talons! Her heart leapt to her throat; griffin characters had a rather different literary tradition than pegasi.
The griffin landed before her, the claws on his feet digging deep into the grass. He glared at her, the smell of fish emanating from his sharp, hooked beak. Carnivore! "Well?!" His voice was grating and unpleasant. "What is it?!"
She looked up, more frightened than at any time in her life. Even the thugs were just ponies, but this... creature... could literally tear her to pieces. According to A History of Pre-Celestial Equestria, the Griffin Wars were savage, with barbaric griffin raiders often carrying off ponies they caught alone.
"Out with it filly! You interrupted my piscatorial endeavors!" His eyes were a deep garnet under furrowed black browfeathers. The ruff of his neck puffed up with irritation as he glared at her, while her heart pounded and the world seemed to shrink until it contained only prey and predator. This is ridiculous, he's a Postmaster not a predator!
"I, ah, I have a l-letter to post, P-postmaster!"
"A la-la-letter to po-po-post for the po-po-postmaster? Well, what else would you be doing ha-ha-here!?" He sneered, his beak nearly touching her muzzle.
Her ears went flat and she stood up, her eyes narrowing as she ignored her throbbing leg. He's just a bully and this is quite enough! "If your post office had been open like it was supposed to be at this hour, I wouldn't have interrupted your fishing, because you would have been at your... po-po-post!" She spat out the words. He's a shirker!
The griffin blinked in surprise. "Well, well, well! And I suppose you are the one to tell me what hours my post office is supposed to be open?"
"Title 8, Chapter 72, Subchapter 1285, Part 6, Subpart c: Rural post offices shall be open for business to the public from Moonday through Foalday, with the exception of public holidays, from one hour past sunrise to one hour past sunset, being closed for lunch for one hour starting at noon! Is it noon yet? Subpart d: On days and at times when the Postmaster or mistress is not available to keep the office open for any reason, public notice must be posted on the post office notice board! Part 5, Subpart j: The Postmaster or mistress will maintain a prominently marked notice board for the use of official and community announcements visible from the street near the front entrance to the post office!"
As she began her bureaucratic tirade, without realizing it, she had advanced towards the griffin, her horn lowered and in his face. He had backed instinctively at first, and she continued to advance, and with every regulation quoted, the griffin seemed to shrink, his eyes getting bigger, his beak hanging open. She pressed forward, the righteous indignation flowing through her veins anesthetizing her sprained pastern. She waved a forehoof at the blank wall of the post office.
"How is anypony supposed to even know this is a post office? There's no notice board! There's not even a Royal Mail emblem mounted on the doorway as specified per Part 2 subpart f!"
The miserable griffin was practically cringing before her by the time Barley Barrel, or whoever he was, ambled up to them. The Postmaster turned and growled at him, "This is the filly in distress!? You set me up! Celestia is using fillies for Postal Inspectors now! I'm finished! I'll have to go back to Griffonstone in disgrace!" He laid his head on the grass and covered his face, peering up at her between his talons. "Please Inspector, please don't fire me! I'll do a better job, I promise! It's just so boring here! Weeks go by with no letters! No creatures in these parts even read much less write letters! I'm sorry!"
Barley stared at her, his mouth hanging open, as she stood over the groveling griffin. She turned her eyes to him, then back at the griffin, then back at him, and slowly the anger faded from her. She looked back at the griffin, a small grin on her face, then covered her mouth to cover a giggle. Then Barley started to giggle, and it escalated until they were both sitting down laughing belly laughs while the griffin sat up, simultaneously puzzled, indignant and hopeful for reprieve.
"I never said," Clementine laughed, "that I was a po-po-postal inspector!" At that the griffin signed with relief, then joined in the laughter.
"Oh by my tailfeathers, I saw my pension flashing before my eyes!" That provoked more laughter. "I'm sorry, I'm just a mean old buzzard, and I had just hooked a big one and had to let it go, so I was cross. How did you know all that chapter and verse?"
"Well, I'm a... an egghead. I wanted to know how to post a letter and I just... read a bit too much about it, I suppose. Sorry, postmaster, I didn't mean to be disrespectful."
"Oh no, not at all! I love a good argument, and you are a hundred percent right! I should have put a notice up, but I figured any creature that wanted me would know where to find me. Just a second." He stood, walked to the front of the building, and taking a key he had on a loop of string around his neck, unlocked the door. He then dashed inside and in a moment emerged wearing a blue coat and a blue cap with a shiny badge on it. "The post office is now officially opened for business, Postmaster Gravelgrit, at your service." He raised his cap and bowed.
She curtsied and winced, then announced, "Clementine, maid of Lady Rubymane's library."
Gravelgrit stood up straight. "Oh, this is on her ladyship's business? You're her librarian!? Then I am deeply sorry, I meant no disrespect. It's been many months since I've had a letter from the manor! Come, come, the customer service desk is in here!" As he motioned for her to enter, she realized Barley Barrel had come up beside her to offer her his shoulder, so she gratefully leaned on it. She limped inside as gracefully as her injury would allow.
Inside, the office was orderly, if a bit dusty. Indeed, it seemed barely used. "It's just as I pictured it would be! Though perhaps it could use the touch of a maid's hoof." She coughed as she wiped a cobweb off the rate chart that was displayed on the wall in accordance with Title 8, Chapter 72, Subchapter 1285, Part 7, Subpart a.
"Sorry miss, there's so little call for my services for the past few years that I feel like I'm tidying up for no reason. Wait, you're the filly who came with her ladyship three months ago, aren't you? I heard about that. Bad business. Are you alright? Is she alright?" She nodded dumbly, not wanting to give out any information that wasn't necessary.
"Wotcher yakkin' about, featherduster?" Barley Barrel looked at the Postmaster with interest.
Gravelgrit harrumphed and gave a side-eye glare in response. "Tramps should speak to Royal Officers with a bit of respect."
"Beggin' yer pardon, yer Royal Officiousness. What happened?"
"A misunderstanding, that's all." Clementine interrupted, taking out the letter. "I'd like to post this for the Pegasus Express please. The rate to Canterlot is twelve bits," she said, pointing to the chart.
"A misunderstanding?" The griffin's browfeathers rose. "Well, if you say so. But I heard Lady Rubymane was set to blast a hole a yard wide through Sourhops when she just vanished!" Barley Barrel blinked in surprise, then turned to Clementine.
"An exaggeration by over-excited field workers, I'm sure." She waved the letter at the Postmaster. "Please, I'd like to make the next carrier if I may."
"Canterlot you say? It's not one of those Dear Princess Celestia letters, is it?" Clementine cringed inside, but maintained her sangfroid. "The central office gets thousands of... oh! The baronial seal! Well then, of course miss! Let me get up on the roof and get the smudge pot going; the inbound carrier should still be coming up the coast before she makes her turn after Baltimare. And don't worry about the bits, I'll just send the bill to Mr. Glass."
She swallowed. "That isn't necessary. Mr. Glass... well, I'll just say I'm going to pay in bits now, if that's alright."
The griffin stopped his turn midway and slowly faced her. "So... some library intrigue is it? Baroness doesn't want the butler to know? She thinking about replacing him?"
"Oh goodness, nothing like that!" Her eyes widened in shock. "It's just a matter of... some discretion?" She shrugged, smiling.
"Well, that isn't the usual arrangement, but there's no regulation against it. Still, good luck to the Baroness with keeping secrets from her butler. Glass is a sharp one." The griffin took the proffered bits and dropped them into a slot behind the counter, clinking as they hit the bottom of some metal container. He then took a scrap of paper, wrote out a receipt to Lady Rubymane for twelve bits with a quill that looked a lot like one of his own pinfeathers, and gave it to Clementine.
"Thank you." She breathed a sigh of relief and placed the receipt in the pocket of her frock.
"Let me go up and get the pot going. You can watch the proceedings from outside if you like." The postmaster turned and went into the sorting room, closing the door behind him, while Clementine and Barley Barrel went outside, crossed the street and looked up at the platform.
She could see that a line of black smoke had started to issue from the top of the platform while Gravelgrit flew above it, fanning something with his wings. In a few moments, the smoke started to truly billow, a thick black roil rising and streaming north with the wind. There were two posts at either end of the western side of the platform and she saw the griffin place a heavy cloth bag on the one on northern end. Then Gravelgrit came swooping down to them. "May be a while, depends on... oh, she must have a tailwind, look to the south!"
They looked southward and realized that some of the clouds seemed to be moving. In fact, they were breaking up into streaks, and there seemed to be a long thin cloud streaming towards them. In a few moments, she could make out a small dot that seemed to be diving right at them, leaving behind a streak of white vapor. As the dot lost altitude it grew, becoming a streak of orange, blue and violet. She heard a loud sound like a breathy whistle, and then, in the last second, when the streak flashed past her eyes and flew across the level of the platform, she could make out a pegasus with an orange coat and a violet mane and tail, wearing goggles and a blue vest with what might have been a gold badge. The messenger appeared to be carrying two satchels similar to the one on the post at the end of the platform.
The speeding pegasus never even slowed down; she was suddenly rising with breathtaking speed off to the northwest, the black smoke from the smudgepot sucked into vortexes spiraling in her wake as the whistling sound deepened in pitch to more of a roar that diminished as the she climbed to the clouds. Clementine felt light headed and suddenly realized she had forgotten to breathe. She gasped as Gravelgrit chucked. "Quite a sight, isn't it miss?"
"Yes, it certainly is! I thought for sure she'd crash! But did she take the message?" She pointed her hoof at the platform where a bag hung on one of the posts.
"Sure did; that's the inbound post. The outbound post is empty, see?" The griffin waggled a wing at the north end of the tower. "Of course, that's only the inbound post in the morning. In the afternoon, the outbound carrier picks up from the north post and drops off on the south post, at least when there's a message."
"So there's mail?"
"Probably not. It's probably empty. Don't get much from Baltimare. Don't get much from Canterlot either, except for official notices and such. The occasional parcel. She'll be carrying two bags, one with the inbound mail and one with mail for local drop off. If there's no dropoff, it will be empty. She'll switch letters and parcels between the bags when she's gliding up there, so the next stop will get either get its allotted mail or an empty bag. I'll just go up and make sure."
With a few wingstrokes he flew up, then picked up the bag, looked into it and moved to the post on the north side, then he flew back down. "Nope, nothing. Well miss, I hope you were impressed by the efficient functioning of the Royal Mail's Pegasus Express. Will there be anything else?"
"That was most impressive, actually." It really was! "But you never do know when a real postal inspector might show up, and I wouldn't want you to lose your job, Postmaster Gravelgrit. Will you take care of the notice board and the emblem?"
The griffin looked thoughtful for a moment. "You're right. I haven't been inspected since the rains and flood washed away the old board and emblem... was it four years ago? So I'm really overdue. I'll have to send a request for replacements. It's not putting them up that's the bother, it's all the paperwork. But I better get to it. Thank you miss, I wish you a good day." He smiled and nodded, then turn to Barley Barrel and frowned. "You too, I suppose."
"Many bureaucratizin' enjoyfications to you and your paperywork there, Gravelguts!" The griffin harrumphed, then winked at Clementine before turning, stomping into the office and slamming the door shut.
She gave Barley Barrel a knowing look, to which he responded by crossing his eyes, making her giggle again. Nopony has ever made me laugh so! "You're just terrible!" she said, smiling.
"Indeed, young miss; a rogue, charlatan and palaverer of the first water. Now what are we going to do with that pastern of yours?"
"Well, I needed to see Callie Flour about something anyway, could you help me to her cottage?"
"That's assuming she's in. She may be out gathering her herbs, eye of newt, wart of toad and whatnot. Just stay here for a moment, I'll be right back." With that, he bounded off and fairly leapt into a bush. There was a moment of bustle and activity beneath the branches and leaves, and suddenly he leapt out, dressed in the most outlandish costume she could have ever imagined; every color that ever was and should never have been next to its neighbor rioted in a diamond pattern on a form fitting bodysuit, a bright scarlet cape on his shoulders. A hat in the shape of two curling black and white horns crowned his head and he had a domino mask over his eyes.
"Buon giorno, signorina!" He swept his cape and made a courtly leg at her. "Allow me to come to your rescue! As you can see by my cart, I am..." He swept his foreleg in a grand gesture, then turned, and seeing no cart, smiled at her as she stared in amazement and confusion. "Uno momento, por favor, bella signorina." He dove back into the bush and, after more moving and shaking, popped out, harnessed to a tall four-wheel cart that was painted in bright vertical stripes of every primary color and read "Giacolto di Naponi" in gilt letters along the side. It was especially strange because the cart was considerably larger than the bush from whence it had emerged. "I am Giacolto!"
She blinked silently, her brain valiantly trying to process what she had just seen. "This is the exact opposite of not attracting attention," she said numbly.
"Indeed! I am Giacolto, from the lovely and distant country of Naponi, on the tip of the Bitalian Poninsula!" He drew the cart, which sported a hundred bells that rang with every step, around to her side. "Please, to allow me, signorina!" There was a seat at the front of the cart, and he helped her step up to it. She sat, stunned and uncomprehending. "Now, to Signora Flour's!"
"How is this even possible? Is it magic? Is this an enchanted cart? Are you some kind of sorcerer?"
He stopped, then dropped the traces of the cart, and whirled around, his cape continuing after he stopped, to wrap around his face. Stunned though she was, Clementine burst out laughing as he comically untangled himself, then smiled and bowed. "Signorina, you have the privilege of seeing before you, the incomparable Giacolto, party pony to the courts of Bitaly, come now for the first time to Equestria!" He bowed deeply and applause seemed to come from nowhere, roses being thrown from some invisible audience just outside of the limits of her peripheral vision. He bent over to pick one up and rolled into a somersault, suddenly before her, placing a whole bouquet in her hooves. He tumbled back and yelped, turning to reveal a rose stuck to his hindquarters with a thorn. She howled with laughter as he chased his tail around in a whirl of insane colors, and when the dust settled, he was posing on the ground with the rose in his mouth, grinning saucily at her.
She was just barely able to find her voice. "Party pony? What's a party pony?"
Giacolto stood, eyes wide in astonishment, the rose falling to the ground. "What's a party pony? What's a party pony?!"
The world seemed to go dark for a second, but Clementine was beyond being startled by anything at the moment. A beam of light shone from somewhere above her, illuminating the ground as an invisible drum rolled. The light searched this way and that before coming to a stop on Giacolto, who was now dressed in a ridiculous purple and green sequined outfit, wearing clown makeup and sporting a bowler and cane. He beamed at her as polka music started up from nowhere and everywhere, and then burst into song, dancing in time:
♪A party pony is an entertainer!
A party pony is a kind of clown!
As long as you are paying his retainer,
Then he will never ever ever let you down!
A party pony sings a lot and dances,
At birthdays he is just the thing you need!
He's not so good at sword and axe and lances,
But if you want fun, then he's the right breed!♪
Clementine found herself lost in the moment, grinning from ear to ear, forgetting her confusion and just enjoying the insanity of it all. She started clapping her hooves together in time with the music.
♪Now if you want tragic, or drama you need, then I'm afraid he's not the colt for you,
But if you want comic, or silly's your speed, then I hope his silliness will do... one-two-three-four!
A party pony is good distraction,
To save the heroes from the villain's eye.
Walks past the guards and stumbles into action,
For he could never, ever be a spy - did I sing that out loud?
A party pony is a friend forever,
No matter to which party you belong,
Whether Tory or Labor, he'll still be your neighbor,
Even when he's breaking into song!
Even when he's breaking into song!
I hope this isn't going on too long!
Even when he's breaking into so-o-o-o-o-o-ng!♪
The music finished with a flourish and he bowed to his invisible audience that roared applause while she clapped and cheered. Then the stage, or field, or whatever it was went dark and in an instant, Giacolto was back in the traces and pulling the cart towards Callie Flour's cottage as through nothing unusual had happened.
"That was... amazing! Wonderful! Completely impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible," Giacolto scolded mildly over his shoulder. "Merely highly improbable."
"I have no idea what's happening right now!" She shook her head in utter befuddlement.
"That, my little one, is the beginning of wisdom. Or so I hope."
"What kind of party is a Labor party or a Tory party?"
"I have no idea, actually. Sometimes I just need to make a rhyme work. Ah, here we are." He stopped, unhitched himself, and went into Callie's cottage. There was a shriek and a smashing sound like a pot breaking. He popped his head out of the door and he grinned, a lump showing on his head, his eyes crossed and stars incongruously swirling in a cerebral orbit. "We're in luck, she's in!" A broom descended on his head and he ran out, pursued by a furious Callie.
"And stay out, ya thing!" She drew her broom back for another blow, then paused, looking up at Clementine. "Oh, 'ello there love! Don't tell me this madpony 'as ya under 'is spell!"
"Oh, he's bewitched me, I'm afraid, but stay your broom, good Callie. He's rendering aid, for I have sprained my hooflebone coming to see you." She extended the injured leg and Callie set aside the broom to look closely.
"Aye lass, you've sprained your pastern right and true. Best get some liniment on it and bandage it up tight, then you stay off it for a week, understand?" Callie gave her a look that brooked no arguments, then whirled on Giacolto, who somehow seemed to have recovered from the earlier assault. "And you, ye party pony, keep yer hooves off'n me pies, understand?"
"Pies? You have... I mean, I don't even like pie. Much. Where are they, though, so I can... avoid them?" He ducked another swing from the broom and leapt up to sit next to Clementine, sticking his tongue out at the grumpy mare, who grunted and went back inside.
"So... this is your first time in Equestria, hmm?" Clementine raised her eyebrows and gave him a lopsided smile.
He shrugged. "It makes for a better presentation that way."
"Is everything you say utter rubbish?"
"Oh no!" He looked serious for a moment, even in his getup. "Not the important parts. But the rest, well, that's show business."
"Hmm..." Clementine wasn't convinced but then Callie came out with some linen and a bottle of something that smelled awful but took much of the sting away from her leg when it was applied. Callie then wrapped the linen tight and while it hurt at first, the throbbing subsided and she almost felt like she could put weight on it.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Flour. May I pay you for these?"
Callie paused for a moment, then nodded. "Last time you was hit by a villain, but this time it's yer own fault, so yeah, a bit or two would be a fair price."
Clementine took out three bits. "Do you think I could buy one of your pies as well?"
Callie pursed her lip. "Will ya be feeding him with it?"
"Well, yes. He is doing me a great kindness. And I can hear his stomach rumbling from here; it's rather distracting."
Callie nodded, took the bits, left Clementine the bottle of liniment, and popped into the kitchen. Giacolto leaned in and whispered, "Not a bit to spare, eh?"
She raised her nose and turned from him, archly replying, "One never knows when one might need to buy pie." Giacolto stopped to consider this, then nodded.
Callie returned with a warm squash and onion pie. Clementine inhaled deeply. "Oh, this smells heavenly!"
"Me secret recipe. It'd break me 'eart if yon scoundrel gobbled it all up and you didn't get to eat any of it, so 'ere, 'ave a piece." She took a knife and cut the pie, giving a slice of it to Clementine on an baked clay plate.
"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't eat the whole thing, would he?" Callie gave her a look, then she turned to Giacolto, who looked around, avoiding her eyes while mumbling something about his metabolism.
She was a bit hungry after her morning adventures, so she dug in and found the pie to be delicious. She could feel the party pony's eyes on the savory dish, so she just giggled and gave him the rest. It was gone in thirty seconds, not even a crumb left in the pan that he handed back to her. "Thank you, that was absolutely splendid."
Clementine stared at him, slightly appalled, then gave pan and plate to Callie, who was grinning. "'E used 'is table marners that time! 'E must value your 'igh opinion of 'im." The maid swung her head back to young stallion, who shrugged and grinned sheepishly.
"Oh! I'm sorry Mrs. Flour, I almost forgot why I came! Do you know of any herbs that could help improve a pony's appetite?"
"You lookin' to fatten yerself up child? Enjoy yer skinniness whilst ye can!" She slapped her own well-padded flank with a laugh.
"No, it's for... Thistlewhistle. She thinks a certain stallion she likes prefers mares to have a bit more meat on them."
Callie cocked an eyebrow at Clementine as Giacolto surreptitiously paid close attention to the conversation. "Hmm. Very well, I 'ave a nice extract of dandelion root she can add to 'er food; it'd go well in a soup or broth. Did she give ya some coin fer it?"
"Yes, how much would it be?"
"Two more bits dearie, I'll go fetch it." She disappeared and after a few moments, sounds of rummaging could be heard, followed by an "Aha!" Callie emerged with a large clay jar and placed it next to Clementine on the seat, smiling and thanking her for the coin. "You 'ave a good day, young miss. And don't trust that party pony as far as I can throw 'im! Not that 'e means ta be a bad sort or nothin', but strange things just happen around 'is kind!"
Clementine waved to Callie, then turned to look at Giacolto, who sighed and lifted the reigns, saying "Giyup!" The cart lurched forward as he turned to look at Clementine. "She's right in a way. Strange things do happen around party ponies. We're not quite sure what causes it, but the Party Pony Effect defies rational analysis."
"Well, whatever the Party Pony Effect is, I think it's a lot of fun, more fun than I ever had before. Will you take me back to the manor now? I have to get back to work. Lady Rubymane needs me."
"On that hoof?" He rolled his eyes. "Didn't you hear what Callie said? That's a week's lying in bed being waited on right there."
"I'm afraid that won't be an option. I'll take it as easy as I can, but... well, it's a long story." The cart wheels creaked and she leaned over to put her head on his shoulder. "You've been so kind to me, and I have to say, I've never heard a song like that one before."
"Neither have I! I think I would perform better if I rehearsed, but the Party Pony Effect appears to be pretty situational. I never know quite what's going to happen. But it doesn't often express itself so, ah, expressively."
He patted her head and she smiled and closed her eyes as the wagon swayed gently. Then she opened them in surprise. "Giacolto? Aren't you supposed to be pulling the cart?"
Callie Flour stopped, and so did the cart. She looked around, gave a look to Giacolto that would have burned the mane off any lesser pony, then dropped the traces. "This! This be the nonsense I'm talkin' about! Celestia protect us all from party ponies!" She stormed off, muttering about madness and purloined pies.
"Like I said, I never know quite what's going to happen." He jumped down, stood in the traces and started pulling his polychrome cart up the road to the manor house. It was a slower trip than her gallop down, and took more than half an hour. The sun was high in the sky, and Clementine felt her skin moistening in the heat. Giacolto seemed unaffected, even pulling her and the cart. Perhaps to a Bitalian pony, this weather would be considered cool.
The manor became visible and they approached the earth pony gate guard at the wall of the gardens. He looked at Giacolto askance, then at Clementine. "It's alright, Guardcolt Bold Shield. He's helping me."
She raised her hoof and his face changed from skepticism to concern. "Are you alright, hon? Is it serious?"
"Just a sprain, Boldy. This is Giacolto, party pony to the courts of Bitalia!" He bowed with a flourish.
"Will her Ladyship permit revels?" There was a tone of hope in his voice.
She shook her head. "I doubt it. He's just helping me return from the village. I hurt myself galloping on the road and he was kind enough to let me ride in his cart."
Bold Shield nodded his thanks to Giacolto and waved them through. They entered the gardens and wound through walls of climbing roses and trellises dripping with wisteria and jasmine. The smell was very relaxing, and she with the gentle rocking of the wagon and a full belly, she almost drifted off. Then the windows of the library were visible.
"Giacolto, could you go around to the back entrance? I shouldn't be going in through the front door."
He turned to look at her as he walked. "Understood. I was not always this handsome, refined specimen you see before you. I started out as third apprentice clown in a fourth rate traveling circus. I'll have to tell you about when I got my big break, I was-"
He was interrupted by bright flash of light. Standing before him was a tall figure Clementine couldn't quite make out in the afterimage of the teleport. Lady Rubymane! Giacolto made a deep bow to the figure, and Clementine stayed very still, trying not to be seen.
The figure spoke. "Court Jester! Is this your idea of low key?!"
Her vision cleared and she saw a tall, elegant figure with a long neck, snow white coat, wearing a gold pectoral, crown and shoes, all with sapphire stones, her horn long and exquisitely spiraled, mane and tail blowing in a non-existent breeze, translucent and glowing in the colors of the northern lights. Princess Celestia!