//------------------------------//
// VI - The Traitor 
// Story: Equestria's Secret Service 
// by EdwardJ 
//------------------------------//





Chapter Six



"The Intelligence branch is the heart of the Service.  It is these ponies who dissect reports, rumours, and tall tales and turn them into something useful and useable.  Taking information from a wide variety of sources, they must work to separate fact from fiction; find grains of truth hidden in fanciful tales.  These are the ponies who must find the hostile gatherings while they are still manageable, see the stampedes of monsters before they run rampant across our land, and identify and locate the ponies that will continue the grand traditions of the Service."


~Excerpt from the Guiding Manual of the Secret Service




        Golden Lock was not happy.  The three ponies before him shifted nervously, exchanging quick glances amongst each other before returning their gaze, reluctantly, to the Vice-Commissar.  He sat behind his desk, his elbows resting on its lacquered surface, the soles of his hooves pressed together under his chin.  He let the silence stretch, watching the three ponies sweat before he spoke, his voice flat.

        "What?"

        The leader of the three, relieved to have a clear path before him, snapped to attention and began speaking.  Golden Lock wasn't listening; he'd heard it well enough the first time.  The report had come as no surprize.  A disappointment, to be sure, but hardly a surprize.  As quick as his order had been given, he knew that trying to find a cowering Autumn was an exercise in futility.  He had hoped that, perhaps, he could have found Autumn before he slipped into shadow, but he hadn't expected to.  Not really.

        It took a moment for Golden Lock to realize that the pony had stopped speaking and, in the prolonged silence, had fallen back into the nervous shifting pattern of his partners.  He wanted to yell at them, make them regret ever failing his order, but he knew that would be the wrong approach.  Most ponies seemed to believe the tall tales about Autumn, and if he punished them for failing to find a pony who could turn into mist it would only turn them against him.

        Finally, he sighed and lay his hooves on the desk; the gesture caused the ponies to stop moving and stand at perfect attention.  He watched them as they snapped to, checking their form.  A misplaced hoof may be a little thing, but it could betray a lax in the discipline he demanded.  "You..." he began, pausing slightly to collect his thoughts, "...have failed."  The assembled ponies took a collective breath.  "However, I cannot, in good conscience, find it in myself to punish you as such failure dictates.  Autumn excels at evasion and shadow dancing, and I cannot expect everypony to be able to compete with him.

        "But know this," he said, fixing his steely gaze upon them.  "Autumn's capture is a matter of national security, and I do not take your failure lightly.  For now, you are dismissed; I shall decide my actions at a later time."  With curt nods, the three ponies left, almost tripping over themselves, leaving Lock to his own thoughts; they rested darkly on a certain missing pony.

        Autumn.

        The name rolled around in his head, drumming up emotions best left untouched and throwing his thoughts into a veritable storm.  It had been mere hours since the pony had been declared a traitor, and already he was becoming a headache.  Golden lock found himself filled with a grim determination.  Autumn had to be found, no matter what it took.  He didn't know what that pony knew about the secrets the palace held, but he wouldn't allow any opportunity to find out.

        He found himself staring out the windowpane.  The enchanted glass was one of the luxuries his office held, magically presenting a wonderful view of Canterlot as though he wasn't locked inside the mountain's heart.  He was directing angry feelings towards an innocent bird when he heard the knock at his door.  He turned, and the bronze-coloured unicorn stallion in the doorway flinched under his baleful gaze.  "Aa, uh... sir, I..." he stammered, taking a step back.

        Lock closed his eyes and exhaled, relaxing as the air left his lungs.  When he opened his eyes again they were no longer burning.  "Ingot, what is it?" he asked calmly.

        Ingot, suddenly sensing that he was out of danger, quickly regained his composure.  "Sir, I... I have the reports you requested."  He cast a nervous glance to the side.  "It isn't much, I'm afraid."

        "Anything is better than nothing," Golden Lock said, resuming his place behind his desk.  He magically pulled up a cushion and motioned towards it.  "If you would."

        The stallion didn't sit.  Instead, he pulled out the report and gave it a critical eye.  "Well," he began, "Autumn's file is quite clean; he's stayed out of trouble, for the most part.  A couple of small incidents in the beginning, but those quickly disappeared.  Performed his duties with exceptional skill and results, even if his leadership was lacking.  He—"

        "I know his file," Golden Lock interrupted.  "I didn't ask you here to read that to me.  I need to know more about the pony himself."

        Ingot shifted uncomfortably.  "Well... that's just it: we don't know much more than this.  I mean... here, take his talent."  He dropped all pretence of formality, helplessly pulling out random sheets from the folder.  "He hides, and he's good at it.  We know this, but, how good?  You've heard the rumours; I have some reports that make some of those look tame!  Most are unconfirmed, of course, but the sheer volume of them is harrowing.  I mean, we know that, under non-magical conditions, nopony has managed to find him.  Ever.  I have reports of him remaining unseen throughout the entirety of a week-long exercise.  Where magic is involved... I have confirmed reports of him hiding from passive magical scans.  I have confirmed reports of active scans finding him, but I have unconfirmed reports of him hiding from those as well!  I mean—" He shook the papers caught in his magical glow, gesturing helplessly at them.  "With all this, I'm inclined to give credence to the rumours that he's a unicorn in disguise."

        "Really?  And what do his physical evaluations say?"

        "Well," he said as he shuffled through some of the papers, "they say he's an earth pony, but... I don't ever remember seeing him at the evals.  I mean... here, look at this one."  He placed one of the papers on Lock's desk.  "See here?  This was the same day I took it.  It was a make-up day, there was only one timeslot."  He shook his head.  "I don't remember him being there."

        Lock glanced over the report as though it were yesterday's news.  "This was several months ago.  Do you think it unlikely that you simply forgot?"

        The pony shrugged.  "He kind of stands out, you know?"

        Golden Lock looked at the paper before him.  A standard report, there was nothing remarkable about it at all; Autumn's scores were average for a pony of his age.  So much for standing out.  In fact... "How do the scores on this compare to the others he's taken?"

        "Oh, uh..." Ingot quickly shifted through his files.  "Ah, here," he said, placing several more papers on Lock's desk, who proceeded to look them over.

        Remarkably average, he thought.  Purposefully so?  "I want an investigation into these records.  If they have been falsified, I want to know.  All of them, not just his physical evals," he added, giving Ingot a pointed look.

        He nodded.  "Of course, sir, but... do you really think he faked these?  I mean... why?"

        "Because he's a foal who likes hiding.  Perhaps he thinks this is all a game."  He looked out the window, watching the ponies wander around in the city far below.  Though it strained his belief to think that the records were faked, he wasn't going to overlook anything; not with this pony.  But how, though?  How could he change his records?  Is he hiding a skill from us too, or does he have help?  Who would—He stopped, and shook his head.  Of course.  "Where is Dew?"

        "Dew?  She was out of the palace when we locked it down, I'm afraid.  We don't know where she is."

        Of course she was.  The thought tasted like bile.  He swallowed, draining the taste from his mouth.  "Lift the lockdown," he said.  "Autumn is already gone; there's nothing to be gained by keeping it."  He paused.  "Still, though... place unicorns at the exits.  If we have confirmation of active magical scans finding him, then we will employ those.  If he tries to enter or leave, I want him stopped there."

        Ingot blinked.  "Didn't you just say he was gone?  Why post the guards now?"

        "Because," he said, turning back to face Ingot, "he may just be hiding, waiting for us to release lockdown.  You said it yourself: he's remarkably good at hiding.  Most of our ponies have family to go home to, and if I can grant them that without further risking our security, I will do so."  He pointed his hoof.  "Station the unicorns; they are to maintain active searching spells.  In addition, verify identities of all exiting and entering agents.  There are to be no errors, no exceptions.  Is this understood?"

        "Of course, sir.  Um... for how long?"

        "As long as it takes."

        "They will get tired."

        "It is necessary."  The pony said nothing, and after a silence Golden Lock sighed.  "Leave the report; you are dismissed."

        Ingot nodded sharply, finally regaining his formal composure.  As he reached the door, he looked back and said, "Also, Keystone is asking for you at your earliest convenience."

        Lock nodded, looking at the stack of paper on his desk.  Piled high, there were a lot more than he had thought.  Most of it was baseless rumour, he was sure, but sorting through it all would take time.  He was not looking forward to the task.  The thought of all the tall tales and obvious exaggerations in the hiding in the stack made it look more like a pile of manure than of paper.  He checked the clock; he'd been staring at the papers for several minutes.  Oh, stamp it all, he thought, pushing away from the desk.  The reports weren't going anywhere, and Keystone wasn't to be kept waiting.

        Keystone, he thought as he made for her office.  When did she get back?  It wasn't anything surprizing, of course; she rarely did anyone the courtesy of letting them know what she was doing.  In spite of her age, she still went out and did field work, and if disappearing for weeks on end was her idea of 'fun,' then she had a sick sense of humour.  Such excursions tended to cause small amounts of panic in the higher command, leaving him to keep things calm and running.  Not that he minded much; it was an opportunity to show his leadership.  This time, she had only been gone a week.  Must've been a dull mission.

        The earth pony lay on the couch beside her enchanted windowpane, her eyes closed as she bathed in the simulated sunlight; her russet coat and amber mane appeared to be glowing.  On her flank, clearly visible, was a picture of her namesake: the centre stone of an arch.  Golden Lock entered quietly, allowing only enough sound from his hoofsteps to announce his presence.  It was the same ritual they did every time.  In the ensuing silence, he would wait, standing perfectly still, until she decided when the meeting would begin.

        "I've always liked this window," Keystone began.  "It lets me forget I'm stuck inside a mountain with nothing to keep me company but piles of paperwork.  I look out and I can see this beautiful city sprawled beneath me, with all the ponies I fight to protect wandering the streets like ants."  She smiled.  "When I close my eyes, I can almost hear them."

        "The glass doesn't produce sounds."

        She opened her eyes and gave him a mildly disdainful look.  "I know that; I'm being poetic."

        He bowed.  "I apologize, then.  Please, continue."

        "Oh, no, it's too late now," she said, getting up from her seat.  "You've ruined it, and no amount of grovelling is going to bring it back."  She stopped in front of him, looking up into his eyes.  "I hope you're rightly ashamed of yourself."

        "Quite," he replied placidly.

        "Good," she said, nodding once before turning back to her office.  She continued to address him, trotting over to the enchanted glass to gaze over Canterlot, a sing-song melancholy dancing throughout her words.  "I've heard some distressing rumours, Lock.  A lot of what I do involves that, I know, but rarely do I have the opportunity to hear such tales of my subordinates.  Now, though, I hear that one of our own has turned traitor, right after disrupting an unprecedented gathering of diamond dogs just outside our borders."  She paused a moment, turning her head to look back at him.  "A little odd, don't you think?"

        "I couldn't tell you his motivations."

        "No, of course not."  She sighed, returning her attention to the glass pane before her.  "Tell me, how did you find out about this treason?"

        "He was seen planting a device near the princess' quarters," he replied.  "When confronted, he fled, taking the device with him.  At this time, we do not know what this device was meant to do, but we are conducting a search of his quarters.  With luck, the result should shed some light on this... situation."

        "'He was seen,' was he?  Is this the same Autumn that I have heard such extraordinary stories about?  One would think that he might try hiding a bit if he wanted to plant such a nefarious device."

        "As I said, I couldn't tell you his motivations."

        She turned her head, studying him scrupulously with amber eyes.  "What about your motivations, Lock?  What can you tell me about those?"

        He blinked.  "My motivations?"

        "Yes, your motivations," she said, once more leaving the window.  "You have accused a pony, who would otherwise have a clean record, of treason.  A pony who disobeyed your orders, and in doing so kept Equestria's peace."  She stepped closer.  "A pony who made you look a fool.  Yes, I question your motives.  What can you tell me about them?"

        Golden Lock was unmoved.  "Do you really think that I would stoop to such depths?" he asked.  "You made me the Vice-Commissar, your second-in-command, and you didn't do that because I pandered to my pride.  I have served the princess, you, and Equestria faithfully in all the time I have been here.  You have seen me grow up here, and you know the troubles I had every step of the way.  Yes, I made a mistake, and it will have terrible repercussions for me, but I don't attack those who point out my errors; I'm not so petty as that."  He looked her squarely in her eyes.  "Were I a lesser pony, I'd feel insulted at the accusation."

        She met his gaze, unflinching, her eyes narrowed.  Finally, she broke the silence.  "I had to make sure," she said.  "We are all ponies, Lock, each and every one of us.  We've lived in harmony with each other for generations, never falling to the incessant infighting of our neighbours.  We in the Service may come from different walks of life, but we all wound up here, set to protect the princess and her people."  She paused, a thoughtful look settling onto her features.  "Both the princesses," she added.  "I find it hard to believe that one of us would do such a thing."

        He smiled, but it was a sad thing, overflowing with sympathy.  "You're not alone there.  I think this news rattled the whole Service.  When it comes down to it, the only ponies behind us are our own, and if we can't even trust them..."  He let the rest hang there, unspoken; the silence enough spoke volumes.

        She sighed wistfully, looking away from his eyes.  "'...can't even trust them,'" she whispered.  For a moment, she seemed to slump, as though her age had finally caught up to her, but only for a moment.  She straightened, regaining all her formal composure again.  "And can we trust you, Lock?"  She pointed to the glass behind her, displaying the vista of Canterlot warmed by the midday sun.  "See that window?  It offers me a spectacular view, and lets the sun shine into my office.  But you know what?  As real as it looks, you can step in the light, and it's cold; you can easily tell it's fake."  She turned all her attention back to him.  "It's the same kind of feeling I get from this whole debacle, Lock.  Tell me, why did you throw out Autumn's report?  Why did you ignore such danger?"

        "The report was ludicrous; how could I believe it?  That many dogs in one place hasn't been seen outside the first pack's civil war, and nopony could have missed something like that happening again."

        "Yet there it was.  Knowing your history is all well and good, but we are not here to prevent the past from taking up arms again.  We are here for the now, and we must not ignore warnings simply because it isn't common.  The least you could have done is sent additional scouts to confirm."  The look she gave him could have caused Nightmare Moon to wait a few years before breaking free.  "Or maybe you could have taken to the field and seen it for yourself."

        "As always," he said humbly, "your wisdom is invaluable."

        "Shove it," she responded.  "Until further notice, you are on probation.  You shall retain your title, but all command decisions you make must have the backing of either myself or the council before it can be enacted.  I am leaving Autumn on your back, but you are to provide me with constant updates to the situation, as well as any incidents within the Service.  Lastly, you are forbidden from taking to the field."  Her voice dropped to a dangerously level tone.  "I am taking back major control of the Service.  Do I make myself clear?"

        Golden Lock bowed.  "Perfectly."

        "Have you informed the princesses?"

        He paused a moment, then realized that Keystone was asking about Autumn.  "I have told Princess Celestia," he replied.  "She, of course, wishes to speak with the traitor when he is found.  Princess Luna, of course, I haven't disturbed."

        Keystone nodded automatically.  "Of course," she said, turning back to her window in an obvious dismissal.  "I expect everything you have on my desk by this evening."

        Golden Lock said nothing, only bowed and made his way outside, leaving her to sit in the cold sunlight of the enchanted glass.  As he made his way back to his office, he considered his new predicament.  It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, his punishment.  He still had control of the situation with Autumn, and though it would mean some minor delays, needing the council's backing didn't worry him.  Keystone was obviously quite serious, however.  He would have to tread carefully around her, make it look like he was troubled by it all.

        A teal-coated earth pony mare was waiting by his door, holding the handle of an oblong case in her mouth.  He immediately recognized her as the pony in charge of searching Autumn's quarters.  When she saw him, she waved a hoof in greeting.  She may have smiled, too, but it was hard to be certain.  "Erro, Wice-Cawissar," she said.

        Golden Lock nodded.  "Quillstroke.  What do you have for me?"

        "Weu, we fou' a coupoh o' fings—"

        "Hold a moment," Lock interrupted, opening his office door.  He stepped inside, motioning for the mare to follow him.  She obliged, and placed the case on his desk as he sat down behind it.  "Now, then: what were you saying?"

        "Thank you, sir," she said, much clearer now.  "We found a couple of things in his quarters, most of which were turned to Intelligence for analysis.  Some of it's pretty heavy, too; analysis may be just a formality at this point.  However," she patted the case, "this I thought you'd like to see."

        Lock raised an eyebrow.  Quillstroke gave him an encouraging nod, a wide smile plastered on her muzzle.  Lock snorted, but proceeded to open the case.  A rich smell of beeswax and spruce drifted out.  The object inside was a plain thing, but that did little to hide its beauty.  Light danced on the instrument's polished surface, the strings pulled tight over the chamber and neck.  Quillstroke was still smiling.  "Seems the colt had a hobby."

        "A violin," Lock said, looking back up at the mare.  "How does this help us?"

        Her smile fell away, replaced by the familiar expression of a teacher explaining things to a slower student.  "Well, it gives us two things.  First and foremost, look at the neck and tell me what you see."

        He looked.  "Scratches," he said.  Quillstroke nodded again, her eyes sparkling encouragement.  "I'm sorry, I don't get—"

        "He's non-magical," she interrupted.  "This instrument is played by hoof."

        It clicked.  "Oh, that.  Sorry, I never believed he was a unicorn; the rumours were far from my mind."  She shrugged in response, so he continued.  "What's the other thing it gives us?"

        She smiled like a colt pulling wings off a fly.  "It gives us a place to start looking.  How many musical ponies live in Canterlot?"  She leaned in a little closer.  "How many of them play classical instruments?"

        Lock thought for a moment.  It was true: there weren't too many ponies who fit the bill.  It was still a wide area to cover, and there was no guarantee that Autumn actually knew any of them, but it was a place to start.  He nodded slowly.  "Very good, Quillstroke; see to it that the search starts now.  If he is found, kill him if he tries to run."  His voice dropped low as he added, "He will try to run."

        She nodded.  "Yes, sir.  Um, what d'you want done with the violin?"

        He closed the case, locking it shut.  "Take it to Intelligence, let them make record of it.  After that, I think I'll hold on to it.  If he decides to come back for it, he'll have to come to me."

        "Very well, then," she said, picking up the case.  "I wiu shtart za seerch unce I finish."  With that, she walked out, humming a quiet tune.

        Golden Lock turned to his windowpane, gazing out over the mountain city below him.  A little past midday, the city was alive with ponies carrying on with their lives.  Somewhere down there, he was certain, was a pony hiding in the daylight, yet now the size of the city seemed smaller.  The long streets and dark alleys seemed less intimidating, more manageable.  Now that he had a place to start, the whole thing started to look... easier.  He could do this.

        He smiled, and magically pulled out a glass and a bottle of wine.


~ * ~      ~ * ~      ~ * ~


        Octavia swept.  She had finished packing her instrument up a few minutes earlier, right after a good morning of practice and exercise.  In about an hour, she would be heading to one of the grand estates for a small party being held in honour of the foalday of the gentleunicorn's nephew.  She had already gotten her necessary shopping done the day previous, and all other matters of house and home had done her the favour of letting up for the day.  This left her one small hour of time with nothing to occupy it, and so she swept.

        Her house was clean, though that did little to dissuade her.  Even if the settled dust was less thick than a hair's breadth, enough time and patience would gather it to visible piles; it never seemed to end.  She was hardly a fastidious pony, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew the importance of a good appearance, and so she kept one up.  Mostly, though, she liked the rhythmic sound of the broom across the wood floor.  She could play whole orchestral pieces in her head while sweeping, letting the soft swish of the broom keep time like a conductor's baton.  Some of her best compositions were written with her broom in hoof.

        Swish.

        A low hum starts as the lights turn on; the stage is revealed, and the audience holds its breath.

        Swish.

        The lower instruments—the Contra-Bass, the Bassoon, and her beloved Cello—begin building a foundation.  Slowly at first, they rise in volume and speed, creating a harmonious ring that echoes in the soul.


        Swish.

        The higher instruments—Violins and Violas, Flutes and Piccolos—leap in, dancing around the harmony in a beautiful, gentle melody.


        Swish.

        The two sides, high and low, come together, mixing their voices and dancing in the antechambers of both the concert hall and the belly of the instruments.  The low boom of the Bass resounds in the Violin as much as the shrill cry of the Piccolo reverberates through her Cello.  It feels like the music is making love; it feels fantastic.


        Swish.

        Faster now.  The prelude is over, giving way to the next piece of the symphony.  The high voices rise and fall, the joys and hardships of living echoing in their fervent dance.  The low voices stay strong and soft, pushing through the trials of life in a gentle subtlety.


        Swish.

        The first crescendo is reached.  Effortlessly, the music rises to its highest, filling the concert hall with a towering expanse of sound—joy, harmony, beauty; the audience has yet to realize the music has already taken their breath.


        Swish.

        Quieter now.  The soft march of the low voices is playing guide to the high voices, those slipping in sidelong to the procession.  The low voices lead the way, and the deep notes pull at the hearts of those listening.


        Swish.

        The high voices take the lead again, swirling around the low, obscuring them in a fast dance melody.  It twirls and spins, rises and falls, and all the while it—

        A sudden dissonant thunder shattered the symphony, bringing a resounding silence to her ears.  Octavia's eyes slowly refocused back to the here and now.  She had paused mid-sweep, a scowl sitting upon her face.  In the quiet, she looked at the clock; barely ten minutes had passed.  Her thoughts collected themselves, trying to find the source of the interruption.  Her memory strained; though counter to her symphony, there had been a certain rhythm to the dissonance: a solid beat, repeated three times.

        Knocking at the door.  She sighed; so much for an hour's peace.  She leaned her broom against the wall, dropped to her hooves, and answered the summons of her door.

        On her doorstep stood a chestnut pegasus.  A scar crossed his left eye, a strained smile rested on his lips.  "Hello," he said weakly.

        "Fiddler!" she exclaimed, recognizing the stallion.  "Well, this is a surprize.  I thought you wouldn't be dropping by until tomorrow."  She looked down at his hooves, where an overstuffed bindle and stick lay.  "...are you alright?"

        He managed a dry chuckle.  "It appears I am now homeless and destitute."  He quickly held up a hoof.  "I am not here to trouble you with my misfortunes, I just... thought I should say 'goodbye.'"

        Octavia blinked.  "...trouble me with your... Fiddler, what happened?"

        He shook his head.  "Nothing you need worry about, I will just—"

        "Don't give me that," she snapped.  "You came here for a reason, and it certainly wasn't just to say 'goodbye.'  You obviously want my help.  If not, why did you even come here?  Why didn't you just leave?"

        He looked to be at a loss.  "It... seemed rude."

        She sighed.  Opening the door wide, she motioned with her hoof.  "Come inside; I'll make you some tea."

        He hesitated; it looked as though he wanted to grab his stick and bolt.  Then, slowly, he picked the stick up in his mouth and followed her inside, closing the door behind him.  "Leave your luggage by the door," she said, heading into the kitchen.

        She grabbed her favourite kettle.  Unlike the common kind one finds that gives a banshee's whistle when the water under its care boils, this one had a three-stage harmonic instead.  Three notes, playing in progression up into a harmonic chord, would announce the water's roil.  Filled, she placed it on the stove.

        Next, she went over to the tea cabinet.  She had several varieties, so she took a good moment to decide which to make.  Even with all the times he had visited her, Fiddler had never once asked anything of her house.  He would claim that he didn't want to impose; to Octavia, he seemed to be walking on eggshells with any subject not related to music.  Still, he would accept drink when pressed, and so far hadn't voiced any complaint.

        Selecting a good classic, she prepared the tray.  Teapot, sugar bowl, cream pitcher, two cups and saucers, and two spoons.  Just as she finished setting it up, three notes sang in a musical chord.  As always, they played the beginning of an orchestral piece that began in Octavia's head.  She pulled the kettle off the stove, humming a new melody to herself.

        After pouring the hot water over the tea leaves, she picked up the tray and brought it out to the den.  She paused; Fiddler was nowhere to be seen.  Did he leave?  Setting the tray on the table, she went back to the foyer to see if his stick was still there.

        Upon seeing the bindle stick propped up against the doorframe, she couldn't help a dry smile.  "I said to leave your luggage by the door, not yourself."

        "I did not want—"

        "'—to impose'?  Listen, dear, if I invite you in, you're not imposing."  She turned back to the den.  "I'll say it again: come in.  It'd be a shame to let the tea go cold."  She left him there, and after a moment there followed the soft sound of hoofsteps behind her.

        He joined her in the den as she was pouring the tea, the aroma of bergamot dancing in the air.  She set one teacup at the far end of the table, close to where the pegasus was still standing.  "Sit," she said.  "It's Earl Neigh; your favourite."  Like always, he hesitated a moment before joining her, taking a sip.  She smiled, looking over the rim of her cup.  "Feeling better?"

        He nodded.  "Yes, thank you."  He took another sip, and his lips curved into a wistful smile.  "I will miss this, I think."

        "No tea where you're going?"

        He looked up sharply.  "What? No, I did not mean—"  He stopped, seeing her smile.  He responded with a small chuckle of his own.  "...sorry."

        "You have no reason to be," she chided.  "Now, then: what happened?"

        He looked down.  "It... is not worth talking about."

        "Nonsense.  It's enough to send you away from your home and to my doorstep with nothing more than a bindle and the coat on your back.  If it's worth all that, then it's certainly worth talking about."  She set her teacup down.  "I'm not here to judge you, you know; I may be able to help."

        He looked around uncomfortably.  She was pressing him, she knew.  They had never spoken to each other about their own personal lives; it was something of a promise he'd made for his visits.  She had never fully understood it, but she had obliged him all the times before.  "Just... someone is spreading lies about me," he finally said.

        "They must be some pretty big lies to kick you out of your home," she observed.

        "...yes."

        Octavia thought about it; she couldn't think of any kind of lie terrible enough to drive somepony from their home.  I really don't know anything about him, do I? she considered.  All these visits, and all we've ever talked about is music.  For a moment, it occurred to her that perhaps he was lying, and what drove him out was a revealed truth.  She quickly laughed the thought away.  She had always believed she was a good judge of character, and Fiddler was a good and intelligent pony.  Besides, he seemed too timid to do anything.  "So, what's next?" she asked.

        He stirred his tea.  He'd added nothing to it, but still he stirred.  "Leave," he said.  "Find someplace new.  Start over."

        "Like going into hiding?  Why not try to tell the truth?"

        He shook his head.  "I do not have evidence.  It would just be my word against theirs."  He smiled grimly.  "After this, I doubt they would even listen to me."

        "Must be quite a tale they're weaving.  Should I be concerned?"

        He looked up, confused.  "What do you mean?"

        "I mean, will they come after you?  Will they try to find me because I know you?"  She leaned a little closer and, in a half-joking tone, added, "Have you doomed my house?"

        Fiddler was suddenly frantic.  "No!  No, they... it... it will not leave the city.  My home.  Cloudsdale."

        "That's quite a distance from here.  How much further are you planning on going?"

        He shook his head.  "I do not know; just 'away.'"

        A thought occurred.  "Why not stop here?"  He blinked, looking all the world like he was lost in the desert, and so she continued.  "Canterlot is a good city for musicians like us.  There are many rich ponies here who have nothing better to do than hold private parties, and they never hesitate to provide music.  If you want to start over, here is as good a place as any."

        He found his place again.  "There... is no place for me to start here," he finally said.

        "Isn't there?"  She set her tea down.  "What if I let you stay here?  You know, until you get your hooves under yourself again."

        Fiddler was staring at her, eyes wide and mouth agape.  "I... that is unnecessary, really, I—"

        "It's no problem," she interrupted.  "You'd hardly be imposing; this house is too big for myself alone.  I know all the local hotspots, and I can introduce you to all the right ponies.  You could be back on your hooves in a matter of months!"

        His expression was fixed in a combination of shock and confusion, and he started shaking his head.  "I have no money, and my violin was taken.  I would not be able to pay you back, nor can I play."

        She waved that aside.  "You can pay me back at your own convenience.  As for your Violin, you can use one of mine until you get another one.  How would you expect to start over without one, anyway?"

        He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.  He seemed to be fumbling, as though he wanted an excuse but couldn't find one.  Finally, he settled on, "...I cannot abuse your hospitality like that."

        Octavia sighed.  He's so timid.  "Very well, then.  If you are so set on striking out alone, then that's your choice.  However, should you ever change your mind, then my offer stands."  She looked at the clock; she had ten minutes before she had to leave.  "I really do wish you the best, in whatever you end up doing.  As for me," she said, getting up, "I've got a party to get to.  You're welcome to come along; I doubt Spice Melange would have an issue with a guest of mine."

        He stood.  "Thank you, kindly, for the offer, but I really should get out of your mane."  Looking down at the table, he added, "And for the tea, as well; it was delicious."

        "We should do it more often," she replied, picking up the tray and heading back into the kitchen.

        She met him at the door, her with her Cello and him with his bindle, and together they stepped outside.  They walked down the path together, idle conversation about the weather between them, and bid their farewells at the street.  As he turned to fly off, another pegasus, a deep-blue mare, landed in front of him.


~ * ~      ~ * ~      ~ * ~


        The chestnut pegasus stopped.  His eyes were blue and his mark was of two joined eighth notes and a quarter rest, but Dew saw the scar across his eye.  Certain now, she ventured, "Looking for something?"

        There was a moment's hesitation.  "Only if it is found," he replied.

        Autumn!  Found you at last.  She fought the urge to hug him right then.  Who is he now?

        As though in answer to her question, the pony she recognized as Octavia spoke up.  "Friend of yours, Fiddler?"

        Fiddler? she thought as he turned to Octavia.  What a terrible name.  "She is," Fiddler said.  "We were young together."

        The earth pony smiled.  "See?  You still have ponies behind you.  Maybe things aren't so bleak as you imagine."  She looked to the sky.  "Well, I need to be moving.  I wish you the best."  With that, she shouldered her Cello and trotted off, humming a quiet tune to herself.

        Dew raised an eyebrow.  "Fiddler?"

        "It seemed appropriate," he replied.

        "It seems rude," she countered.  "What, exactly, do you 'fiddle'?"

        He laughed.  "Just a violin, no worries."  He suddenly looked around, nervous.  "Perhaps we should get out of the street?"

        Of course; they'd be looking for him.  While it was unlikely that they'd find him, they might be following her.  "Follow me," she said, taking flight.  After a few beats, he followed, lagging behind to waylay suspicion that he was, in fact, after her.

        Dew spied her target: a large cloud casting its shade over a particularly rich estate.  She banked and dove into it, feeling her senses come alive in the fog.  She tucked her wings and twirled, creating a small hollow in the cloud's centre.  The cloud would appear to grow, she knew, but there would be few ponies paying attention to a detail like that.  She sat and waited, and soon after Fiddler joined her.

        She embraced him the moment he landed.  "Thank Celestia you're alright!  I've been so worried."  She let him go and looked into his eyes.  "What happened?"

        He took a deep breath.  "I had to run."

        Silence.  "That's it?  That's all you have to say?  You've been declared a traitor, Autumn!  Do you have any idea what that means?"  He nodded hesitantly, so Dew repeated herself, emphasizing both words.  "What happened?"

        "I overheard," he finally said.  "I was walking the halls of the palace, down in the less-travelled areas.  Two ponies were talking about the dogs in the mine.  I did not hear much, but enough.  They were unhappy about the gathering breaking up; they said something about a war."

        "How did they find you?" Dew asked in the ensuing silence.

        "I was not hiding.  I was walking the friendly confines of the Palace; what need would I have to hide?  I heard them, and before I could react they saw me.  I knew I had to leave before I was caught."

        "But why not go to Golden Lock or the council?  You found some ponies trying to start a war!  That is treason beyond anything else.  Why didn't you report it?"

        "Because the council is a part of it,"  Dew took a reflexive step back.  "I do not know how many of them, but the two implicated as much in what they said."  A dry chuckle.  "And I doubt the Vice-Commissar would listen to another impossible tale from me, especially one that attacks the good ponies of the council."

        Dew's mouth was dry.  The council is part of this?  All the implications ran through her head, firing off one after the other.  If enough of the council was turned, then they could override Commissarial orders.  If they managed to keep things within the Service, then Celestia wouldn't know about the misdeeds until it was too late, and her supreme power would be of no use.  Even still, a larger question rested on Dew's mind, one that she found impossible to shake off, impossible to answer.  If it has members of the council, how much deeper does this treason go?

        "Autumn, you have to fight this.  Tell the Princess!"

        He shook his head.  "I tried.  By the time I got to her, Golden Lock and the council had already told her of my treason.  What cause would she have to listen to me?  I am a traitor with no evidence to the contrary."  He seemed to collapse within himself.  "What could I do?"

        "Everything you can!"  Dew was standing now, and close to yelling.  Her eyes threatened tears, but whether they were of anger, sadness, or worry she could not tell.  All she knew was that her friend was running away, and she couldn't let that happen; not now.  "All of Equestria is at stake here, not just you!  Think of all the ponies that live here!  Think of how many would die if a war broke out!  You can't just turn your back on them; you just can't!"

        He almost laughed.  "Dew, listen to yourself; there is no way they could ever manage to start a war.  The dogs are too scattered, the gryphons are in full diplomatic relations with us... even the Dragon Kings barely give us a second glance.  None of the neighbouring nations would step forward to war, you know this.  It will not matter if I disappear; their plan is unfeasible."

        "You don't really believe that, do you?"

        "It is true."

        "Says the pony who just broke up a dog pack of unprecedented size.  Golden Lock made the mistake of not believing what was right in front of him.  Would you really do the same?"

        "This is... not the same thing."  He looked away, trying, it seemed, to find justification.  "A scheme like theirs does not arrive overnight.  In all the time they have had, there has been no result.  It would not change so easily now."

        Dew stomped on the cloud.  "You think the dogs just up and appeared the day before?  Autumn, I know you know better than that.  Why are you running from this?"

        He was quiet for a moment.  "There is nothing I can do."

        "I heard you say something similar just a few days ago."

        He shook his head, looking at his hooves rather than at her.  "This is not the mines; there I had a clear target, a plain enemy.  Here... where would I even begin?"

        "So you'll just go into hiding, then?"  She didn't bother to hide the bitterness in her voice.  "Would running away again make things all better?  What about me, Autumn?  You'd go and play with her and leave me behind?"

        "No, of course not," Autumn said, pleading.  "I didn't leave you the first time, what makes you think I'd do it now?  I just... just said 'goodbye' to her.  I was going to find you as soon as time allowed."

        "And what then?"

        He looked at her, imploring.  "Come with me.  The Service will have no more need for you; who knows what they will do?  We can start again, far away, and—"

        "No."  Autumn stopped, his mouth hanging open with unspoken words.  "No, I won't leave.  You know why?  Because this goes beyond you, beyond us.  This is the whole of Equestria, and I cannot turn my back on them."  The look she gave him was harder than she had intended, but she didn't care.  "How can you so easily?"

        It seemed as though Autumn had stopped breathing, the silence was so deep.  A slight wind swept through the cloud, causing the white walls around them to ripple in the breeze.  When Autumn finally spoke, his words were soft.  "Because... I don't know what else to do."

        Dew let out a quiet breath, a small smile coming to her lips.  And there it is, she thought.  All the years of service, and he's still scared of coming out of the shadows.  She sat back down, and she spoke warmly again.  "You can expose this treason, and clear your name; put the right ponies to justice.  It won't be easy, I know, but there is nopony better for the task."  She lifted his chin.  "And I'm behind you all the way."

        He didn't respond at first, keeping his eyes down, trying hard not to look at her.  There was a battle inside him, Dew knew, but which side would win she could not say.  So it was with bated breath that she heard him say, "What will you do?"

        A little less than she had hoped.  "Go back to the Service; find out what I can," she said.  "Eventually, I'll build a case and bring it to Keystone, or even the princess if need be."

        "I doubt they would give you the time.  They may even arrest you when you arrive."

        "Then I'd feel much better with you at my back."

        Another pause.  "Very well," he said, defeated.  "I will stay."

        Dew smiled and nuzzled him, whispering in his ear.  "Thank you."  

"Must you go back?" he asked.

"I have to," she replied.  "What do you think they'd do if I ran away?  This is the best way for me to avoid suspicion."  He said nothing, and she pulled away.  "You'll need a place to stay, somewhere they wouldn't think of looking.  I'd suggest a hotel, but they've likely frozen your accounts."

        He nodded slowly.  "I do not think that will be an issue.  Octavia offered to let me stay with her."

        "I thought you said you were only saying 'goodbye' to her."

        "I was.  She wants to try and help me."

        Dew blinked.  "What did you tell her?"

        He shrugged.  "She knows me as a musician from Cloudsdale.  I told her that I had fallen on hard times and had to leave.  She believes I could start over here, and she wants to help."

        Octavia, huh?  She pursed her lips.  "Think you could do it?  Live the lie?"

        "I've been living one for enough years.  A change in my facade might prove invigorating."

        "It isn't the same, and you know it," she countered.  "You've been living a story, and a simple one at that.  You've never really had to invent a lie to hold it together.  To her, Octavia, you're what?  A musician from Cloudsdale, sure, but what else?  How many more lies are you standing on to make that believable?  I know you, Autumn; you can live a story, but you're a terrible liar.  If you have to suddenly invent something, you could blow your whole cover.  So I ask you again: do you really think you can do it?"

        He was quiet, considering himself and his answer.  Dew waited patiently, but she knew his answer before he spoke.  "I believe I can do it."

        "All right, then.  I'll try to drop by next week, and—"

        "No."  He finally looked at her again.  "We cannot be seen together; even if they grant you a modicum of liberty, they will be following you.  It would be best if we had an intermediary, one whom they would not suspect."

        She sighed.  "Who, then?  Octavia?  No, Autumn, I don't think—"

        "No," he interrupted.  "Someone else, closer to the palace."

        Dew blinked.  "Who?"

        "I do not know," he said, "but I will find someone.  Go back to the palace; keep your head down, stay out of trouble.  As soon as I can, I will get a message to you."

        She paused a moment.  "How will I know it's from you?"

        He shrugged.  "We are always looking for something, are we not?"


~ * ~      ~ * ~      ~ * ~


        The foal was quite obviously dead.  Stillborn, its eyes had never opened, and it had never tasted the sweetness of fresh air.  These were minor details, however; one might easily overlook them if they were not paying attention.  Indeed, many would overlook these for the much more apparent causes of the foal's death.

        The thing was a grotesque.  Its fur was splotchy, bulbous lumps covered its small frame, its legs bent at odd angles and places, and its mouth was fixed in a scream that the foal never had the breath to voice.  The thing that most ponies noticed, however, wasn't so much that its wings were twisted and its horn was crooked, but rather that it had both to begin with.  Exactly how any of this had happened—from the thing being an alacorn to its horrific demise—nopony could say, but it was the one thing that drove them forward.  Something like this was, after all, quite an unexpected turn of events.

        "What can you tell me?" asked the stallion.

        The mare, likewise a unicorn, took her time before responding.  "Not as much as I'd like."

        "Anything is better than nothing."

        She nodded.  "Well, I can tell you something went wrong.  Whatever the spell's original intention, this was not it."

        "How so?" he asked, walking around the dead foal, carefully examining it in the flickering torchlight.

        "There are parts missing, for starters.  Given the method of delivery—the enchanted meals—you might say that that's to be expected, but that wouldn't account for the size of these missing pieces.  It's like someone cut out parts of the spell after it was cast.  That's what led to its death."

        "Explain."

        "I'll try, but it's mostly theory right now."  She clicked her hoof against the stone floor; a habit when her pride was stung.  "I don't understand this spell," she began.  "The missing pieces make it hard to gain any sense from it.  Plus, this spell went beyond simple enchantment; it became an essential part of the foal's essence, its very being.  With something like that, it becomes nigh impossible to track the traces."  Se clicked her hoof.  "Suffice to say, I don't have much on it.

        "What I do have is this: since the spell made up... oh, I don't know, half the foal's essence at this point?  More?  Well, when the spell was... erm, shattered, I suppose, the foal was also broken.  It's like trying to live when someone has removed your heart."

        "It became a part of the foal's essence?" he asked.  "How is that possible?"

        She shook her head.  "I've certainly never heard of anything like this.  It's possible that it's the fact that their target was an unborn.  As the foal developed and grew, it absorbed the spell into itself."  Her hoof clicked.  "Not a very satisfactory answer, I know, but it's all I've got right now.  I might get a better one after some experiments, but I don't even know where to begin with that."

        The stallion pursed his lips in a thoughtful expression.  He prodded the foal, turning it over.  "So you don't know what caused this?"

        "What broke the spell?  No.  I don't even know what the spell was."

        "I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out; you have one of the best minds for magical theory."

        Click.  "Don't remind me."

        "Anyway," the stallion continued, turning his attention back to the foal, "is it safe to assume the spell works?"

        She shrugged.  "Hard to assume anything at this point.  If it were alive I'd have better answers.  But, if we assume that it was an outside force that broke the spell and not a flaw with the spell itself—and let's be honest, it is a dog spell—then, in theory, yes."  She held up a hoof.  "However, I want to make it clear that we are working with a dead thing; I can't tell you how much power the living thing would've had, if any."  She gestured to the dead foal.  "It may be purely cosmetic."

        The stallion considered the information, his lips pursed thoughtfully.  Finally, he said, "What do you think the dogs wanted with an alacorn?"

        Again, she shook her head.  "You're asking the wrong pony.  I work with magic, not psychology."

        "But if you had to guess," he prompted.

        "Had to?"  She paused.  "I don't know, use her as a banner to rally under?  A weapon to fight with?  Maybe just examine her to find a weakness?"  She shrugged.  "As I said, I'm not one for psychology."

        "Would you like to find out?"

        The mare blinked.  "Sir?"

        "There is still one Shaman left in the mines; reports indicate that he was the leader."  He smiled as he turned to her.  "He might even be the one who came up with this spell.  Care to pay him a visit?"

        The mare's confused look slowly fell away, a smile coming to her lips.  "Hmmm," she said, her eyes sparkling in excitement.


つづく
To Be Continued...