“There won’t be a whistle for this next stop,” the Conductor said. He sounded subdued. “You’ll need to be careful and make sure to watch the time. We’ll only be here for thirteen hours.”
“No whistle? Why?” Rarity asked. She looked outside for clues, but it was hard to see much. Rain pelted the window, slow and heavy, the drops just a little bigger and darker than they would have been back home.
“The ponies here don’t like being disturbed,” the Conductor explained. “You can ask around yourself. This place is perfectly safe. Even if you break the rules, nopony would hurt you here.”
“What is the realm like?” Diana asked.
“It’s a sad place,” the Conductor said. “I don’t know how to explain it better than that. Ponies came here to learn from the ruler of the place, but…”
“But?” Diana asked.
“You’ll see for yourself,” the Conductor said, shrugging. “Remember, thirteen hours, no whistle.”
The rain was still going when they arrived, and it didn’t look like it was going to stop. Rarity shielded her eyes and glanced up at the clouds. The buildings around the station were all sad looking affairs, dark and heavy with ceramic tiled roofs. Balconies were connected from one building to the next almost continually, providing a dry walkway.
“I suppose there’s no weather service here?” Rarity asked. She reached out a hoof into the drizzle, letting one of the big, warm drops land on her fetlock. At least it wasn’t cold.
“I wonder if it’s worth trying to buy an umbrella,” Diana mused. “Only a few hours of rain, but…”
“The point of an umbrella isn’t to use it only once,” Rarity scolded. “If we can get them, we’ll also have them for the next time we run into poor weather.”
“Ah, that’s not bad wisdom,” somepony said. “Mind if I make a note of it?”
Rarity and Diana turned to find a pony in a ragged overcoat with wide blue and white stripes. She nodded happily to them and scribbled in a notebook.
“Philosophy from another world,” she said. “Maybe that’s the real ticket. Mind if I follow you around a bit and just jot a few things down?”
“Are you a reporter?” Rarity asked.
“Reporter? No, no, who cares about the news? That’s just stuff that happened! Why would that matter? What’s important isn’t stuff, it’s ideas and interpretation. The ‘why’ something happens instead of the ‘what’!”
“So what are you, then?” Diana asked.
“A philosopher, of course!” the mare chuckled. “This is the best place in the world to do philosophy! A real hot spot! Everypony else is trying to learn from ol’ Bleaker, but not me! I’m going to forge my own path!”
Rarity and Diana shared a look.
“I see,” Rarity said slowly. “And this Bleaker is… the ruler of the realm?”
“Eh something like that,” the mare shrugged. “I’m Vocce.” She offered a hoof and when Rarity reached out for it, Vocce bumped it instead of shaking.
“What can you tell us about this place?” Diana asked.
“A little trade, huh? Info for info? Or…” Vocce sighed. “The only reason ponies come here is because of Bleaker. You’re really here for him, aren’t you? Him and all his supposed wisdom. There’s not much else to see.”
“We’re just passing through,” Rarity said.
“Good, because even if everypony else is obsessed, there’s nothing there and I’m gonna make a new, better philosophy on my own!”
“A philosophy with nothing behind it!” somepony else snapped. An older stallion stormed up. He had to be as old as all three mares put together, with one eye lazy and drifting in its socket. “The Bleak Writings come from an immortal! You think you’re smarter than somepony who’s lived a thousand times longer than you?”
“I think he’s a sad old stallion who doesn’t even know what’s going on around him,” Vocce countered.
“That’s because you don’t know how to properly interpret what he’s trying to teach us,” the older stallion sighed. “The least you can do before you infect these newcomers with your useless new philosophy is expose them to real cosmic truth so they can see the difference between that ancient wisdom and whatever new foolishness you’re peddling today.”
“It’s not foolish!” Vocce huffed, puffing up her cheeks.
“Last week you tried to tell ponies that it was impossible for us to understand each other,” the older stallion pointed out.
“Because language is imperfect and most understanding comes from context!” Vocce groaned. “Like the word ‘bark’ can mean the sound a dog makes, or the skin of a tree!”
“It’s also a type of chocolate treat,” Diana noted.
“See?” Vocce said. “So the word means something different depending on the context! And even in context, it can be ambiguous if you’re talking about something like a timber wolf or dogwood beast!”
The stallion scoffed. “I understand you just fine, you just don’t make a good point. Let me know if you ever decide to become a real philosopher!”
He tossed his head and trotted off.
“Ugh! I can’t stand that guy!” Vocce groaned. “He’s Bilous. He heads one of the local Book Clubs. He thinks anything new can’t be worth thinking about because somepony would have already thought of it if it was worth considering.”
“So what do they do with their time?” Rarity asked.
“Mostly they write endless interpretations of interpretations. It’s like eating leftovers of leftovers and never eating anything new.” Vocce’s stomach growled. “Speaking of which I should go get some lunch. Could I interest either of you in a small purchase?”
“A purchase of what?” Rarity asked.
“Philosophy!” Vocce scoffed. “Or if you were asking about the specifics, I have some self-published pamphlets. Trade you some solipsism for a sandwich?”
The cafe had been normal, if choked with pipesmoke and experimental music. The air had been thick enough that it was worth eating outside even with the constant patter of slow, heavy rain. They took shelter under awnings and ate as they walked.
“As long as you’re here you should see Bleaker,” Vocce said.
“I thought you said listening to him was a waste of time?” Rarity asked. The wrapped baguette of her sandwich was nine-tenths crusty bread and a thin layer of extremely salty butter and shaved smoked carrots and dried tomatoes.
“Yeah, but it’s the touristy thing to do,” Vocce explained. “It’s sort of the only game in town anyway.”
She led them through the town, sticking to the covered walkways and avoiding the streets, which were universally damp and muddy.
“We can cut through here,” Vocce said, ducking into a building. Slow jazz played inside, almost covering the sound of machines. Rarity looked around in the low light and found ponies working on printing presses.
“Are they making books?” Rarity asked. “It seems a bit slapdash.”
She hated criticizing ponies who were working for a living, but there was very little care being taken in the actual production. At one end of the line, ponies were putting cheap pulp paper into the press, and at the other end they were being bound into softcover tomes. Even in the low light, Rarity could see the ink was faded and uneven, a step below newsprint quality.
“Next door they’re turning yesterday’s books back into paper,” Vocce explained. “The ponies here don’t have a lot of new ideas but they’ve got a lot to say about the ones they’ve been chewing on for a while.”
She grabbed one of the books out of a box and tossed it to Rarity. Rarity opened it up and gave it a quick glance, skimming over the contents.
“The nature of the reflection which is brought to bear upon instinct places it before itself, calculates its value, and compares against other natures with their meanings and worth. The instinct is one that comes with a whole of satisfaction from the achievement of primal urge and the reflection absolves it of barbarism-- what does any of this even mean?” Rarity asked. She put the book in another box as they walked through the room.
“It means the pony who wrote it wants other ponies to know they’ve got big ideas and the best way to show them off is a lot of words,” Vocce said. “Some of these ponies get paid by the word, and that means a lot of padding. Some of these books are just copies of other ponies’ books but with commentary added!”
“At least it keeps the publishers busy,” Diana noted.
“Everypony has the same ideas, so they pat each other on the back and talk about how right they are,” Vocce scoffed. She led them back outside into the next street. “And all of it comes from in there.”
Rarity wasn’t sure what to expect anymore. In a way, the realms they’d been to had been palaces for the immortals that ruled them. Equestria had Canterlot castle, but alicorns in other worlds could be found anywhere from the edge of a cliff to a tower so tall the top couldn’t be seen from the ground. The only common things seemed to be height and drama. Rarity particularly liked the latter. Meeting an alicorn should always feel important, in her opinion.
This alicorn apparently hadn’t gotten the memo on height. The building Vocce led them to was a long, low building, no taller than the ones around it. An adobe wall cut it off from the street, wrapping around the block. A single guard stood at the open archway leading inside. He didn’t look like a heavily armored knight, more like a groundskeeper watching the door.
“No visitors today,” he said when they approached.
“Come on, they came here on the train!” Vocce said. “They’re only in town for one day.”
“The train?” the guard frowned. “There’s no trains on seconddays.”
“It’s a special train,” Diana said. She held up her ticket, the silver ephemeral and ghost-like in the rainy half-light.
The guard frowned and scratched his head. “That looks like it’s above my pay grade. If you want to go in and see him, I suppose it’s okay. But if he gets upset, you leave right away, you understand?”
“Is he having a bad day?” Vocce asked.
“No, it’s a good day. That’s why I don’t want him bothered too much. Can’t remember the last time he had a really good day but this is close enough and I don’t want it spoiled. Doesn’t deserve the troubles he has.” The guard shook his head.
“If it’s too much trouble we don’t have to be here,” Rarity said. She was starting to feel distinctly unwelcome and didn’t like it.
“Sometimes he likes having visitors,” the guard said. “Maybe the reason he was in a good mood was because he knew you were coming. He’s terribly wise, you know. They say he knows everything!”
“Everything?” Diana raised her eyebrows.
“Everything in the universe. Doesn’t seem too unlikely to me, either. Anyway, you go on in. Vocce, you know the rules, make sure they’re on good behavior. No loud noises, no sudden movements, and if the master asks you something directly you answer.”
“Don’t worry, these two seem like good ponies,” Vocce assured him.
“You’re right, I should probably make sure they foalsit you,” he huffed.
“So the alicorn here is particularly touchy?” Rarity asked. She shook the last few drops of rainwater out of her mane once they got inside. The palace, because it was a palace no matter what else it looked like simply because of who lived in it, was a bit more sparse than she expected. There were only a few pieces of furniture in the foyer, though everything was soft and comforting. The lighting was low and indirect, and music was playing from hidden sources.
“A better word might be ‘fragile’,” Vocce corrected. “You’ll understand when you see him.”
Vocce looked around, then picked a direction and started walking. It took a few tries and dead ends before Rarity heard anything, and that thing was the sound of something scratching on paper. As they walked, Rarity couldn’t help but notice that the entire palace seemed… she wasn’t sure how to put it. Plush in a way that left every corner covered and every hard surface turned into a cushion.
“There he is,” Vocce whispered. She nodded up ahead. Two maids were standing a respectful distance from a pony who was hunched over and muttering to themselves. The pony was obviously an alicorn in a riot of colors like a peacock. He took a few moments to scribble something down, and Rarity could see he was using a soft-tipped marker, holding it in orange magic and writing in large, uneven letters.
“Leave us,” the alicorn said. He had a gentle tone. The maids glanced at him, then at Rarity, Diana, and Vocce. They didn’t go right away, despite the order. “It’s fine. This meeting is a pleasant one. I won’t need any help for a little while. I’ll call you back when they leave.”
The maids bowed and left, clearly not intending to go very far at all.
“You might as well come closer,” the alicorn said. “This meeting isn’t a very long one.”
“I’m sorry if we’re interrupting,” Rarity apologized.
“Everything is an interruption of something else. Sometimes you interrupt boredom. Sometimes something important.” He kept writing as he spoke. “You have a lot of questions. I have all the answers but no time to give them or think about them.”
“Miss Vocce said we should meet you,” Rarity said. “I’m--”
“Riding the Aether Express to become an alicorn,” the prince noted. He still hadn’t looked up at her. Rarity tried to resist the urge to look over his shoulder at what he was writing. It wasn’t an essay, more like the outline, a sketch trying to put ideas to paper. It was something about crabs. He crossed it out and tossed the paper away, starting again on a fresh sheet on a different topic.
Rarity blinked. “Yes! How did you know?”
“I know everything. That’s how I became an alicorn. I found a well of knowledge. A way to learn everything, everywhere, all at once. It’s too much. Too much! I learned everything but every idea has the same weight. It’s hard to focus--”
He stopped writing and squeezed his eyes shut in anguish.
“My mind races. All the time. When I get ideas out on paper, I can get them out of my head. Someday I’ll write down everything, and then I’ll have peace. Until then, I have some good days and some bad ones. This is a good day.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rarity whispered.
His mouth twitched with a smile. “Meeting you made it a good day. I knew it would be. You want to ask if there’s really a way for you to become an alicorn. There is. I can’t tell you what it is. You have to find it for yourself. But you can. The future isn’t set in stone yet. I hope you’ll make the right decision.”
“What is the right decision?” Diana asked.
“You’re better at wrong decisions,” the prince laughed. “You’re a bad influence. But a pony needs good influences and bad ones, or else they can’t grow. You learn from mistakes, not from success. I made a big mistake, learned too much too quickly.”
He shook his head and took a deep breath.
“Don’t take the quick path. Make good mistakes. The right mistakes. Making the wrong mistake would be the biggest mistake!” The alicorn started to laugh and got back to writing. “Sorry. Prophecy is easy when you see it coming. Harder to give ponies advice they’ll listen to. You can only change a little if you still want to see what happens.”
He shrugged.
“Is there anything we can do to help you?” Rarity asked.
“No. This whole world is ponies helping me. They’re too kind to me. It feels bad knowing that they rely on me and I’m not as wise as they think. They see shadows and think my knowledge is something great, but it’s just…” he struggled for a moment. “I can’t get the right words out. I only learned facts. Not how to tell other ponies.”
“It’s impossible for ponies to perfectly understand each other,” Vocce nodded. “Language only conveys meanings both ponies already understand. If I invented a new word you wouldn’t know the definition.”
“Yes, exactly! My knowledge came with… a lot of ideas ponies haven’t had yet. The worst part is waiting for them to catch up. Now, you should go. I need to get these ideas down. It’s getting bad again.”
The alicorn turned back to their work, scribbling faster. Rarity could see the moment his attention turned away, snapping off like a light. She might as well have stopped existing.
“Let’s go,” Vocce whispered, leading Rarity back. The maids reappeared, taking up their places near the alicorn. One of them moved a pile of papers that had been filled with writing and replaced it with a fresh stack.
“Is he always like that?” Rarity asked.
“No, sometimes he’s a lot worse,” Vocce said, as they walked away and it became safer to talk. “Old Bleaker there is having a good day. On bad days he writes on the walls instead of the paper and starts yelling at ponies for not understanding him. It’s like he’s practically speaking another language sometimes. Laughing at jokes we don’t understand, drawing symbols that don’t mean anything. Once he just drew cats for three days straight. Cats!”
“The burden of infinite knowledge,” Diana mused. “A mind trying to hold every idea at once. It’s a wonder he can focus enough to speak at all.”
“I wonder how other alicorns manage it,” Rarity said. “There was the prince of the beach, who simply forgot everything. That seems even worse.”
“Perhaps in a thousand years you’ll get your own answer,” Diana suggested. “He did say you had the potential, remember?”
Rarity gasped. “You’re right! I was so worried I barely even noticed, but… if he says it, it must be true, yes?”
“Be careful,” Vocce warned. “The ponies around here think he’s perfect and all that does is disappoint them. There’s plenty of ways to misinterpret what he’s saying.”
“He was rather direct, though,” Diana noted. “We should take it as a good sign.”
“Are you sure this was wise?” Diana asked.
Rarity scoffed. She pushed the box full of books under the seat. “We’ve needed reading material since this little trip started! Last time it was three full days between stops!”
Diana was about to say something, but remembered what Rarity had done. The hours of standing in one spot, waiting while Rarity built clothing around her and discarded it just as quickly. She’d been a living poniquin and hadn’t enjoyed the experience. Especially not when Rarity got distracted. Diana had ended up poked by too many pins.
“Maybe the books aren’t the worst idea,” she admitted. She picked up the top book on the pile, and was relieved to see that Rarity at least at least bought a selection of books and not a full box of a single tome.
“Philosophy,” Rarity sighed. “I would have preferred something in the realm of fiction. Perhaps romantic fiction. One would think that any publishing house would support itself with a steady backbone of heaving muscles and brave knights and perhaps a few daring firefighters, but my choices were treaties on the zeitgeist or extremely detailed studies of fish.”
“Fish?” Diana asked.
Rarity held up one of the larger books and opened it up. Inside, there were shockingly lifelike pictures of fish, none of which she could identify at a glance, not that either Rarity or Diana would have been able to distinguish between a Southern Sunrise Sunny and a Purplish-Green Snapper.
Actually they might have been able to pick out the latter, but the pictures were printed entirely in black and white, so the name was less helpful.
“Apparently Prince Bleaker, or whatever his real name is, spent much of last month focused entirely on fish. It lent sort of a theme to things for a while. Some ponies took it as a metaphor, trying to puzzle out what he really means when he says anglerfish use a dangling lure to trap prey. Plenty of fish in the sea. That sort of thing.”
“And the others decided that fish were just important on their own?” Diana guessed. She flipped to a page with a hideous looking eel, then slammed the book shut, shivering. “I can’t imagine how a pony builds a complete structure of thought entirely through the lens of ichthyology.”
“The good news is we’ll be able to learn that,” Rarity said. “Last month’s books are particularly inexpensive. I have at least half a dozen texts on lobster pots and shark tanks. I’m hoping the more metaphorical approaches will at least be amusing.”
Diana nodded and picked up a lone pamphlet that didn’t fit with the others.
“And something by Vocce,” Diana said. “A novella about the ways ponies push each other away and don’t fit into society.”
“She says her next work will be based on us,” Rarity said. “I’d like to come back someday and read it.”
“Mm.” Diana nodded. “Once we’ve learned something by ourselves, I think.”