To Bluebird’s disappointment, but not exactly to his surprise, Pesco had underestimated the amount of time left in the evening.
“Shouldn’t we be getting to Girard by now, if we’re going to talk to him tonight?” the cadet had asked, on several occasions.
“We will be,” Pesco had promised, on just as many occasions. “But… let’s search one more room for that book. It will be a great asset if we want to put the screws to Gloria.”
The book. The changeling. The Gloria. Bluebird was beginning to wonder how much of a distinction his mentor still made between these three things.
Still, the night hadn’t been a total waste. Right when Bluebird thought his stomach might digest itself, Bon—true to his eavesdropped word—pulled through and “surprised” the pair with an exquisite entrée for the both of them. For Pesco, this consisted of a coy reference to his namesake in the form of a miniature pizza margherita, wood-fired and loaded with artisanal toppings; for Bluebird, it was but a humble eight-inch hoagie, as unpretentious as it was delicious.
“Apology accepted,” the tagalong said.
“Beg your pardon?”
The cadet just flashed Bon an okay sign with his wing while chewing.
In the end, the food was enough to make even Pesco slow down in his mad search. And as soon as he dared to relax for a moment, his exhaustion from the day caught up to him—and if that still didn’t do the trick, the post-meal food coma surely did.
“All right, new gameplan,” Pesco finally conceded. “First thing in the morning, we’ll go to interview Girard. Then, we’ll look for the book further.”
“First thing in the morning?”
“The very first.”
And so, the two were left to discuss their sleeping arrangements. Bluebird suggested that they each room up in one of the several unoccupied guest chambers the mansion had to offer, but Pesco thought it would be wiser if they slept near enough to keep an eye on things—and for that, the couches in the foyer were the better option. Bluebird wasn’t sure if Pesco feared that the changeling would attack one of them in the night, or suspected that Bluebird himself had been replaced at some point, or if Pesco just had something against sleeping in a proper bed; back at the office, late nights had him sleeping just as often at his desk as back home.
Oh well, Bluebird thought. Any port in a storm. And he had to admit, the fluffiest clouds in all of Cloudsdale really had nothing on this divan…
That night, in that very same villa, Scolus the changeling slept fitfully. Tossing and turning under the covers, fading in and out of dreaming and wakefulness, Scolus was tortured by memories of a former calling.
“Come on, Scole, how do you do it?” Clypeus insisted. “I mean, you’re like my idol! I heard you earned your third distinction from the queen last month—and I buy it, ‘cause your mane is looking longer than ever! Just a true blue pony whisperer, aren’t you? Surely you have some tips to pass on to a newbie like me, eh?”
Clypeus was a very forward bug, Scolus had to think. This was only the second time they’d ever met, and she hadn’t been any less direct the first time around.
“It comes with patience, Clypeus. Hm… patience, and a thoughtful approach. That’s all my method is.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? They’re such obstinate creatures!” she moaned. “For all the ‘kindness’ and ‘friendship’ they prattle on about, farming their love really is like squeezing blood from a stone, isn’t it? You make it look easy.”
“It has always come pretty naturally to me. To be more helpful, though, maybe I’d say it’s more or less about… good theory of mind, in the end.”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
“Think about it. Put yourselves in their, um, horseshoes. You’re a pony and you’ve just been kidnapped and spirited away to our hive. What are you thinking, your first night all alone in one of our holding cells?”
“Huh. I guess I’d have heard the shtick already? The free room and board? A dark and cozy cell all to myself? I’d probably be thinking, ‘Nice! Now how’s the grub going to be around here, and how soon is it coming up?’”
“Not so much how they feel about it, in my experience,” Scolus corrected gently. “To them, well, they’ve just been ripped away from their family. Family is something that’s important to them.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“On top of that, they’ve lost their autonomy. Their whole life and routine is now being completely controlled by others.”
“Yeah?”
“Um, remember that that is something they actually don’t like…”
“Oh! Yeah.” Clypeus clicked and cracked her jaw distractedly. “So?”
“I just mean to say, no matter how comfortable we make it for them here—and I have my own theories how we could still improve in that regard!—the only thought on their mind is going to be escape.
“… Not that that’s ever an option for them. It just isn’t, of course! But you need to understand their state of mind, and kind of script your performance around that. Like, I’m visiting a young unicorn female right now. So, I’ll be taking the form of an older, maternal figure of the same race—familiarity is calming. I’ll also avoid a list of words in the first meeting that might put her ill at ease, like ‘changeling’ or ‘farming’ or—”
“Yeah yeah, that’s all textbook material, just Love Farming 101. They teach that much at orientation,” she said. “Look, I’m not here on the queen’s orders, so it’s fine if you don’t want to give up your secret recipe. I figured as much that you’d prefer to keep it a secret, given how much you prefer these one-on-ones with the lovestock, huh?”
Lovestock. Scolus didn’t care for most of the standard terminology surrounding his job. “Hm. Maybe I’m just bad at explaining these things.”
“Hey, don’t get down on yourself! Doesn’t matter how bad of a communicator you are, really, when your record on the job is just legendary!” Clypeus beamed. Although, after a moment, she reconsidered her words, self-conscious for the first time since Scolus had met her. “Well, apart from, y’know… I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. I know it happens to the best of us.”
Scolus flitted his wings fearfully. Was word getting out? What would everybug think?
“Anyway, I gotta fly. I got an assignment with some jaded old brick of a stallion. Earth ponies are just the worst!” Clypeus took to the air and assumed the form of a gruff-looking pegasus guard in (inaccurately reproduced) royal armor. “I’ll leave you to your diamond of an assignment. Just keep on doing what you’re doing, Scole! Hail to the queen!”
The hour was nearly three in the morning.
Bluebird could hear it if he concentrated.
Thump. Thump. Thump thump thump. Thump. Thump thump.
Although his heart rate had certainly quickened by now, this beating did not come from his chest. Something not-quite-rhythmic was echoing in the halls from deeper in the mansion. Bluebird had taken notice of it only once he was thoroughly occupied with a visit to the lavatory; with no small amount of anxiety, he finished up his business as quietly and quickly as he could, even electing to skip washing his hooves after he was done.
He poked his head out of the door, and listened more carefully. To his right was the path back to the foyer where his mentor still lay sleeping. And to his left… That was definitely the source of the sound, somewhere in the distance.
Thump thump thump thump. THUMP.
Should he go get Pesco? In these circumstances, that seemed like the obvious choice. And yet, he could feel his heart returning to a resting pace, his nerves beginning to calm… Bluebird had a hunch he knew what this noise was, and who was making it.
He proceeded left down the hallway. After rounding the corner, he got his first confirmation: The lights were on in the gym. The violent thumps were ever clearer, and between them Bluebird could make out the rattling of a swinging chain. Flying over to the doorway and poking his head in, he got his second confirmation: It was none other than Grid Iron, his back to the entrance, beating a hanging sandbag to within an inch of its life in the corner of the gym.
Navigating around pristinely maintained exercise bikes and weightlifting equipment, Bluebird trotted half the distance over to Grid before announcing his presence. “Really doing a number on that thing, huh?”
Grid gave a startle, but turned around sluggishly, breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his face. He couldn’t catch his breath for long enough to form a response to the cadet’s question. He simply nodded his head, and walked over to a nearby towel to make himself presentable.
Bluebird walked on over to within conversational distance and sat down on a bench. “Hah, dare I ask what has you up this late? I hope this isn’t your usual time for working out!”
Grid took the time to kill an entire water bottle in one prolonged swig—the water line fell as fast as gravity would take it. He then took a seat next to Bluebird.
“Dunno. Couldn’t sleep.” Still looking worse for wear, Grid continued, “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nah, you’re fine. My bowel did a good enough job of that, ahah.”
Grid forced a laugh. He wasn’t a good actor.
An uncomfortable silence. Maybe it was just the awkward joke.
“You do this sort of thing often?” Bluebird asked. “Go ham on a heavy bag every time you can’t sleep?”
“Sure… yeah.”
“So, nothing to worry about? Nothing we should talk about?”
“Mhm.”
“It’s just your sleeping pill?”
“Pretty much. Hahaha.”
Silence resumed.
Bluebird sighed. If there was one thing the cadet consistently struggled to tackle with his preferred “friendly” approach alone, it was insincere suspects. At the very least, it often took too long to be useful, and Bluebird wasn’t feeling particularly patient at this hour of the night. He figured now was as good a time as any to take a page from his mentor’s book:
“Something’s eating you alive inside, isn’t it, Grid?”
Nothing.
“You’re not good at hiding it.”
Grid raised a hoof slightly, and parted his lips, but no words came out.
“Not many ponies are. And I think you are a pony in the end. But, you have to know it’s my job to be suspicious.”
At last, Grid found some words. “Haha, dude… I’m crumbling to pieces as an innocent here… You think I would last a minute lying to you as a criminal…?”
Grid’s foreleg shot out, delivering a violent backhoof to the sandbag beside him.
“Hell no!” he shouted. The thunderous clap of the sandbag together with Grid’s booming voice had the hair on Bluebird’s withers standing on end. “Damn that bug straight to Tartarus, but what I wouldn’t give for the cool head he must have!” Grid bounced back to his hooves and picked up with the sandbag where he left off. “Or she. Whatever.”
Hm, pronouns. Without the correction it would’ve been innocuous enough. Did Grid have a certain someone in mind?
Bluebird dialed back the pressure. “C’mon, Grid, being the innocent is a tough role here. Maybe even tougher than being the perp. I don’t think less of you one bit.”
“Well, thanks. I mean it.” Thump. Thump thump. “And you’re right, really. The changeling is just here to wreck havoc, isn’t he? Just to further his own interests, whatever they are? He doesn’t have to protect anyone or suspect anyone! He only has his own skin in the game!” THUMP.
“While here you all are just sitting around, waiting to learn which one of your friends is most likely pushing daisies!”
Bluebird’s bitter dose of empathy met only the sound of a swinging chain.
“Say, Grid, there’s this idea I had, a theory of sorts. I ran it past Blanche, but she nixed it. Pretty convincingly, too. Though somehow, I just can’t get it out of my head.” Bluebird waited until he’d established eye contact with the young athlete. “What if the changeling didn’t hurt any of your friends? What if he—or she. Whatever!—was a changeling all along, and you just never knew?”
Grid processed the question very quickly. Before the cadet had even finished speaking, Grid was already chuckling quite unnervingly. “Don’t you tempt me like that, dude… Don’t you dare!”
Bluebird raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“Don’t tempt me with hope you don’t even have!” Thump THUMP. “We all know what the score is here, don’t we? We all know how this story ends! Spoiler alert: It’s not going to be pretty!”
“But I’m not just tempting you, Grid. It is a hope that I have.”
Thump.
“Frankly, at this point, I’d be more surprised if it turned out not to be the case!”
Thump…
“Come on, everyone here remembers everything from everyone else’s pasts perfectly, and everyone has been acting exactly as they always have, according to everyone else.”
… thump…
“And y’know, I wish I had my notes with me so I could quote you more precisely, but I seem to remember you in particular, Grid, telling me as much in our very first conversation alone: You assured me that none of your friends had been acting in the slightest bit out-of-character!”
“I, I did say that, yeah. But…”
“But what?”
“Well, how bad would it be…” Grid held up a hoof to stop the sandbag’s swing. “… if I told you I lied?”
Scolus sat crouched on his haunches in the corner of the cell, batting a loose pebble on the ground between his insectoid hooves. Every once in a while, he would steal a glance—not overly deliberate, but not overly furtive, either—at the young unicorn curled up against the opposite wall, who for her part never averted her own horrified gaze from Scolus.
By Scolus’s best guess, she was not quite a filly, not quite a mare. He knew this to be what the mammalian equine races termed “adolescence”; it was an important transitional phase in their life cycle, and one fraught with psychological growing pains even in the most agreeable environments.
And sadly, Scolus understood that, despite his best efforts, a dank cave thousands of feet below the surface could never be an agreeable environment for her kind.
“I would understand if my native form gives you the jitters,” Scolus attempted. They were the first words he had spoken, aside from a very brief and unreciprocated greeting five minutes ago. “I’m guessing that you’ve never really seen a changeling, before last night. And, well, maybe the ones you’ve seen already… maybe they weren’t very nice to you.”
Still, the unicorn just stared at him.
“If you want, I could take another form. If that would make you more comfortable, that is. Would you like that?”
“No, thank you.”
Her first words to him. Albeit only momentarily, she finally looked elsewhere—at the enchanted citrine gemstone Scolus had placed by her bedside. The bright yellow rays it exuded were harsh on Scolus’s eyes, but he understood the hue and brightness to be a close approximation to natural sunlight.
“Right,” Scolus agreed. “I figure, as long as we’re getting to know each other, why not just be ourselves?” He flashed her a warm smile.
Farming while undisguised was a violation of mandated guidelines. Scolus had long since given up defending this practice to his colleagues; he wasn’t confident they could replicate his success with it, anyway.
Scolus had hoped to entice some further words from the mare, but to no avail. Perhaps another direct question would help?
“My name is Scolus. I think it’s kinda boring, compared to pony names. What is your name? What can I call you?”
She looked away again, and was slow to respond. “Wind. Windshear.”
“Ah, Windshear?” Scolus thought it a strange name for a unicorn. Genuinely curious, he asked, “You have family from Cloudsdale, or?”
“… Yes, I’m from Cloudsdale.”
How fascinating! He had no idea races other than pegasi lived in Cloudsdale. He didn’t even know they could! Then again, he had heard of contraptions and spells to allow temporary visits by earth ponies and unicorns, so maybe it wasn’t so much of a stretch to imagine that—
But then, the more likely explanation struck him: She was simply lying to him. He felt a twinge of heartache at this realization, but he knew he couldn’t take her lack of trust personally.
“That’s neat.” Taking the hint, he changed the subject to himself: “Do you know who I am? What I’m doing here, exactly?”
“I guess, they told me you’re my warden.”
Oh bother. “Hm, I’m a warden of sorts, yeah. I won’t beat around the stalagmite. Technically, I’m what’s known as a ‘love farmer.’ But really, for all intents and purposes, you can just think of me as your personal attendant. That means you can see me as much—or as little!—as you’d like. Whatever you want me to get, whatever you want me to do, just say the word! Your happiness is my only duty.”
No response. She was shaping up to be a tough case.
“Maybe you would like to play a game, to take your mind off things? Look, I brought a deck of cards with me. I have to warn you though, I reckon I’m the best Appleloosa hold ‘em player in the Hive!”
She was staring at him again.
“Or maybe you didn’t sleep very well last night, and would just like some rest… Oh, dear! It looks like they forgot the pillows to your bed. I’ll go fetch—”
“Let me leave.”
Scolus blinked. “Oh, um. That is virtually the only thing I can’t do for you. I’m, uh, really sorry about that, Windshear. I should’ve said as much.”
“Let me see my family.”
“Ummm… Again, I’m sorry. We didn’t captu— we didn’t take— Ah, your family is still in Cloudsdale. So, seeing them again is kinda the same thing as leaving.”
“Let me leave.”
“I’m truly sorry. That’s not in my power.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
Scolus flitted his wings, shaken by her outburst. Did she know about…?
“Let me leave. Help me escape like the others!”
First Clypeus, now new and random prisoners had heard? Had he been that careless with it?
“Let me leave. Help me escape, Scolus!”
Finally, Scolus responded with firmness: “That’s not an option. It just isn’t.”