The Traveling Tutor and the Librarian
The Twilights of House Twinkle
“My old physics professor,” hissed Green Grass as he clamped a hoof over Twilight Sparkle’s mouth and flattened up against a wall of his wagon. “Remain calm. She can sense fear.”
“Mmmmummm! Mummph! Mum!” Twilight fought to escape from the tutor’s grasp, but adrenaline-fueled terror was doing a pretty good job of reinforcing his grip.
“Spike,” came the dreaded voice again. “I know you’re hiding something.” That lowered voice combined with the tap, tap, tap of an impatient hoof made Green Grass shudder with repressed memories of grades long past, gone to that graveyard where required classes vanish once the last test is complete, and the book sold back.
She tracked me down. I must not have turned in that extra credit homework that she wanted to raise my score to a D. I always thought the stories going around the school about her were just fables. She’s going to fail me retroactively and I’m going to have to give back my diploma and quit teaching and move back in with my parents and—
A second, deeper voice sounded from near the front of the wagon, crushing Green Grass’ hopes for making an escape out the other door. “Dear, it looks like our little Twilight has a visitor parked in her front yard. Perhaps this is a bad time.”
She brought reinforcements!
“Oh, nonsense, Nighty. She told us we were welcome anytime we wanted to drop by. I can’t be blamed for wanting to see my only daughter, can I?”
Daughter?
The unicorn he was holding in his hooves suddenly seemed to double in weight as the door to Green Grass’ home became wrapped in a magenta aura and popped open. Professor ‘Iron’ Velvet poked her nose inside, taking the view of the petrified stallion holding her daughter in front of himself like a hostage with remarkable aplomb.
“Hello, Twilight, dear. Did we arrive at a bad time?”
“Mom!” Cruel physics caused Green Grass to be propelled backwards⁽*⁾ when Twilight launched herself at her mother, catching her around the chest in a mutual hug of epic proportions. Green Grass’ hopes at being able to back slowly out of the room without gathering attention, much as he had done during several Physics lectures in college, was stymied by a disapproving baritone voice that seemed to just come out of thin air around his left ear.
(*) Neighton’s Third Law of Family Inertia - Relatives attract each other in direct proportion to the length of time they have been separated, and the stress exerted on them during that time.
—
“Ah. You must be the young lad.”
Green Grass froze. His father had been able to use that voice. There was an undercurrent of authority that just oozed out between syllables that said quite plainly ‘I don’t need to destroy you. I have dozens of minions devoted to that purpose if you annoy me even in the slightest fashion.’
“Yessir!” The very molecules of air around Green Grass seemed to tremble with nervous rigidity as some small section of his brain noted that Princess Celestia and Twilight’s father were both getting their first impressions of him from the same view of his posterior.
The steely professor who had once terrified entire classes looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye. “And you must be the young colt I’ve heard so much about. I thought I remembered you from Introductory Physics class a few years back.” The older mare nudged Twilight Sparkle with an evil grin. “He thought a pi meson was really a pea meson, and marked his answer in grams. I taped your final exam to my office door. It was extremely funny.”
She happily tucked Twilight Sparkle under one foreleg and waved at the unknown stallion behind Green Grass. “Oh, Nighty. Why don’t you and the young colt get acquainted while Twily and I go catch up? Ta!”
The normal sense of relief he felt as that purple and white mane bounced away was missing. In its place was a growing sense of standing under a building thunderhead as a dark blue stallion wearing a severely formal three-piece suit borne with the casualness of a familiar uniform trod carefully into Green Grass’ wagon and looked around disapprovingly.
“Yours?” he asked, the stallion’s bright golden eyes flickering around to the cluttered corners of the room. There was a certain analytical air about that look, as if he were specifically withholding judgment for now while waiting for his victim to eagerly fling himself into the guillotine and beg for the blade to be released.
The gibbering chunk of fear that wanted the tutor to flee was mercilessly grabbed and wrestled to the ground, and vast quantities of metaphorical rope were used to tie it up until needed for an escape. “The wagon, yes. The books are my father’s, purchased on my behalf.” If his voice wavered, Twilight’s father pretended not to notice.
“My name is Lord Night Light, of the Office of Diplomatic Support Services⁽¹⁾. But please, do not stand upon formalities. You may call me Sir.”
(1) The Office of Diplomatic Support Services is a clerical agency. They supply the various diplomatic posts around Equestria with certain office products such as quills, ink, paper, detailed plans of military installations as well as lists of major military leader’s romantic liaisons, and other such trivial items.
—
“Yes, sir!” The silence stretched only slightly before Green Grass caught on. “Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Green Grass.”
After a brief pause in which the tutor did not volunteer any additional information, Lord Night Light turned at the doorway and looked rather pained. “You prefer not to use your title?”
Green Grass started to speak, and paused. Hoping that his estimation of Twilight’s father was correct, he decided on blunt honesty. “No, sir. My older brother, Regal, will inherit the title of House Chrysanthemum. I wish only to stand on my own four hooves. If I can complete my studies and gain my Master’s degree, I should be able to teach just about anywhere in Equestria, away from the shadow of my father.”
Those accusing golden eyes flickered to meet his face just once, before returning to their examination of the surroundings. “So you think it appropriate for a child to flee the vicinity of their parents?”
A dark cloud seemed to draw across the window outside as Green Grass winced. “If you had met my parents, you would understand.”
“Really?” Night Light’s golden aura of unicorn magic fetched a pristine kerchief from the vest pocket of his suit coat, dislodging a crisp notecard from his pocket and sending it skidding across the cluttered floor. “Oops,” he said, unconvincingly. “Could you…”
The tutor scooped the card and held it out to Night Light, and continued holding it as the stallion made no move to retrieve it. “You seem to be a bright young lad. What do you make of that?”
“This?” Green Grass flipped the card over and froze as he read the writing. “Nothing,” he continued weakly and held the card out again as if it were about to explode in his hooves.
“No, I insist. Twily always loved little tests like this. Consider this a test.”
“What happens if I don’t pass?” he asked reflexively, reconsidering his question the moment he locked eyes with the other stallion. “Nevermind.”
After a brief cough to clear his throat, Green Grass said, “Royal letterhead, with golden printing on light cream paper, obviously Princess Celestia’s. Dated yesterday. The invitee list shows both you and your... wife met with my parents and—” He swallowed hard “—Princess Celestia. Did she... say anything about me?” he asked with a slight squeak.
“I was sworn under oath not to reveal details of our meeting with Her Highness. However I believe I can state quite confidently that your name, and that of my daughter never came up in conversation. There may have been a few mentions of some young stallion⁽²⁾ somewhere, but since no name was mentioned, it could have been anypony. Oh, and I passed along our family’s condolences as to the rejection of your nuptials with the Earl of Pine Valley’s daughter. Your parents appeared to be less than crushed by your great loss.” For just the tiniest fraction of a second, Green Grass could have sworn the older stallion had flinched, perhaps remembering his own experience with the infamous laughing cry of ‘hooarrrrch’ from the Earl’s daughter.
(2) As well as ‘my student’ and ‘a small, nearby town,’ as well as frequent references to ‘most displeased if there were any interference.’ Princess Celestia had been a diplomat for centuries, and it tended to rub off on her invitations to tea. More than one potential diplomatic disaster had been quashed quite firmly between Darjeeling and Thin Mint Crisps.
—
“She’s a lovely young mare,” he added cautiously, feeling vindicated as a muscle jumped in Night Light’s jaw. “Grace. Beauty. The most lady-like laugh.” This time he was positive he saw the flinch, as well as a slight pinking of his cheeks from holding his breath. “As I recall, sir. Your son, Shining Armor is still single. Perhaps the Earl would be willing to reconsid—”
“No!” Night Light frowned severely after his outburst, turning Green Grass’ laugh into a brief chuckle, which slowly died a horrible death. The older stallion sniffed, as if he could smell the sweaty scent of his only daughter spending several nights under this roof.
“Rather untidy.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” The whole story⁽³⁾ of the Sorted Thesis poured out of Green Grass as if it were a confession, with the older stallion nodding along as if it were a familiar story to him.
(3) Without any reference to any overnight stays by any young unmarried unicorn mares whose fathers were standing in the room.
—
“I see why you have not attempted to tidy up then, and I shall not contaminate the thaumaturgic signature of my daughter’s project with my own. Except...” A golden aura surrounded one thick tome half-buried on the floor and floated it up to reading level.
“Interesting,” he mused, checking the back of the book before snapping it closed.
“I know,” added Green Grass. “Featherpen’s analysis of Griffon psychology through history was a great assistance to my thesis project. Such as it is.” He poked forlornly at the scattered and totally useless thesis notes scattered across the floor. “It had a few errors, but on the whole it was quite useful.”
Night Light reacted strangely to his statement, twitching almost as if he had been pricked by a pin. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said in a stiff, formal fashion as he shelved the book rather firmly. “My office uses that book in our dealings with the Griffons on a regular basis. Her Highness has never expressed any dissatisfaction with its contents.”
“What, do you know the author?” Green Grass retrieved the book from the shelf and turned to one dogeared and heavily noted page. “He draws a completely false premise from the Highpeaks Griffon defeat in 598 G.E., stating that it was a contributing factor to the Wingmaster’s revolt in the Empire, but that is clearly impossible since the revolt took place in the spring, and the Battle of Highpeaks never took place until that fall, right before harvest. There are a few hundred pages between the two events in the book, so it doesn’t really show until—” The tutor caught a glimpse of Night Light’s face and stared while realization cascaded in. “You do know the author.”
“Son, I am the author. I think we need to talk.”
The older unicorn carefully began to remove his suit coat, placing it down neatly across a bookshelf one piece at a time while he talked. “I have one son who is so powerful he can theoretically put a shield spell around the entire city of Canterlot. My daughter is the bearer of the Element of Magic, an ancient artifact that can actually defeat a goddess, and send her to the moon. After finding out just who my son was dating, I had a serious concern that Twilight had managed to somehow coerce an ancient elemental of power from between dimensions, perhaps something that ate planets or extinguished suns. I can truly say that I am very glad to meet you.”
“Now,” Night Light opened the door and stepped into the morning sunlight. “Why don’t we take a jog around town and you can show me around. I swear I’m getting as fat as a marshmallow stuffed into the office all day. I hardly ever get a chance to get out and run marathons anymore. From what I hear, you are a runner too, so we can talk while we run. How’s that sound?”