"Sir, I must protest," he prattled as he scuttled after his master. "This is highly unethical, not to mention illegal."
"Bah," his master snorted, hocking a wad of mint-stained phlegm onto the sidewalk. "The only laws that matter are the laws of physics, and those only matter insofar as they give you a target to aim at."
"But couldn't we simply wait?" he pleaded. "The museum opens on Monday at 9 o'clock, we could simply wait until then and try to get here ahead of the crowds."
His master stared back at him, bushy brows furrowed. "You have some strange ideas, don't you, Sticky?" he eventually replied. "That's two whole days away, we can't wait that long. For one thing, our budget's already stretched thin. Those idiots back at uni, no appreciation for science," he grumbled. "Only care about 'applicability' and 'results.' Bah!" He spat again.
"The name's Stygian, sir, not Sticky," he corrected. "And for another thing, perhaps we could help the, ah, budget situation by getting you to kick that habit of your's," he pointed at the minty stain on the sidewalk. "or at least switch to a cheaper supplier?"
"I have half a mind to kick you instead," his master grunted. "Mintweed keeps me focused, and chewing it's more efficient than carrying that ridiculous pipe around. And change suppliers?" he barked. "Horn-Blower's an artist, her stuff's worth every bit."
All 20 per ounce, he darkly thought to himself. Our budget wouldn't be anywhere near thin if you didn't have your special suppliers who were 'worth every bit,' which they're all conveniently worth quite a few of.
"Uh-oh," his master hissed, flattening himself against a wall. "It's the Guard. Hide, Sitting In, maybe they won't see-"
"Over there! I think I see him!"
Your luxurious, flowing cape? Stygian snidely remarked as they took off running again. Aside from stretching their budget whenever it needed to be replaced (which its wearer's line of work made fairly often), it also made them rather visible, which wasn't exactly an asset when one of you was notorious for destroying a work of art that was older than your family tree. They weren't wanted by the Guard, per se, but once bitten, twice shy, as the saying went, and twice extremely shy if they happened to see that cape sneaking towards a museum.
"Uh-oh," his master grunted as they skidded to a halt. "Dead end. Alright, what can I work with here? Let's see, fire escape, probably not iron..."
"We could try explaining ourselves," Stygian offered.
"One vaguely deluded assistant..." his master continued mumbling. Then, patting his (many) pockets, his face lit up. Then, to Stygian's horror, he lifted out one of his inventions, a prototype 'portable smokescreen deployment device.'
"Excellent," he cackled. "Alright, when they come, grab my hand. I'll drop this," he hefted the mechanical monstrosity. "and we'll escape under cover of smoke. Ha, sometimes I impress myself with my genius!"
The Guards' footsteps drew nearer. "Get ready, Twiggy," his master hissed. "Here they come!"
The Guards darted around the corner, tensed and ready.
"So sorry, clappers," his master apologized. "but we really have to run. So long!"
The device left his hand.
***
Stygian drummed his fingers irritably on the chair in the Guard station, his hands cuffed to its arms. His master sat in the chair next to him, soot covering his face and much of his shirt. His coal-black hands were, like Stygian's, cuffed, though he was given much less range to move, a very wise move on the Guards' part.
"Now, then," Stygian asked sharply. "What have we learned today?"
"Less oil next time," his master murmured in reply. "It went up like a fireball, I need to get it to slow down. Maybe..."
Stygian couldn't hear him continue over the sound of slamming his head into the wall.
***
"Professor?" Fleur de Lis gently shook him awake. "Are you okay? I found you un-conscience."
"Fine, Fleur, fine," he reassured her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Must've fallen asleep while grading, that's all. What brings you here?"
"Headmistress Cadenza wishes to see you, professor," she replied. "She's waiting for you in the Jade Tower."
Stygian frowned; the Jade Tower was where Cinch had held court, moving the principal's office almost to the top so she could better look down on those beneath her. Cadance hated the place, he knew she did; why did she want to meet him there? "Did she say what she wished to see me about?" he asked as he grabbed his walking-stick.
"No," Fleur shook her head. "She simply told me that it was important. Do you need any help getting there?"
"No, child," he reassured her, hobbling up from his desk. "I am old, not helpless. The offer is appreciated, though."
Fleur nodded, then strode out of the room.
He sighed as he watched her leave. She was one of his best students, as well as, he liked to think, something of a friend. She was growing up so fast, it stunned him; the immigrant, once so slow and unsteady in her speech, had blossomed into a radiant woman, one whose few remaining vocal foibles like 'un-conscience' were more endearing than distracting. She was preparing to graduate and move on, to the Tabitha Germane School of Design and then the world of high fashion.
"Now I know how mother felt," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Thousands of children have I had, and seeing them spread their wings never gets any easier. Oh, but it is a beautiful sight. I hope," he grunted as he began moving his creaky legs toward the door. "that I shall be able to see her take flight."
It was an open question, one that became harder to definitively answer every year; four-and-eighty years old was he, and older every day. His limbs grew creakier and stiffer with every night, and his once-swift writing had decayed to a slow, spidery script. Every time he went to bed, he wondered, would this be it? Would this be the time that he would rejoin Swirly and the others?
Rockstep had been the last to leave, taking rest from his labors three years ago, a year to the day after his wife died. Meadowbrook had fallen to an illness her skill couldn't heal, though that skill had admittedly fallen into disuse; she hadn't been able to look at her healer's kit without crying after another illness had silenced Somnambula's laughter and after Mistmane had obtained her help in saving her daughter's life at the cost of her own. "I gave Spectacle my heart long ago," she'd chuckled when asked if she was sure she wanted to go through with the procedure. "All this will do is confirm that." Flash had been the first to go, almost forty years ago now, falling to a bandit gang with a song on his lips.
And, of course, Swirly himself had passed about ten years after that, trying to develop a 'next-generation' smoke bomb. Apparently, he put too much emphasis on the bomb part; his lab was destroyed, and they never even managed to find his hat. Mistmane had pushed on, though, as had Spectacle; the poor girl kept insisting that her father wasn't dead, that he was just 'gone,' and that he'd be back some day. He hadn't heard her say that for a while, though; perhaps her mother's death had shattered that illusion. He really should check up on her, one of these days.
Countless eyes stared down at him as he slowly shuffled through the school's crystal halls. The shortest way to the Jade Tower took him through the famous Corridor of Principals, past portraits and pictures of the men and women who had made this place the school it was. There was the first, Soothe Amore, the woman who had turned an ancient fortress of war into a place of learning, and after her fair Fortissimo. Then came Jovial Clearsky, then Sharp Slacks, then Shrive the Sad, and after her Somber the Grey. Sundancer followed Somber, and shortly after her followed Nocturne, and then Glass Lamp.
And now he was come to those he had served under, starting with the woman who'd hired him, Mi Amore Magnificenza, Amore the Great. He bowed his head to her portrait, staring out with that stern but not unkind expression she had borne for so much of her life. It had been her mask, the mask she wore until she decided another face would be better suited for a situation, the mask she'd worn when she'd decided to take a chance and hire a nervous boy with a literature degree to replace her teacher of history. He'd seen it slip, several times; he saw it slip when she spoke in murmuring tones with her fiery advisor, he saw it slip when she found herself moved by pity, and he saw it slip around her daughter, around the woman waiting to see him.
He sighed as he moved on to the next portrait, though he was unable to meet the eyes of this one out of shame; Sombra glared down at him, down at the man who had stabbed him in the back. He tried to excuse himself; Sombra had gone mad, he had to take care of Cadenza, nothing could justify what Sombra'd done, but no excuse eased the searing shame in his soul. Cadenza hadn't abandoned him at the trial; by what right did he?
"I'm sorry, Sombra," he murmured to the painting, before moving on, scurrying away from the judging gaze.
Next was Abacus Cinch, though in truth he'd seen her reign as more of a continuation of Sombra's. Oh, she made lots of noises about distancing herself from him, about 'returning order to the school,' and she favored a different class of people than he did, but they were still surprisingly similar; both sought to bring greatness to the school through iron discipline or other, less savoury methods, both tried to present themselves as cold, logical thinking machines, and both of them revealed horrors when that facade fell. Sombra had crushed dissent with an iron fist, birthing the legend of the 'black cells' of the overnight detention facilities, and Cinch kept Lightning Dust and her band of hooligans on hand whenever she wanted to indulge in that which her persona forbade. Two sides, same coin, and he wasn't sure which was worse. He'd done what he could to stop her, but he lacked the links he'd had with Sombra; if he'd had them, he might've been able to stop her before she caused that fiasco at the Friendship Games.
"Might've," he sadly murmured. He found himself thinking a lot about "might've's" nowadays. What might've happened if he'd said no when the strange physics student in that swishing cape asked him if he was willing to help with an experiment, what might've happened if he'd spoken to the others earlier, what might've happened if Sombra hadn't snapped, might've, might've, might've, if, if, if. He'd done many things in his life, and made many more regrets. But he could do nothing about them now; all he could do was prepare for the future.
The future that the latest portrait, showing the woman he was soon to meet, would bear witness to. He smiled as he looked at her smile; he called many of his students his children, but Cadance deserved that title most of all. He'd been there throughout her life, bounced her upon his knee when she was a babe, clapped for her in the audience when she'd graduated. He was, as she called him, her Uncle Stygian, though they shared no blood.
"And now," he murmured as the staircase up the Jade Tower came in sight. "it sounds like she needs her Uncle Stygian's help."
He began the climb, one hand on the bannister. Occasionally, that hand brushed against a wire, and a small smile came to his lips; he remembered the steam rising from Sombra's ears as the renovators haplessly tried to drill into the walls, only succeeding in scarring their tools. In the end, they'd been forced to electrify the school with more exposed wiring, just as countless others had been forced to alter their plans; the crystal walls of the school were proof against any weapon or tool of Man, resisting hundreds of years of technological innovation as easily as a horse resisted a fly. People adapted to the school, not the other way around.
Slowly he climbed, mentally thanking whoever'd built the school that the Jade Tower wasn't built too tall, eventually coming to a rest on the top landing. The trapdoor to the attic stood above him, disused except by certain astronomically inclined students, while the door to Cinch's old office stood before him. Catching his breath, he walked over and gently rapped on the door. Cadance requested he come in, and he obeyed, closing the door behind himself.
"You wished to see me, principal?" he said.
"Yes," she nodded, hands clasped over Cinch's old desk. "You remember what I told you happened at the Friendship Games, with Twilight and her new friends?"
"Ah, yes," he chuckled. "If only Swirly were there to see it. Heh, he probably would've asked Sunset Shimmer not to stop Twilight until he'd managed to get enough readings."
She smiled the thin smile of those who really wished not to smile. "According to Twilight, that's continued to grow, to the extent of giving her and her friends certain...abilities."
"They can use magic?" Stygian whispered in awe. Oh, if the old coot were around to hear this! Magic! Real magic! Then he remembered, and his face fell. "She's afraid of Starlight," he murmured in realization.
Cadance sadly nodded. "She's already on edge with Sunset gone, and now that three of the others are leaving for Cloudsdale it's even worse. She's scared, justifiably, that Starlight could be a real danger to her, as well as her family." She swallowed heavily. "Do you think having Crystal Prep behind her would help?"
Stygian hesitated. Then, licking his lips, he asked, "Do you think the parents of the other students would appreciate their children being put in Starlight's path should she come to power?"
"They're the children of the elite," she protested. "They'll be in her path anyway."
"Not necessarily," he replied. "The elite haven't gotten where they are today through political incompetence, and there are still ways to deal with a political absolutist like Starlight. They won't escape unscathed, no, but they won't be...'dealt with.'"
"Like Twilight will," Cadance scowled. "We need to help her, Stygian; her concerns are reasonable, and they are very disturbing. She is a teenager worrying about her family getting 'dealt with,' as you so diplomatically put it, as well as being 'dealt with' herself. We need to protect her from being 'dealt with.'"
"What we need," he replied. "is to protect those in our care, and declaring Crystal Prep's support for Twilight preemptively will do the exact opposite."
"But Twilight-"
"-is not our only consideration," Stygian interrupted. He bit his lip, then continued, "Principal, I understand your concerns, and I share many of them, but supporting Twilight like this will not help them. Crystal Prep alone, despite the boasts of certain individuals, cannot stand against the rest of the realm, and we might very well find ourselves alone if Starlight comes to power and we stand against her like that. Having Crystal Prep declare that it opposes unjust punishment, I would be the first to acclaim that declaration. Having Crystal Prep declare its principled opposition to the Unmarked, I would agree to that as well. Having Crystal Prep declare that it is willing, without regard for those in its care, to protect one girl from the government, that I cannot agree to. I am willing to discuss opposing the Unmarked, most heartily, but I am not willing to discuss sacrificing those in my care in order to do so."
Cadance stared back at him, eyes wide in shock. Then, face darkening, she looked down at her hands. "Your counsel is appreciated, Stygian," she murmured. "Thank you for your time."
He nodded, then softened his face. Gently, he put his hand on top of her's, and said, "I know that this is hard, but such is the weight of leadership. I empathize with you, with your desire to save your loved ones from peril, but sometimes indulging that desire will only lead to greater danger. It is not just what we do that is important, principal, but why and how we do it. Hard as it may be, there are certain things you shouldn't do, for the good of those in your care; just as you wouldn't give someone the aid of your little sibling to help lighten their load, so must you not imperil those in your care to save those you care for. You are not just Twilight's old babysitter anymore; you have others you need to think of, as well."
She made no reply, obviously still processing his words.
He gently clapped her hand in comfort, then stood up and started slowly shuffling out of the room. But as he put his hand on the doorknob, he paused, then turned back to look at her.
"Cadance?" he said. "One last piece of advice before I go. I gave it to Sombra when he first became principal, and now I believe it might serve you well. He came into office with high hopes, with dreams of breaking the upper class' hold on Crystal Prep, of saving the lower classes from their exile. 'You're the leader of Crystal Prep,' I warned him, 'not the hero of it.' He asked me what the difference between a leader and a hero was, and I told him, 'A hero saves the kingdom and its citizens, a leader makes sure there is a kingdom and citizens to save. More importantly, there can be many heroes, but there can only be one leader, so if you have to choose between doing your duty as a leader or as a hero, choose to be a leader; few others will.' You're the leader of Crystal Prep now, Cadenza, and here you have to choose, and it is a choice; the leader is too far away to help any individual, while the hero is too close to preserve the whole. Which will you be, Cadenza?"
She stayed silent.
"I wish you wisdom in your choice," he told her in farewell, dipping his head one last time before leaving and beginning his descent of the staircase.