The Substitute Librarian
Intermission
Students in Canterlot, as a general rule, never saw Sun rise.
Military cadets did.
In fact, the best place to see the event was a long, winding road that swept around Canterlot’s mountain skirts which had seen the tread of countless armored hooves, providing a convenient route for said cadets to visit one of many training areas they would learn to loathe over their years of service. The road bore no real appeal for anypony else, even amorous ponies seeking a quiet place to amore, because at any time an entire class of steel-clad cadets could come tromping along, led by the stentorian bellow of a drill sergeant.
Very few romantic rendezvouses could withstand such interruption.
At night, the broad path was lit by a precise string of glowrocks to either side, so that trainees would not lose their way under light of Moon. It was, after all, a long way down the mountain, and arranging specific rocks as punishment had been a Royal Guard tradition ever since rocks had been invented. The glimmering guidance of lingering roadside glows was not needed this morning, since Sun was quite near to Rising and lit the horizon with a red glow like fire.
The young stallion trotting up the road this morning needed water more than fire. His pace kept much of the froth from dripping off his hefty frame, allowing the cool morning breeze to keep him from overheating, even at the slow trot that he was managing. To be honest, Emerald was not quite sure why he had begun his pre-dawn exercise routine. Perhaps it was more effective in starting his day than trying to chew his morning wake-up juice concentrate. Or when he found out the scent of actual sweat around his female physical therapy instructor raised his grades by multiple points.
Going through his family history to find how many of his ancestors had died of heart failure had nothing to do with it. At all.
For now, he was going to blame his new exercise habit on Twilight Sparkle. After all, if she had not left so many hopeless books around her library, he would not have wound up pulling a wagonload of them up to Canterlot to be pulped. From there—and the subsequent sore muscles the next day—the urge had evolved into a forced morning routine of trotting along various Canterlot roads, an exercise that his own father would not be caught dead doing in public. And if ‘Emerald’ was going to wind up librarysitting in Ponyville any more, a certain degree of practice in the art of running away would be useful.
Any further musings on the theoretical benefits of healthy exercise was quickly squashed for practical considerations when Emerald heard the precise tap-tap-tap of pony hooves on the road behind him. The noise did not come from not a class of cadets, because it was obviously only one pony, but the pattern was far too strict and machine-like to be another ordinary trotter out enjoying the early morning Sun. He moved to one side of the road, keeping up his slow but steady pace, and waited for the obviously faster military pony to pass.
The metronome of clicking hooves behind him did not change their pattern by even the tiniest fraction of a second.
Deciding that he did not particularly like being followed, Emerald picked his pace. With significant effort, he managed to step rapidly enough to match his hoofsteps against his unseen companion, but there was still no change in volume that he could hear over his own huffing and puffing. Exercising every morning was one thing, but Emerald had not yet managed the willpower to reach the clearing with associated cave that his father had shown him one lazy summer morning many years ago.
It was a comforting memory of his father that stood out for its relative rarity. They had left early in the morning before any of the household had awoken, and progressed at a fairly leisurely pace, with his much smaller self being carried over most of the journey. The sight of Sun painting the colorful leaves of the clearing had been… less than overwhelming for his youthful eyes, and he had found exploring a nearby shallow cave more exciting.
Father had merely stood to one side of the exercise area and watched the grass blow in the breeze while blinking away tears for what seemed like forever, before turning for home. Only later when they visited the Gardens had he realized the day had been the anniversary of Grandfather Pritchel’s death.
By heart failure, of course, probably caused by overwork at the company.
None of his woolgathering was helping to get any distance from Emerald’s unwelcome companion, but it was occupying his mind while his body strained. A sensible pony would simply stop and let the misplaced cadet or officer trot on past. Said sensible pony would then walk back to the fraternity house and proceed to eat ice cream until the morning calorie loss had been resolved, and most likely drop over dead before reaching middle-age.
Emerald was not feeling very sensible, particularly when he remembered a pertinent fact that his research had uncovered about Twilight Sparkle’s brother, who was a Captain of the Royal Guard. It made keeping up his pace remarkably easy, until he could see the curve that signaled the end of the road where the shallow cave still most probably remained. It would be a convenient place for a trained Royal Guard to pound on his sister’s disagreeable book-pulping not-coltfriend without anypony noticing, but also could contain some welcome witnesses to deter such a pounding.
All the more reason for Emerald not to look over his shoulder as he wheezed along, making remarkably good time. Or at least until a stentorian bellow right behind him.
“Son, what are you—”
Father had that same iron tone of command in his voice, and for one small fraction of a second, Emerald was convinced the bulky stallion would be trotting right there when he turned. Four hooves fought with forward momentum and a rapid rotation, leaving a generally unathletic student rolling along the hard-packed ground for a short but painful distance.
And Emerald looked up.
Thankfully, it was not his father, or an irate librarian-sibling. In fact, the military pony appeared to be far too old to still be in the guard, despite his immaculate uniform with razor-sharp creases and the odd flat hat with ear-holes. Perhaps he was some old sergeant out to reminisce about his times in the harness, although still in remarkable shape. The only wrinkles Emerald could see were not on the cloth, but on the pony’s craggy features, which looked more like they had been chiseled out of dark granite by a sculptor who left a dense web of creases and folds around a terrible frown and narrowed eyes, with faint tinges of white like frost on his shortened mane and bushy eyebrows.
“Son!” bellowed the military pony again. “What are you doing down on the ground like some rug? Get up!”
Although Emerald had already started on that task, he sat right down on the road and regarded the retiree with a firm gaze. “No, sir. I’m perfectly comfortable here for now.”
“Do not call me sir!” The frown became a terrible scowl that even managed to exceed the combined amount of scathing disapproval Emerald received during the worst of family dinners, with a volume that flattened his ears and threatened to tear off his own hat. “Now, what is your name, and why are you in a restricted area?”
It seemed a reasonable demand, if overly loud, so Emerald answered the first question with all the detailed precision he would have given a historian, right down to his ancestry and birth order within the family and the full motto⁽*⁾ of his family House. As for the second question, he added, “This is a public road, sir. During Summer, young pegasus mares from school often visit the training ground up ahead so they can watch the guards practice.” Emerald shrugged. “Not really my cup of tea, actually. I’m just doing this for the exercise.”
(*) fronti nulla fides - No reliance can be placed on appearance.
—
The old stallion considered his objection for a moment, then seemed to settle back into familiar mental ruts constructed over decades of service, only with a disturbing controlling glint to his eyes that Emerald recognized far too well.
“You certainly inherited Cadet Martel’s iron head. Called him Ironskull during training and he took it as a point of pride. Shame he dropped out when your grandfather passed away. Are you planning on following in their hoofsteps and making something of yourself in the Royal Guard?”
“No!” yelped Emerald. “Never! I’ve spent most of my life trying to set my own path.”
“Joining the Guard will let you shape your destiny!” snapped the old sergeant. “You will learn to reach your full potential!”
“I will not!” Emerald found himself on his hooves despite his best efforts, and he fought valiantly to keep his temper under control. No doubt, the ancient sergeant had several lifespans devoted to getting inside the heads of stubborn Royal Guard cadets, ponies that—despite his constant experience with family—were most probably more stubborn than his own father. The primary advantage Emerald had in this competition was authority, as in the old stallion had no more rights to order him around than he was given.
It would have been simple to ignore the old pony and simply turn setting his slow-moving pace for home, but that would be accepting defeat, being out-maneuvered by a stallion who was older than his deceased grandparents. Maneuvering was his constant habit, since Emerald was used to figuring out just where to put the proverbial prybar while fending off similar attempts to find his own weaknesses. Social gatherings had an inordinate number of elderly mares who really deserved degrees in breaking and entering, in the metaphorical sense. If he had only one recognized weakness, it was a reluctance to back down when cornered. Escaping and evading if he had a chance, certainly. Having a ‘coincidental’ previous engagement when faced by a situation he would rather avoid, weak but used if nothing else was available. Hiding in the Ponyville library when Twilight Sparkle was safely elsewhere, certainly. Honesty…?
“I’m not going to become a Royal Guard,” stated Emerald as levelly as he could, staring straight into the sergeant’s icy blue eyes. “I’m not going to work at his company, I’m not going to be married off to some vacuum-brained noblemare, and I’m not going to let anypony else determine my destiny. Not you, not my father, not even Princess Celestia herself. I’m not going to submit to anypony else’s authority over my actions. I’m going to teach young unicorns their first magic, because that’s my Mark. But first, I’m going to trot to the end of this road, because I can, and you have no authority to stop me. Good day, sir.”
It would have been a more dramatic exit if Emerald had not nearly tripped again when turning to continue his interrupted trot. Diverted anger made a lousy substitute for endurance, but he picked up his pace again, trying to ignore the steady click-click of hooves at his side once again.
I’m going to get to the end of this road if it kills me.
Something about his determination must have been written across Emerald’s face in letters large enough to be read by the red glow of impending Sun, because the old stallion was not content to trot silently by his side.
“I knew your grandfather,” he said, which was the last thing Emerald expected. “Good soldier. Acceptable Guard. Just as iron-headed as your father. Served a short enlistment before returning to the family business.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Emerald, partially out of appreciation, and in part just to see the fierce scowl that the word ‘sir’ seemed to cause.
“Son, it isn’t just strength or skill that makes a good Guard,” continued the old stallion in measured, clipped words. “It’s determination. Sheer, raw guts. I can build muscles, train reflexes, drill even the worst coordinated ponies into precision marching, but unless there’s steel in the spine, all they’re good for is propping open doors.”
“Father must have been a wonderful cadet.” Emerald suppressed a snort through his intense desire to keep breathing. “The only pony who can give him orders would be Celestia herself.”
“It is a high honor to carry out the General’s commands!” If the elderly sergeant could have saluted while trotting, Emerald suspected he would have. “There can be no greater accomplishment in your life than to obey her will.”
“Been there. Done that,” panted Emerald as they began to trot around the last wide curve before the clearing. “Librarysitting for her student. Twilight Sparkle. Few assignments are more dangerous. Escaped with no injuries. Twice.”
The scowl deepened. “I do not recall seeing your name in the General’s reports, which I read extensively.”
“Good!” Despite his fatigue, Emerald’s pace picked up. “I’ve heard enough about Twilight Sparkle and her friends to know— Reports?”
“Evaluations of their combat prowess, details about their encounters as Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, analysis of their potential.” Bright blue eyes turned to give Emerald a penetrating stare. “Do you have any observations to add, son?”
“I’ve seen one of them, from the tail, as I was leaving the library, and that’s all I really care to see,” managed Emerald. “You want terrifying stories about them, go talk to Police Chief Miranda Rights in Ponyville. She can tell you all about the Ursa Minor that went tromping through their town, and how Twilight Sparkle lifted it up and carried it back to its cave.”
Giving up on reaching the shallow cave at the end of the road and taking a turn instead, Emerald slowed his trotting as he entered the Royal Guard exercise yard. It was unoccupied, of course, with only groups of wooden soldiers standing around in various places on the short-cut grass. It gave him a twinge around the heart to think that his own grandfather might have trod this same sod, firing bolts of magic at the impassive dummies and maneuvering with his own peers. Or maybe the twinge was dehydration. He pulled out his water bottle just in case and took a long, deep drink before passing it off automatically to the elderly soldier at his side.
“Here you go, sir. Looks like it’s going to be about the last warm day of Summer, so drink up.”
At first, it did not look like the old sergeant was going to accept his offer, which was fine with Emerald. But after a quick look around, he took the water bottle and polished off the last of it.
“Cold as a mountain stream,” he said while returning the bottle. “Is the bottle your father’s work?”
“Little sister,” said Emerald between gasps. It had become more comfortable to lean against the wooden dummy and catch his breath while getting set for his return trip. “Her Mark is in cold spells. Working on a device for the company to keep a canteen cold without freezing it solid. Father’s so proud of her. And no, she’s not going to join the Guard either. She’s having too much fun at Celestia’s school.”
The elderly sergeant’s square chin jerked up, and his expression became even more grim. “Not everypony who protects Equestria is in the Royal Guard. By your admittance, you hold the post of protecting Twilight Sparkle’s home while she is on the General’s orders. Should some enemy attack her refuge with the intent of laying a trap for her return, it would be your responsibility to—”
“Run like crazy,” said Emerald rapidly. “Screaming at the top of my lungs if I can. Hence—” he pointed at the road “—my new exercise program.”
“How do you expect to run with this much suet on your ribs?” said the sergeant with a sharp hoof-poke to Emerald’s admittedly padded sides. “I haven’t seen this much fat since I visited a griffon meat-market!”
“I’m starting to burn it off!” protested Emerald.
“It better be a controlled burn,” growed the sergeant. “If that lard goes up all at once, they’ll be able to see the fire for miles. What if you are cornered and cannot run? Can you fight?”
“A little,” hedged Emerald. It was only a small lie. Being younger and un-horned in his Canterlot classes had led to a certain amount of physical criticism from his peer group, which Father had attempted to compensate for by hiring a self-defense tutor. That only made the problem worse until Emerald talked to his older brother Regal, who passed along a request to the captain of the school polo team, who then conducted an unscheduled polo match. Personally, Emerald was convinced that if his life ever came down to a real fight, his best bet would be to go straight for the throat and hold on until they had to pry him loose for the funeral.
The elderly sergeant looked in the direction of Sun, still just barely below the horizon, then to the unoccupied road. “Since my trainees have not yet arrived, I have a few minutes to bestow my wisdom upon you, and in the process get warmed up for today’s activities. Of course, since you are not under my command…”
It was uncomfortably tempting, even though he did not want to admit to the urge. Then again, the old stallion obviously had Celestia’s ear and was familiar with Twilight Sparkle and her odd group of friends. A single critical word from him could cause no end of trouble, so playing along with his urge to train the untrainable was the only practical course.
“I will submit myself to your authority for the purposes of one exercise, sir.”
The resulting expression was not a smile. Emerald was not even sure the old sergeant’s face was able to smile without breaking something, or somepony. Then he inhaled. Deeply.
“WHILE UNDER MY COMMAND, YOU WILL NOT CALL ME SIR! YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS DRILL SERGEANT AT ALL TIMES. IS THAT CLEAR?”
“Yes, s— I mean YES, DRILL SERGEANT!” managed Emerald through the ringing in his ears.
“VERY WELL. AT THE FAR END OF THIS FIELD YOU WILL SEE SEVERAL DUMMIES QUITE UNLIKE THE DUMMY AT THIS END. YOU WILL CHARGE YOUR HORN, AIM, AND FIRE AS HARD AS YOU ARE ABLE IN THAT GENERAL DIRECTION. NOW!”
“Um…” Emerald hesitantly removed his fedora, feeling very cold on the top of his head as accumulated sweat began evaporating. The old sergent did not even hesitate.
“SINCE NATURE HAS NOT PROVIDED YOU WITH A RANGED OFFENSIVE WEAPON STRONGER THAN YOUR SCENT, YOU WILL STRIKE THIS TARGET—” he patted the wooden dummy next to them “—JUST AS HARD AS YOU ARE ABLE. NOW!”
Emerald jumped, and in the process stepped on the dummy’s support base, which promptly tipped toward him and impacted somewhere in the nasal region.
“Ow!” he managed from the ground, rubbing his nose. “I think I have splinters.”
When Emerald looked up at the old Guard, he suddenly realized how much of a mistake he had just made. Pure fury simmered under that precise military jacket, like an ancient coffee pot, filled with a dark and terrible rage just ready to perk out at the slightest provocation. The old stallion’s bottom lip trembled, his eyes were drawn into a narrow squint, and Emerald was momentarily seized with terror over the concept that one of the Royal Guard’s revered and retired drill sergeants was about to burst a blood vessel and expire right then and there.
I’ll have to carry the body back to Canterlot. To Princess Celestia.
He practically sprang up from the ground, cocked back a hoof, and hit the combat dummy on its wooden chin just as hard as he could.
Then, after a few moments to watch the inanimate soldier bob back and forth with the impact, Emerald sat down and held his pastern. “Ow,” he said while wiggling it and giving a brief unspoken prayer of gratitude that it was not broken.
“That was pathetic,” growled the sergeant.
“Yes, it was, drill sergeant.” Emerald put his forehoof on the ground and checked to make sure it would hold his weight.
“Hit it again,” said the sergeant. “Harder, which should not be difficult, since that first blow would not have inconvenienced a sick butterfly.”
“I think the poor thing has had enough for one day. Don’t you agree, sir?” Emerald bumped the dummy’s base with a hoof, making it nod agreement.
“YOU WANTED ONE LESSON, SO HIT THAT DUMMY LIKE IT INSULTED YOUR SISTER!”
Emerald leveled a hoof at the wooden dummy, cleared his throat, and declared, “I shall tell my older brother upon you!” Giving a huff of exhausted breath, Emerald stood up and tried to keep his temper. “There. I assure you, drill sergeant, that once my brother and his polo team have finished with this poor wretch, he shall never insult my family again.”
“Your lesson is not over until you have struck your target with enough force to satisfy me!” snapped the sergeant. “What if that dummy was a threat to Princess Celestia?”
“I would get out of the way,” said Emerald through gritted teeth, “so I would not catch on fire also.”
“How about if it were threatening Twilight Sparkle’s library?”
“I would get far out of the way,” said Emerald. “Manehattan, perhaps.”
“Suppose that dummy were a threat to your country, your friends, and your family!”
“I don’t have any real friends,” said Emerald through narrowed lips. “Canterlot has seen far worse, and I should know, because it’s my home, and my family can take care of itself!”
Then the drill sergeant said one more thing.
The wooden dummy crashed into Emerald’s shoulder with enough force to feel the shock all the way to his tail, and he drove forward, into the pain, into the red madness of frustration and rage. Wood crunched beneath his hooves, driving vengeful splinters into his tender frogs and fetlocks, but Emerald did not stop until he had taken out his last bit of energy with one final kick where it was needed most.
His target remained tilted on its back, in a state where it most certainly would not father any more wooden dummies, or at least until a carpenter did some reconstructive surgery. Emerald slumped up against it and panted for breath for a moment, giving the old stallion a bitter glare instead of words, although the favor was not returned.
“Certainly Guard material,” he said. “Haven’t had a viable candidate yet who would let that particular comment about their mother stand.”
“My mother…” Emerald took several breaths and considered his options. Slugging the old stallion was not one of them. Neither was running away, at least until he could stand up again without wooden splinters reducing him to a cripple. After biting one of the larger splinters out of his punctured frog, he looked over the rest of his hooves for wood while continuing, “Anypony who does not stand up for their mother is… worthless. She sacrificed so much for me. More than anypony knows. Did your mother want you to join the Guard, drill sergeant?”
“That is none of your business.” By the proud arch of his back and a distant glitter in his eye, the old sergeant had indeed gone into a career that his mother approved of, and in all probability ‘Your mother wears army shoes’ would be taken as a point of pride instead of an insult. And probably be accurate.
“My mother wants me to be a statue,” said Emerald after spitting out another splinter. “Standing around, looking impressive at parties. A noun. Or maybe an adjective,” he added as an afterthought, “because she wants me to modify another noun to produce grandfoals.” He tactfully did not mention anything about matchmaking library trees and the possibility of being paired against Celestia’s student by a mere plant in search of its own metaphorical sprouts. Or a certain Canterlot policemare with a misplaced mating urge.
Then it was time to say nothing as Moon gracefully descended below the horizon and Sun rose, bringing new life and a fresh burst of well-needed energy to Emerald. “Thank Celestia,” he murmured before raising his voice and looking at the nearby road, which had several wagons headed in their general direction. “Well, drill sergeant. I suppose I should be going once the road is open. Looks like your trainees are here.”
It was going to be a long plod back to the fraternity house, which if Emerald timed it right would leave him just enough time for a quick shower before heading out to his morning class instead of making himself comfortable at the breakfast buffet. Still, his curiosity bump was itching.
“Drill sergeant, I have to ask one thing. Why are your recruits coming here by wagon?”
“Those are not my recruits,” said the old stallion, swelling with pride. “Those are lions.”
“Oh,” said Emerald while trying to figure out how to get away without sprouting wings, since there was only one road to this area, and the wagons were taking up most of it.
“And tigers!” said the drill sergeant.
“Oh?” Sprouting spontaneous wings seemed to be a better option every second.
“And bears,” finished the old stallion with a growl.
Emerald hesitated before the obligatory, “Oh, my.” Clearing his throat, he added, “This isn’t part of my one exercise, is it? Because I’m mildly allergic to cats. And bears. And blood loss.”
Getting no further information, Emerald kept an eye on the moving wagon while hesitantly adding, “I didn’t realize that the Royal Guard had such stringent training.”
“They are not Guards,” said the sergeant with his eyes lifted up to where a pegasus carriage could be seen coming over a mountain ridge and sweeping down to a landing at the far end of the road, next to the shallow cave in the mountain’s wall. “They are something more. A new defender for the Generals. Something special that has not been seen in a thousand years.”
A brief chuckle escaped before Emerald could stop it. The gaggle of ponies crowded into the oversized carriage were looking around like tourists visiting Canterlot, clumped together and pointing at things while one of the group was sleeping with her tail draped over the edge. They were a most unlikely group of defenders, with nothing that he could see at this range that indicated any kind of military potential other than shrieking at spiders and dressing fashionably.
“You’re acting like they’re—”
The prismatic tail dangling off the edge of the carriage should have been his first clue, but the mares’ color patterns finally soaked in through his fatigued mind. They were the same colors that had been featured in the first packet he had when librarysitting, including that particular shade of light purple that he had last seen on Twilight Sparkle’s skinny rump. For one terrifying moment, he thought the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony had planned on tracking him down, but according to Chief Rights, planning was not really one of their strong suits, and even Emerald had not planned on making it all the way to the Guard exercise area this morning. It had to be a coincidence. It was more likely that the library tree was scheming a romantic pairing with its librarian behind his back… although there were a lot of oak trees around the Guard’s exercise area.
“I’m going to be busy today,” barked the old soldier. “Working with them one-on-one for starters, so if you would please wait in the cave with Twilight Sparkle and her friends, we will see about starting a real exercise routine for you. We’ll start you with push-ups, sit-ups, and squats, then a good, brisk run once around the mountain to warm up. Then we’ll start your training for real…”
Emerald was not there to hear.
He was running as fast as possible, and did not stop until he reached his fraternity house and a well-needed shower. He did not see the old stallion take out a notepad and pencil to write a few lines, or did he ever find out if his brief exposure to military training ever made it into the report to Princess Celestia.
In the days to come, he did continue with his morning exercise program, only with renewed vigor and determination, never skipping a single day no matter the weather.
Except the next time he went back to Ponyville.
But that is another story.