//------------------------------// // Chapter 26: Any Plan in a Storm // Story: The Enforcer and Her Blackmailers (Enhanced & Augmented) // by scifipony //------------------------------// I knocked a couple of foals aside barreling from the lavatory, heading for the stairs. The halls were clearing, except for a few ponies grabbing books and slamming lockers as the morning sun streamed through the hallway windows. The bell rang. A last gold colt slipped through the doorway and shut the door as I skidded up, recognizing I wasn't a classmate. Winded, I pressed my face against the cold rectangular window to see Sunset Shimmer in a wall-side desk, rustling through her saddlebags and bringing out papers. I slid to the worn, darkly-stained wood floor, feeling as dented and trodden by horseshoes as the centuries-old oak planking. A small purple mare trotted quietly by, tardy as I, frowning at me askance between two levitated tomes. Not kidnapped, then. Of course not! What good would kidnapping do for Running Mead? He wanted influence through a minion with access to Canterlot Castle, namely me. He stood to lose it if he got the royal guard involved and my affiliations leaked. Still, I was no expert in criminal psychology, despite spending time entirely too involved in a such organization. I'd been told I'd been practicing plausible deniability. With a sigh, I levered myself up and trotted to class against growing paranoia that I shouldn't be leaving the keys to my new life unguarded. Though tardy, I shot from the room a minute before the bell, leaving a potions quiz incomplete, to make it to Sunset's class as the bell sounded. A tide of pastel ponies surged outward, none yellow with a yellow and red mane. When I could safely stick my head inside without getting my nose broken, Sunset Shimmer sighed and laid her head on her desk, her bright tresses cascading over her eyes. The auburn teacher in a brown dress said, "Excuse me!" squeezing past as I entered. Standing beside my patron, I asked, "Are you okay?" Without lifting her head, she groaned. "Why are you here?" I packed her notebook and quill, pulled her unenergetic self standing, and placed her saddlebags on her back. "What you need is a mug of strong sugary tea!" "Won't help," she said… ...and said again, in the empty cafeteria, when I set a mug of deep red liquid with a rapidly melting ice cube before her. She deigned to sip it, then affixed her green eyes on me, "Why've you done this to me? There wasn't a second period class. I could have snoozed for an hour upstairs." "I was worried." "About what?" Well, that was an awkward question. Let's see: A pegasus delivered a note from a crime boss with a threat on your life this morning? Though she hadn't asked, I assumed she thought my "gigs" in the Lower were either acting or musical. Proper Step had insisted a filly needed to learn to sing (in tune and with perfect pitch), and occasionally I sang pop and bridleway show tunes around the ivory tower while doing experiments, cooking, or showering. Parade songs worked nicely for keeping time during aerobics in Sunset's amazing gym and expanded my lung capacity. Oh, yeah, Sunset, speaking of which, I also worked as a racketeer's enforcer, though I recently quit, which is why you're in these horse apples. That would ruin everything. Running Mead would find my discomfort amusing, but I doubted the imagined humor was what he had had in mind with his note. Instead, I said, brightly, "You were fine at breakfast." "Say, isn't your library science class now? You were so excited about getting that book. Go. Leave me alone." Her hair slid over her eyes as she bent to sip her tea loudly. "You planning on going into Canterlot for lunch?" "Scrounge up your own flapping lunch, Glimmer," she hissed. "Go." I found her at lunch on the castle-side quad, under a tree, munching brown-bagged sliced apples and curried hay, reading a textbook. As I passed by behind Sunset Shimmer, the usually wary pony continued reading placidly, not noticing. At least she looked less downtrodden. Strong tea, maybe? I walked around the building toward the front lawns. Intuition, or something seen subliminally, made me look toward Castle Walk Boulevard. I saw a pony with a white blaze. This wasn't me thinking I saw Sunburst, who had both a white blaze on his muzzle and white socks. I'd seen Sunburst everywhere I looked the year he left for Canterlot. Maybe it was a flavor of that old hyperawareness—mixed with the memory of fighting another with a white blaze, locked in a battle that I'd expected to end with me dead. I stood in the shade behind a fragrant cypress tree. Was it Fellows coming out of the bank wearing a tan business suit, white shirt, and red tie, "idly" looking around from the vantage point of the granite steps? "Ehhhh...." Not dead, then. Of course, Running Mead was stupid enough to believe that, which meant he didn't have spies in the constabulary—yet. Didn't Fellows suspect his appearance might scare Grimoire? Of course, the detective might have learned that a suspicious blue pegasus pony delivered a blue note to a snitty filly with a chartreuse-striped purple mane... What had he remembered about my cloaked looks? I glanced around. No students stood close. A few talked or ate their sandwiches, laying on the lawn, studying. Others watched an impromptu hoofball game in the rear of the school. Despite the blue-sky reflected in the windows, I felt certain nopony watched me. I cast Don't Look Don't See Don't Hear and trotted quickly to the downtown street. The illusion had its usual drawbacks. One odd head turn, expression, reflexive dodge of something not fully seen by any potential observer, even an unnoticed ear flick, could break the illusory verisimilitude that interfered with the senses and, in a cascade, cause everypony to look at what nopony had until that moment realized they had not seen. At the sidewalk, I assured myself it was the self-same mauve pony with white candy stripes in his purple mane, just before he clattered down the steps and strolled toward the Hey Burger! Passing a student, I timed my crossing to avoid a northbound bus and a southbound van, the latter blowing my tail aside. Hoof traffic was light, but it felt like threading a needle, me having to concentrate on the spell and being aware of everything 360º around me, including moving ponies, sandwich-board restaurant menu signs, cafe tables, newspaper racks, and thus-such that limited my ability to dodge. My neck began to hurt from swinging it. I sweated. I'd learned well that the spell didn't mask that distraction. I caught up to him past the Hey Burger!, where I noticed the triangle sliced off his ear. That thrilled him. Sure it did. Better than dead, though. He purchased from a window a stick of apples, jicama, and watermelon dipped in chocolate. He glanced at the school. Exactly why, I still had no idea. I noticed an orange foal trailing his mother, pulling a quacking wooden duck on wheels. His eyes followed me as he approached, but he looked down shyly at my glance. He saw me. Well, add to the weaknesses of the spell the height of the caster's eyes in relation to those looking her direction!With the strain of casting the spell growing unbearable if not untenable, I ducked into an access way and watched Fellows amble away to be lost in the crowd. A "Mommy! Mommy!" was quickly lost in the crowd noise. I had read the spell didn't work for for animals and foals; now I believed it and understood why. Flying pegasi would prove a pain, too. I resolved to keep in mind the ground I walked over when outside. I let the spell unravel and exited to the sidewalk. It left me too much to think about in class the rest of the day. My practical magic teacher actually banged on my desk. She'd said, "Stop cloud gathering, Glimmer—!" before she dropped her ruler. I smelled why. A charred piece of wood smoked on my desk top, grey smoke curling upward. I tried looking contrite, but trying to blush didn't cut it. She sent me to my old friend the vice-headmare. Yippie. Ms. Maple found the charcoaled ruler rather funny, though she only admitted that behind the closed door of her office. The day I'd won entrance to the world's finest magic school, she had misinterpreted bruises on me as bullying and she had counseled me since. She knew that I'd involuntarily helped an EBI agent named Agent Sprinter before my arrival in Canterlot, but not that I'd ridden him; she had verified I fought to protect the stallion, but not discovered that I had helped Celestia inadvertently. She hadn't yet connected the dots about my past and far past that I really truly didn't want connected. I expected her to tell the headmare if she did. That she wanted to discuss my PTSD reactions took more time than I liked. I had to face it. All signs led to the conclusion that my life would soon implode. I felt torn when a somewhat-revived Sunset Shimmer hauled me away from studying at my desk in the ivory tower, to join her in Canterlot for dinner. I tried, "There's oat bread and veg in the pantry?" Her eyes had dark circles. "Are you trying to get on my nerves, today?" she asked, before leading me with a tug of her magic. "Silly filly." At an all-you-could eat herb and hay bar, she bought a hard cider, and another when I whispered, "Me too," at the cashier. If there was any time this pony needed cidering, now was the time: Watching the crowds in full bodyguard mode, looking for constables or gang members, left my muscles twitchy. I found us a table with me facing the storefront with an eye to the swinging kitchen door so nopony could move anywhere without me seeing. Celestia, how I hated this. How could I have found this at all fun? All the attention and praise...? Always pushing my limits with constant training...? Being useful...? Fighting to protect a life...? Being the best bodyguard ever...? Right... What I hated was now. I cared about my charge. It was personal. "I am not a coward," Sunset stated, banging down her tray, making the silverware rattle and the drinks foam. I knew where this was going. "Is it unreasonable to ask what she's training me for? The 1000th Summer Sun Celebration is soon after I graduate. There's this thing called preparation!" "Definitely hiding something for nefarious reasons," I deadpanned, which merited me a snort. I sighed as I bowed my head to sip my cider, the effervescence tickling my nose as I put my lips to the golden liquid. My reaction was instant. "Blech! How can you drink this yucky stuff?" I couldn't tell if I hated the sour or the astringent taste worse, as I scraped my tongue with my front teeth. I'd only ever had quarter beers or diluted wines at home. I preferred a fruity aperitif. Learning to drink was yet another thing I'd been tutored in growing up—went with the territory—but this dry stuff was horse apples. "More for me," she said, snorting and dragging the glass next to hers. "I need it. So what's up with you today?" I pushed the salad around my plate. The basil leaves, red and yellow nasturtiums, and the pile of potatoes and green alfalfa had seemed more appetizing when I'd heaped them there. Hers had halved tomatoes, arugula, caramel hay stalks, and celery root purée. Her green eyes regarded me. I said, "I realized how important you are to me." She started blinking. There were so many ways she could misinterpret that. It didn't help that my face grew warm. Her face went through a panoply of expressions, all uncomfortable. She said, "I don't know much about this friendship thing, but I don't think I've been much of a friend." She munched on a forkful of hay. I swallowed the butter-cumin potato I'd been chewing. "I've sworn off the institution—" "After Sunburst?" "Yeah." So why did I care about Sunset Shimmer, and truthfully, about that punk Streak also? I added, "We've both had lives where that just doesn't make sense." She nodded. "We're survivors!" "Exactly!" I chewed some alfalfa that had been marinated in vinegar and garlic, then waved my fork around. "For a few weeks, I thought I might evolve beyond that. Unfortunately, I've made choices in my life I regret all of a sudden." I glared when she picked up her glass. It registered with her the instant it had with me because she put it down with a clack, unsampled. I added, "Don't make choices you'll regret." "I'm sure I'll make loads of them," she said prophetically, saluting me with the glass before downing the entire thing. Later, I hugged her in bed—after she fell asleep. Something told me it might be the last time. *** It didn't take a day to realize her choices already haunted her, and would destroy my dreams. It didn't seem possible, but she became more grumpy and more irascible. Not only did she look like she was hungover, despite only two ciders the night before, but I overheard the gossip fillies mention her name as I returned from the university library. Seems she'd bawled out a student during a practicum she had administered. As I lingered around the group, a lavender platinum blonde said she heard Sunset had boxed the ear of another student. A third claimed she had lost a shouting match with Vice-headmare Maple and stomped out of her office. Incidents the princess would hear about. In the ivory tower, I checked the fume hood in the basement laboratory. As I suspected, no scent of nettle-ewe smoke. There was always a chance she had listened to me and voluntarily gone cold turkey. I hissed. "Yeah, tell me another!" I slammed the glass door down. Her supply had dried up. Bits to biscotti, I knew why. The best I could hope for was that she would seek help or, at the very least, tough it out. When she returned home—despite being a wreck, with hairs in her mane standing out as she winced at noises—she acted nice, sweet, and deferential around me. I'd introduced her to nettle-ewe, after all. Who might better get her more? I understood. I had amazing memories under the influence of the herb. That Zecora had helped me through the experience of using it as a shamanic tool with her salts, guidance, consultations of spirits, and metered doses prevented it, barely, from stepping from fond memory to a craving. The next day, before my third period class, I stood at the second floor window facing the boulevard. I spotted Fellows again. I knew that the downtown constabulary shared office space with the royal guard and was less than a dozen blocks away, but still, what was his game? He reappeared at the end of lunch. At dinner, in the kitchen, we ate poorly seasoned spinach and garlic oat pasta that Sunset Shimmer tossed together with olive oil. Barely able to keep up a nervous banter, she finally asked how I spent my time in the Lower. "Acting," I prevaricated, curtly. That near-truth proved sufficient to delay the inevitable. *** I trotted to school before dawn while the janitors busily swept for the new day, the cafeteria cook prepared something with fragrant tomatoes for the day's meals, and athletes showed up shouting and roughhousing with each other for early practice. I kept vigil at the second floor window sill with a thermal mug of steaming honeyed tea, a math book, a sheet of paper, and a quill. The overcast skies fit my mood. As normally-didn't-get-out-of-bed-until-the-last-second students showed up, with, to my relief, Sunset Shimmer amongst them, I spotted dear old Fellows across the way, rapidly heading in the direction of the constabulary. Not so fast that he couldn't spare glances at the school and the pastel ponies streaming into the building! By then, I had written a checklist. One: Throw it all away and spend my last gold bits on a train ticket to Dodge City or an airship to Trottingham. I now had more diversified magic skills, even if I didn't have a diploma or a degree to prove it. I might get honest work! Two: Go home. I'd have plenty of bits. I'd hire the tutors I wanted this time. Just let Proper Step try to restrict me now! Him insisting on making a former prizefighter a proper lady? Him keeping her from learning magic? Ha! I had my emancipation papers! I knew that despite them being studiously legal, including a half-dozen apostilles, they had a weakness. He would contest them, or would be forced to do so by somepony with the P-word in her title. I'd have to appeal to the peerage to fight back, to remain legally an adult. I was not so naïve to think the politics of that would be easy. Both Running Mead and Sunset Shimmer had correctly deduced I came from Horseshoe Bay. Grin Having was comprised of the piedmont and the northern shoreline, with Sire's Hollow near the crest. I knew Running Mead had other enforcers and might lash out. I'd be really pissed if I had to protect Proper Step, or the townsfolk, and broken heads would bring Celestia down on me like a load of bricks. Either of these options felt like running with my tail between my legs. Quitting. The argument that a mare had to do what a mare had to do just rang hollow. Three: Visit Zecora. Assuming Zecora would trade me for nettle-ewe—and I sensed she might refuse—that solution was fraught with problems, like getting caught smuggling a restricted herb into Canterlot, to name one, or drawing the ire of Flowing Waters or Running Mead, or Princess Celestia herself. I had no criminal record, or enemies that weren't criminals, yet. I risked being saddled with both. This option expanded the time I could research and study. Running Mead would find another way to obtain his goal, which I wasn't clear about, so how could I counter it? How much time could I buy? Four: Tattle to Flowing Waters about Sunset Shimmer's addiction. I could tattle to the Princess, for that matter, but the result would be worse for me. Sunset Shimmer would retaliate by mentioning I'd introduced her to nettle-ewe, and perhaps that I had had ridden her, something I couldn't refute since I didn't remember. No chance I'd become the princess' next physician; a slim chance that I'd avoid Tartarus. Five: Take Sunset Shimmer to Zecora. I presumed the zebra knew how to cure addictions since she knew how to prevent them. However, I could see Sunset Shimmer objecting to visiting the Everfree Forest, or letting herself be treated by a shaman. This option exposed Zecora as Running Mead's nettle-ewe supplier. If Sunset Shimmer retaliated, she'd hurt Zecora, too. Or she might threaten to retaliate to get nettle-ewe. I owed it to Zecora to protect her from harm. Last, it would raise questions in Sunset Shimmer's mind as to my involvement in trafficking the herb… Six: Work with Sunset Shimmer to ride out the storm of her withdrawals. She might not be able to cast Force correctly, but she was huskier than me and no lightweight mage—she was Princess Celestia's first protégé after all. Let's not forget she had disabled me twice, and hadn't even been fighting. She was a veteran of fighting monsters in Tartarus. I might be able to corral her for awhile, but she'd get away. The addict in her would fight. I knew the authorities could control a dangerous unicorn by ringing her horn. That meant both obtaining the prohibited toroidal amulet and getting the unicorn to cooperate to allow you to put it on her horn. My situation was reality, not fantasy; if I ringed Sunset Shimmer without her permission (and in what world would she consent?), I'd have an enemy. Realistically, all of option six made her my enemy. At least she'd only retaliate against me unlike in option five, maybe not as forcefully as in option four, but I'd be out on my ear with no help for my project, and with an enemy who'd likely thwart any research in the future. At best, it would buy time as in option three. Seven: Abandon Sunset Shimmer, work Force-heating burgers, and find a flop house with ponies who attended school from distant cities. This was the weakest option of all since I jettisoned my one strong asset, Sunset Shimmer, and left Running Mead plenty of time to blackmail me or hurt another I might associate with. That assumed I cared. I cared. Unfortunately, I cared. I had a need to protect ponies, and was stupid like that... The five minute bell sounded. I packed my supplies, chugged my cold tea, and trotted to class. At my desk, looking at the blackboard upon which the teacher wrote the topics for today's lesson, I thought sourly how my options were to 1) quit, 2) retreat and fight defense, 3) be beaten into submission, or 4) get arrested. 6) and 7) were fantasy and impossible for me. Might as well jump off the Canterlot Precipice as go back to work for Running Mead. That would be 5), wouldn't it? I hated that Running Mead stood to win big or not lose anything he hadn't had. The teacher continued yesterday's lecture about the Resignation Interregnum. Three-hundred years ago, when Princess Celestia had retreated to the Crystal Mountains, she had left Equestria under parliamentary rule. The teacher talked about cultural shifts. During that time, ponies of any means wore clothing in public. Many wore outlandishly frilly costumes, even stallions, and always covered their cutie mark. Philosophical and political thought ran that ponies, whether commoner or gentry, were equal under the law and, like Princess Celestia's sun cutie mark, cutie marks intrinsically differentiated ponies. Historians thought that the fashions of the interregnum indicated that ponies thought it rude to display cutie marks, though my teacher poo-pooed that conclusion, and ridiculed the inequality argument. I disagreed. It was fascinating that for about thirty years, everypony thought that cutie marks made ponies appear unequal. More interesting, they thought that costumes made one's identity. I thought about Grimoire. I thought about my former life in Grin Having and Sire's Hollow. An idea bloomed in my head. That afternoon, I cut class after Fellows finished his patrol. I took my bits and shopped carefully in the Canterlot fashion district.