A scroll, wrapped in a dark blue ribbon and sealed with the simplest candle wax seal, materialized out of thin air and fell onto Princess Luna’s face, waking her unpleasantly. She grumbled as she sat up on her bed and grabbed the scroll with her magic.
“What is it now?”
The room was completely dark; thick, heavy, three-layered curtains covered all the windows. For a second, Luna hesitated, wondering if she should open the letter or just go back to sleep. It was afternoon, she still had at least a couple more hours before she needed to be awake.
“Okay...” Her curiosity won out in the end. She blinked twice and forced her eyes to switch to night vision. It was something Luna was born with, but living in the castle, surrounded by candles, chandeliers and lamps slightly crippled this ability. She broke the seal and began to read.
Dear L.
Everything is going fine. I arrived on schedule and found a place to stay for the night. The locals seem to be very physical with each other, especially when resolving misunderstandings, but they are welcoming towards the strangers nonetheless. Of course, as you’ve probably figured, that it’s not why I’m writing to you.
The first night here, I had a dream. And not the regular, run of the mill dream...
“And what dreams are regular?” She mumbled, smiling to herself. The perception of dreams was one of their few differences. For obvious reasons – nopony in Equestria quite perceived them the way Luna did.
...but one of those we talked about many times. Let’s say, a prophetic dream.
Oh, this was getting interesting. Crescent Blackwing willing to accept a dream as ‘prophetic’ – something highly unexpected.
It featured me, in control of my body. And a cerberus, right in front of me. Its middle head was significantly bigger than the others which tried to bite it. Somepony called out to me from behind. It was a mare, but unrecognizable beyond that – she was all shadowy and translucent. I followed that pony to a big hexagonal room, but she had vanished. There were five brass levers on five walls. Pulling them caused parts of a big cage to appear around the cerberus. But before I could reach the last lever, a chandelier fell from the ceiling and suddenly the floor was on fire. I jumped through the flames to reach the last lever, and woke up.
I turn to you, as an expert, with hope that you will be able to see through at least some of this nonsense, as I have failed to. I’ll be looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this. Of course, I’ll report if anything relevant happens, or if more such visions appear.
I hope my bat-winged colleagues are keeping you company in my absence. Be well,
Yours, C.
The princess smiled mysteriously. This was certainly becoming a lot more interesting.
-----
The pastry was delicious. It looked like a simple chocolate cake, but its taste and aroma were completely unique and new to the Canterlot-native pegasus. Coldie revealed that the secrets of the recipe were almonds, cinnamon, specially selected chocolate and potatoes. Blackwing had to admit, this country baking was better than most (if not all) of the pastries he had had before.
After a copious dinner and loads of cake, all three ponies (including Tankard) were absolutely stuffed.
Tank leaned back in his chair and pulled a small smoking pipe out of his vest’s pocket. “All right sham, now tell me: what yer gonna do till Tuesday?” he asked as he started to fill his pipe with some pipeweed from a small pouch in another of his pockets.
Blackwing had been thinking about that since the visit at the town hall, but no actual plan seemed to have formed in his mind. “I don’t know. Guess I’ll just have to do some field research instead of browsing through written sources. Just have to find information on my own. You know, talk with ponies, examine historical places, that kind of stuff.” His expression grew a bit distant, as if he were remembering something. An inscrutable smile appeared on his face. “Actually, that’s usually the fun part.”
“Could you tell us what exactly the subject of your research is?” Coldie asked. She seemed a lot more interested in Blackwing’s assignment than her brother did.
The Canterlot-native hesitated for a moment. These candid provincials seemed rather trustworthy. But on the other hoof, there’s no need to explain the details, a general description would hopefully satisfy their curiosity. “I need to learn as much as possible about the machines in Shadington and their origins. Especially those that are old or magical.” That last word made the siblings exchange slightly puzzled looks.
“Dunno much ‘bout magic,” Tank said as he let a nice big smoke ring from his pipe soar up to the ceiling, “but if we’re talkin' machines, there’s nopony better for the job than Mr. Gearbox. He repairs all kinds of mechanisms. And he used to be pop’s best pal, now he’s mine.”
Blackwing placed a hoof to his chin and contemplated the idea for a moment. Better than nothing I suppose, he thought. “Could you set up a meeting for tomorrow?”
A couple of unruly smoke rings escaped Tank's pipe and floated through a window in a pursuit of freedom. “Actually, I’m goin’ to pay him a visit today. He wanted to talk ‘bout somethin'. You can come with me.”
“Sounds great.”
-----
The old facades of the buildings were painted in various shades of red, orange, and pink by the beautiful sunset as the two stallions walked down Sawyers’ Street, one of the main streets of Shadington. Soon, they approached an old workshop with a washed sign hanging over the entrance.
“The Gearbox. Not overly inventive,” Blackwing mumbled to himself.
It was a warm evening and the workshop’s doors had been left open allowing Blackwing to get a look inside as he and Tank entered the building. The interior was rather dim, lit only by the last rays of daylight as they oozed through the small, dirty windows. The main gate, used to carry in big machines and tools, was already closed. Strewn all about the workshop were tools, spare parts, broken mechanisms, and devices that were yet to be finished.
Behind all of the junk, behind an old shabby desk, sat Mr. Gearbox; a tall brown-coated unicorn with a blond beard, moustache, tail, and completely bald head. He wore a pair of blue overalls with lots of pockets, each stuffed with screws, screwdrivers, keys, and other small metal parts. Gearbox was apparently occupied with some blueprints on his desk, but when he noticed the guests, he quickly jumped from his chair and hurried over to greet them.
“Hi there Tankard! Glad to see ya.” The unicorn's accent was as strong as Tank's, if not stronger. He also resembled the big stallion in his physique – though Gearbox was just a bit smaller. “And I see ya brought a friend.”
“Yeah, hi. This here's Blackwing,” Tank said as he slapped Blackwing on the back causing him to fight to maintain his balance. “He’s from Canterlot.”
“Sweet Celaystia… a Canterlot-native in me workshop. Gonna have ta mark this date in me calendar, I tell ya!” Gearbox shouted as he let out a deep, thunderous laugh. Blackwing noticed a small red-coated unicorn colt peeking through the open door of a room in the back of the workshop. “Long way from Canterlot. What brings ya here boy?”
“He’s interested in the machines in Shadington,” Tank answered before Blackwing could. “And I tells him: There’s nopony who knows all the mechanic devices better than me sham, Gearbox.”
“Sure thing!” Gearbox nodded proudly at Tank's praise. Suddenly, he noticed the colt peeking through the door. “A, Sprocket! Come’ere, be polite, present ya’self. This here's me son, Sprocket.”
Sprocket entered the room and greeted the guests, smiling timidly. “G’dafternoon sirs.” His coat was dark red and his mane blond, just like his father’s beard. Apparently, the colt had yet to find his unique talent, as no cutie mark was visible on his flank.
Gearbox addressed Blackwing. “I’ll gladly answer all your questions about mechanics, in a minute though. First I need a word with Tank.” He gave Tankard a very serious look. “So, Sprocket please take care ‘bout our guest as I chat with Tank face to face.” He left the room and the big earth pony followed, closing the door to the back room behind him.
“Listen, I’ve got to ask ya a favor,” Gearbox started once they were alone, lowering his voice to a whisper.
“Ok... somethin’s wrong?” Tank’s usual calm expression showed a slight hint of worry as he asked.
“No... I... Well I’m not quite sure,” he admitted as he looked at the floor. “Remember when I told ya ‘bout this swelling I have under me left foreleg? Well, it began to grow quickly and it's started to hurt. I’ve been at Sawbones’ this mornin’ and the doctor said I should go to the Balefast hospital and have it cut out.”
Tank raised an eyebrow. “To Balefast? But Sawbones is a surgeon himself, can’t he do it?”
“He said he’s not sure what it is and the doctors in Balefast should decide. I have ta leave as soon as possible. That’s why I need you. You and Coldie both.” Gearbox lifted his gaze and gave Tank a pleading look. “You know it’s just the two of us, me and Sprocket. If I go to the hospital for Celaystia knows how long, there’s nopony to look after me kid.”
Tank looked his friend deeply in the eyes. “You never let down me dad when he needed ya. And when I was a kid, you were like a big brother to me.” Tank smiled and Gearbox brightened up. “You don’t even have to ask, I'll keep and eye on Sprocket for ya.”
Meanwhile, in the other room, Blackwing was trying not to waste time. He decided to ask Sprocket a few questions.
“So, your dad is a mechanic...”
“Yep. And the best one,” Sprocket said as he smiled proudly.
“Of course,” Blackwing said as he smiled too. The kid seemed very friendly. “He uses all these tools and sophisticated mechanic devices. He must be very smart.”
“Sure! Dad knows erythin ‘bout mechanics.” Sprocket’s admiration for his father was unusual, even for a young colt.
“But these machines are all very complicated. Does he use magic to make them work?” Blackwing wasn’t there to inspect Gearbox’s methods, but the kid could tell him more than his dad would like.
“Oh no, of course not,” Sprocket replied a bit resentfully. “Dad always says that it’s wrong to use magic on the mechanic devices. They must work naturally according to the laws of physics. Dad only uses telekinesis, for example, to turn a screwdriver. He’s not like the engineer.”
Blackwing’s ears twitched. Was this it? Was he on the right track? “Really now? And what he’s like?”
“Dad says that it’s impossible to build the machines the engineer does, without magic. He cheats. My dad would never do such thing,” Sprocket stated proudly. “And dad builds awesome machines! Wanna see? I’ll show ya!” The colt trotted to some big mechanism, partially hidden under a large canvas.
“All right...” Blackwing would much rather have talked about the engineer and his machines, but, he figured that learning about Gearbox's work could be a useful bit of information. Sprocket could only uncover a part of the machine because of his height; there, visible beneath the canvas, were four wheels and something that Blackwing recognized as an engine on a steel frame.
“It's an automobile!” Sprocket proudly explained. “It’s gonna be so awesome! And I have a clockwork version of it too! I’ll show ya!”
The colt dove under his dad’s desk and soon he returned to Blackwing with a toy in his muzzle which he placed on the floor in front of their guest. It looked like a carriage with room for four passengers, but with no place for anypony to pull. Blackwing had heard about these ‘automobiles’ before, but there were only prototypes in Canterlot. And yet, here in the farthest corner of Equestria, somepony had built one. And apparently miniatures too.
“Nice toy.” Blackwing admitted.
“I’d show ya how it works, but I can’t find the key...” Sprocket looked around and shrugged. “Let’s try anyways.” He closed his eyes and concentrated. A surprised Blackwing observed as the colt’s horn started to glow and soon, something clicked inside the toy and it started to move. “Here we go. See? It works.” Sprocket proudly pointed a hoof towards the toy automobile which was now driving in circles slowly around the pegasus.
Blackwing stared at the toy, stunned at what had just happened. This little colt had just cast some variation of the 'Come to life' spell on a clockwork toy. Most unicorns his age shouldn't even be able to levitate a quill, yet here was magic at a level taught in the School for Gifted Unicorns' advanced classes. And he did it so naturally, as if the spell was already in him. Blackwing stared at him, his mouth agape.
“D-did you just... make that toy move?” he stuttered.
Sprocket looked at him with a sudden look of terror. “Please, please don’t tell dad! He hates it when I do this kind of thing.” He stopped the toy with his hoof and hid it in some box by the wall just as the back room door opened and Tank and Gearbox returned. They both looked serious, but calm. Especially Gearbox, he had a specific, somewhat relieved expression on his face. Tank noticed that Blackwing looked like he had just seen a ghost and the earth pony gave him an inquiring glance. Blackwing shook his head, as if he were trying to wake up from some dream, and quickly regained his composure.
Gearbox didn’t notice his son standing by the wall with a guilty expression and terrified eyes; there were other things on his mind at the moment. “So... Blackwing, right? You had some questions ’bout my machines?”
-----
It was already dark when Tankard and Blackwing left the workshop and all the gas lanterns on Sawyers’ Street had been lit. The duo had spent a good couple hours at Gearbox’s, the mechanic had eagerly talked about his work and machines. Unfortunately for Blackwing, he wasn’t able to give any real new information on what he was there for. He had learned that Shadington had always been highly mechanized for such a small town. The machines helped ponies in various areas of life and work and when they broke, Gearbox would fix them; and he could fix virtually anything. Blackwing had brought the drawings Luna had given him, but Gearbox hadn’t been able to provide any useful information about the depicted devices. As for Steamhorn – all that the mechanic could offer was his speculation. He suspected the engineer was fueling his mechanisms with spells of long duration. He also thought that Steamhorn’s devices had some kind of magical protection, as they would almost never break. It could be simple jealousy, but Gearbox’s suspicions depicted the mayor as a dishonest fraud.
“Tank?” As they were walking down the Sawyers’ Street, Blackwing decided to ask his friend about the conversation between him and Gearbox.
“Huh?”
“Care to tell me what Gearbox wanted with you?”
“Why?”
“If it’s okay with you of course... I mean, I’m just curious. He seemed kinda worried at first...”
Tank sighed. “He’s ill and has to go to the Balefast hospital, as soon as possible,” he explained. “Gearbox wants me and Coldie to take care of his kid.”
Blackwing looked at the pavement. He felt a little guilty about asking the question now. “Oh, I understand...” he started as a thought struck him. “Wait. How is he supposed to get to Balefast before Tuesday?”
“His neighbor, Mr. Paddle, owns a tugboat. In the past, it was used to tow barges on the river. The boat’s old as hell, but it stays afloat somehow. Paddle offered to take him tomorrow.” After that, the two of them walked in silence for a while. The street was empty, as if everypony had gone to sleep once the sun had set. “You could go with them. Y’know, if you wanna meet the mayor sooner,” Tank proposed as they approached his house.
Blackwing had been thinking about the same thing. However, he wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to meet the mayor just yet. He had heard a lot about Steamhorn and now, something told him that he needed to be well prepared for that meeting. Also, part of him ridiculously feared the mayor might turn out to be the dangerous, rogue mage he was looking for. Of course, Steamwand would have to be over five hundred years old by now; but on the other hoof, wizards sometimes live very, very long lives. At least they did in fables.
“I’ll just wait, you know. No need to rush. I have time,” He answered hesitantly. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Blackwing spotted a motion in some dark cross street. Or he thought so. For when he glanced in that direction, there was nothing... He blamed it on shadow play and his own, silly fears. Tank just nodded.
Soon, they got back home. Cold Pint offered them supper, but they were both still full after the dinner and dessert earlier. It had been a long day, and Blackwing believed he deserved some rest.
Luna, however, had different ideas. When he entered the room and closed the door behind him, a scroll with a familiar dark blue ribbon materialized right in front of him and fell to the floor. Cameron slowly appeared from behind some crates and gave Blackwing a curious look. It seemed that he had found the dusty loft a perfect place for hunting some delicious insects. Blackwing sighed and picked the letter off the floor and sat down as he cracked the seal in a shape of a crescent moon. He put the letter on one of the crates in the room and began to read.
Dear C.
I’m glad everything seems to be proceeding as planned and you were well received by the citizens of Shadington. You should establish good relations with some locals. It’s important; sometimes it could save your life.
As for your dream, don't expect the answers right away. Some things should become clear in time. In theory, the scene that happened in your dreams should be a symbolization of actual events, past, present or future, that are relevant to your destiny. It may be hard to decipher its meaning, especially since you are not particularly experienced with these kinds of dreams. Just be patient, perceptive, and most importantly, think. Connect the dots and the answers should come to you.
The fact that you were in control of your body in the dream may suggest that this scene refers to the future and to some choices you are bound to make. What concerns me the most is the cerberus. It seems, to me at least, that it represents some kind of danger and I'm afraid that this could confirm my worries about Steamwand and his creations.
I will continue my research and contact you if I find anything relevant. In the meantime, keep working, investigate, and make good relations with the locals. Contact me if you find anything, or if more visions occur. I hope I’ve given you enough parchment.
And, of course, don't get in too much trouble. Be well.
Yours, L.
Blackwing hesitated for a while, wondering if he should write back right away. He had learned a few interesting and strange things today and maybe if he shared his worries with somepony capable of understanding, it would make him feel better. He decided to check his supply of scrolls. If they were supposed to exchange letters every day, he would quickly run out of parchment. And these were special scrolls, enchanted by the princess herself. If the letter was started and finished with right words, it would send itself to the right recipient. Very handy if you’re not carrying a dragon everywhere you go.
Blackwing walked to his saddlebags, which were lying by the entrance since he had returned from the market. When he opened one of the bags, a small piece of paper flew out of it and slowly floated to the floor. Blackwing and the chameleon exchanged puzzled looks.
“Was this inside when you were sleeping there?” he asked Cam, but there was no answer. Blackwing picked it up and inspected the paper.
We met in town hall. I think I’ve seen you before and if my assumptions are correct, you have seen me before too. If I’m right, we have some things to discuss. I live in a house inside a big fallen tree, on the north-western edge of the town. Meet me there, after dark.
Crystal Vial