"Princess Luna might have been able to help before it got that far," explained the Night Court's secretary, "but since you're looking for an official response, you'll have to go to Day Court. Canterlot University answers to the authority of Princess Celestia and the nobility."
"I suspected it would," said Mr. Book. "I have already submitted a petition."
"I apologize," said the secretary. "But you must be patient. Petitioning both Courts for the same issue is against the law."
Mr. Book tilted his head. "That was not mentioned in the books on court procedure. Is this a new law? Or has it been reinstated from old?"
"New," said the secretary. "The princesses have agreed not to step on each other's hooves."
"I see." He imagined the implications, then proposed an innocuous probe. "I do not intend to do this, but suppose I had a petition that could be resolved in either court, and it failed in one. Could I then petition the other? Does the law only forbid simultaneous petitions?"
"No," said the secretary. "One and done."
"Interesting," said Mr. Book. "In that case, am I allowed to observe Night Court without a petition? I shall soon experience Day Court first-hand, and the library is sparse on information about its counterpart."
She told him that all Night Court proceedings are private, privy only to petitioner and princess.
"Yet another point omitted by the history texts," he observed. "In that case, how is the public meant to learn more?"
The secretary paused. All of her responses thus far had been automatic. Now, it seemed, she actually had to think. "Pardon?"
"Do you have a standard information pamphlet? Or perhaps a book at the local library, available only to those who can request it by title?"
"Um... no?"
"Does the Night Princess appreciate the fact that it is so difficult to learn more about her court? Or is that by design?"
The secretary's eyes narrowed. "What's your name?"
"How is that relevant to my question?"
"It's a matter of common courtesy."
"'Courtesy' would suggest that you introduce your own name before demanding one from others."
"I'm Starry Midnight, sir."
"Too little, too late. Your tone was not courteous at all. If you do not speak your true motivation for asking after my name, I shall not give it."
There was a pause.
"Court petitioners must give their names to the court secretary."
"Ah," said Mr. Book. "So my petition is being accepted by the Night Court after all?"
"No-"
"I see. That must mean you are a dual secretary to Day and Night alike."
"No, but-"
"Then I am beyond your jurisdiction and not yet subject to that rule. That is not your true motive either. Two lies thus far. Would you care to try a third?"
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"I shall. You clearly have nothing of value to offer," said- "Mystery Book. That is my name. Tell the guards or the princess as you please. I look forward to it." He turned on his hoof and left.
The sooner the government failed one of his tests of their incompetence, the sooner he would stop following their silly little rules. Ordinarily, failure to maintain public order or societal structure was more than enough. In the most advanced, most liberal societies, he had to go a bit further afield, establishing a failure to live up to the impossible ideals they pretend to follow – in this case, freedom of speech. A spiteful secretary is often all it takes to prove that 'right' nonexistent.
When he was outside the castle, well beyond the hearing range of normal ponies...
"Ms. Midnight," said an amplified female voice from the door behind the secretary. "Enter."
Halfway through the conversation, he had noticed magic reminiscent of an eavesdropping charm, and so had left one in turn. But with the click of a door, his own charm became pointless. The room behind the secretary had been well-warded against magical scrying.
He wondered if the owner of that voice was Ms. Midnight's superior, and if so, how long it would take them to issue his arrest warrant.
Longer than four days, apparently.
Unusual.
Direct criticism of the government is rarely tolerated by state actors. Perhaps the secretary was not high enough on the power ladder to indulge in revenge. He wondered if this royal secretary would be the same way.
He stood in the middle of a wide, ornately adorned room. Behind him were a pair of large doors that the guard had closed after ushering him through. Before him was a pony with wings and horn, taller than any other in the room, and not only because she was standing on a raised, rectangular dais. She looked exactly the same as she did the morning of Summer Sun. Though there was a throne behind her, she was not sitting.
"Mystery Book?" the Day Court secretary announced. "The court will now hear your case."
“Mystery Book,” said Princess Celestia at a volume that suggested she was speaking to herself. “Why does that name sound familiar?” From her perspective, an ordinary dark grey pony wearing cloak and glasses stepped forward. "You are Mystery Book?" she inquired.
He nodded. "I am."
"Then we shall begin. What is your plea?"
"My petition included a thorough overview of my plea," Mr. Book, who hated repeating himself, replied to the ruler of the country. (And not just a ruler in name only, like so many other politicians. Though she had not exercised her power in centuries, it was well understood that she could if she chose.) "Were parts of my summary unclear? I can clarify any misunderstandings if necessary."
"Ahem," said Celestia's secretary. "Please repeat the case before the court." She gestured to a group of poshly appareled ponies on a different dais off to the side, who were hardly paying attention.
"Hmm..." Mr. Book vocalized, pretending to think about what to say as he looked upon the nobility. "Before I do, I must know what to repeat." He kept his tone deliberately non-combative, as if he were merely curious about common court proceedings. "Are those who participate in the final verdict of a case required to read the plea beforehand?"
"Yes," said the secretary, a trace of nervousness in her voice.
But they do not, Mr. Book thought, finishing that unfinished sentence.
"Then what is the point in repeating myself?" he asked. "No doubt there are plenty of petitioners who are eloquent writers but poor public speakers. The decision-makers should already know the major points of contention. I do not like wasting time. There are plenty ponies in line behind me."
"There can be hundreds of cases each day," explained the secretary. A blatant lie. The books said that, at best, the court might resolve sixty. On average, it was closer to thirty. "Keeping track of so many cases-"
"Is their job, is it not?" interrupted Mr. Book. "It is the reason for their wealth, the purpose for their nobility. I have had to read hundreds of papers in a day, had to write hundreds of responses. I did not complain." Get put in a dark mood? Yes. Complain? No. He adopted the role of Defense Professor voluntarily, and so did what that role required without fuss. If these nobles could not do the same for their own roles... "I trust complaint is beneath the esteemed members of this high court, just as it was beneath me."
There was a pause.
"Miss Blue Skies," said the voice of Princess Celestia. "You have his petition before you. Please read it aloud."
"But-" protested the secretary, then seemed to realize against whom she was protesting. Her mouth quickly snapped shut. "As you command, your majesty," she said after a moment to regain her composure.
Mr. Book's lips twitched upward.
So this was her majesty Princess Celestia? Inconvenience not the difficult guest, nor the negligent nobles. Only impose upon the stuffy secretary. A careful neutrality?
The secretary named Blue Skies cleared her throat, eyes on a page before her. "On the nineteenth of august, Canterlot University sent out acceptance letters to the ponies who passed their entrance exams. Among the recipients, the petitioner... pardon me. My apologies. It seems I have the wrong petition."
"You do not," said Mr. Book.
The secretary's existing frown deepened. She looked at Mr. Book, likely to confirm what she already knew.
"But," she said. "You're not a..." she trailed off.
Mr. Book said nothing. He only raised an eyebrow.
"Miss Blue Skies?" said the voice of Celestia. "The petition, if you please?"
"Um... yes, your majesty. Among the recipients, the petitioner was informed that he had scored higher than any other applicant."
The rules required petitioners over the age of 18 to write in 'third pony'. The reason was not given, but perhaps it was an attempt to keep the petitions from becoming too personal.
"He was later informed he stood among the highest scorers the Dean of Admissions had ever seen. The relevant point of fact is that he, unlike all other admitted applicants, is not a unicorn. While he did expect some issues to come from that, he did not expect anything so great that it would directly interfere with his education. Pegasus Swift Flight had graduated three centuries prior with above-average marks, and Mystery Book thought to do the same."
By this point, the nobility actually was paying attention. It would seem that they finally found his case more interesting than gossip, now that they actually knew of the subject matter.
"Mystery Book attended his classes like any other student and has yet to receive less than perfect marks on any assignment. For proof, see..." the secretary trailed off. She flipped through a few pages on her desk, then nodded. "Okay. Let the record show that multiple assignments with perfect scores have been provided."
"Got it," said a pony in a corner of the room whose magic held a furiously-scribbling quill. The stenographer, no doubt. They hadn't invented the reading-writing quill.
Ms. Skies continued. "Advanced Magic 101 was not exempt from his streak of perfect scores. Practical demonstrations were not required on assignments, and so a non-unicorn could perform just as well as any other student, with enough study. Unfortunately, an aspect of that class did require demonstration of magic. At regular intervals, the professor would call upon a student to cast a lecture's subject spell as part of a participation grade. When she eventually reached Mr. Book, she said that failure to participate would result in lost points. After Mr. Book asked in turn how he was meant to do that, she said he could leave. Mr. Book replied, openly in front of the entire class, 'You are giving me permission to skip lecture? Thank you. I think I shall accept.' Ms. Cast Steel, the professor, said nothing in response, only smiled.
"Four weeks later, when he returned to take the class's first test, he learned that she had not given him permission to skip her lectures, despite expressly saying he could leave the room. The syllabus has a clause which states that failure to attend three lectures will result in an automatic letter grade deduction. Mr. Book missed thirteen lectures, attending only long enough to drop off finished assignments and pick up graded ones, and so he was failed. This was likely the professor's goal from the start- excuse me," the secretary interrupted herself once more. "But baseless speculation on motive should be excluded from court petitions."
"It is not baseless, and the next sentence explains why," said Mr. Book. "It is relevant to the case."
Though in truth, he didn't actually believe it had been her goal. More of a seized opportunity, if that. For her to have planned it from the start would require a certain amount of intelligence she did not possess. Perhaps she planned to deduct points from his first walk-out, but he doubts she expected him to stay gone.
"Ms. Blue Skies," said the voice of Celestia, "Please read the petition in its entirety."
The secretary looked to her ruler, then looked back to the page, as if trying to find her spot. "This was likely the professor's goal from the start. She did not correct Mr. Book when he assumed aloud that she had given him permission to skip lectures as a result of his inability to participate in them." She stumbled slightly over that sentence, then seemed to redouble her focus. "As professor, it was Ms. Steel's responsibility to make that correction, but she did not offer it. She did offer a smile, now proven to be smug, not conciliatory. After he was denied permission to take her test four weeks later, the issue was brought to administration, whereupon Mr. Book was promptly expelled, despite his excellent academic record thus far. The Dean responsible for this outcome did not make any inquiries, did not attempt to confirm either side of the story, did not spend even two seconds thinking about the issue. The purpose of this petition is to have the case more thoroughly examined, with all sides taken into consideration before any conclusions are reached."
The aide stopped speaking, and the court was silent for a time.
The ponies of the room stared at Mr. Book. Most were clearly in disbelief, as they had been from the start, but some stares might have been expectant instead of skeptical, waiting for him to add to his petition in some way.
He did not add to his petition in any way.
There was more silence.
"Are we supposed to take this seriously?" a white-coated unicorn said at last. The stallion looked to be a prominent member of the nobility, wearing a well-fitting suit with expensive-appearing adornments. "An earth-pony admitted to Canterlot University?" he snorted. "Clearly a joke."
"Prince Blueblood has registered his opinion that the petitioner is joking," said the secretary to the stenographer.
Prince Blueblood? Really? Your NAME is the joke.
"It is no joke," said Mr. Book. He put a hoof to Mr. Silver's old pouch, void of all its old contents and containing only what Mr. Book had put inside, and said, "Copy of my acceptance letter to Canterlot University." He placed the note on the ground before him. "This pouch is enchanted with automatic voice-retrieval." Not that he needed the function. He could easily retrieve items wordlessly. "You do the math."
A blue glow seized the letter, bringing it to the pony whose horn glowed with the same color. "An obvious fake," scoffed Blueblood, and proceeded to tear it to pieces.
"I did say it was a copy, not the original," Mr. Book pointed out. "For further evidence..."
He intoned 'Making Magical Devices' and withdrew the tome of that title from his pouch. It was unavailable anywhere except-
"I have currently borrowed this from the Canterlot University Library. I have been disallowed from the school grounds and thus have been unable to return it. I am sure this oversight would have been corrected by the wonderfully intelligent and competent administration at Canterlot University in a reasonable and timely manner without my pointing it out directly."
The same blue glow retrieved the book. "You must have stolen this."
I intend to, thought Mr. Book. That and more if this continues.
Mr. Book withdrew five more books, again speaking the title for each. "These are my textbooks."
These were seized by Blueblood as well. Stolen, rather. He had paid for those.
"If you still do not believe me," said Mr. Book to the rest of the nobles, "you may ask Dean Waiting List about a student named Mystery Book. As I wrote in my opening remark, he claims I had the highest entrance exam score this year. Close to the highest of all time. I doubt he has already forgotten this incident."
Blueblood turned his back on Mr. Book, addressing his peers directly. "I believe this has gone on long enough. This court has more important things to do than entertain the fantasies of earth pony peasants."
Murmurs of agreement came from the rest of the nobility. Either Blueblood had swayed them, or they had already made up their minds. And since Celestia herself almost never makes judgements in her court cases, leaving it up to the ponies of the modern era to guide modern policy...
Thus has the highest form of Equestrian government proven itself irredeemably inept.
The tall, white unicorn's head turned enough to look down and smirk.
The thestral stared into haughty eyes for a long moment, subtly altering the opacity of his glasses enchantment, increasing transparency until he was able to establish the connection. He did this only for the very centre of each lens to ensure that only Blueblood would see the change. If Blueblood was paying close attention, he might have noticed his unusual eyes. The prince wasn't paying close attention.
Connection established.
He searched.
He grinned.
“Yes, of course," Mr. Book said in mock deference as he returned the charm to complete reflectiveness. "My apologies. I admit my joke was in poor taste. I do regret taking up this court’s precious time. You clearly have more important things to do than reading petitions or making decisions. I would not wish to interrupt your invaluable schedules, nor to delay Blueblood's continued clandestine meetings with a certain earth pony maid of pearl-coloured coat and black mane. I wonder if you have yet inflicted pregnancy upon her. Bastards are such wonderful gossip topics. I shall leave you to it.”
He bowed ironically and turned to leave, ignoring the appalled expressions.
As he neared the great entrance doors, he felt the magic of a swiftly approaching spell. He spun around so quickly it would look to others as if he'd teleported into position and rose his hoof to intercept the hex, catching it like a seeker would catch a snitch.
“Hmm,” said Mr. Book, looking at the ball of magic in his hoof as everypony else stared at him. I suspect you either flunked out of Canterlot University, never managed to make the cut in the first place, or bribed your way into passing your classes, he thought, but did not say aloud. “Terribly cast," he said instead. His gaze returned to Blueblood’s. "Worse than the poor casting, it was poorly aimed. If I had not deliberately intercepted, it would have missed. And worst of all,” he flicked the spell aside, causing a pillar to violently explode. “You structured the stinger so sloppily that it became potentially lethal."
"Sloppy structure?" Blueblood snorted incredulously, seemingly oblivious to the unusual sight of a non-unicorn catching a spell. Or any pony catching a spell. "I was top of my class I shall have you know!"
Bribed his way through school for certain, thought Mr. Book.
Then a different thought entered his mind:
I am sworn only to kill creatures whose deaths would make the world a better place. Would you like to see if that oath prevents me from killing YOU? I am certainly interested in performing that test.
But he knew his Parseltongue promise had not loosened enough to kill this imbecile. What he had seen was not quite non-consensual, and everything else was extreme incompetence instead of outright malice, for the most part. More importantly, further provocation in front of this realm's God-equivalent would not be wise, to say nothing of the secrets a statement like that would reveal, or the consequences that direct assault would bring. He had already revealed enough.
For now, he could claim to have a special talent for intercepting spells. There have been historical examples of non-unicorns with magic-related talents, and that was the excuse he would use for anypony who asked, if anypony did ask, and if he deigned to answer in the first place.
(If all else failed and overwhelming force was used against him, he had an escape plan. And if even that failed, he had already made a horcrux, and could resurrect himself if necessary.)
Instead of making a threat of physical harm, Mr. Book spoke to the wider court.
"I shall not bother asking that idiot be arrested for assault or attempted murder. I doubt it is punishable for the aristocracy to attack us unpleasant peasants, no matter what the law might say. It would be the epitome of naivete to expect that a prince suffers the other end of the authority he inflicts upon others. Still, I suppose this is just one more detail Quick Quill will be thrilled to hear.”
He saw it on the faces of the nobles, the moment they shifted from unconscious confidence to conscious concern.
If you have never dealt with journalists before, Mr. Book had once said, take it from me that the world gets a little brighter every time one dies.
He still held this opinion. But just as the world would be brighter without Dementors, he could nevertheless use their existences to his advantage. He knew how to entice members of the press: 'juicy' stories with emotionally charged narratives that agreed with their politics. Like he'd done with Ms. Granger's Wizengamot trial.
If he himself were a Canterlot unicorn, and in particular if he were a Canterlot noble, he would certainly feel both afraid of and spiteful towards the Manehatten earth pony responsible for exposing the ill-doings of so many of his peers. He had chosen his pawn carefully: Quick Quill the Quickwit, bane of Canterlot. She wrote for the Manehatten Manuscript, a prestigious publication religiously read by all ponies who thought themselves educated and well-informed. Especially members of Canterlot's high society.
"Let us not be hasty," said the voice of Equestria's ruler in response to that blackmail. It was the first she had spoken since the petition commenced. "You said your grievance was with a professor at Canterlot University, yes?"
“No, no, Princess Celestia," said Mr. Book, his mind made up long ago. "If you had spoken sooner, I would have accepted. It is far too late now. You have already allowed that pathetic prince to speak on behalf of Canterlot's royalty."
"Pathetic?!"
The idiot was easily ignored. "You permitted him to steal my property. Destroy my property. And you allowed him to convince the court of their ultimate decision. Your silence and inaction has made clear your actual opinion. Concession only in the face of a threat you actually fear would prove only that you do not actually wish to see true justice performed. Good day, your majesties."
"Guards!" Blueblood shouted, cutting off any response Celestia might have made. "Arrest him!"
The guards began complying with orders, some of them wearing reluctant looks. Especially the two non-unicorn contingents.
"10,000 bits," Mr. Book lied in a thoughtful voice, withdrawing a pre-prepared item from his pouch.
"The royal guard can't be bribed," declared one of the armoured ponies, a unicorn with white coat and blue mane.
"When they are standing directly in front of their princess," Mystery Book amended with a wry grin, "you are correct, they cannot be bribed."
The guard suddenly seemed less reluctant to arrest him.
"Though of course, I had been talking about the price I paid for this enchantment," Mr. Book clarified his lie, raising the item importantly and brushing off all magical attempts to seize it. "After I explained the underlying theory to the enchanter I commissioned for the job, of course." His gaze turned to the wider room, to the nobility, and to Blueblood specifically. "Farewell, gentleponies. I hope you enjoy your spotlights in the Manehattan Manuscript."
He snapped the portkey, disappearing from the courtroom just as the guards were about to converge. He spent a short time in the space between, then reappeared not far from the headquarters he had just named. Manehattan was a(n ordinary) three day's flight away from Canterlot (air-bucking notwithstanding). It was far beyond the range of pony teleportation and thus well beyond the reach of any governmental attempts at suppression of the press, at least until it would already be too late. Although come to think of it, there are phones here, so they do have a form of instant messaging and could issue threats by word of mouth... but Mr. Book was confident that what he went through would inspire enough Gryffindor courage for this establishment to willingly defy royal authority if it came to that.
"You weren't kidding," said the voice of Quick Quill from her desk. "You really can teleport. Cool sound effect, by the way." He had Apparated into the building proper. If he was going to establish that he could travel instantly by snapping twigs, he may as well make it seem as if there were some distinctive marker on the destination end. "So how'd it go?"
"The nobility did not believe I was a student of Canterlot University despite solid proof. Celestia stayed silent until I mentioned you by name. A noble named Blueblood stole my property, destroyed some of it, almost killed me, and attempted to have me arrested when that failed." At her expression, "I am fine, as you can see. I would prefer you focus on your work, instead of my wellbeing. I think you have your second article."
"Yes," Quick Quill nodded firmly. "I think I do. Thank you very much. And I never did thank you for that first one, did I?"
NON-UNICORN ADMITTED TO CANTERLOT U WITH "HIGHEST PLACEMENT SCORE"! IMMEDIATELY EXPELLED FOR NOT BEING A UNICORN? went the title of the issue that had made it to print mere hours ago.
"Thanks for that, too," said Quick Quill, tossing him a copy of the internationally syndicated newspaper, though of course it would take at least a week to reach Canterlot.
"You're quite welcome." Mr. Book stored the paper in his pouch. "When will the next article make it to print?"
"As soon as I can write it. I've already got the editor's go-ahead. We just sent out the last one, but we can rush out extra, no problem."
The first article had not gone out sooner because the court's judgement might have been influenced if it had. Both Mystery Book and Quick Quill had been interested to see how the petition would be answered in the absence of outside pressure.
Perhaps it was a mistake to mention Quick Quill before the official decision had been levied, but the opinion of the court, if not Celestia, had been clear enough by the time he did. Celestia herself stayed largely detached from political affairs, her presence in Day Court so minimal that it was almost as if she wasn't even there. She allowed ponies to govern themselves, rarely getting involved unless she heavily disagreed with the nobility, but such instances were so uncommon as to not be worth considering. It was over 99% probable that the final decision would have been against him.
"You didn't happen to nab the stenographer's page before you left, did ya?" Quick joked.
"No," said Mr. Book. "I have something much better. Potions, you see, do not require unicorns to make them."
As he had already tested with Silver and himself. He had also heard (though not personally confirmed) that a zebra named Zecora could brew potions, thus he suspected earth ponies, or apparent earth ponies, could do the same.
"And this potion," he said, holding a vial containing liquid which would permanently turn ordinary water into Pensieve water, "will allow you to view the fiasco from my perspective, directly and uncensored."
Memories could be adjusted or censored, of course, but he wouldn't alter this one except to hide what he saw with Legilimency. To Quick, it would seem as though he was simply looking into Blueblood's eyes.
Less than a minute later, he had set up the memory station. Less than ten minutes later, the length it took for the memory to play out in real time, he had used his hoof to draw the relevant memory (a process which was only slightly more tedious than using a wand to do the same) and place it into the basin. He had already decided to allow this magic to be known to Equestria. It was not particularly dangerous.
"View the memory as many times as you please."
Once Quick Quill had gotten her fill, it took less than an hour for the second article to make it to print. Passion and righteous indignation have a way of fueling a pony's speed and quality of work.
Mr. Book requested to see the article as soon as it was written. Quick did not mind letting him read it before her editor.
EXTRA: NON-UNICORN "PEASANT" INSULTED, ASSAULTED, AND ORDERED ARRESTED! PRINCE BLUEBLOOD ON THE RAMPAGE?
It mostly retold the Blueblood scene, with a healthy dose of anti-nobility rhetoric thrown in. It also omitted certain details. Mr. Book's demonstrated ability to catch and redirect spells, for instance, along with certain other facts, like his initial back-and-forth with the secretary. Anything unsuitable to the narrative of 'look at this poor defenseless pony oppressed by powerful unicorn nobility' was left untold.
Mr. Book did not complain.
Every plot had costs and risks. Ideally, a well-formed plot would only cost the time and effort it takes to execute, or perhaps petty cash. Here, however, using a journalist had cost him part of his public image. He was not a helpless victim, but that was how Ms. Quill had chosen to portray him. He disliked it, but it was tolerable. Public image meant little to him in the long run. He could always adopt a new name and face, as was his custom.
The last paragraph was the only one that ultimately interested him:
Now you know what TRULY goes on in Day Court, ponies of Manehattan. Will Prince Blueblood get off scot-free? Will Mystery Book be arrested by the Royal Guard? Will the ever-so-important unicorn nobles treat us "peasants" this way until the end of time? The public awaits the response of the crown.
Unlike the rest of the article, he didn't understand this paragrpagh's purpose. He questioned Quick about the call to action, asking what she expected to accomplish.
Quick Quill believed Celestia would not stand for what had occurred.
Mr. Book pointed out the fact that she had, in fact, been standing at the time, and had done nothing to stop or condemn it as it played out.
Quick Quill said to stop playing with words and to trust that Celestia would do the right thing.
Mr. Book had no trust.
At all.
He had already written off the Equestrian government, had already decided to stop obeying the rules, had already used Legilimency...
But...
He supposed he could wait a few more days before doing anything others would consider especially egregious.
He was curious what Celestia would do, if anything. Celestia was the only Canterlot noble Quick absolutely refused to touch with her quill – at least until she had solid proof of wrongdoing. And what happened earlier this day, Mr. Book reflected, would not qualify as solid proof. Quick Quill would not openly criticise her, but she would perhaps be convinced to speculate on the potential reasons behind Celestia's silence. Her inaction could have been for any number of reasons, not just his own cynical guess.
Mr. Silver had recently remarked on a flaw in Mr. Book's outlook – that he was cynical about everything else, but not about cynicism itself. That he was so cynical that his predictions routinely undershot reality, which is much, much better than the other way around (a logical fallacy that something like all the rest of humanity suffers from) but pessimism is still not quite as good as perfect prediction. Not that perfect prediction is possible, but there had been situations where his own understanding of human nature had proven flawed.
For example, 'love', or at least parental protection, is indeed a phenomenon with observable effects. Like when Lucius Malfoy – an intelligent, powerful, ruthless man whose heir had proven not quite as useful as he once believed – tried to reject a hundred thousand galleons simply to get revenge on the supposed attacker.
Though in truth, it was not that anecdote, but the Theory of Evolution that had finally convinced him.
Survival of the fittest made perfect sense. Members of a species most fit to reproduce passing down their traits made perfect sense. Social cooperation and cohesion being effective survival strategies – as seen in wolves, monkeys, herd creatures, and, yes, human beings – also made sense. Unity is strength, after all, and division is weakness.
The part of the theory that had been most difficult to accept, but ultimately undeniable, is that from a purely psychopathic evolutionary perspective, it was certainly beneficial for ancient humans to have an instinct to value their children more than their own lives under certain circumstances, especially if they themselves were no longer capable of reproduction. This would be especially true for mothers of adolescents, but the mechanism would exist in both sexes, even if it manifested more strongly in one over the other. There were even complex algorithms about how birds who sacrifice themselves for the entire flock – for the sake of their mere relatives, not their direct offspring – provides an evolutionary advantage to the martyr's own genetic code. But fundamentally, the impulses to protect, manifesting in the mammals as the emotion called 'love', does exist.
All this amounted to him admitting that, yes, his understanding of human nature, and now pony nature, had not been perfect. And he was prevented from seeing the problem in part by his own cynicism, which he rarely ever doubted. The natural solution was to be on careful lookout for instances when his cynicism might not be perfectly predictive. At first, that meant looking to instances in the past, especially the recent past, where his cynicism had failed him, even if it was only a slight failure. Once he had done that enough times, he would be able to see the pattern in present instances of flawed cynicism.
In this case, given the unabashed behaviour of the nobles, he had not predicted Celestia that would act in his favour, even in response to blackmail. And so, dropping his cynicism for just a moment, he could see a few 'positive' interpretations of her actions.
Perhaps past events had convinced her to never act on impulse. She had ultimate say and could reverse any decision made by the court after the fact. Perhaps an obscure law prevented her from immediately contradicting the nobility. Perhaps she wanted to confirm his claims with ironclad evidence before making any commitments. There were more possibilities than just the cynical ones.
On that note, he followed Quick Quill to the editor's office, an idea in mind.
He had not managed to convince Quick Quill to criticise Celestia, so he did it himself, though he was not overly harsh. Mr. Book was as fair as he could be in his assessment. He didn't expect it to be added to the article otherwise, not that he expected it to be accepted at all.
He described potential reasons, both positive and negative, for Celestia to allow Blueblood to act as he did, and for not intervening until she did.
Most critiques centered around the company kept in her courtroom, or the fact that she only responded to blackmail.
Most of the positive arguments stemmed from the age-old 'ponies have free will and she does not want to infringe upon that' line of reasoning. He might not believe the muggle fantasies surrounding God, but he had familiarised himself with all the 'best' justifications, just in case he found any of them convincing. It was easy enough to adapt those arguments to Celestia.
He had also added the more context-relevant considerations, including that, when her silence ended, even if it was in response to blackmail, she at least attempted to resolve conflict and open negotiations.
All of this he wrote down on the off chance the editor accepted it. To his mild surprise, she did, as a letter to herself.
He asked why.
The editor said she liked his 'fairness'.
He shrugged.
She quickly made it an extra addition to the extra edition, enjoying it so much that it would be shown in tandem with Quick's article, both segments beginning on the front page.
Mystery Book was the first pony, the editor remarked, to ever offer such a thoroughly reasoned, neutral, probably-not-going-to-bring-down-the-wrath-of-the-sun-upon-the-building-because-it's-blatantly-false criticism of Celestia.
Deleted scene time:
"Doesn't this incident," said Mr. Silver after reading the newspaper, "fly in the face of everything you ever taught me about pretending to lose?"
Mr. Book grinned. "I thought you might say that. Think back to the example I used in my second lecture, that dojo. Now that you have the benefit of hindsight, imagine what it implies."
There was a pause.
"My goal," said Mr. Book as Mr. Silver remained silent, "is to read this world's most advanced books on magic. That never required admittance to University in the first place. Their security is terrible and I can bypass it. To be fair, I only had the luxury to safely learn that fact as a student. Still, my final goal was never to be a student. Neither in the dojo, nor now."