Making the crate did not take long. Or rather, modifying it did not take long.
Airholes were indeed drilled, then it was basically just a grid of wire bolted across the middle to split the thing in two. Toys would go on top, Cozy would hide in the bottom. Boom. Smuggling crate.
She wasn’t happy with it still, but she could at least see the wisdom in it. And he’d even been kind enough to install a kind of emergency-release false-panel in the back, should a sudden attack of claustrophobia overtake Cozy and she feel the sudden to vacate the crate post haste.
Or so he’d said, she hadn’t tried it out yet. She didn’t really believe him, honestly. Just seemed like the kind of thing you’d tell somepony to get them to go along with your stupid crate-based smuggling idea. But, really, what choice did she have?
There were guards everywhere.
Once Paul had finished with that part it was just a case of loading his wagon with whatever it was he felt he’d need for the duration of smuggling Cozy out of his life. Cozy watched him doing this, trekking back and forth from his house to the wagon sitting in its outbuilding, loading it up with this and that, talking to himself in that ‘English’ of his all the while.
Though of course, when it was all finally loaded, there was one outstanding question.
“Who’s pulling this?” Cozy asked. All things considered she didn’t really feel that Paul himself was up to it, and it would kind of make the whole ‘smuggling’ thing a little trickier if he just asked some random yahoo from around the village.
“Pulling machine,” he said instead.
“What?” Cozy asked.
Apparently he didn’t feel like explaining himself though, instead just motioning for her to stay put and clomping back into the house. He returned - with some evident difficulty - a few minutes later, carrying something big cradled in his arms.
Like one of the toys he made, but probably bigger than Cozy. Something that looked to be more legs than anything else, and which ticked loudly once Paul had set it down.
“Pulling machine,” he said again. Cozy just stared.
It was kind of creepy, actually, if Cozy was being honest about it. Something in the way it moved made her kind of think it was panting. But that wasn’t what drew the most attention for her.
“So you do make bigger ones!” She said, eyes shining.
“Quiet, you. In crate. We leave.”
Despite her lingering misgivings Cozy got into crate, curling up as Paul slotted in the wire and packed in the toys. Then she was heaved into the wagon and everything else that happened after she just had to assume happened. Like the pulling machine getting hitched up.
Given that they started moving not longer after, this seemed a safe assumption.
Peeping out the holes, Cozy watched as Paul’s house rolled by, then some other buildings. This didn’t tell her much. Much to her worry, the wagon then started slowing down. Weren’t they supposed to be trying to leave?
“Whoa there, hold up,” came a voice. A pony then entered into view, at least for Cozy.
The airholes were positioned such that Cozy actually had a reasonable view of both the pony and of Paul, too, or at least a little bit of him. What a crazy random happenstance that was.
“Good morning, Paul!” Said the pony, beaming up at Paul, who nodded down.
“Morning, Dusty Pages. Why guards?”
The pony’s expression darkened.
“Oh, didn’t you hear? Cozy Glow! The Cozy Glow! In our village! My, but she moves quick!”
“Who?”
Though she’d never admit it to him, Cozy couldn’t help but admire Paul’s pokerface.If she hadn’t known the truth herself, even she might have maybe fallen for it!
“Cozy Glow? The villain? She…”
The blank look Paul was giving Dusty did a very good job of impressing on the stallion the utter pointlessness of explaining any further.
“Well nevermind all that, heh, guess it’s not all that important to you, huh? So what brings you out today? I didn’t even know you had a wagon! And my, look at that pulling wotsit! How marvellous! I do love those little devices you make! So ingenious. But, uh, yes, going somewhere?”
“Going holiday. Need break,” Paul said.
A bit on the blunt side for Cozy’s liking. She would have maybe slid in a compliment here, just to keep things sweet. Still, she supposed it fitted more with Paul’s tone, and she could admit to a certain simplistic charm in it.
Or maybe being stuck in a box was starving her of oxygen and making her overthink things. She wasn’t sure.
“A holiday? Oh, I’d say you were overdue! Don’t think I’ve ever seen a day you weren’t working. But, um, you’re coming back though? The kids do love those little thingies of yours!” Dusty said.
“Yes, coming back.”
“Glad to hear it. Right, well, off you go then, Paul! Enjoy your holiday!”
Guards then appeared, as if on cue.
“Halt! We need to search this wagon for the fugitive.”
And it had all been going so well.
“Really now! This is Paul! He wouldn’t be doing anything criminal! He’s a toymaker for Celestia’s sake!” Dusty sputtered, waving a demonstrative hoof. The brace of guards who had showed up were unmoved by this.
“Doesn’t matter. Orders are all wagons, carts, wains, carriages, chariots and other sundry vehicles to be searched coming in or going out. Stand aside, citizen.”
They did not wait for Dusty to stand aside, instead shoving him aside, one guard clambering up past Paul into the rear of the wagon, falling forward and landing face-first on Cozy’s crate.
Cozy curled up even tighter in the bottom, legs over her head, eyes screwed shut. If she tried that panel Paul had said he’d put in, would it work? Could she get away? Was it worth it?
She worried about all that as the guard set about snuffling and poking and fondling everything that Paul had loaded the wagon up with, the human watching all of it with a mounting and obvious and mountingly obvious level of simmering rage. He didn’t say anything though, even if his knuckles were starting to go white around the reins of the pulling machine.
Cozy had just about got a handle on her rising panic with a hoof tapped the lid of her hiding spot.
“What’s in the box?” The guard asked.
“Is crate. Toys. For children.”
“Ah, thinking of expanding your market, eh Paul?” Said Dusty, who was still hanging around, giving the guard who’d shoved him the stink eye.
Paul shrugged.
“Might find children on holiday. Can sell. Good idea.”
Dusty certainly seemed to agree if his enthusiastic nodding was anything to go by.
“That is some smart thinking, Paul!” He said.
From the sound of things it seemed as though the searching guard was trying to open Cozy’s crate. He wasn’t having much luck with it, though.
“It’s nailed shut,” he said.
“Yes.”
A pause wherein which nothing of note happened.
“...could you open it?” The guard asked.
“I have to?” Paul asked in return.
Nothing in training had prepared the guard for this.
“...please?” He ventured.
“You don’t have to ask nicely! We have orders! Just say ‘Citizen, open this crate!’” Shouted the guard outside the wagon, who appeared to have a slightly higher level of experience or, alternatively, common sense.
“Oh, right. Uh, citizen, open this crate, please!”
Leaving just a big enough gap of sullen, angry silence to fully convey how little he cared for this treatment Paul tied the reins up and, grumbling, reached overhead to pull himself upright. The whole wagon creaked and shifted as he moved into the back to join the guard, disappearing from Cozy’s view.
“So...what are you, exactly?” Cozy heard the guard ask.
“Human,” came Paul’s answer, shortly followed by a crowbar jamming itself into the crate. Then a grunt, then a heave, then the lid came off. Cozy held her breath and did her best to try and seep through the blanket that Paul had laid down across the bottom of the crate (“So no splinters,” he’d said).
She could see through the gaps between the toys! She could see the guard! If that guard looked down she was finished!
Almost as soon as the lid had clattered free Paul had reached in and scooped up the closest toy to hand - which just-so happened to be the one that had been directly in front of Cozy’s face, much to her absolute horror - and pretty much just shoving the thing under the guard’s nose.
“See? Toys. Little horse, yes?” He said.
“It’s moving,” the guard said in hushed tones.
“Yes. Special toy. Moves. Does what you say. Salute the guard,” Paul said and Cozy watched as the tiny mechanical horse did just as it had been told, snapping off a rather nifty little salute.
“Neat!”
“Keep, keep,” Paul said, thrusting the toy into the guard’s chest. The guard, bemused, took it.
“What? For me?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh, nice! Uh, how much do I owe you…”
“No charge. For hard work.”
Commonly known as a bribe. At least among those who recognise what a bribe is and what they’re for. Sometimes, these things don’t get picked up on. Like now.
“Aww, thank you! You know, I don’t think most ponies appreciate the effort we put into this job. It’s not as easy as it looks!”
Cozy found herself having to bite down on her hoof to keep from laughing out loud. Paul meanwhile reached back to pull the lid of the crate partway back into place and then ask:
“I can go?”
The guard, enraptured with his new toy, took a second to register the question.
“Oh yes, of course. All clear, all clear! Wagon’s clear, let it through,” he said, clambering back out of the wagon again, toy in hand. Paul spared a glance down to catch Cozy’s eye before putting the lid back properly (albeit not nailed down again) and sitting back at the front.
And then they were off and off properly, out of the village, out on the road.
Some time later - hard for Cozy to gauge while curled up and hiding - Paul reached back again and gave the lid of Cozy’s crate a thump.
“Can come out now, Cozy,” he said.
“Really?” She hissed, cautiously.
“Yes.”
There was a clatter as she burst forth, punching the separating grid clear out the top and scattering the toys about the interior of the wagon, much to Paul’s silent, brooding chagrin. Not that Cozy noticed or particularly cared. She was too thrilled at having slipped the net again.
“They’re so stupid!” She cackled.
“Not smart,” Paul said. Couldn’t really argue with it, honestly.
The wagon rolled on a bit, creaking and tilting as it hit some uneven ground on the track. Cozy, fluttering, gently settled along the seat from Paul at the front of the wagon. She would have sat closer but when she’d tried he’d glared at her.
“You know...for a second I thought you were going to tell them I was hiding in there,” Cozy said, capping it off with a breezy ‘Imagine such a thing!’ kind of a laugh. Paul’s eyes stayed on the road.
“Hmph.”
As much as Cozy prided herself on maintaining a bubbly facade in the face of anything life might wish to throw at her, this particular habit of his was rapidly becoming impossible to tolerate.
“What? What does that mean?!”
“It means I do not want to talk because talking is tiring. And I would not be able to say what I want,” he said.
“Oh. Right. Well, uh, we could start learning that whatever language of yours. Unglish? Englash? I’m excited!”
“English. No. Am driving wagon.”
“Yeah but you can still tell me words, right? Just one or two words? Come on! What’s that?” She asked, pointing to a rock by the side of the road. Paul looked at the rock. Paul sighed.
And so it started.