Monday, 6:10 PM
It wasn't long after leaving Cloudsdale that he arrived at the crystal cave hideout. Probably because he used the portkey this time. The day isn't over yet; he still has a magic lesson to get through, taking place on a Monday instead of the weekend to make up for yesterday's missed class.
Mr. Book altered his plans on the fly when Silver made his bit-backed request. Instead of learning a few new spells, Silver would be brewing one of the tonics that would make the broomstick bone procedure simpler and safer.
The facts that he had to do it ambidextrously and that he was using hooves instead of hands still made things difficult, but at least he was finally back to the point where he could get potions right on his first try, if imperfectly. He'd been allowed to brew one potion with his normal hoof orientation a few lessons ago, just to have a recent reference frame for the impact of ambidexterity. He brewed that one perfectly. It was strange going from skilled to average just by switching hooves. He is now, according to Mr. Book, at the level of a student getting straight "A's" in Snape's class. "A's" as in Acceptables, not Amazings; the equivalent of a passing "C" grade in muggle schools.
It was during the brewing, during one of the longer stirring lulls, that he asked a question that had been bugging him.
"Why'd you intervene?" he asked the thestral who was brewing a significantly harder potion with significantly more ease. "I figured you'd want me to learn how to sort out a situation like that on my own."
"I was feeling incredibly bored and saw an opportunity to amuse myself. You have my apologies for stealing a perfectly good learning opportunity on how to deal with idiots when you cannot kill them."
"No, it's alright. I think you need more practice with that than I do, to be honest. If anything, the opportunity I missed was more along the lines of learning better customer relations. Soarin' wasn't the worst offender in that situation, and it was him I antagonized, not Spitfire. I guess we'll see what happens on Friday."
"You shall have a sooner indicator if the newspapers run extra editions."
There was a pause as Silver focused on his potion again.
"I'm curious," he said at the next lull. "How did you know all those facts about the Wonderbolts?"
"I researched the military strength of this country some time ago. When I discovered the Wonderbolts during that research, I wondered if, perhaps, they might serve as your placeholder career path, assuming our efforts to escape take longer than expected. I would have said something similar about the occupations of Dark Wizard Hunter, Curse-Breaker, or Auror on the other side of the Mirror. Though I did not see it until after the fact, one of the greatest benefits I received from martial arts was self-discipline. Military and other combat programs often provide that same benefit. Though as soon as I learned the truth about their modern incarnation, and in particular the facts I espoused earlier this day, I abandoned the idea that the Wonderbolts could be of any developmental use to you at all. The Wonderbolts have not seen true combat for hundreds of years. They are entertainers now, not soldiers, regardless of what they might have been propagandised into believing about themselves."
"So what Soarin' said about being Equestria's last line of defense was...?"
"Purely delusional, as he truly believed it himself. He is not intelligent or experienced enough to have been dishonest."
Silver silently wondered which was worse. From a moral perspective, dishonesty is generally worse than delusion, since it means conscious awareness of the problem and a deliberate effort to cover things up. But from a practical perspective, delusion is harder to dissuade without first shattering a person/pony's world view. And given what happened the last time he did that with Draco, he wasn't sure he wanted to see what would happen if the Wonderbolt delusion was shattered. On a small or large scale. Then again, with how public that confrontation had been, it was already out of his hooves.
Another stirring lull.
"Will you be coming to the second lesson?"
"No. I do not think I wish to inflict that boredom upon myself again, and I shall be occupied by other obligations regardless."
Friday, 2:54 PM
Waiting List walked through the halls of Canterlot University, towards a classroom more often used for administration than for education. As Dean of Admissions, it was his duty to personally admit every student to the school, a procedure usually carried out in bulk.
Mr. List had an office, yes. A rather large and spacious office, too. But addressing each portion of the new crop of students within that office would have been cramped and uncomfortable.
Of the thousands of applicants, only four hundred had passed the entrance exam, and only a few of those showed particular promise. He would be meeting those few privately, but for now...
He smiled at the sight of the final group he'd be inducting, both today and for the year. Fifty seated unicorns. Some wore fancy, expensive, or otherwise scholarly clothing – the sign of noble heritage, good breeding, and wealthy parents. Others wore little or nothing – the sign of common heritage, relative poverty, and ponies having climbed far to get where they are.
The clothes, Waiting List thought wryly, were often a sign of the price of admission. Canterlot U, generally speaking, was either very expensive or very cheap. Expensive for the rich, cheap for the poor. That idea had been proposed by Celestia herself to give smart yet penniless ponies a chance, while simultaneously keeping the school financially afloat through the tuitions of the wealthy. It was a policy that had served the institution well over the years, as Waiting himself could personally attest to.
"Attention, everypony," he said at exactly 3:00 PM, bringing the already-ordered classroom to further order. "Attention. I would like to say a few words before you begin your tour of the grounds."
The few eyes in the room that had not been upon him before now stared attentively.
"Many of you," he began in a lofty, amused voice, "may believe you have finally made it. That, by passing the entrance exam, you have finally reached that honored and coveted position of official Canterlot scholar." Waiting List chuckled. "That could not be further from the truth."
He heard a few intakes of breath and smiled.
"Passing that exam proves only that you have the potential to become a Canterlot scholar. Your true work lies in the days ahead. Will you prove yourselves to your friends and professors? Or will you be left behind by those who do? Only you can decide that. It will be shown by the strength of your mind, and your will, and your dedication. Some of you may have been born into knowledgeable families, while others may have worked diligently for all that you have. But I assure everycorn in this room: only those that are willing to put in the effort to learn the material will succeed at Canterlot U. That might mean attending office hours, or requesting tutoring from upperclassmares, or working overnight and into the morning to learn a difficult subject."
He looked at the room filled with promise, potential, and future disappointment.
"Many unicorns of many origins, rich and poor, have excelled at Canterlot U, and all of those unicorns had exactly two things in common: they were intelligent, and they were diligent. So far, you have all proven to me only that you are intelligent, and some less than others. However, even to those less intelligent, I say this: I have seen brilliant scholars fail out of this institution for being unwilling to put in the necessary work to succeed, just as I have witnessed less-brilliant scholars succeed with flying colors thanks to a strong work ethic. Today does not mark a day of accomplishment. Today marks the start of a long journey. Whether you make it to the end or fall short before then is entirely up to you. That is all."
Friday, 3:25 PM.
It was five minutes before school would end and thirty-five minutes before his second class would begin.
Silver was genuinely curious how many students he would have after Monday's debacle.
Of course, such an incident does not go unnoticed. Or unreported.
Later that same night, Twilight had received many angry letters and even more angry phone calls from disturbed parents demanding to know what their colt or filly meant about 'the bad Wonderbolt' or the 'scary gray pony'.
Alternatively, other parents were asking why there was a gaping hole in their living room floor and why their son/daughter wouldn't stop flying through walls...
Monday, 8:45 PM.
"Honestly," said Twilight, not quite slamming the phone. "It's almost like they don't know they learned how to fill in cloud gaps when they were in fourth grade!" She had, of course, been keeping up with the theory of Silver's curriculum, even if she couldn't perform weather magic herself. "It should only take a few seconds to fix!"
Spike shrugged. "Maybe they forgot."
"You don't just forget that sort of thing!" Twilight argued. "It would be like if you forgot how to breathe fire. It's just... just..."
At that moment, the door to the library opened. She felt her mane begin to crackle and spark.
"YOU!"
Silver took one look at Twilight, took one step backwards, and closed the door.
"GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT YOUNG STALLION!"
There was a pause.
The door creaked open again.
Silver's head popped through the opening.
"You are in so much trouble I don't even know where to begin!"
"Why?" Silver asked curiously. "What did I do wrong?"
"You were the one who invited Mystery Book to the lesson," Twilight seethed. "I know you did. Don't try to deny it." The phone began ringing again. "And since you came home so late, I've had to deal with all these wonderful phone calls."
The door creaked open more. "Okay... I guess I did. I'm sorry. For the phone calls, I mean."
"Sorry," Twilight seethed, "doesn't fix the problem." She pointed at the phone. "I want you to stand there and answer every single call. And I'll be listening."
Friday, 3:37 PM
Twilight may not have been pleased with how he handled the phone calls, but then, public relations had never been his strong point. He just ended up speaking sharply at people- er, ponies.
Even still, he was surprised to learn that not everypony had been put off by that first lesson, nor the stories told of it after the fact. Especially in the rumor mill of Cloudsdale High. More often than not, the rumors milling about were fueled by female teenage hormones, but on the rare occasions where the colts got involved, the mill was much more interesting. And in this case...
Tuesday, 1:37 PM
"S-Silver Wing?" asked a hesitant voice.
Silver looked up from the book he was browsing and beheld a brunette that looked a few years younger than himself. "Yeah?"
"Can I join your class?"
"So long as you can afford it. Ten bits an hour, twenty bits for one lesson."
The filly's eyes brightened, but then she hesitated. "Um... I already missed a class. Do I need to catch up?"
Silver thought for a moment. "Not for the upcoming lesson, which is Friday after school at the Flight Stadium, by the way. Maybe I'll arrange a catch-up lesson if I get enough new students."
Friday, 3:42 PM
That had happened during his Independent Study Period on Tuesday, with many similar incidents prior to that – during Coach Formation's tutoring sessions and during gym class – and even more incidents afterwards. Wednesday and Thursday and even today. He had known that controversy was good for generating interest, but he had underestimated just how powerful it could be.
The problem is that controversy is double-edged. It threatened to ruin his reputation and thus the credibility of the theories. Even the public support of former Wonderbolt Captain Flight Formation and Element of Magic Twilight Sparkle might not be enough to guard against an extremely vocal opposition. Especially when that opposition contained current members of the Wonderbolts.
Not to mention members of the press...
Wednesday, 3:40 PM, at a news kiosk.
MYSTERIOUS PONY PICKS A FIGHT WITH THE WONDERBOLTS AT CLOUDSDALE HIGH!
Read page 2a for an exclusive interview with Captain Spitfire about the incident...
Friday, 3:49 PM
Then again, not all journalists were in agreement against him. Controversy sells, and the competing newspapers of Cloudsdale at least seem to understand that they can sell more copies if they write different takes on the same story...
Wednesday, 3:47 PM, at the same news kiosk.
CLASH AT CLOUDSDALE HIGH! SPITFIRE ATTEMPTS TO ARREST A PONY FOR INSULTING HER. FORMER WONDERBOLT CAPTAIN BERATES CURRENT CAPTAIN FOR POOR BEHAVIOR.
Read page 4b for an interview with the Element of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, who was there at the time...
Friday, 3:55 PM
The Wonderbolts themselves also were not unified against him. Fleetfoot, for example, felt the need to personally inform him that she would be returning to his class despite the actions of her current captain. Nopony else had directly come up to him and said that, but there were more Wonderbolts than just her in attendance, as he could see now that he stood in the stadium. Soarin' and Spitfire were understandably absent.
If the size of his current class is anything to go by, the opposition hasn't been nearly as effective due to its internal divisions. Mr. Book had been very correct on that score.
Not that his own side is entirely unified. Twilight, for example, still has massive misgivings about Mystery Book's contributions, including the NDA, and said as much in her newspaper interview. But his own side is at least more unified, which should be good enough.
"Today," said Silver to a class one hundred and twenty pegasi strong, "you will be teaching yourselves how to do the opposite of cloud phasing."
His weather skills were currently at the level of an 8th grader, according to Flight Formation. He had flown through all his cloud-shaping lessons, the state of mind required to manipulate clouds similar to the mental discipline required for Transfiguration. Cloud-shaping was much easier, though.
With an effort of weather magic, he moulded a cloud into the shape of a sword. Silver grasped the hilt, thought firmly of his determination to wield it, and swung it through an apple held aloft by Twilight's magic. The apple split into two clean halves.
"You will be teaching yourselves how to cloud harden."
Much of his audience reacted in various forms of surprise, from gasps to shocked stares to colts saying "Coooool!" A natural result from seeing the 'impossible' done right in front of their eyes.
The fundamental theory of cloud manipulation, proposed by Swift Flight the Swift Thinker three centuries ago, was that only pegasus magic (or unicorn spells shaped to mimic pegasus magic, like the cloud-walking spell) could interact with clouds as if they were physical objects.
Under any other circumstance, clouds were supposed to act like... well, clouds. Clumps of condensed water. Mist. And even when they were being manipulated, it was only pegasus magic (and the one wielding it) that could interact with them. Physical things could not touch clouds – even clouds in the process of being manipulated by a pegasus – unless those things were also enchanted with pegasus-like magic.
In other words, even if a cloud had been shaped into a sword, it should have dispersed like mist the moment it came in contact with an ordinary apple. Even if the apple had been enchanted to cloud-walk, like many physical objects in Cloudsdale, a cloud-sword still shouldn't be able to slice it in two. It should do what all clouds do in the presence of pegasus magic: act like big, soft pillows. Or in this case, the cloud sword should have bent and distorted so as not to bruise the fruit.
Clouds are not dangerous, even to objects or ponies infused with pegasus magic. (Except hazardous weather clouds, but the danger there isn't due to the solidity of the clouds.) No matter what shape they've taken, clouds should not be capable of bruising, stabbing, or cutting.
In theory.
Unicorn theory.
Well, actually, some of that is actual pegasus theory for once. Swift Flight had proposed it. But the theory had been refined in the presence of and under influence from unicorns, so it hadn't been surprising to Silver when he'd found exceptions to the "laws".
As for what inspired this particular lesson to take this particular shape, he had once again been unable to stop his mind from looking at what he'd learned/discovered and seeing creative ways ponies could be killed with the new knowledge. Once again, it was like looking at a picture of a fish and trying to stop your brain from realising that it was a fish. It was an automatic process, an unbreakable habit, performed independently of his will. The more he thought about it, the more it happened.
But at least that habit had given Silver a tangible subject for his second lesson, plus an important insight. Since he could so easily see how to kill ponies, he saw that he shouldn't teach air-bucking until much later, well after he'd instilled enough caution and taught enough techniques that his class wouldn't get themselves killed in any way he could foresee. Like, say, by bucking yourself into a tree at top speed, or by being unable to properly slow down after a strong take-off.
He would have asked Mr. Book to point out any other lethal problems he wasn't seeing, but Silver hadn't thought to ask on Monday, nor had he spoken with his mentor since then.
Mr. Book had at least had the courtesy to inform Silver that he'd be busy today. Something to do with a "meeting".
High Hay is an excellent establishment for the well-to-do Canterlot pony. It has a diverse, tasty, and healthy selection of foods, skilled staff, and an excellent view.
Waiting List sat down at one of the restaurant's two outdoor tables, situated on an upper terrace that overlooked the entire city. He requested a glass of wine from the waiter before checking his pocket watch.
5:55 PM.
He nodded to himself. Five minutes early, the perfect punctuality for politeness.
He'd had private meetings with the other promising applicants in his personal office, saving this setting for the best of the bunch. Well, 'best' according to test scores alone. Waiting List had long learned to postpone judgement until after he'd actually met the applicant.
At 6:03 PM, after the waiter had brought him his wine and he'd ordered his food, he sighed.
Late.
This wasn't a good sign.
Waiting List looked around himself. Perhaps the student had already sat himself, assuming the dean would be second to arrive.
A gray pony wearing a cloak and glasses sat at the only other table on the restaurant's open patio, reading a book and sipping what smelled like tea. There were no other ponies present.
"You seem somewhat anticipatory," remarked that pony when he noticed Waiting's glance. "Are you waiting for somepony?"
Waiting List thought of ignoring the pony for a moment, then decided against it. A polite conversation would be a decent way to pass the time while he waited. Again, he had long learned to postpone judgement, and emergencies did crop up from time to time. Perhaps Mystery Book had already arrived and was in the bathroom, or was having trouble finding the restaurant. It wouldn't be the first time.
"I am."
"Whom?" asked the gray earth pony – or perhaps pegasus, come to think of it. Then again, the cloak didn't look wide enough to hide wings.
"A student," said Waiting List.
"You are a professor?"
"I am the Dean of Admissions at Canterlot University," proclaimed the former professor with pride.
"Classes do not start until two weeks from now," observed the other insightfully.
The school's schedule wasn't especially uncommon knowledge in Canterlot. Many businesses kept a close eye on Canterlot U, offering special deals at special times to attract the patronage of the student body. Perhaps this pegasus/earth pony was one of those business owners. He would have to be fairly wealthy to afford this particular restaurant, and especially this particular seating.
"You must be meeting an applicant," that pony guessed with continued insight.
Waiting List nodded. "I am."
"If a student has caught the your eye this early," said the probable earth pony, "he or she must have done something very right or very wrong. Given our surrounding setting, I assume the former?"
Waiting List nodded again. It was a reasonable line of logic. "Yes. He did well on his entrance exam. One of the highest scores I've ever seen, actually."
At least cumulatively. His historical understanding could use touching up, but every other area was either perfect or near-perfect.
"Why does that warrant a meeting?"
"I simply wish to get a better idea of the pony behind the name."
"Why meet in pony? Could you not learn everything necessary to perform your job from his application? Or perhaps an exchange of letters, if you wished to know more?"
"When you only know a pony through test scores and standard admittance postage, you can rarely make judgements on personality," said Waiting List. "Even exchanging letters does not suffice."
"True," nodded the gray pony. "But it is possible to infer things about a pony even through that admittance postage. For example, did the pony come from a place of poverty, or was he born into wealth and privilege?"
"Poverty," said Waiting List. Like myself, the Dean thought privately.
"What does that tell you about the applicant?"
"It is often a sign of a good work ethic," said the Dean of Admissions, "though it also means the student will probably have difficulties integrating into high society." Like himself, so long ago. "Students with backgrounds of poverty also suffer from a certain set of emotional problems, like a lack of confidence, just as students with backgrounds of wealth suffer from a different set of problems, like overconfidence. But those are just generalities. You can never guess what a student will be like ahead of time until you meet them. There are always outliers."
The gray pony – his accent clearly marking him as a member of high society even though he was an earth pony (perhaps he married into it?) – nodded in agreement. "Indeed."
There was silence for a time, as Waiting List sipped his wine and the other pony sipped his tea.
Waiting List checked his pocket watch.
6:10.
He sighed.
"There are further inferences that can be made only from standard application sheets," the other pony said into the silence. "Does the application require a physical description, perhaps? In particular, does it require a Cutie Mark description? You might be able to deduce his special talent. Especially if you already know his name."
"Hmm," said Waiting List, his own voice thoughtful as well. "Yes, I suppose so." He unlocked his briefcase's magical lock, withdrew the application, and examined it.
With some surprise (this was the first time he'd taken a closer look at the application) he saw that it was as bare-bones as could be. Every optional field had been left blank, and every available field which allowed for the answer N/A was filled in that way. Even the space for pony sub-species space had been left blank, though that did not surprise Waiting List. Many of the smartest applicants didn't bother putting in the effort to write "unicorn", seeing that box for what it was: a formality.
All applicants who passed the entrance test in the past 300 years have been unicorns, a result of the deep magical knowledge required.
Oh, there have been many non-unicorns to apply, and many non-unicorns to do well on the non-magical sections. Some earth ponies and pegasi have even managed to do extremely well in those sections. But magic is a core class of Canterlot U, and if you cannot at least demonstrate adeptness with the theory, you will not be allowed admittance.
Mystery Book had not failed to demonstrate his own; quite the opposite. His answers to the magic portions of the entrance exam had been beyond stellar. A perfect score, with correct and unusually insightful/interesting answers to the open-ended questions. Therefore his race was obviously unicorn, even if he didn't explicitly write it down.
"Is there anything you can infer from the applicant's appearance?" the non-unicorn asked, startling Waiting List from his musings.
"Ah... less than usual." Waiting's eyes glanced over the blank and N/A answers until they landed upon the appearance section, which was mostly mandatory. "But I believe I could still infer a thing or two."
Name: Mystery Book
Pony Species:
Sex: Male
Coat Color: R/G/B 93/93/93 – Dark Grey
Waiting List frowned, and not just because this is the first time he'd ever seen somepony describe his own hue with the R/G/B system, a technical and exact way of describing color. That actually would have made him smile, ordinarily.
He frowned because that's not how 'gray' is spelled. Or rather, he suddenly remembered, 'gray' has not been spelled that way for hundreds of years, a fact he only knew thanks to a single class he took over thirty years ago about ancient literature.
A/N: Grey is for the English of England, gray is for us Yanks in America. MLP seems to be set in a pony version of America, so I'm having the locals speak and think in American English. Even though I've written it so that high society unicorns have British accents, all Equestrians will still use American spelling, with a single exception.
And if you're curious, I've been doing that this entire fic; I try to use British spelling during Book and Silver's perspectives, or during their speech in dialogue if it's somepony else's perspective. For everypony else I try to use American spelling. I've probably fallen short of perfection with that goal, but I'm making the effort.
Waiting List looked to the rest of the descriptors.
Mane Color: R/G/B 0/0/0 – Black
Eye Color: R/G/B 197/234/254 – Ice Blue
Weight: 195 lbs. (Extremely light, Waiting thought. Maybe he was so poor that he had trouble affording proper nutrition? Or he was just short? Or stunted?)
Height: 4 ft 11 in (Not short...)
Length: 6 ft 2 in (Nor stunted. Hmm... gangly, then?)
Age: 55 (Wait, what?)
Cutie Mark:
The standard shorthand style for cutie mark description was ignored in favor of the larger description box below, used by ponies with non-standard Cutie Marks.
A book open to its centerfold, resting upon a backdrop of constellations. The bottom of the right page depicts the infinity symbol. The rest is blank. Special talent: solving mysteries.
Waiting List stared at the list of traits in something of a daze. Especially the last ones.
He'd never encountered that special talent before. Perhaps that explained the unusual Cutie Mark? But the Cutie Mark didn't seem to have anything to do with mysteries, except that the mark itself is mysterious...
"What can you infer?" the pony asked after another audible sip of tea, again startling the Dean of Admissions out of his surprise.
"Ah," said the Dean of Admissions, blinking. "Well, this is certainly the oldest applicant I have ever seen." The Dean's eyes widened slightly. "In fact, he is just exactly as old as I am. I don't believe that has ever happened before."
The gray pony chuckled. "Scholarship has no age limit," the stallion supplied, rather wryly. "In fact, the most eminent scholars are often the oldest."
Waiting List paused. "Well... that is correct, I suppose," he conceded. "But most of those elders began their tutelage when they were young. This is the first time I've ever seen such a... ripe age on an application." The Dean blinked thoughtfully. "Though I suppose his age could explain his test scores."
A reflection of experience more than intelligence?
"Indeed," said the gray pony. "Perhaps he pursued other endeavours in his youth and seeks to refine his knowledge in his autumn years."
"Perhaps."
There was another pause.
Waiting List checked his watch.
6:17.
"And his Cutie Mark?" asked the gray pony. "What can you infer from that?"
"A background of constellations can mean a number of things," Waiting mused. "But for scholarly ponies it almost always means an affinity for astronomy. A book often indicates a desire for knowledge... but this book..." Waiting List felt his eyebrows furrow. "Here I have no idea."
The pony raised an eyebrow. "Do you think you can infer his special talent from the book's contents, whatever they are?"
"He wrote out his special talent, actually."
"He did?" asked the pony, sounding interested. "May I inquire after what he wrote?"
"Solving mysteries," said the Dean, seeing no harm in sharing the answer. "Though I do not quite see how that relates to his cutie mark. Perhaps that is why he wrote it explicitly."
"Is mystery-solving related to any other part of his application?"
"Yes, actually," said Waiting List. "His name. Mystery Book. And I suppose his name further relates to his Cutie Mark." He was beginning to make sense of it all, finally overcoming his initial befuddlement.
"Mystery Book," said that pony. "Whose Cutie Mark depicts a book, and who specialises in solving mysteries. I wonder if he expects others to solve mysteries, even as he unravels them himself."
There was a long pause, as the Dean considered those words in conjunction with the application page. The pause stretched long enough for Waiting's food to arrive – so commonly ordered at this point that the waiter had not even needed to ask, though of course he still had.
"Well," said the gray pony. "I must take my leave now. For myself, I was waiting for a certain pony to come and acknowledge my presence. Or at least ask after my name. But it would seem I have been flouted by my host. I apologise that you have been flouted by your own guest in turn. Until later, Waiting List." The gray pony stood and walked into the restaurant proper, presumably to walk back out again through the main entrance.
Waiting List would wait another thirty minutes after that, enjoying one of his favorite meals and allowing the pleasure of that initial conversation to distract him from his disappointment. Promising students failing to show up to these initial meetings was never a good sign. But at least he had learned a few things despite that.
Waiting List never noticed that he had never introduced himself to his conversational partner by name, nor did he notice that he was charged for that gray pony's tea.