//------------------------------// // 3.Work Equals Force Times Distance Over Library Time // Story: The Substitute Librarian // by Georg //------------------------------// The Substitute Librarian Work Equals Force Times Distance Over Library Time “Shh!!” There really needed to be some sort of unicorn device to automatically make that noise when somepony stepped inside the library. Emerald made up his mind to bring the product suggestion up to his father the next time they talked, most likely in a few weeks when his parents’ cyclical attempts at matrimony induction for their most helpless child would crest again. “Sorry,” whispered back the library patron, a young earth pony mare with flattened ears, a look of perpetual terror, and a blooming red rose on her shapely flanks. “Is the amnesty still in effect? I just have a few books overdue. And two magazines. They’ve got an article clipped out of them. The magazines, not the books. Are there additional damage charges?” “One bit each for older periodicals,” said Emerald while striding over to the library desk, which was already heaped with returned books. “Let me get these marked off the ledger. Once you give the library the bits, that is,” he added since bitter recent experience had led him to the discovery that marking out a book fine without the bits in hoof led to a whole list of excuses and the departure of the patron ‘just for a moment to get my coin pouch’ and their complete absence afterward. Experience also made him count the bits, together with the tenth-bit pieces, buttons, pebbles, and other loose change until the required fines had been met, before he inked a thick line through each of the ledger entries. “Would you like to keep the overdue tags as a souvenir? I can mark how much you saved on them.” Rose declined, of course, like every pony before her, and checked out several more books before asking in a timorous voice, “Do you know when my book requests will be in?” He should have just said “No” and seen her out the door because Emerald had so much schoolwork still to do. The question triggered his own curiosity, and a few minutes leafing through the files showed there was a collection of book requests pending, some of which had been in the files for well over a year. Next to the yellowing pages was a ledger of recent library acquisitions, a long list made up of mostly expensive spell books and esoteric unicorn theory, which he stuffed back into the files before Rose could get a look at them and complain about the unfairness of it all. “They’re on order,” he said instead. “I’ll contact a book dealer I know in Canterlot and put your request at the top of the list.” The young mare squealed with delight, babbling something about the series being terribly underrepresented on the library shelves as she was gently nudged out the door. It left Emerald just enough time to sit down at his books before the next pony walked into the library and inquired, “Is the overdue fine amnesty still in effect?” By the time he gave up and just moved his study materials to the librarian’s hefty oak desk, there was a line of ponies with books in various states of undress — the books, of course, not the ponies — from prim and proper hardbacks with untouched pages due to their careers as borrowed end table decorations, to tattered paperbacks so ragged that he could barely read the library label on the spine. One patron even brought in the front cover of an ancient magazine, only the cover, that is. The stack of battered books grew as the morning drew on. The initial burst of overdue material slowed once the word got around that four bits was a maxim for late fees, but not when dealing with damaged material. Several of the returned books were beyond repair, although the patrons cheered up when Emerald would consult the card in the files to see if it had been a popular title, and therefore would have been damaged incrementally by each patron in turn instead of having to soak the last poor sucker for the full replacement cost. And not the new price as the Twilight-written procedures stipulated. One of the advantages of his busy life before college was that Emerald had been responsible for his father’s library, and thus for the ordering of replacement volumes from more practical sources than the overpriced Canterlot bookstores. It had been a constant pleasure to see just how little of his father’s money he could weasel down the purchase of his desired tomes between estate sales, book donations to thrift stores, and less than retail discounts from some of the family’s griffon business contacts. Canterlot unicorns took a lot of pride in how much they spent on a book or collection, while griffons most certainly did not. Oh, prominent Protocrestians had books, of course. The saying was that they had at least two of them just so they could use the plural. It was a misplaced saying at best, because one of the sharpest book traders Emerald knew was a griffon, after all. With that in mind, he separated the returned books into several piles: Reshelve, Reblock, Resell, Reject. The last category was the saddest. A paperback trailing loose pages would find new life after being pulped, perhaps returning to the library as something new and expensive. Or a newspaper, filled with Murdoch’s wild musings, more likely. Things had tapered off just enough in the afternoon for him to get some serious studying done when he heard the clopping of very small hooves approaching the desk right in the middle of a complicated bit of his lesson. “Fines maximum of four bits each, cash only, thank you,” he muttered, running the hoof scriber under a line in his book and leaving a graphite trace behind. The phrasing of the statement he noted in the textbook was just enough different from the fraternity's previous test archives that he was going to need to research if there had been a change in the book’s text, or if the professor had been expecting the wrong answer for the last few decades. While working his way down the next convoluted paragraph, his nose involuntarily twitched, then Emerald had to wipe a bit of saliva off the corner of his lips as the familiar scent of baked goods struck home in his cerebellum. “Cupcakes? Dawn!” Emerald gave a friendly smile to the small-ish burro, who had a box with Sugarcube Corner’s logo all over it sitting on his back, with a large paper bag holding it down. “You brought me lunch! How thoughtful.” “Lunch was a few hours ago, M’lord,” said the burro in short, clipped words. “I came into town to buy our librarian a treat for his hard work. Are you going by Emerald today, sir?” he added. “Using an alias for privacy is permitted under the terms of the volunteer agreement. So, are you spying on me for my father?” asked the substitute librarian with a huff of exasperation. “How about if I write up the report for dad? I’ll do it for free. ‘Your son spent the entire duration of the trip inside the library without a single mare in sight and nearly starved to death while studying.’ Short, simple, and accurate, I’m afraid,” he said over the sound of his stomach growling. “Excuse me,” called out a pony from the library door, scurrying across the floor with several books perched on her head. “Are you in line?” “So sorry,” said Dawn in his usual southern accent, taking a step to one side. “I was just getting some directions from Meester Emerald here. Go ahead.” The burro remained quiet while the pony dumped five books on the table, tried to argue that twenty bits was far too much for a fine, and grudgingly paid it when Emerald threatened to raise it due to the tattered scuffs and numerous toothmarks on the book covers. Once the cheapskate was back outside, Dawn turned back to Emerald and shook his head slowly. “What?” Emerald sorted the books into piles with their similar brethren and frowned. “You don’t criticize my extortion technique for getting late fees and I don’t tell your apple-picking buddies that you have a degree from Hayvard. Deal?” “Tch-tch.” The burro shook his head and spoke with a clear, upper-class accent again. “Blackmail. What would you father say, M’lord?” “He’d critique my technique. Now, come on. Thanks for the food and get out. You’ve got apples to pick and I’m going to be up until midnight working on my lecture notes. Midterms are coming.” Giving a brief shudder as if Dawn was recalling his own time in the institutional shackles of higher education, the burro put his packages down on the desk. “As your mother specified in my last-minute instructions this morning, we have one dozen mixed donuts with sprinkles, a half-dozen cupcakes ranging from carrot to pumpkin spice, and a fresh pie. Apple, of course, from the farm. And in the bag, I’ve added a large collection of healthy carrots, apples, pears, peaches, and a bag of granola. They were on sale, but I left out the turnips, sir,” Dawn added. “I got indigestion just looking at them.” “This assignment better not last a week or I’ll turn into a fatty immobile lump in the bottom of this tree.” Emerald picked up the paper sack of fruits and vegetables, carried it off to the kitchenette, and stuffed it into the mostly empty icebox. Then after a moment’s thought, mostly driven by his nose catching scent of the tempting pie, he got a clean plate and a fork out of the drain rack in the sink. “Gotta get at least one piece of this,” he muttered, easing a slice of apple pie out before pushing the rest back at Dawn. “Go ahead and take the donuts and the rest for your crew. I gotta get back to work or I’ll flunk Educational Thaumaturgy 207 along with the rest of my study group. Oh!” After a quick dive behind the desk, Emerald resurfaced with the antique datestamp and pushed it over to Dawn. “Do you know any place in town where I can drop this broken hunk of junk off real quick to get it fixed?” Naturally, the first mechanical shop Emerald was directed to, only fixed and built wagons. Since the smallest wrench they had was larger than the bent datestamp he wanted to get fixed, and he was on a tight schedule, he kept going to the next store. And what a store it was. The Enchantment Grotto was a sparkling wonderland of unicorn magic applied to frivolous needs and entertainment purposes which would have driven Emerald’s father into a rave of at least an hour, detailing every single way in which each thaum of magic could have been put to far better practical use. Naturally, Emerald loved the place. Glittering displays designed to sit on a shelf and be admired, beautiful starfields which could be applied to ceilings and synchronize themselves to the night outside, tiny little groves of gemstone plants that tinkled and sparkled in imaginary breezes. Even illusionary fish that would swim through the air, flicking their colorful fins and gliding up to unwary watchers. It was all so wonderful that Emerald could ignore for the moment how the whole expensive collection was designed to keep the purchaser from just going outside and enjoying what the real world had, and at a much lower price. The one thing Mrs. Wonderment did not have was any way to fix any of her items. To be honest, Emerald was not surprised. Most places that repaired unicorn workings were half-full of broken items, covered in char marks, and frequently in a state of reconstruction, something that made sales rather difficult. He still wanted to just stay and admire the way the elderly matriarch of the establishment had decorated her small store, but he moved along on his task instead of playing hooky from his job because of a certain look in the eyes of Mrs. Wonderment. It was as if she was trying to remember having seen a little earth pony colt with the same cutie mark tagging along behind his unicorn father on a sales call a decade ago, and rather than explain his present adult penchant for fedoras and anonymity, he scrammed in the direction she indicated. Which finally left him at Ratchette’s Fix-It Shop. The name had a nice ring to it, far more promising than the other two, along with a list of services on the sign, and a blessed ‘Open’ sign in the front window. The cardboard box of library date stamps shifted on his back as Emerald nudged the door open to the tune of a musical bell above the door, which happily chimed out a childish tune about a grandfather clock and several foolish mice. “Hello?” he called out into the crowded shop area, or perhaps a used parts sorting room. When he had been younger, Emerald would have gladly spent days pawing through this kind of half-disassembled junk in search of some odd gadget or sparkling souvenir to show around class. His propensity for unrestrained curiosity around the company (and their junk pile) had constantly driven his father to distraction, and Emerald could almost recite the resulting familiar lecture about responsibility and caution by heart. A noise came out of the back of the shop, sounding enough ‘just-a-minute-y’ to give Emerald a secret smile inside, and most of all, a few unsupervised minutes in the cluttered shop. After putting down the box of broken library card stamps and looking carefully at some of the parts scattered around, he began to peek and prod at the fascinating things, and one larger thing in particular. Most of the regular junk in the room had been shoved together to make space for the rear axle of a wagon, which had some heavy assemblies bolted near the wheels. His father had never pushed his company into heavier devices like industrial shock absorbers due to problems with energy dissipation (and explosions), but the company who made these used a compressed double-serpentine of silvery metal that seemed to serve the same function. He poked at the edges of it, feeling the faint bite of passive spells under his silver shoes. “So cool,” he breathed, then looked up to make sure he was still unobserved. Running one hoof down the edge of the thick metal case, Emerald cocked his head sideways and squinted at the interior workings of the hefty shock absorber, which had a few blackened spots and still retained the bitter smell of failed spellcraft. “Wish Dad could see this. Looks like they folded the enchantments back in S-curves instead of stretching them out flat like most shocks. It makes for a more compact design, but all that flexing must have broken something in there. I wonder how they kept the parts from touch—” There was a spark as his inquisitive hoof reached just a bit too far into the device. Magic flowed across his silver shoe, a Magus Deluxe that only the finest farriers in Canterlot stocked. The shoe was quite conductive to magical energies in order to ground more powerful unicorn spells. Very conductive. And when Emerald blinked away the sparks, he found himself embedded most of the way into the opposite wall, with an attractive young pegasus mare fidgeting over his twitching body. “M-m-ma’am,” he managed before taking a deep breath and shaking his smoking foreleg. “S-sorry about that. Must have been a r-r-residual charge. G-give me a minute.” “Oh, thank goodness.” A little prying got Emerald out of the wall, with some extra effort for his poor mistreated tail which had gotten stuck between two boards. It gave him some additional time to study the young mare while waiting for the unicorn who ran the repair shop, who was probably some ancient crust… No, device repairponies tended to the younger generation, who were spry enough to dive behind cover, or could bounce back from the normal aftereffects of failing devices exploding and throwing them through walls. Maybe her brother ran the shop? “Pardon me,” he managed once three hooves could be trusted to remain under him. The other hoof, still tingling a little from his ill-considered widget exploration, cautiously touched the brim of his hat. The simple fedora had thankfully managed to stay stuck to his head during his unscheduled flight across the room, which he hoped would prevent unwelcome questions while dealing with the young mare. Not that he would mind staying around the cluttered shop for a few hours with the delightful things to examine and a friendly mare who needed more attention, but he had a job to do. A paying job at that. Managing a polite smile for the young mare, Emerald added a short bob of his head instead of the deep bow that he wanted. “We have not been properly introduced, Ma’am. My name is Emerald City, and I’m Ponyville’s substitute librarian for the next few days.” The steel-grey pegasus showed a moment of concern in those dangerous pale eyes, which she quickly covered up by extending one hoof and putting on a false smile. “Pleased to meet you. I hope Twilight will be back safe and sound shortly. Oh, and I’m Ratchette. The proprietor,” she added with slightly more emphasis. “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” said Emerald, touching the brim of his hat with one hoof again, just in case his tingling hoof had missed it the first time. He may have been still a little stunned, but manners had been pressed into his thick head since the days of his first tutor, and besides that, the young pegasus was one attractive filly, even if she was a little on the smaller side and with a peculiar cutie mark. Trying not to stare at the equiportent diagram on her shapely flanks, he continued, “I’ve got some cash work for you. A few library stamps need to be un-stuck from their pads, and I think the datestamp got bent a few years ago because I can’t get it to work at all. Oh, and the index card sorter back at the library thinks it should shuffle randomly, if you want to tackle that later.” “That’s… fine.” Ratchette divided her attention between him and the defective shock absorber, which still had a thin trail of smoke coming out of the open panel. “I didn’t break anything, did I?” Emerald edged toward the door, trying not to limp as he got feeling back into his hoof. “I mean the inspection panel was wide open and I thought it was discharged.” “No, no. It’s fine.” The young pegasus was still wearing the most peculiar expression, much like somepony who had bitten into what they thought was a daisy sandwich, only to find an avocado pit. She glanced down at the shock absorber one last time before poking her nose into the box that Emerald had thrown the broken library stamps into. “I can get you an estimate on these, if you like, Mister City.” “Just call me Emerald, please,” he responded with a smile at the doorway. “And they’re just stamps. They’re mechanical, so they can’t be too expensive to repair, and if they’re broken too badly to fix, just tell me and I’ll pay you for your time out of the library funds. We had quite a few overdue books get turned back in, so we’re running a surplus in the ledger, but I didn’t want to just order all new stamps when we might be able to get them fixed for less. Anyway, if you have any questions, I’ll be over at the library, Miss Ratchette. Good day.” There was a line of ponies at the library door by the time he got back, which he expected, and a number of books sticking out of the drop-off box, which was more than he expected. Emerald bumped the door open and picked up the little wooden wedge he had used to keep it from locking behind him, then turned to do his job, which took over an hour to get the backlog caught up. He was still fairly certain that the loose change he had scraped out from the bottom of the drop-off box did not match anywhere close against the associated overdue books. He dumped the bits into the cashbox anyway because it did not matter how many books a library theoretically possessed somewhere within a few hundred trots of the shelves, as long as there were books on the shelves, and getting them back allowed them to go out again. He had just gotten settled down at the massive librarian desk with his school lecture notes when there was a thump… ...above him. Followed by a whump, then a thud, and rather peculiar rain. It took a moment to realize the rain was just letters drifting down from above, and another period of observation to notice a dazed pegasus sitting in the middle of the library main room. Also thankfully, the mailmare did not appear seriously injured, except for the way her eyes pointed in different directions. Derpy, however, was in the section of the orientation packet Emerald had read several times. She was classified as an environmental hazard, and pegasi were advised to give her plenty of airspace, while ground-bound ponies should not take insult at an impact as if it were aimed at them. Quite the opposite, in theory, because ponies who yelled at her and lost their temper were more likely to get hit, as if her crashes only hit the things she was trying the hardest to avoid. Abandoning his homework for the moment, Emerald scurried over to the downed flier and helped pull her up, apologizing all the while. “I’m sorry, Miss Derpy. I didn’t realize the mail was ready just yet or I would have opened the… skylight?” He paused for a moment to look up at one of the big windows that had just swung closed on spring-loaded hinges behind the unexpected aerial visitor, then returned his attention to the young mare, who did not look like she could even attend college yet, let alone be given a uniform and a job delivering mail. “Didn’t know we had one of those. Anyway, I was wanting to talk with somepony in town to see if they could run an errand for me in Canterlot. Do you handle Ponyville’s delivery there?” “Wha?” Blinking furiously, the young mare managed to get both eyes to focus on him for a moment. “No, that would get me home late.” “Very well.” Emerald bent down to help gather up the loose letters and unconsciously sorted them, much the same as he had been hoof-sorting library cards for the last hour. “If you can pass word to the mailpony in charge, I’ve got a few letters that need special delivery and a package that needs to be taken to m— Taken to Baron Chrysanthemum’s estate in Canterlot, and another package brought back. It would be a daily run, or every afternoon as long as I’m here. With tip,” he added. Once all of the mail had been sorted into Ours and Somepony Else’s, Emerald saw the mailpony off by the front door and checked the envelopes left behind. There were bills, of course, which reminded him to look for the library cheque book, and some postcards to be placed on the public bulletin board. He didn’t have time to read them all, of course, so he filed the bills, stuck pins in all the postcards, and settled back down with his delayed homework. Which seemed to make the front door of the library creak open again. Of course. “How much of a tip, sir?” The mailmare was looking… well, technically she was looking at two different things, but one of them was Emerald, so he surmised the question was directed at him. “Twenty bits? I admit that’s not much, and the package isn’t ready yet—” “I’ll be back right after my rounds are over and I’ve got the mail for Canterlot loaded.” Then the mailmare was gone, presumably to resume her path of destruction and window-crashing until she ran out of envelopes. Focus was the most critical tool of a student, but only one. Tools make more tools. Add lecture notes, archived old tests, outlines from previous students, and tidbits gleaned from books. Stir well, summarize, and organize, leaving a set of notes that his fellow fraternity stallions would be able to work their way down over the next week until midterms started. Tools make tools make tools. His work would pass through years of fraternity brothers, legions of wealthy upper-crust unicorns who would start their post-college years just the slightest bit smarter and ready to face the world, while owing some small part of their success to him. It was an investment, of sorts. One advantage Emerald had over his fellow frat brothers was that putting together their cram sheets left him with all of the relevant information hammered into his mind with sledgehammer-like efficiency. A second advantage he held over them was simple experience, since flunking out of the classes that his parents had forced him to take and re-take left him older, more experienced in the arcane ways of the university, and able to focus in even the most chaotic environment. And a third advantage was a tool that he could not think of as such, a pony quite close that he dared not flaunt around his hormone-filled frat buddies. Dear sis, Here’s the shorthoof study sheets for two of the major courses with early exams. Try to make the transcription as readable as possible and run off fourteen copies for the study group at the frat house. I’ve got four more I have to get done this evening, but I need the class review notes that Bunkie and Fips were supposed to take today while I was gone so I can put together the rest tomorrow. Bunkie should be over to the house this evening, so make sure to get the notes from him, staple the study sheet transcripts to his ear if you have to make sure he takes them back with him, and slap him if when he gets fresh. The new job in Ponyville is a hoot. I mean literally, because there’s an owl living upstairs. If you can, drop by after midterms and ask for Emerald. I’ll be here unless I’m out running errands. Or got sent back to Canterlot. Lots to do, little time. Say hi to Snowball for me and make sure she’s not freaking out over her exams. Your little brother, GG Emerald sat the letter to one side, dunked his quill, and started on a second letter to the griffon book dealer. He had intended on writing it earlier, but the traffic into the library was endless, made only worse by his own stupid idea about encouraging the return of late books. At least this letter was shorter, allowing him enough time to get them both into envelopes and stamped with the last two stamps in the desk drawer. ☑ - Finish off any critical library tasks that need done today. ☑ - Get first two cram sheets done for KFP ☐ - Shopping for wake-up juice, note paper, quills, stamps, toilet paper(!), chewing gum ☐ - Work through review class notes from Bunkie ☐ - Mark out his mare drawings and pornographic comments in margins ☐ - All nighter ☐ - Run away to Mexicolt and become a pool colt It was just about closing time, or close enough that Emerald really did not care to keep the library open any more. After all, there was a mountain of books on the librarian desk for reshelving. He had resorted to putting all the recent returns (that were not leaking pages) into the reshelving cart and sticking a ‘Popular Releases’ sign on top of it. Since work was taken care of (or could be ignored for a day or two) and all of his notes so far had been packaged for the delivery to Canterlot, Emerald had just enough time to— The skylight slammed open and Derpy plummeted through again, landing on top of the couch cushions that Emerald had dragged to her last impact area. A few flecks of stuffing indicated at least one of them would need repaired, but that would late until waiter. Err… Obviously, not enough wake-up juice after a long day. “Here’s my package for Canterlot,” said Emerald, helping the young mare to her hooves and passing over the bound portfolio. “Cash in advance, I presume? Oh, and if you go in the house by way of the back entrance, Cook will send along a couple of muffins.” After sketching out a quick map of the estate for reference, Emerald saw the mailmare off by way of the library’s front door. Then he flipped over the ‘closed’ sign, slipped the wedge back under the same door so it would not close all the way, and set off into the town at a gallop to see to his extensive shopping list. At least this evening, it would be quiet enough to catch up on the rest of his homework. Small towns not only rolled the streets up at night, but tucked them into locked storage so they would not be stolen. Only running as fast as he could allowed Emerald to make it to his self-assigned tasks before the stores closed, although it meant coming back through the library front door, pulling one of the wire carts from the Bargain Barn stuffed so full that it dragged along both sides of the doorway. After all, the parsimonious cheapskate who ran the library seemed to believe in only buying paper when the last sheet was used, and probably plucked passing pigeons for the poor-quality quills in the library public writing jar, so stocking up was a reasonable precaution. He did not have any dramatic plans after his return, just putting all of his purchases away, shoving the borrowed cart behind some shelves, and returning to studying. That would have worked except for the small unicorn sitting at the library desk already, with her nose down in his lecture notes. “Hey! Library’s closed. Sun will be setting in about an hour.” Emerald pushed the cart with his purchases over to the appropriate section of the heavy oak desk and began to refill the drawers while grumbling, “I’m not running a library, not a day care. I mean I am running a library.” “Miss Twilight always lets me stay late if I don’t disturb her,” said Dinky. “I was just looking at your scribbles. Don’t you know how to write?” “Excuse me.” Emerald put a ream of lined notepaper into the top drawer of the desk and stuffed the public quill jar full again with good quills. “I know perfectly well how to write. That’s shorthoof. It’s what they use in court when there’s no unicorn spells to transcribe the proceedings, because it’s faster than writing. A lot faster, once you get good at it. Now scoot, so I can get back to work.” It took too long in the kitchenette to get all the brand name wake-up juice concentrate put away, the replacement paper trash bags stuck in the holder, and the dish soap refilled, so Emerald was simmering slightly when he pushed the empty cart back into the library main room. It helped that Dinky had run the toilet paper over to the bathroom, which gave him a chance to go back into the kitchen, mix up a pitcher of fresh wake-up juice, and pour himself a hefty glass of it. Still behind schedule for the evening, Emerald had just gotten seated and started working his way down the remaining lecture notes when Dinky spoke up again. “So why don’t you use a spell to write?” “Can’t.” Emerald nudged the graphite feed on his hoof scriber and stopped scribbling. “Have you ever heard of Rhynorn’s Flu?” The little unicorn shook her head. “Nasty disease for unicorns, and yet it is one of the least bothersome at the same time. It makes unicorn magic… well, there’s a whole page of technical terms for it, but think of it as putting a sparkly crystal in a bright sunbeam. The magic of even the simplest spell gets scattered and goes everywhere except where it needs to be. Thankfully, that’s about the extent of the problem, except for a runny nose and sneezes for about a week. All three pony tribes can catch it, just like the regular flu, so the treatment is just bedrest and not using unicorn magic for a week or so until it goes away. Earth ponies and pegasi have no problem with that, but unicorns can get… crabby. My mother caught it once and broke nearly half a tea set before it ran its course, and that was just a mild case that made her spark for a day or two. Some unicorns get a lot sicker. They recover, of course, it just takes longer and they can’t use their magic during that time or it gets worse.” “So you got your cutie mark in Rain-horn’s flu?” Dinky pointed to the stubby unicorn horn cutie mark on his rear, which was surrounded by several erratic sparks. “I got my cutie mark in education,” corrected Emerald. “To be specific, teaching young unicorns their very first magic, and how to keep them from just making sparks. After that, I’m really at a loss for spells, to be honest.” He had hoped the confession would allow him to return to his studies. Most unicorns lost interest rapidly when he admitted his magical talents were limited to the equivalent of knowing all forty-seven verses of the Camelopard Song. Of course, nearly every single unicorn that Emerald had spoken to in the last several years already had their cutie mark. Dinkie, to his sudden realization, did not. “Teach me!” she blurted out. “Mama doesn’t know how and none of the adult unicorns in town will pay attention except Twilight and she just uses all these big words until my head spins and I still can’t light up my horn and do any magic so will you teach me please please please?” Emerald looked at those plaintive eyes. Then his stack of undone homework. Then with a sinking sensation, he looked around the inside of the library, which was devoid of any other ponies. Teaching was a fragile occupation. Teaching foals was so fragile it could break forever with one sideways glance. All it would take was one female student like this one saying one word and all of his years in college to follow his talent would go to… “Let’s go outside,” said Emerald. “Out in the town square.” Sun was nearing the horizon, which meant there were still ponies scurrying around the town, trying to get delayed tasks completed before Moonrise. There were not as many ponies as the crowded Canterlot streets, of course. Sometimes Emerald though the entire mountain was one day behind and racing to catch up, although he could not imagine how far behind Princess Luna must feel. “Magic is like this fountain,” said Emerald, poking at the still water with a stick. “Magic has goldfish in it?” Dinky poked at the water with a stick also, frightening one of the pool’s denizens of the not-so-deep into making a brief splash. “Well, all of the Unicorn Magic Youth Education Specialist literature today says we’re supposed to introduce young students to the wonderful world of magical exploration with an orchestra analogy, with all of the thaumic emanations and interactions like musical notes fitting into a symphony.” Emerald hit the water with his stick again and watched the ripples. “I like the books I found in my father’s old collection from his school years that talk about magic as ripples. Then about twenty years before that, magic was supposed to be taught as colors, and before that, I have no idea. Flavors, maybe. Teaching magic over at an ice cream store has some advantages, I suppose.” “That sounds really good.” The voice was enthusiastic, but most certainly not Dinky. Emerald looked up from splashing his stick in the fountain water. “Snips? What are you doing here?” “Saw you with Dinky.” Snips shrugged his rounded shoulders and peered over the fountain’s edge. “Are you playing with the goldfish?” “Mister Emerald is teaching me magic,” said Dinky, splashing the water with her stick some more. “But you need a stick.” One thunder of small hooves later, Snips returned with a stick of his own. And another unicorn student, who had a marshmallow on the end of her stick as if there was a fire around somewhere. Or there would be soon. Emerald looked over the bright, eager students and counted points on heads. “So Snips, Dinky, and Firelock. Who are we missing? Sweetie Belle and Snails?” “The susptitute stork-keepers over at the dress shop make her go to bed early,” said Snips with his nose wrinkled up at the thought of the horrible indignity. “And his father won’t let Snails out of the house on nights where I’m out.” “So why doesn’t he tell his father that you’re out on the nights when you’re home, and you’re home on the nights you’re out?” asked Emerald. “But I didn’t tell you that,” he added quickly. “Firelock, you probably shouldn’t stick that marshmallow in the water if you’re going to… Oh, never mind. Maybe the goldfish will like it. Anyway. Does everypony have their stick?” Four sticks were proudly held up, one of which was a little sticky from the missing marshmallow. Emerald had never really taught a structured class before. His experience was mostly limited to working with his little sister back when she was trying to get accepted into Celestia’s school. Although that was always with some of her friends, because fillies tended to learn in clumps much the same way that grown-up fillies tended to visit the bathroom together, because female, duh. And of course whenever his parents took him to some elaborate party or occasions, Emerald found it to be much more interesting to wander down to the foalsitting room and ‘help out’ with the children. That was where he had learned some of his most critical lessons on how to talk to older ponies, because many of the wrinkled old prunes running the room had their own ideas about what would be a ‘fun’ activities for their temporary charges. This evening made for a far more interesting evening spent under the setting Sun with the four of them waving sticks in the fountain and watching the way the ripples interacted, sometimes to the point of making splashes when the resonant frequencies matched. Those splashes were analogous to the sparks that a young unicorn would make when all of their magic fought against itself instead of blending into a harmonious whole, and incidentally similar to the issues that an adult unicorn would have when suffering from Rhynorn's flu, which of course he mentioned again. Sunset let him transition the wet fountain analogy into what it would be like to raise and lower Sun and Moon much the same way unicorns did centuries ago, before the modern labor-saving device of a Princess was invented. While typical levitation was a single-track spell where a unicorn would just reach out with their magic and lift, manipulating a stellar object supposedly involved two energy flows. According to accepted theory, it was a far more complicated routine than any ordinary unicorn could master without the risk of burnout, or somewhat more grisley and permanent consequences that history books tended to leave out (but which his students seemed fascinated by). Once Sun had been placed firmly behind the horizon and Moon was lifted, Emerald shifted the lesson to the wind. He continued while all three students lined up facing the evening breeze with eyes closed and ears up, listening⁽*⁾ to their teacher. (*) Emerald did not realize how rare this kind of attention was, since he always focused intently on his own teachers, and he had not gotten out into the real world of secondary education on the other side of the desk yet. “Don’t try to feel anything having to do with magic,” said Emerald. “Just keep your eyes closed and feel the way the wind is flowing over your coats, brushing up against every hair. Lower your head so your horn points directly into the wind and imagine that same sensation flowing down it, across your face, along your body, and out your tail. Snips, stop waving your tail around.” “It’s flapping,” said the chubby unicorn. “Since it’s a really strong breeze.” The breeze picked up with the passage of a pegasus overhead, who followed her high-speed pass with a high-speed crash into the top of the library. “And that’s the end of the lesson for this evening,” said Emerald, who had followed the trajectory of the laden postal pegasus with a sense of foreboding and a vague fear of having to fill out some sort of paperwork for the resulting injuries. “For homework, practice doing this into every breeze you can find while trying to imagine the same feeling running in the other direction.” “You mean like farting?” asked Snips, which set the other two unicorns giggling. “No, it’s—” Emerald paused in his turn toward the library and the college notes that were going to take up most of his evening. “Actually, if framing your magic that way lets you light up your corona, toot away. It’s taking something from inside you and moving it to the outsides, after all. Let me know how it works tomorrow. Now head home before you get into trouble, or miss dinner.” The last word got the results he wanted. Little unicorns dashed in all directions, although Dinky headed at full speed toward the library, calling out, “Mommy, I’m glad you’re back!” It did explain a lot, particularly Dinky’s lack of parental assistance in learning how to use her unicorn magic, as well as the reckless abandon which she was taking to the educational process. By the time he made it to the library, Dinky and Derpy had put most of the furniture back and made a neat stack of the sheaves of paper that his fellow frat brothers had sent him. “Thank you, Missus Doo,” he said after checking his folders. “And I see Cook sent… crumbs,” he added, looking into the paper bag. “That’s fine, no problem. I’ve got fruit in the icebox. I’ve got quite a bit of work to do tonight, so if you’ll step this way, thank you, and goodnight.” Emerald splurged on his schedule for a brief wave and a smile to mother and daughter as they trotted off into the lamplit darkness. He waited for a time, just looking out into the darkening night, until he was certain that Dinky and her mother were out of sight, then cleared his throat and asked, “Can I help you, officer?” There was a rustle in the bushes, and a dappled grey unicorn mare emerged out into the library’s porch lighting. “How did you know I was there?” she asked. “Because a complete stranger was playing with three of the town’s unicorn foals at the fountain while Sun is setting. If there isn’t a police officer watching the suspect, something is wrong. I’m Emerald City,” he added. “Education student at Canterlot.” “Miranda Rights,” said the unicorn, looking a little like she had just bitten into an unripe lemon. “Chief of Police.” Emerald stood there silently and observed. “Interesting teaching technique,” said Miranda. Emerald nodded. “So, are you going to invite me in?” Emerald shook his head. “I have a lot of homework to do this evening.” “I know what you mean,” said Miranda with a slow shake of her head. “Every time the Crown sends a group of substitutes for our local heroes, I get a report.” She paused. “M’lord.” Letting out his breath in one long huff, Emerald put a hoof against his forehead. “What do you want?” “I have no idea what you mean.” Miranda Rights paused again. “Sir.” “I’m not offering a bribe,” said Emerald rather quickly. “I’m just here to do a job and get paid for it, but everypony wants something. I want to be left alone. You want the ponies of the town to be safe. Twilight Sparkle wants—” Emerald looked over his shoulder at the neat shelves full of books, the neat stacks of instructions on her neat desk… “Another book,” prompted Miranda. “To find the library in slightly worse condition than she left it in,” said Emerald, “with just enough things out of place or needing to be corrected when she returns so she feels good about herself, so she can think she’s a little better than her temporary replacement, and most of all, worthwhile.” Officer Rights looked as if she were going to make a snarky retort, but after a few moments of thought, she closed her mouth and nodded. “And since you’ve read my file,” continued Emerald a lot slower, “which includes my arrest record, my family history, and my academic career to date, and you’re still here, that means you’ve got more questions for me. Questions of the sort that if I don’t answer them, you’ll ask other ponies, like my mother, who I really expected to be here since she knows her son has temporarily escaped from the safe and secure environment of Canterlot.” He tugged at the collar of his vest. “You can barely see the leash, but it’s there, nonetheless.” That earned him another slow nod, and the hint of a smile in the corner of Miranda Rights’ lips. “The previous librarian used to make a pot of coffee at night, and we’d sit out here on the library steps for an hour or two and just talk.” “Thistle Burr drank coffee?” Emerald shuddered, but was momentarily taken aback at Miranda Rights’ momentary smirk. “You’re just pulling my tail, aren’t you Chief Rights?” “Oh, no,” said the officer. “The librarian before Twilight is the nicest old mare you’ll ever meet. Thistle Burr, however, is the most—” her lips pursed in search of a word “ —difficult pony, who lives outside of town with the most disagreeable dog. They’re made for each other, really.” “But the packet I got said—” Emerald paused, then continued slower. “The packet that every reporter would use when they come to town in order to write a nasty story about your present librarian.” Chief Rights shrugged. “Typos do happen.” “Typos. Right.” Emerald turned to walk into the library. “I think I saw her old percolator in the back of the pantry, and there may have been half of a can of grounds with it. If it will make you happy, Officer Rights, I’ll brew us up a couple of cups and we can chat out on the steps.” “I won’t take too much of your valuable study time,” said the policemare as she followed him past the stacks of paper waiting at the library desk. * * * Over an hour of valuable study time later, Miranda Rights had still not gotten to the bottom of her coffee cup. To be honest, Emerald had only himself to blame. Between the Ursa, the hydras, the zebra outside of town, and of course Nightmare Moon, the tales the officer told made him think of only one thing. “Why haven’t you moved out of Ponyville yet?” “Honestly?” She made a wide gesture with her half-full cup at the quiet town, lurking under the moonlight as if it was just waiting to spawn some other world-destroying monster. “When I started the job here as a patrol officer, I was bored. You have to realize that excitement is bad for a police officer. We get called when some mare has gotten off her medication, or a little filly is walking through the town by herself at night, or worse, when something violent is happening. We can be bored for hours on end, and get all of our excitement in one concentrated burst when we least expect it. It wasn’t until I became police chief before I recognized what a special place this is. Sometimes it gets crazy, and it’s always different than normal, but despite all the backstabbing, complaining, squabbling, cheating, lying, and just downright nastiness that ponies do to each other…” She paused and took another sip, but did not say anything else for a time. Emerald leaned back up against the library’s bark exterior and finished off the last of his coffee. It was his third cup, since he had thought drinking all of the first one would send the police officer on her way, or maybe the second cup would work. The third time did not appear to be the charm either. Wake-up juice was a much more controllable way of keeping alert at night, and from the looks of the library pantry, Twilight Sparkle was buying the generic mix by the barrel, and tea leaves by the bale. Coffee was noxious, toxic, bitter, vile, and worst of all, smelled absolutely wonderful, thus giving the illusion of an exquisite experience while betraying the drinker with the first sip. Sugar did not blunt the taste much, even when the drinker put enough sugar to leave sludge along the bottom of the cup. Still, he had gotten slightly used to the taste over the years since it was a last resort of a studious student. Well, nearly the last resort. Emerald had never understood students who used Blitz or Pop to pass an exam when the week after, they would go through anywhere up to a page of consequences. To drink this stuff, the former librarian must have burned out her sense of taste years before she retired. Or maybe she had a belly made of rusty iron. Still, there was something restful about sitting in the front doorway of the library with the warm light pouring out into the town’s soft darkness and the feel of the bark on his back. It was… librarian-like, despite the bitter drink that was setting his nerves on edge. And provided a way to scratch that itch between his shoulder blades whenever he thought too much. The muffled tone of the clock tower finally made Miranda Rights stand up with her cup floating to her side. She gave the leftover contents a quick flick to toss them into a nearby bush, then passed the empty cup to Emerald. “That’s the end of my shift. Time to go back to the office and check out for the evening. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.” “The pleasure was all mine, m’lady,” echoed Emerald out of habit before he checked himself. “I mean Officer Rights. Um… If you don’t mind a question.” Continuing before the policemare could voice an objection, he asked, “Do you think I’m doing a good job as a substitute? Honestly?” “You want me to be honest?” Miranda looked back over her shoulder as she walked, seeming to blend into the shadows and vanish by stages with every step. “If you were a permanent librarian, I’d be overjoyed. As a temporary?” She clicked her tongue somewhere out in the darkness. “Miss Sparkle is going to blow her stack when she returns. And I intend on being as far away from the explosion as possible.”