I felt like I was awake in a dream; nothing worked except my lungs expanding and relaxing. I couldn't move, no matter how I strained. I might as well have been staked in the squelching mud that sucked at my limbs and body. Mist rose around me despite the rain. Lightning flashed blindingly in the dark, followed with ponderous inevitably by thunder. Despite the shish-shish of the rain, I heard a hoof fall. (On grass? On Wood?). Then another, and another, approaching, getting louder, heavier... My ears swiveled and I moved my eyes to the edge of my vision, straining, trying to see what stalked me, what made the sound. The staccato beat of my heart and the rush of blood in my ears drowned out the peal of thunder that followed another flash of blinding blue.
I saw a pony in red. An earth pony. Huge. A giant amongst workponies. He'd struck me, then dragged me from the road, then up the hill. Then, as the rain had fallen and the lightning had flashed, he'd...
A hoof rushed for my head! I couldn't move my legs to protect myself...
"Tartarus!" I screamed and sprung upright—
—in bed, thrashing away constricting sheets.
Sheets.
I slid the frogs of my hooves beside me to assure myself the fabric was real. I hear the zzzht of the fabric. I breathed so rapidly, I was becoming dizzy. I kept seeing the monster that had attacked me, though I felt the very real sheets and the mattress that supported my flank.
The monster hadn't worn red. Nor a dress.
"Calm! Calm there!"
I blinked and the nightmare faded. There had been no royal guardian of dreams back in those days.
I looked toward the voice. It was still dark, but not totally so. As my eyes adjusted from REM sleep, I saw moonlight and flickering neon streaming in from a floor-to-ceiling window that, as I focused upon it, seemed to continue beyond the plaster ceiling and to below the plank floor. Closer to me came the soft glow of a lantern filled with thaumaturgical marbles. A hoof lifted the handle and shook the brass-clad glass bulb to increase the light, making it rattle.
At the other end of the hoof, I saw a lanky roan stallion. His nose was black as if he had stuck it into the soot from a kerosene lantern. His hooves and lower legs looked similarly dipped. He had a lustrous long charcoal mane that cascaded over his red-furred neck and shoulders and reflected the lantern light. He lay with his rear legs out across a silver coverlet, on his barrel. He snapped closed the book he was reading and I smelled the comforting old library book scent wafting.
He said, "Hearken, the princess awakens from her slumber."
Blue eyes. Red roan stallion. I hissed. "Trigger!" I looked down. "You're reading a—a book."
"Too surprising that a thug might actually enjoy reading? My mother is a librarian."
I recognized my magic book. I instantly tried to grab it away with my magic, but got rewarded with an instant stab of pain from my horn, and an explosion of purple and blue phosphenes for my trouble.
"Calm there, Princess. Don't do magic."
As my vision cleared, I noticed he lay there without clothes. The black jacket, gone.
And I wore no clothes under the satiny sheets—which I nevertheless grabbed up to my neck. Of course, ponies normally did not wear clothes. I thought of all my petty sneering about nudity psychopathy, but felt a chill. Bits of the fear and helplessness from my nightmare rushed up, though I could not remember the gist of it. My limbs cooled. I was in a bed.
He was in the bed with me.
"Actually, I'm on top of the comforter."
I jerked back and hit my head on the headboard. My head made a coconut sound and that reminded me of... something.
"I can't read minds, but your glancing about with widening eyes made you easy to read."
"Don't call me 'Princess,'" I said, trying to find my mental equilibrium. That was difficult since the pain in my nose and in my head reasserted itself. I felt my thoughts slow as if my head were filled with cotton, or fog. "I hate princesses."
"Would you prefer Gelding? I'm willing to bet you made that name up just for me on the spot when we first met."
I gasped, and my head started throbbing. "Somepony kicked me!" I remembered the red dress at least, and the blue eyes. "One day, that mare will regret ever having met me!"
"Still got some fight in you, huh, Gelding?"
I wasn't wearing any clothes. I smelled strawberry scent on my fur. My mane pooled around my neck in glossy locks of purple and green. No dirt from the arena clung to my hair. My eyes crossed as I looked at my nose. The crust of blood was gone and I saw a thin line of glued skin.
I wore nothing.
"For your sake, you better not have bathed me!"
He grinned. "Blank flank."
I surged forward—
About a hoof length.
An enormous load of exhaustion asserted itself and all I succeeded in doing was throwing off the covers which fluttered down around me. I sunk back down with a groan, sliding until I lay flat.
Trigger sat up, reached over, and tossed the covers back on. I hadn't been tucked in since the last time I'd seen my parents, but soon I was snug with the warm downy comforter under my chin.
"Look, Gelding. I'm no monster. I was told to look after you, and you really were a mess. Athletes stink, and fighters worse because they sweat and roll in the dirt and get blood on them. Did you think I would let a pig fresh from her muddy sty wallow in my bed? One covered in blue dye?"
Flashes of my dream returned. Trigger wasn't the monster, but it made me think. "Two KOs."
He tilted his head. After a moment's thought, he asked, "I thought your record was six?"
"Not my wins by knock-outs. The times I've been knocked out."
"I'd heard nopony'd succeeded in doing that despite your two losses."
"That mare and another. Both monsters. Afterwards, I set his tail on fire in the middle of a thunderstorm. Her... She will rue the day." The red-dress mare. My eyes were closing as if they had lead weights pendant from the eyelashes.
"Sleep is the best thing."
"What did you see?"
"When I showered you? Other than that book cutie mark that scrubbed right off? That you're a cutie, but other than washing you and shampooing your mane? I didn't take advantage, I was told to take care of you. I follow orders."
"That's good," I said, surprised that my declaration was followed by a big yawn.
"Dr. Feel gave you some medicine after she cleaned up your nose. She said that if you couldn't do magic right away not to worry, it'll come back. Other than that, sleep."
I found myself slurring my words. "You. Stay put."
"Perfect gentlecolt, I promise." He made a plus sign across his chest and laid back down before opening my book.
"You. Read. Old Ponish?"
"I like the pictures."
Of course, there weren't any pictures in Marlin's. Just text, equations, violation physics trans-dimensional dot clouds, and my messy margin notes. You needed a certain genius, or a horn to understand the math.
"That's... horse apples, and you know it," I said as my awareness faded into darkness.
#
I awoke to a tantalizing smell. Probably barley or millet and rice, with butter. Hard to miss the butter smell, but also something unexpected—a marine undertone. The porridge made me think of home and servants that might have brought me oatmeal in bed on a cold weekend morning. Aches from tightening bruises and a dull throb centered in my forehead cast doubt that the last year or so had been some sort of bizarre dream.
I heard a hushed, "Yeah, bub, da bits are for you."
"Thanks, sir." I heard coins jangle and the whoosh of wings. I'd become quite good at hearing wing movements having fought so many pegasi.
The smell grew.
Trigger said, "I can tell you're faking it, Gelding; gotta little sis not much younger than you."
I rubbed my eyes. By day, the apartment looked nice, if sparingly decorated. I saw a picture of daisies, a brown sofa, a modern white laminate monstrosity of a breakfast table with tan Bakelite stools and not much more.
My roan nemesis stood in a flood of afternoon light with a tray upon which sat an earthenware bowl, spoons, and a wax box with red writing likely filled with porridge. My stomach growled just before I growled.
"A conflicted teen. Oh, goodie!" His eyes sparkled.
"You know there's a dead animal in that porridge, right?"
"I know you like the Le Petit Pescatarian Pegasus—that name's a mouthful! Sis long ago stopped playing the yuck card on me. You're an only foal, right?"
I gulped. Too close to home. He slid the tray over his head onto the bed, then deftly emptied the container into the bowl with a hoof and his nose.
Steam rose. A golden barley and hominy corn slurry, with bits of white-and-pink long-leg crab. I licked my chops, then slurped in my tongue with a quick blush.
He added, "I knew you were strange the day we met. You flicked your tail in my face, called yourself 'Gelding,' kneecapped a gang boss to our great good fortune, and creamed Mustang. Nice... Scary... But nice."
I grabbed a spoon in my magic, then gasped, surprised and relieved that my magic worked fine.
"Yep. Healed. Boss woulda been pissed somethin' bad had Dr. Feel failed."
"For the record, Mustang creamed herself," I said, chewing on the creamy porridge. It brought an unexpected smile to my face. I waved a hoof modestly between us and added, "I merely assisted her trajectory."
"Huh? Lost some teeth and her nose's still crooked. Remind me not to ask you for 'assistance.'"
Despite the spoon in my mouth, and the glutenous texture and flavorful seaweed broth making me wonder if I were still dreaming, I snorted.
Which hurt.
Bits of barley rose up my nose.
I spent the next few minutes snuffling while Trigger did his best to hide his amusement by watching out the window at the traffic—and not outright laughing.
As I finished, I spent the time staring at his flank and burnished legs and tail, not something I'd normally have done but for my position propped up on my back in bed. Despite him being lanky, and boney as a result, part of me liked the view.
He swished his tail as I dropped the spoon in the empty bowl. He knew I'd been sizing him up. He looked from his position in the sun into the darker room. His eyes glowed like a drop of liquid blue sky. The glare in his eyes probably saved me from him noticing my face warm and turn red.
Stretching, I asked, "What now?"
My back popped in a few places as I magicked the tray aside. Apart from feeling that I'd been beaten up last night, which I had, I felt well-rested and strong.
"I start training you."
My body went cold. The scene last night, where gang members cut me from the herd, came back. Photographer's flash bulbs exploding when hit by magic. Coach prevented from following me out of the arena. Me learning that my potentially lethal encounter with Cyclone Beaujangles had been set up. Gold bits swept into a purse. Me realizing my freedom was so threatened that I spun up Teleport and managed to make it work!
My freedom...
I found myself standing beside the bed, breathing hard. I narrowed my eyes. My freedom was precious.
I said, "Those words coming out of your mouth make me think of me being on a leash—like a dog."
His crooked smile struck me as essential Trigger. He waved a hoof, "Don't make it sound seemly. First off, you're too young for me in that sense." He stepped out of the sunlight and added, "Second, don't disappear on us again, I'd be in all kinda hurt if you left. While you'd likely find it all funny and such, you'd be missing out on a real opportunity."
He pointed.
I'd missed the night stand and a grey velvet settee chest. Upon the nightstand I saw my take of bits piled into a white porcelain bowl. A shiny heap of copper, silver, and gold. Next to it lay Marlins. Between the settee and the wall was my championship belt, and in a pulled-out drawer of the chest, was my saddlebags and the contents of my locker from Mobtown Mattresses.
I whispered, "That's a lot of bits."
"An advance on wages. The sports book is owned by our employer."
"Your employer."
"You're getting twitchy, aren't you?"
I was.
My hide was ticking. I'd unconsciously queued up Levitate. I found myself calculating a grab of the bits, my saddlebags, and Marlins. Could I teleport it all and myself?
Or would I knock myself out again?
I looked at him, realizing green glowed around my horn. I took a deep breath. I reflexively cracked my neck first right then left. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."
"Think of all those pricey magic books you could buy with a steady stream of bits."
I glared. "What is my freedom worth?"
He sat and gestured with both hooves. "Let's not exaggerate, okay? You know, I know, you'd be of no use if you weren't interested in the gig. I think you will be."
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He waved his hooves, exasperated. "Right, I need to convince you."
I nodded once.
He sighed as he walked to the bed. He lifted the tray with a hoof and placed it on his back. As he walked into the kitchen with it (behind a wall to the left of the breakfast table), he said, "The C. A. Syndicate has rivals. You see, it makes it hard to turn a profit when stuff ent 'cross town doesn't make it."
I stomped a hoof. "I'm not going to be some sort of, of, of— mule, transporting stolen goods across town. Not. Happening."
The dish and tray clanked in a steel sink. He looked around a corner back into the combined main room and bedroom. "It pays a lot."
"I am not a criminal."
"Says the pony who beats up other ponies for a living."
"That's a sport."
"Yeah." He laughed. "Riiight."
He disappeared back into the kitchen. I heard water running. Dishes clunked as he washed them.
I could just disappear. This very moment, he was pointedly giving me time to gather my stuff, fully prep my spells, and... I looked out the window. I saw an interior courtyard between ugly brick apartment blocks. Some clothes waved on half a dozen clothesline hung from windows to the fire escapes. The little park had trees denuded of leaves because of the season, a rusty bench, and a swing set. An easy Teleport, were I willing. However, at the moment, all I needed was to trot out the front door.
I looked at the bits. I'd been paying for library privileges out of my fight purses. They were expensive in Baltimare because magic libraries existed only in patrician parts of the city, where I didn't live, and they weren't public. I'd been saving bits and thinking of attending a school in Prancetown, all expensive. That dream required a steady job.
"Not as a criminal," I said aloud.
"Heard you the first time!" he shouted over the water, which he shut off. I heard him rim shot a hoof towel in a wicker basket. I looked up as he walked back into the room.
I said, "No way am I becoming somepony's mule."
"Okay. Okay. It's not like I'm whipping up a potion with my extensive potion expertise to turn you into one, you're too cute. Won't let that happen."
He winked.
I frowned. "Thanks, I think."
"How about—I think I could convince them of this—you accompany the 'mule team' and if somepony tries to waylay them, you distract them enough that the team can escape? Call it guard duty. That way you're not really associated, and once you're done distracting, you just 'disappear.'"
I thought about it. It did fit one of the definitions of conspiracy, however.
"I don't like to hurt ponies."
He snorted and said, "Yet, that stack of bits—"
"—says that I fought other ponies, all of whom understood they were in it to be hurt and to hurt other ponies. Not the same thing!"
"Cyclone—"
I yelled, "Celestia on roller skates! Don't go there! Had you not goaded him—"
"I didn't arrange that."
I huffed. "Regardless. He didn't do that on his own accord!"
"I heard he hated you." He shrugged. "You weren't safe, regardless. Heard it barely took a nudge."
I snorted my anger out of my nostrils as I levitated the coins, scraping them from the porcelain dish into my saddlebags. That reminded me. "You didn't pay Coach, did you?"
"White Towel coached you to a championship, that's plenty of payment. He'll demand a bigger cut from fight purses going forward."
I smiled, despite his words. "Not if he coaches somepony who understands how to negotiate."
"Few ponies are as talented as you, or so willing to give up fame and fortune."
The gears in my head suddenly seized up. I said, "His first offer was 80/20."
"Really?"
The implications in that one word made the blood drain from my face. "80/20 was ridiculous."
"Yes it was, and what you negotiated was good. He should have done better. So, stop looking like a filly after a bully stole her favorite doll."
He let me wobble for about a minute, rearranging my scattered wits and reconstructing my self-confidence. White Towel could have done better. And I'd done what I'd done starting from nothing. It had been a good deal, and he had fulfilled his half of the bargain.
So there.
He cleared his throat. I jerked my attention to his blue eyes.
"Think about C. A.'s offer. Think of the bits you'll give up, for working a few days every week or two."
Really? Interesting. A few days? I sat down. "You're not saying how much."
"You're good at math. Subtract your purse from the bits you stowed. That's a six-month retainer, though we'll spend half that time training you."
Considering that a gold bit could pay a month's rent at Mobtown Mattresses with maximal perks, and two could pay for a reasonable flat with a roommate...
Visions of books and school started to percolate into my brain. I shook my head, even as I said, "For working about a week in a month?"
"More or less. If you prove good, you'll be more in demand, but you'd be paid for it. And, usually, nopony bothers shipments."
"Just sometimes?"
"Unfortunately, sometimes. That's costly."
I looked away from his blue eyes to my open saddlebag. "Coach has to be paid." I gasped. "And he didn't even get a photo with me and the championship belt for his trophy wall!"
Trigger sighed. "The fellow is good at his job, but far from cooperative as far as C. A. is concerned."
Like me and Celestia. I understood that. "I have conditions."
"C. A. is as stubborn as you are. Best you don't go there."
"You want me—"
"Oh, I want you—" he said with a maybe not-so-mocking salacious grin.
I gave him a look. "I have conditions. That's one of them."
He compressed his lips.
I stood and waited for him to speak, staring pointedly into his oh-so-blue eyes.
After a minute, he blinked and sighed, looking out the window. "He understands how the economy works. We don't make the rules."
I got his implication. "That's true," I said, thinking of Princess Celestia.
Her meddling had led to the deaths of my parents. Compounding that, her efforts to make me one of her drones had eventually led me to run away from it all. All of it, totally unfair. Royalty made the rules. What I could expect from Celestia, if she ever caught me, would be analogous to what Whistlebutt would receive if I forced the issue to get him his bits.
Ruin.
Oppression, caused ultimately by cutie marks. Whatever the source of the infernal things, one day I'd fix that, but that tomorrow wasn't today. Today we were all under the hoof of somepony more powerful. Tomorrow, maybe we'd be more equal.
I felt a cold sweat coming on. I'd already stolen some of the alicorn's beautifully magical alicorn math. And— And Trigger, and by extension the C. A. Syndicate, knew that I was a blank flank. They knew my approximate age and what I looked like uncovered, unmarked, and undisguised. I shook myself out almost as if I'd had a bucket of water thrown on me.
"You okay?" Trigger asked.
I inhaled deeply and let it out slowly—to steady myself. I'd disappeared once. I could again. This time, I could fight. I looked him squarely in the eye, despite feeling my confidence waning. I asked, "Training?"
"You've lived in Baltimare over a year—"
I winced. Coach had had a file. How much did they know about who I was? What did they suspect? I pushed that out of my head.
"—You know the city, but you'll need to know it like the front of your hoof. You're also physically fit. You can fight. We maintain that and work on your magical skills—"
My heart leapt. They'll teach me... magic?
The bed's springs creaked as stepped back onto it. I laid down in a sphinx pose. I said, "I'm listening," but I really wasn't.
I was such a foal. So immature.
So easily bribed with candy.