Twilight stared at the large wooden crate wrapped in a scarlet bow that had just arrived in the mail. It was only thanks to the mailpony clearing his throat that her attention was diverted.
“I need a signature. Just sign here, please.”
“Right, here you go.” Twilight quickly signed the paper and tipped him for his work. Once he was gone, she went back to studying the box.
“Who do you think it’s from?” asked Spike, who was equally as perplexed as Twilight.
“I’m not sure.”
She circled, trying to figure out who might have sent it. She saw a crowbar securely fastened to one side and an envelope with the words, ‘A Friend’ written on the face. But there was no other written address besides her own.
“The box looks like something Applejack would construct, but the bow would be more of Rarity’s sort of thing. However, this could be Pinkie Pie’s doing or maybe one of Rainbow Dash’s pranks.”
Eager and curious to learn the truth, Twilight grabbed the envelope in her magic and opened it.
Princess Twilight Sparkle,
It is my greatest pleasure to give you this invention of my own making. May it serve you well until the very end.
P.S: Save the best for last. There is a surprise waiting.
Sadly, Twilight didn’t recognize the penmanship, so it ruled out anyone she knew, not helped by the cryptic message. Although, it didn’t stop her from considering that one of them simply asked someone else to write it.
Deciding to bite the proverbial bullet, Twilight untied the bow and pried at the edges of the box with the provided crowbar, though she struggled to even move it. Thankfully, to her surprise, once one side popped loose, the rest of the box toppled over like a house of cards.
From the mountain of packing peanuts emerged a pony-shaped object, roosted on a pole on top of a platform. Upon closer inspection, it was seemingly made of wood, painted white, with a smooth, porcelain-like surface.
“A ponyquin?”
“Looks like it,” Spike said, eyeing the item warily. “Wait, the joints look like they can move on their own. Maybe it’s a robot?”
“No, it looks more like an automaton. Which is an older version of a robot powered by gears and springs.”
Now more intrigued, Twilight approached the object, wondering how it tied in with the message on the note.
An interesting detail was that the figure wore clothing. More specifically, it was a simple maid's outfit that was short, ensuring plenty of free movement with regards to the limbs.
Looking more closely at the outfit, Twilight noticed a thin scarlet ribbon around its neck, and there, fastened to the string, was the wind-up key.
A noticeable rectangular bulge poked up from under the apron. Upon closer inspection, Twilight saw that it was an instruction manual. She grabbed it with her magic and read through the glossary. Spike, on the other hoof, had different ideas.
Too curious for his own good, he took the key and searched for where to use it. It didn’t take him long to find the keyhole located between the shoulder blade section at the base of the neck, and he immediately wound it up.
The clicking noise distracted Twilight from her reading, making her look up, spotting Spike mid-turn. While part of her wanted to reprimand him for the potentially harmful action, she remained quiet, wishing to witness the automaton’s first activity. To that end, she waited for Spike to finish winding it.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Having waited long enough, Twilight took over with her magic and finished winding the automaton. When the key finally stopped rotating, she removed it from the slot. A long-winded sigh escaped her mouth. “Sweet Celestia, that took forever. I hope it was worth it.”
Taking a step back, Spike and Twilight watched with anticipation.
Nothing happened.
“Did we over-wind it?” Spike scratched his head. "Let’s see if this works.” He gave a hard kick to the platform, but only to end up hurting his foot. “Ow!”
Ignoring her assistant’s pain, Twilight noticed a section bounce up for a fraction of a second, hinting to her there was a compartment inside the platform. She walked up to the spot and lifted it. Inside were a variety of disks neatly sorted and labeled.
Twilight pulled some of them out and read them aloud. “‘The Floors’, ‘The Dishes’, ‘The Cooking’... ‘The Book Sorting’? ‘The Writing’.” Then she saw a disk with a less elegant-looking label, only having simple tape with writing scrawled across it. “'The Best.' Oh! 'Save the best for last.' That makes sense now.”
“So, does that mean it’s supposed to help around the castle?” Spike said with fascination. “That’s cool, but it’s still not moving.”
“Let me look through the instructions.” She went back to the pamphlet. “To dismount Cogspring - ah, that’s a nice name - from her stand, press the nose.”
Spike did as instructed, and a clicking noise sounded. A mechanical whirring was heard as the post supporting Cogspring retracted into the belly, allowing it to stand on its own.
“This is really cool!” said Spike, jumping with excitement. “What’s next?”
“To give Cogspring a command, insert a command disk by first… pulling the nose.” Saying that did not make Twilight feel any less awkward, as it frankly sounded like the setup to some kind of gag.
Of course, Spike happily grabbed the nose and carefully pulled, not wanting to cause any damage. Another click sounded, followed by the face abruptly splitting down the middle, startling both Twilight and Spike.
Once their nerves settled down, they watched a vacant slot extend out. “I’m guessing that’s where a command disk goes. Which one should we try first?” Spike said, looking at Twilight for an answer.
“Hm. Let’s do ‘The Floors.’ I want to see what it does about these packing peanuts.”
Twilight placed the command disk into the slot, and it sat still. Confused, she looked at the instructions again and found that she needed to push it more to close the head. The satisfying sound of clockwork noises followed its every move as it whirled to life, standing on its hind legs, extending its foreleg, opening a notch in the hoof, then stopped.
Another look at the instructions informed them that a broom needed to be inserted into the slot and advised them to put Cogspring into the far right corner of the room.
Twilight levitated the automaton into place, amazed that it still held its balance, and put the broom handle in the notch. More clicking sounded as it started to sweep in a predetermined fashion, the rhythmic noise blissful music to the alicorn’s ears.
Twilight watched it work, wide-eyed and drooling over the intricately crafted mechanics. “I must know how this was built!” She said, even more amazed than before over the exceedingly sophisticated craftsmanship than the task it was performing.
The two continued to watch Cogspring work until it hit the wall… literally. It stopped sweeping and turned ninety degrees. Cogspring took two steps, sweeping the floor in front of it, turned another ninety, and continued on its path sweeping the same direction in an opposite motion, pushing the debris towards the far left wall.
“That’s super cool and all, but what happens when it hits furniture?” Spike asked. He pictured it leaving all kinds of messes behind and being more trouble to clean up after it than it was worth.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Twilight said before moving a couch in Cogspring’s path. When the broom bumped into the sofa, Cogspring paused, clicking and whirring in place, and adjusted to its new surroundings. A glittering aura surrounded the couch, and, in jaw-dropping amazement, it was lifted into the air.
“It can use magic!?” Both Spike and Twilight said simultaneously, utterly in awe of the display.
“Okay, that does it. I’m going to take that thing apart and learn all of its secrets!” Twilight grinned and squealed with foalish delight. “But first, let’s see what else Cogspring can do.”
After the floor was thoroughly swept, another spell was used to compress the packing peanuts, dust, and dirt into a solid brick for easy transport to the garbage bin.
Twilight and Spike used the command disk labeled ‘The Dishes’ next and placed Cogspring in front of the sink. As instructed in the manual, the preparations required the dishes to be presorted before Cogspring could start the task.
By this point, it was becoming evident why Cogspring had taken so long to wind up. The longevity of her performance required a lot of spring power. Though it was clearly worth the effort.
Positively giddy by this point, Twilight ripped Cogspring away from finishing the dishes and brought the automaton into the library. She dried off its hooves and inserted ‘The Book Sorting’ command disk, unable to contain her excitement.
Cogspring’s limbs extended, essentially turning her into a library sliding ladder without the rungs. Testing with a few books, Twilight would place the book onto Cogspring’s torso, and it would use magic to identify the text before navigating to where it belonged.
Twilight was finding it increasingly difficult to restrain herself from jumping straight into dismantling the automaton. Everything it did was not necessarily perfect, but it operated with incredible accuracy on each of the provided tasks it came with.
“The functionality of this thing is beyond anything I’ve ever read about,” she said giddily, bouncing in place with glee. “I can’t wait any longer. Although, I’ve got to see what ‘The Best’ command disk does before I take it apart.”
Spike ran to retrieve the disk as Twilight prepared Cogspring to insert the command, retracting its limbs back to a pony’s natural length. She was ready by the time Spike returned.
Opening the compartment and putting ‘The Best’ command into place, Twilight closed it and grinned with anticipation, awaiting the surprise it held within.
The front half of Cogspring’s neck separated from the back just under the head, ticking, clicking, and whirling as it slowly moved. A pair of lenses lengthened outward and positioned themselves, tempting Twilight to look through them.
“Well, that was anticlimactic. What even is that?” asked Spike, unfamiliar with the concept.
“It looks like a stereoscopic viewer. That’s something used to look at two almost identical pictures simultaneously, giving the optical illusion that it has dimension to the image. Or it could be a microscope?”
Twilight put her face into the viewer, ever curious as ever, feeling her forehead press into a pressure switch. The image was absurdly blurry at first, but she heard the automaton adjust the lenses’ focus to match her face shape. Once the picture cleared, there was only one single word.
Twilight’s face scrunched in confusion as she read it aloud, understanding the joke but not finding it funny. “Surprise?” A metallic swish sounded as she felt a sting in her chest. Intense pain spread through her body like it was on fire, shock preventing her from screaming.
“T-Twilight!” Spike shouted, eyes widened in horror. Slowly looking down, Twilight saw the razor-sharp rapier blade piercing her heart and protruding out her back. Utterly stunned by the sudden attack, she slowly gripped the sword subconsciously in her trembling hoof and tugged as if that would be enough to solve her problem. However, she had enough sense not to remove it, lest she bleed out completely.
Twilight felt both hot and cold as her body trembled, slowly going numb as warm blood started to leak out of her chest and mouth.
In the final moments of her consciousness, she sensed a rapid build-up of unstable magical energy. Without moving, she enveloped Spike in her magic aura, thrusting him out through the stained glass window just before Cogspring exploded.