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// Roll up, roll up, snake oil for sale 
// Story: The Bad Apple Chronicles 
// by Gabriel LaVedier 
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	A caramel pony strolled casually through the outskirts of a small county, far up the river but not so far that it was entirely inaccessible. He was still getting used to his new look. His moustache was freshly removed as of a few stops before, his hair greased back with shining pomade, and his attire changed over from white country aristocrat to black and white riverboat finery. A black coat, a white ruffled shirt, black vest and black lace at his throat tied into a bow. His entire attire was brand new, still stiff and creased, and he looked just a little bit uncomfortable in it. But as before, he still showed his flank, a red apple with a wedge cut out of it to expose sickly greens within, and still bore a pack upon his back, jangling lightly with his possessions. He was drawing along a black case, like a chunky briefcase or small suitcase that rolled along on slightly squeaky wheels.
He crested a hill to see a broad sweep of farmland in the distance. He could pick out small farmhouses amid all the fenced-in collections of ploughed fields filled with what looked like scrub. Whatever they were growing looked unhealthy and barely suitable for use as food stock. At the bottom of the hill was the town that served all those farms. It was a small place. A few storefronts, some homes, one broad main street and a few others along the sides. It wasn’t much as far as things went. Even Pericarp proper had been bigger, in the time before Adam Apple had increased its stature and size. But, big or small, he had been drawn here by what he had heard, and he was determined to sell his wares there.
He dragged the cart down the other side of the hill, along a road that had once been a maintained cobblestone lane, but had since fallen into disrepair. Loose stones were easily kicked out while missing stones showed the macadam beneath, creating an uneven, pitted surface.
The sad state of disrepair continued in the town. The buildings were faded and in need of repair. Those businesses not boarded up didn’t look to be exactly booming. Those ponies he saw through windows or on the street looked lean and hungry. They weren’t starving, but they were hardly feasting as the folk of Pericarp did. He also noticed a name, stamped on the businesses that seemed to be alive and kicking. ‘Dry Gulch, esq.’ Pretentious. But, successful. He was listed as owner, backer, or patron of what yet lived. Thinking back over the spread of what he had seen, he recalled another hill off to the side, like a miniature mountain. The access road to it looked nice and well-repaired; the place seemed the likely location of a huge homestead.
The center of town held a sad, sickly looking tree, possibly some kind of fruit tree. Outside of apples, he had little knowledge of fruit trees and their varieties. It was in a small, stone-walled planter raised above a water feature of some kind, like a fountain that was not flowing. The water was circulating by some means, probably mechanical, but that was all. Nothing was spraying, nothing was falling, and nothing was interesting. It simply… was. That, itself, was in the middle of a small stone plaza. That, too, looked a little rough, with some of the stone slabs badly nicked and showing cracks.
It took some doing, but the stallion managed to pull his case along the dusty dirt road and onto the plaza. He had attracted a few eyes, though the ponies seemed disinclined to comment or really even make eye contact. Despite that, he figured he may as well go ahead with his intended action. To that end, he laid the case down on its side and twisted a knob on it. Legs slowly extended from it, requiring only a small kick to stretch them fully out into equal lengths. The top of it popped open with a bit more force than was required, but it still continued to do as needed, two sections coming up with shelves on them, a pair of flags topping them showing his Cutie Mark. A pointed-tip banner fell down from the front, showing a larger version of the Cutie Mark with the words, “Bardacelsius Pomacious” below it. On the shelves there were bottles and vials of variously-colored liquids, secured by metal clips. In the lower portions were bags, labeled with paper tags.
The cart set up, and some ponies looking curiously on the scene, he smiled and went into his spiel. “Roll up, roll up, fillies and gentlecolts! Gather ‘round, please, fillies and gentlecolts. I know you are curious. Who is this mysterious stranger from beyond our town? What are these strange wares he has brought to us from those far-flung lands that we have only heard of? From where up and down the river has he come? And what can he do for us? I’ll answer that, friends, I’ll answer that. I, my curious brothers and sisters, am the here-described Bardacelsius Pomacious, the undisputed master of potions, unguents, salves, oils, creams, powders, flakes, chips, and other such things to serve the many, many needs of a community of ponies. So roll on up and tell me what it is you lack, what it is you desire. I have your salves, I say, I have your unguents. I have your creams, I have your powders, I have your oils, your potions, your lotions. Anything you may need, anything you may seek, I have it here in my little cart. All you need is to come up and have a chat. I can find your needs in my little box of wonders. Come on up and get what you need.”
He got no takers, at first. Those ponies that had stopped to see the well-fed and well-dressed stranger only continued to stare. Some whispered to each other, occasionally casting eyes all about, seeking something. At last, however, one of the ponies, a cream-colored earth mare with a brown mane and a trio of apricots on her flank, trotted up with an uncertain gait, her eyes moving from the cart to the barker and back again. “Wh-what… What can you do with these things? I mean… What do they do?”
“What do they do? What do they do? Why, sister, what DON’T they do? Pills and potions, powders and lotions, like I said, of every description and size. Feeling under the weather? Need a change? I have you covered. Life a little bit of a drag? Surroundings a little off? I can help. Perhaps you’d like to change your fortunes, or your personality. Everypony does, and I can help.”
The cream mare cast her eyes over the collection of bags and bottles. She looked over the labels and tags. Concentrated Focus. Spiced Audacity. Oil of Slippery Tongue. Ground Grounding. Powdered Ideas. Granulated Greenery Growth. The last one… “S-say, stranger, is that one… I mean, is that what I think it is?” She pointed to the Granulated Greenery Growth. “Does it..?”
“Sister, let me tell you, I promise all my pills and powders work as intended. Satisfaction intended, results sure to result, outcomes to be what they will be.” Bardacelsius bowed grandly then swept his hoof over the collection of items. “Come up, come up, don’t be afraid, friends. See what you like, see what you need. Come up and check my wares. I’m sure I have something for you.”
“C-come on, don’t be afraid! Look at what he has! It’s what we’ve wanted!” The mare pointed out the bag in question to each pony that came up reluctantly. They became far less reluctant when they saw the name on the tag. “So, stranger, where did these things come from? What are they made of?”
“Oh, my little concoctions? I’m proud of them. They’re made of all the finest all-natural ingredients that I’ve found in my travels. They’ve been carefully mixed and blended and precisely formulated to do that things required of them. Don’t worry, I have plenty of whatever you fine folk may require.”
“How much? How much?” The cream mare desperately pressed herself against Bardacelsius’ chest and looked desperately into his eyes.
“How much? Why a mere trifle! Two bits. A mere two bits! Two bits an application for any of my many lovely little concoctions.”
“How much of this do you have? Please tell me, how much do you have?”
“As much as you may need. I can always make more and know I have a market the next time I swing around. After all, if you have a market, use it.”
“Market? Market for what, I wonder?” The voice was mild, older, but loaded with power. At the mere sound of it the ponies gathered around the medicine show cart backed away, looking guilty. As though they had been caught doing something wrong. The source of the voice was seen to be a unicorn stallion sometime in his post-middle-age period. His coat was rusty red, while his mane and tail were both the color of parched sandstone. He leaned one hoof heavily on a small cane made of silver, while he was flanked by two burly earth pony stallions in plain brown with brown manes and tails. The older stallion had a gully on his flank, while the two beside him had horseshoes on one and a spiked club on the other. “A stranger is in town and nopony informed me? Why that’s not terribly kind. Don’t you want to be proper?”
“Ahh! Mister Gulch! I’m sorry sir but he… he just rolled into town and started talking. I swear that was all.” The cream mare slowly backed away from the cart, the others all falling back even faster.
“Ahh, mister Gulch, yes… I’ve been expecting you.” Bardacelsius passed before the display space, reaching in and moving some of the bags around. “You, sir, have a presence. An aura. You’re a famous man in my eyes, and I am a stranger in these lands. Surely you must be a very busy and overwhelmed stallion. Here we are. A best-seller, to be sure. Powdered Peace. Goes wonderfully with milk and a dash of brandy.”
“Really? Fascinating. I’m sure that it would be wonderful if it worked.” Dry approached slowly, eying the smiling stallion while nodding over to his bodyguards. “Good ponies… I am frankly shocked by your willingness to believe such foolishness. Buying the claims of some cart-dragging huckster fresh off the riverboat. He’s promising you the moon and the mare on it besides. You can’t be trusted with anything. I’ve always known it, I’ve always told you. You earth pony farmers lack the sophistication to understand what’s happening around you. Don’t be taken by this charlatan, this mountebank, this nakedly-duplicitous quacksalver!”
As the two bodyguard ponies dug around in the display space, Bardacelsius looked completely unmoved, still smiling as he had been before. “Sir! Sir! I do most strongly and vehemently object to these wild and baseless accusations. You have not even seen my wares nor have you sampled them. You cannot say a thing. Besides, I trust these fine folk to know best. Caveat Emptor and all that. They know. They know to be cautious and to trust my promises only so far as I make them. They want to buy, I want to sell, and they, it seems, don’t mind spending their bits. They are their own bits to spend. And I can promise results for what is most important.”
Dry stared down Bardacelsius as his bodyguards came away shaking their heads and shrugging. At last he broke into a half smile, an insincere little twitch of his lips that was more venom than kindness. “Well then, mister Pomacious-”
“Oh, no need to be so formal. Call me Bardacelsius.”
“As I was trying to say, MISTER Pomacious… I see you have some will, some wit, and some quality. If I may impose upon you, sir, I would very much like to invite you to my manor for lunch and some conversation. Just to inform you of how things are meant to go around here.”
Bardacelsius pushed a few buttons on the display case and started turning a crank on it, drawing in the compartments and pushing down the legs until there was nothing left but the wheeled case. He picked it up by the handle and smiled to the crowd. “As you will, sir, as you will. Good ponies, fillies and gentlecolts, I shall return with deals aplenty for all your long-denied needs.”
There followed a strange procession, Dry Gulch at the head, walking on his silver cane, his bodyguards a pace behind, an imposing wall of muscle. Behind them, Bardacelsius, pulling his cart along and watching the scenery. They skirted the edge of town to the two large hills that loomed up like miniature mountains. They formed a small box canyon, which was fronted by a well-paved access road leading off and around, away from town. At the far end of the access road there stood a large manor. Its design was slick and streamlined, very experimental. It resembled the model homes proposed in places like Chicacolt or Fillydelphia. From the top emerged an elaborate set of radio antennas and other metal bric-a-brac, the kind of thing to keep one connected well to the outside.
“Is it impressive, mister Pomacious? A private design by THE Flank Loin Wainwright, just for me. No other pony but those I choose will ever see such a thing. It is far superior to all designs. It is bold! Original! The stallion is the wellspring, the very wellhead of pure creativity. None but the most worthy could possibly work on such a thing. Can you understand that, sir?” Dry set his silver cane in a small container by the door, his voice heavy with barely-repressed smug superiority as he described his home with rapturous energy. The inside was much like the outside. Clean lines, elegant designs, though with some Deco touches around, especially in the furnishings and the other small accoutrements around the room.
“It’s quite nice. It doesn’t keep with the architecture of the surrounding community, of course but, I suppose it has its charm. Very… forward-thinking, I suppose.” Bardacelsius looked around, noting how ill-used most of the items were. While very clean, the tables were bare save for fresh-spined books or small metal sculptures. A curio case contained strange gem formations, Zebra wooden artifacts, dried plants and feathers of unusual colors and sizes. The couches looked to have only one space of regular occupation where deformation could be seen in a cushion.
“Oh, come now. Be honest. It IS a most impressive and spectacular thing. It is wonderment, defined. And its ill-fit with the surroundings is intentional. It is different, greater, superior. Let the others have their rustic farmhouses and cheap, clapboard shops and habitations. I reside here, in comfort and opulence. I sit apart, greater, controlling this place with my wisdom and skill.”
“Oh, you’re the mayor? I hadn’t heard the news! Congratulations, good sir. Local businesspony AND mayor. Quite a lot on your plate.”
“Bah. MAYOR. Such a trifling, worthless thing. All mayors are ineffective and ridiculous. Elected ignoramuses fumbling about under the stifling yoke of bureaucracy, constantly having to do inane and idiotic things to be elected, needing to cater to the changing whims of the stupid populace. The mayor was dismissed as a position, as was sheriff. What need have ponies living under a truly intelligent pony? I have been moved and enlightened by truly wonderful literature. I know now how to maintain such things. Never give in to such inanities. Keep things stable and secure. Use intellect and creativity to demonstrate superiority and keep the many in line. For their own good, while they learn to maintain.”
By that time the party had arrived in a large dining area. The table was well-sized, perfect for a large dinner party, perhaps with the cream of the cream of the crop. It didn’t compare to a grand hall like the one found at the Apple homestead, but, the size was sufficient for a miser who never entertained. “I see. Well! Sir I would doff my chapeau to you if I made a habit of sporting one. Casting away the mayor, the sheriff, presumably regular patrols from other constable types and even circuit judges. You must have been in negotiations with Canterlot for ages! That’s true tenacity.”
“Mmm, let us leave off such a thing. It suffices to say that I am the wellspring of this place. With food supplies low, thanks to the strange struggle of the plants, they need strong leadership and propriety. But please, eat well, mister Pomacious. Then I may explain how you must be while I allow you to be here.”
Bardacelsius observed the bodyguards acting as servants, bringing out silver drays of food. The meal wasn’t the fanciest, which was mostly marked by small size and fancy sauces, but showed flush conditions with its abundance. Large salads with lettuce, tomatoes and sweet grass, fried potatoes, steamed hay. Good, solid, substantial foods. “That’s mighty big of you, sir, allowing a stranger to stay around.”
“You are an entrepreneur, sir. A seller of supplies who knows how it must work. I do not grant you unconditional liberty, of course. But you are exercising will, to make money. And that, as I have learned, is true morality.”
Bardacelsius looked to Dry with an incredulous lifting of his brow. He looked down at his meal and started eating, considering it all. “I must compliment you again. You eat well in the face of lack. You are a most fortunate pony. But what I truly want to thank you for is the easy allowance for a money-maker like me. Your morality is truly new and exciting.”
“Nothing comes of ridiculous adherence. We inventors, masters, grabbers of the future must shrug off the inefficient ways, the second-hoof ways, the irrational ways, and embrace the ways that make perfect sense so we may grasp our wills.” Dry set to his meal with an eager energy, consuming with a voracious hunger that belied his appearance and affectations of fineness and propriety. He wasted some measure of his food, sliding aside all the slightest imperfections in the food or simply allowing it to spill.
In contrast to his host, Bardacelsius consumed far more carefully. Each morsel of food was carefully coaxed into his mouth and chewed carefully, making him slower, and more silent, than his host. But he still managed to comment, “I do hope I’m not keeping you from anything; you seem to be in a bit of a rush. I hate to be an imposition, and I’d hate to cause you to waste your provisions.”
Dry waved off the comment and shook his head. “Not at all, not at all. This is simply how I choose to consume. It’s not a waste if I say it isn’t, and I say it isn’t. I have standards, after all. I would hate to see a world in which I had to be concerned about wasting food simply because others are lacking and I am not. Second-hoof nanny-statery. It is my food, and I will not be made to subvert my will to some idiot mass. But leave that aside. While you eat, I shall elaborate.
“I will allow you to sell your wares in this town. You seem like a harmless scoundrel. And you are correct; it is their doing if they purchase products that are not of quality. You can quack your salves and bags of useless spices in the town square all you like. For a week. After that, no matter what, you will leave and never darken our town again. Forget you were ever here and be off down the river. I know your type and that’s all you do, but I want you to follow through, in case you have any other ideas. Don’t cross me and all will be well. And one more thing, mister Pomacious. You are forbidden to sell anything resembling artificial fertilizer or other strange growth-enhancing formula. We will not become reliant on your hokum formulations thanks to psychosomatic effects and mistaken margins of error. Sleep where you can, in the street or under your own bits somewhere. Charity is strictly discouraged. It makes ponies weak and worthless. Abide by all this, and there will come no trouble. Know, sir, I will have my eyes on you.”
Bardacelsius chewed slowly and thoughtfully, looking upwards as he contemplated. “Is there a fee or some sort of operations tax for working in town?”
“TAXES!? No sir! Not at all! Not in my town! Taxes were banished when I had the mayor and others dismissed. No, no. You will not be penalized for your monetary success. However, I DO encourage you to spend your money at the local institutions of hospitality. No need to choose, I have a hoof in them all. Well now… I trust our business will be concluded in short order and things will return to normal.”
“Mister Gulch, I promise you that I want nothing more to return to normalcy and conclude business with you.” Bardacelsius nodded his head and rose from the chair. “Excuse me, but my market is still out there and I have some selling to do.”
Dry waved Bardacelsius off dismissively and nodded. “Go, then. Follow your will to its end.”


- - -


Not ten minutes later the medicine barker was back in the town square, his case back in shape as display space. “Fillies and gentlecolts! Gather ‘round, please, fillies and gentlecolts! I have been granted charter by your benevolent Dry Gulch to sell my goods here for a week. Do you hear, Grain Gulch? I am here for a week. A time-limited offer! Two bits a go! Whatever you may need, I have and I can promise you it’ll be worth your while.”
The small crowd slowly filtered in around the seller, the cream mare foremost once again. She approached the container and saw it was unchanged from before. And yet… “So, you’re selling ALL these things? All of them for the same cost?”
“My good mare, I gave my word to your current director. I agreed to certain preliminary conditions. So, yes. I am selling all of them, two bits per item. I follow all my agreements to the point. Please all, come up here and purchase what you like. I need my custom, after all. I have to pay for a place to stay.”
The others came in and looked over the wares, if half-heatedly. Most of the gazes lingered on the bag that had vanished and returned, somehow. Quite a few hooves reached for the one pouch of it that was visible, but moved to other ones or some of the vials instead, tapping them softly. Each time something was selected, the back bottom portion of the case was opened, plain pouches or vials pulled out and passed along to the purchaser. The cream mare held back, but finally was the one that selected the pouch others had been avoiding. “Is there an instruction book that comes with it or something?”
“All my items are easy. Apply dry ingredients to liquid and drink small amounts until the pouch is empty, over the course of several hours. For liquids, just drink it down. Though for that one…” He pulled a pouch out from the back and passed it along. “Apply to the affected area. Results will result.”
The mare looked at the smiling stallion, seeking any crack in his smile. “Is that name for real? Bardacelsius?”
Not a crack or mar showed in the salespony smile he wore. “Call me Bard, it’s much easier. And you are?”
“Going to see if I wasted two bits.” The money was handed off with a small clink. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll see if you deserve to know or if I should see mister Gulch about you.” The mare trotted off slowly, looking back occasionally to see if anypony was following her. A few started to, but merely filtered away.
“Very well, very well, roll up and buy! I have plenty of wares remaining for you, my interested friends! Roll up, roll up!”
That afternoon, after a long day of selling, Bard packed up his case, jangled his pouch of bits and walked to the only inn he had seen on the main drag. Like all the other shops, it bore the name of Dry Gulch on the window.
Inside, it was very plain. Bare wood, few decorations on the walls, a small lounge and eatery attached to a kitchen and stairs leading upstairs to the rooms. Behind the counter was a single gray-dappled off-eggshell stallion with a combed mane, wearing an officious buttoned shirt and a vest, small round glasses and a visor. “Good day, sir… Will you be staying for the night?”
“I can hardly do anything else. It’s either this or the lot behind the place. Give me the basic room.”
“Oh, sorry sir. That’s not facility policy. We fill rooms as they become available. They open in a top-down fashion. Our best room is available. That will be forty bits for the night, meals not included.”
“Wait a moment, I can’t choose my own room? Ludicrous. To think a service business would be so hostile to choice…”
“Sir! This inn is VERY committed to choice, as Dry Gulch has taught us that choice is paramount and sacrosanct to rational beings. No, sir, your choice is very much alive. You are entirely free to choose to rest here or sleep in the lot behind the inn. But you never surrender you choice, ever.”
“Mm. I wish I had oil as slick as those words.” Bard pulled the required buts out of his pouch, noting how it bit into his take. “Here you go. Give me the key and I’ll be on my way.”
“Of course, sir.” The desk pony handed over a key with a tag attached. “Allow me to summon somepony to assist you with your luggage.”
“No thanks. I need to be able to eat tomorrow. Thanks for the lesson, dapper dapple. I’ll figure out some way to use it if I ever get desperate enough.” With that, Bard took up his case, adjusted the pack on his back and slowly ascended the stairs.
Once at the top he checked the number on the key. Furthest at the end of the hall. There was a plate above it, which was missing from the other rooms, proclaiming it, “The Rail Baron’s Suite.” Normally cheap inns tried to pass off their deluxe model as a honeymoon suite. Presumably, newlyweds just stayed at home. Nopony would ever travel to vacation in Grain Gulch. Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he unlocked the door and looked inside.
It was… an inn room. Dull, flat throw rugs on an unpolished wooden floor, boring curtains over the windows, tacky wall paper of a generic floral design. There was a bed set with red sheets and a single flat pillow with a red pillow case. A wooden chest of drawers sat next to a wooden wardrobe. Atop the chest of drawers there was a single, cheap metal model of a train engine beside the expected water pitcher and bowl for casual morning ablutions. There wasn’t even an attached bathroom.
Curiosity piqued, he stepped out of the room and moved to one of the doors near his. After listening carefully he bent down and took up the ends of his lace, sliding the fabric back to reveal two thin metal bits, which he slid into the lock. It was a simple tumbler design, and opened up in short order. He stuck his head in for a look. Identical. Absolutely identical. The only differences being the bed was sheeted and cased in white, and there was no model train. He didn’t bother checking the other rooms. He knew a scam when he was part of it. It just wasn’t often when he was on that particular side of it.


- - -


The next day, after a fairly pricey cheap breakfast and the covert liberation of a later meal, Bard was out in the town square again, his case open and wares on display. “New day, same things. You tried them, you loved them, now show me some love and loyalty and bring your bits. Didn’t get the results you wanted? Maybe you chose the wrong thing. Already had your want, there’s more wants and wills in this display space, roll up and take them.”
The same small crowd moved in, still uncertain, still looking around for the presence of Dry Gulch and his bodyguards. They browsed without really buying anything. Those few that came in from the fields just moved off again after hesitantly almost-touching the Granulated Greenery Growth. The town ponies who did not go from the cart to their own shops loitered around, looking guilty at the thoughts they were having. They must have gotten a lot of sermons about “choices” in “unrestricted” commerce. When it seemed like there would be no more purchases, the cream mare from the other day came up, looking equal parts incredulous and upset. “One more. One more.”
“Two bits. Two bits. And your name.” Bard opened up the back of the case again and waited for the payment.
The mare hesitated. “I need one more confirmation.”
“Get Gulch or tell me your name. You told me those were my options yesterday, so make good on one of them.” Bard had removed the pouch and was lightly tossing it in his hoof.
The mare grumbled a bit and finally muttered out, “Lysandra Apricot.”
The pouch was passed off and his hoof remained out to take the bits that were forthcoming. “So, why did you need another application? Didn’t the first work?”
“I saw… Something. I know for a fact I saw something happen. Just… a little something. Enough to make me think there was something to this stuff you’re selling under Gulch’s snout. How do you think you can get away with this?”
“I made a promise and I’m holding to it. No need to ask for details just pay me my bits. I’d imagine you’re very busy.”
Lysandra handed over two bits for the pouch, then two more. “Give me two.”
Bard passed along another. “Please, tell your friends. I need to sleep at the inn.”
“Sorry to hear it. I know what the cost is.”
“You have no idea. Like I said, please send some business my way.”
Lysandra nodded her head and started trotting away, turning to mention, “I don’t think you’ll get many takers after the first day. You have to know that. You’ve been here long enough to see what it’s like. You might just make your inn cost today. Hope you made a lot yesterday.”
“Just enough for my purposes. Thanks for the word. Enjoy your product.” Bard watched Lysandra go, and then turned to the loitering crowd. “It’s not just me here, folks, it’s not just me! Come up and buy your desires. Anything you want, here in my little cart.”
The day went on and ended with scanty profits at best. It added to the pouch but was wiped out by having to pay for the expensive room and the pretentious meal the next morning. Because it worked well before, he once more nicked his dinner when the staff weren’t looking. He was gamely back at his job. This time, though, some of his previous customers were back, less afraid, and much more talkative.
“This stuff you sold me the other day… this vial of concentration. I think it’s… working.” An older stallion, gray mane thinning in the front, slate body slightly faded. “But… How do I know if it’s working too well? I don’t want to obsess over something.”
“Oh sir, you need not be concerned! My potions only function to the limits of effectiveness. Through a principle inherent in the pony mind they stretch only to the extent of intention. You will find your concentration never extends beyond what you desire.”
“A-all right. Here, here’s two more bits. I need another dose. I don’t want to enter my dotage.” He pulled out two bits and passed them to Bard. Thinking of it better, he pulled out two more. “I’ll keep two doses. Just to make sure I have it for tomorrow.”
“An excellent choice, sir. I look forward to your continued custom.”
“It was amazing! I drank that gritty mess and suddenly… I had notions of all kinds! My creativity was restored and my mind was free and clear!” A pinto mare, black, brown and white. “I simply MUST have more! I can’t give up this new flood of creation.”
“As I told your fellow citizen, it’s all you, my concoctions merely aid the principle along. But thank you. Please, come again.” Bard passed along two bags of the Powdered Ideas and accepted the four bits required.
“I talked to him. It was so nerve-wracking. But that potion I bought was perfect.” A gangly blue and black teenaged stallion, barely able to be called a stallion, passed over six bits. “More please. More Spiced Audacity.”
Bard passed across two vials and two bits. “Three doses, three days and you’ll have all the audacity you will ever need. But it sounds like the hardest part is over.”
In the middle of all the repeat business, Lysandra returned, tapping Bard boldly on the shoulder. “You can’t be obeying Gulch. You absolutely can’t.”
“But I am, trust me, I am.” Bard tended to his other customers, settling with the small knot while also waving over to one of Gulch’s bodyguards, who was attempting to observe him discreetly.
Lysandra pulled him aside, waiting for the crowded ponies to disperse first. “No, you can’t. That stuff, that mountebank powder you’re selling… it works. You CAN’T obey him if it works.”
“You’d be surprised…”
“Don’t lie to me. You’re putting him on. You have to be. All this garbage actually works. Just give me some more. And I’ll tell everypony else they should start buying. And you can bring more.”
“In time, in time. Why are you so interested in bucking the system? I thought you liked it in this little town. After all, you stay here.”
Lysandra shoved ten bits at Bard and scowled. “Just give me more. I have to spread the word.”
Five pouches were dutifully passed along. “Please don’t have me run out of town yet. I have to keep on selling as long as I can.”
“No promises.” With that, Lysandra trotted away.


- - -


Another day, the bits had been coming in but slowly. He was covering his expenses, and getting more and more folk at his cart as word spread that the potions worked. It had been another day of brisk sales and long stretches of rapid talk. He went along to the inn but stopped outside. The upstairs was entirely dark, while weak lights glowed from the downstairs. No one was there. But he had to pay full price for everything, because his choice was a joke. He sat on his haunches with his case and pack, looking up at the full moon. The Mare in the Moon looked down. It only reminded him of home. So long ago, asking his brother if she was lonely.
“She’s not going to offer you a place to stay. And she’s not going to pay the inn.” Lysandra came up to Bard and lightly nudged him. “Can you pay tonight?”
“I can. Do I want to? Not at all.”
Lysandra looked around a bit then motioned with her head. “Follow me.” She trotted off quickly to a shop that looked as though it had been closed down. Forest of Pulp. There was no mark of Dry Gulch upon it.
“Nothing says a town is unhealthy like a closed bookshop.” The inside of the store was still stocked, and reasonably clean. Front and center, boldly displayed, was a stack of extremely thick books, heavy, ponderous tomes written by one Any Random. He picked up one of them and started to idly flip through it.
“Gulch wanted me to push those. Sell them to everypony that bought something, full price, no discounts. I couldn’t do that, and I just sold as I had been. He tried to buy me out, and then started putting pressure on me with those guards of his. I just got out clean, closed down and kept my money.” Lysandra went up a set of stairs behind the counter and into a large, upstairs room. The space was broadly divided into sleeping area, living area, kitchen, with a separate bathroom visible through a bare doorframe. All around the place were potted plants, clustered near two opposite walls, one set of them looking just a bit better than the others.
“I didn’t realize you were a horticulturist. Looks about right for the place.”
“Those over there, that’s from the soil we have around here.” Lysandra indicated the plants that did not look so good. “And those other ones are from that stuff you have. Whatever it is, it works. Frankly, I don’t care. Just to know it works… I figure you need a better place to stay than that stupid inn.”
“Well, that’s mighty big of you. But I’m going to have to decline. Gulch told me I wasn’t allowed to accept charity. So, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Are you bucking serious? You’re flouting Gulch in the most critical way possible! Why do you keep insisting on taking this line, lying to my face? You’re caught! I’m not going to tell Gulch on you, I’m trying to undo his influence!”
“Be that as it may, it doesn’t do to anger the big guy. He does, after all, have your best interests at heart.”
“’Our best interests’?! Are you insane? We’re barely making enough crops to feed ourselves. We can’t export. Money moves around town in our hooves. No money there for frivolities like books. I almost went back to the orchard to get a job. But I… I didn’t think this was normal. So I’ve been looking into the plants. Seeing if anything is going on. It’s hard when he restricts fertilizers. I don’t know how, but your fertilizer works.”
“It’s not fertilizer, I pro-”
“I know, you promised not to use it. Look… just… can you get more of it?”
“Well, perhaps not a great quantity but I can certainly get some more.”
“I need as much as you can. I don’t need to know what it is; I just need to show them they can get out from under him. When he started buying things, we thought it was alright. He had money, we needed it. We never thought about him much, thought he was just a loony old stallion living in that weird house of his out in the box canyon. Then the problems with the plants started. Our profits started to dip down. I had to work at the orchard to assist my parents and still try to make some money at the shop. You see how well that worked.”
Bard said nothing. He just looked around the room and set down his case and pack. “So where am I going to sleep? And how will I make this not charity?”
“If you want it to not be charity, just give me ten bits and some more of that stuff of yours.”
“Twelve bits and I’ll sell you more of the bags tomorrow, as usual.”
“Fine.” Lysandra accepted the bits and then walked to a closet. “I’ll lay out a blanket for you.”
“Thank you. Best twelve bits I ever spent.”
“So… Have a good night…” Lysandra laid out a heavy blanket and flipped off the light, gently trotting to her bed.
Bard settled down on the blanket and smiled a bit. A savings. And a friendly bit of company. It was just perfect.


- - -


“Mister Pomacious, I wonder if you recall our little conversation.” Bright and early, Gulch was out in the square, with his bodyguards and silver cane and mane in perfect order.
“Indeed I do, and I have been abiding by your will, in thanks for the allowance to be here.” Bard passed along some of his product while taking bits.
“How strange then… I was told that you did not stay at the inn, and yet you were not seen sleeping anywhere else. And I hear you were seen late at night with our former bookseller miss Apricot. I thought I told you there was no charity.”
“No charity indeed! I paid a good amount to stay there.”
“Really? Well, if she is profitable, it will stand. I just hope it does not persist very long. Very well, mister Pomacious. Continue to obey. I’ll be watching.”
“And I’ll be obeying.” Bard looked over his wares and checked his stock. It was starting to get low. But not too low. He could last out the week.
“Here’s your twelve bits. Give me my six doses of that stuff.” Lysandra strolled up and passed a dozen coins over.
“And good morning. Thank you for the meal. It was reasonably priced.” Bard reached into the case and extracted the half-dozen bags, giving them to Lysandra.
“I’m going to distribute this to my family. I’m going to show them there’s a way to get out from under the hoof of that madpony. It’s the one way to save this town.”
“You’re very dedicated to this quest. That’s… admirable, I do suppose. You’ve got a lot of spunk. Keep going with that.” Bard returned to his cart, and his quacksalver hawking of products still on his shelves.
Lysandra looked back for a long while, face moving from petulance to something entirely different. Then she trotted off through the northern edge of town, towards the farms. Before she got too far past the edge of town, she was faced down by the two enormous brown stallions employed by Dry Gulch. “What do you want, you tremendous slabs of sell-out muscle? You folded pretty quickly when Dry Gulch started buying up the town. Couldn’t even support your own townsponies. You trotted right over, fawning and hoof-licking without a second thought. Get out of my way! I have business to take care of. Family business. Something you would know absolutely nothing about.” She attempted to muscle her way through the two.
“Sorry, Apricot.” The horseshoe-marked stallion spoke sternly but with a touch of hesitation.
“Mister Gulch doesn’t like competition. You can’t compete against a big company that has all the resources. There’s no regulation here. No nanny-state stuff here.” The spiked club marked stallion strode forward boldly and glared down at Lysandra. “You don’t want to keep competing against something owned by mister Gulch, do you? You can’t keep it up. So many… problems can come up.”
“Are you two goons threatening me for Gulch? How low can you sink?! Are you idiots really going to act like hired muscle? That’s so… Fillydelphia. Chicacolt. Manehattan. Or like something in old story books or the bad old days of Stalliongrad. You can’t just bring that kind of poison into a good place like Cereal Acres…”
“Grain Gulch! You know he bought the naming rights and changed the name to a more proper title.” The spiked club stallion pushed forward and knocked Lysandra backwards.
“That’s not the name of this place and you recognized it before that arrogant weirdo came to town and started throwing his bits around!”
“Hey! When the plants started failing we did what we had to do! We didn’t have any choice. Your parents make do just like we do; holding out against all the generous buyout offers that mister Gulch is giving just doesn’t make sense. Don’t they know anything about the way business works? Money is what it’s all about.” The horseshoe-marked stallion held back, but still looked threateningly at Lysandra.
“That property has been in my family for generations. It’s going to be mine. And that crooked Gulch is never going to get his greedy hooves on our land.” She spat on the ground, by the hooves of the foremost pony.
“But that’s not the point, and you know it. You’re taking away business from the inn. And we can’t have that. That STEALS money out of his pockets. You can’t go around stealing from the likes of Dry Gulch. His book tells us all about stealing. So are you going to stop taking in that grifter, or are there going to be some repercussions?” The stallion with the spiked club on his flank strode forward and butted into Lysandra, heavily.
“Think I’m afraid of you, Club Hoof? I’ve whupped your flank since you were a colt. And I can still do it. And you, Iron Shod. Aren’t you going to get in on this? I’ll beat on you both if you just give me the chance. Hit me, go on. Do it.”
“Your will.” Club quickly kicked out with a single fore leg and struck Lysandra across the chest, knocking her backwards and making her totter on her hooves. He quickly followed up with another kick in the same area, finally knocking her to the ground.
“Ugh! I’ll teach you…” Lysandra kicked out from the ground, surprising Club Hoof. Her hind legs cracked the burly stallion along the flank and stomach. It barely moved him. She kicked again, one hoof missing, the other hitting his thigh.
“Sorry, Lys… but I have my orders.” Iron strode up and reared up, to bring his hooves down onto Lysandra’s forelegs.
From out of nowhere, Bard jumped into action. He cracked Iron across the face with his heavy case of sale items and then sharply kicked Club in the quarter, following with rapid strikes in the hock and cannon. His left hind leg slightly buckled, softening him up for an additional hit in the opposite cannon with the case, which was swung around to smack Iron across the face, knocking him down during his daze.
Lysandra took advantage of the distraction, bucking Club hard in the face. "I didn't ask for your help!"
"But you're going to use it because, may as well..." He bucked out and smashed Iron in the side, knocking him back down to the ground.
"Alright... you know what? We will continue this another time..." Club spat out some blood and sneered at the pair. Iron limped along behind him, casting back angry looks mixed with wavering uncertainty.
“You alright?” Bard looked Lysandra over and offered a hoof.
“Fine. Those idiots never used to be that… direct. Sure, they were bullies, but a quick cuff and they usually stopped. Gulch hired them as soon as he started buying up the town. He said he needed loyal employees that could understand. He had them read that stupid book he was always going on about and from there on out, they were his loyal lackeys.” Lysandra dusted herself off and huffed. “What are you doing here? I thought you were selling your wares.”
“Honestly, you thought I was going to ignore the pretty obvious threat? I know Gulch is a petty tin-pot dictator. He’s not going to dare allow competition if he can avoid it. And he has the goons to not allow it. I know from grifting.”
Lysandra nodded slightly, looking over at Bard. “Hey… thanks for this.” She motioned her head towards the not-too-distant farmland. “If you’re taking a loss on the day want to come down to show them this stuff in action?”
Bard shook his head and turned back towards town. “Can’t afford it. Just wanted to keep you from getting “legitimate business” to the legs. But let’s just say now we have a balance sheet. We owe each other something.” With that statement he trotted off, leaving Lysandra to think.


- - -


That night, Bard looked through a parted curtain at the moon-washed environment. The night concealed so much. How ironic that a goddess of the night literally looked down upon the world but could do nothing about what happened during that time. Maybe it really was nothing more than a legend to scare foals on Nightmare Night.
Lysandra slid up against him in the bed, pressing herself against his back. “It’s not that pretty. But it’s home. And we’re not going to give it up. There’s a way to make it here, even with Gulch making our lives miserable.”
"I don't doubt you'll manage. But it's going to be harder than you think. You have no idea what's really going on. Though thanks to your plants, now I do."
"What do you mean? What's going on?"
"You confirmed what I suspected, like I hoped you would. Now just to convince others. Which should happen when your family uses what you've bought or when the others ask you about what you've been doing. Because I can tell they're curious. Nothing to do now but wait for... for..."
"Wha-?" The question died before it was formed. The smell of smoke was distinct, and heavy. A notable cloud began rising from the store below. "DAMN THEM!"
"No way to say it, but it's time for the window." Bard flung the window wide and tossed out his clothes, his pack and case following close behind. He offered a hoof to Lysandra while bracing his lower hooves on the wall. "Don't look down too much and try not to land on my stuff."
"My hero..." She said, mustering as much cynical snark as she could muster with the smoke starting to pour in even more thickly. She took his hoof and threw herself over the window's edge, almost rappelling down the side of the building before releasing and falling with a thud and grunt.
Bard had no such buffer length when he went out and over, only clinging to the windowsill for a bit before releasing and dropping to the ground. After a hard hit against the ground he quickly sprang into action and began dressing, throwing on his attire with abandon while both ran away from the fire. "How did I not think this would happen?"
"Because you're not insane! I can't believe it! By Celestia, they burned my shop! Even if it wasn't open anymore my house was still in there! This is ridiculous! Gulch is on my last nerve!"
“I think you were right about the Chicacolt and old Stalliongrad comments.” He finished cleaning himself up with a quick fixing of his mane and the buttoning of his shirt and vest. “Tomorrow is going to be a very interesting time in the old square. And earlier than I thought.”
“Did you plan on somepony burning something?” Lysandra looked incredulously over at Bard, mane and tail slightly bristling.
“I thought I would get the hired goons treatment. It’s an occupational hazard, you understand. But this was beyond unexpected.” Bard regarded the blaze from afar. Not enough water could possibly be mustered to save anything that hadn’t been removed already. It was a loss thanks to accelerants and all the readily-flammable books in the lower level. “It looks like we’re sleeping in the vacant lot by the inn. Or we can wait for sunrise. No sense trying to make it out to the farmland in the dark after this. I’d imagine there are several “accidents” that could befall us should we attempt such a thing.”
Lysandra growled softly, and then snorted with a nod of her head. “I’m not getting back to sleep tonight. Not with this going on. They probably protected the other buildings somehow. Gulch owns both of them to the side. We may as well do something.”
Bard looked up at the sky, and then around at the surroundings, especially at Lysandra. “How about a game of cards? I should have suggested it earlier but it slipped my mind.”
“That sounds… wait… what did you think I was going to suggest?” Lysandra pulled up a box from a pile of junk left hidden by the rear side of the buildings.
“It’s not in my nature to speculate. I was merely making conversation.” He slipped the stiff deck, still slightly new, from its box and shuffled. “It’s in my nature to chatter on. Just a garrulous pony at heart.”
“Whatever you say… never known a stallion to react like that.”
“Let me just say, I’m of the opinion that certain things, no matter how tucked away, are inappropriate.” With another look around, Bard dealt out the cards.


- - -


By dawn the bookstore was nothing but a smoldering heap, a charred void between the two buildings that flanked it which appeared untouched. Dry Gulch and how two bodyguards were out surveying the spaces he owned, the two beefy stallions nodding a moment after he nodded. “Well, it appears this terrible accident did not affect any of my business. And what of the owner? Has anypony seen miss Apricot? I do hope she isn’t hurt.”
“Not injured. But I sure as HAY am hurt. That was my house you psychotic creep!” Lysandra stomped up to Gulch and his goons, who moved protectively before their employer.
“Why miss Apricot! I must say that I am pleased to see you alive and uninjured but I am supremely hurt, shocked and legally injured by this accusation which you have thoughtlessly leveled against me, while having no proof to back it up.”
“You insufferable windbag! You think that’s it? All you have to do is say no proof and you’re off the hook?”
“No. All I have to do is remind you that justice is rational beings interacting on rational levels sans mediation. You have no proof; your accusation does not stand. Our business is concluded. Nothing more need be said.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid…” Bard stepped out from a nearby alleyway and looked hard at Dry. “And if you’ll join us at the town square, I’d be only too glad to tell you why this little comedy of errors is concluded before my week is up.”
“Very well, mister Pomacious. I have some time before I must tend to important business matters. I’ll play your little huckster game. But for your foolhardy actions in supporting miss Apricot here, I am rescinding your week. You must leave today.”
“Well! How is that a rational contract between equals? We had an agreement, and I have kept all terms on my end.”
“Oh I highly doubt that you quacksalver grifter. I’d imagine you’ve broken every agreed term more than once. But what concern is it of mine? I rescind it for I have power.”
“Fiat to you too, Gulch. Power my flank…” Bard trotted off with his pack and the case he had been protecting all the week.
“You’re on thin ice, mister Pomacious. Watch your hooves.” Gulch walked on behind his guards, leaning on his silver cane, making certain every hair in his mane was in place.
“Roll up, roll up! Fillies and gentlecolts of this fine town! Roll up, roll up my newly-acquired friends! The time has come, this pony says, to make you aware of the situation in your town! It was a long time in the making. I just needed the proof, which was graciously provided to me by the wonderful miss Lysandra Apricot. Please, if you will, come closer, come closer around this lovely tree.” Bard was in his element, in the center of town, shouting his message and either awakening the townponies or making them aware that something was going on. He was standing with his case open and all his remaining stock scattered around at his hooves by the sickly tree in the planter inside of the fountain.
“Please get on with this, mister Pomacious! I told you that I have business to tend to.” Dry tapped a gold watch on a chain, glaring up at the younger stallion.
“Very well! You must know how terrible it is around here. One pony owning all your businesses, no more governance of your choosing, no law and order…”
“Thin! Ice! And getting thinner!” Dry stomped hard and slammed his cane into the ground.
“And let us not forget the situation with your plants. And thankfully, I have had the solution all along. You haven’t been as forthcoming as miss Apricot was, which is a shame. I admit this to you: You have been duped. YES! Swindled, by a slick-talking huckster. A mountebank of the classical tradition, but I admit this to you in full! The worthless oils and powders you bought were but one thing repeated and labeled differently. You changed yourselves! All the good you thought was mine was yours. But observe the true power of this worthless rot.” Bard uncorked all his vials and opened up his pouches. He poured out the powder and oil all over the ground, right where the roots dug into the ground.
The reaction was immediate. The tree’s color brightened considerably, its sickly leaves turning an impressive shade of green, while small buds sprouted on some of the branch tips. That got the attention of everypony, but most of all, of Dry Gulch. He slammed his silver can into the ground, cracking the stone beneath. “I knew it! I knew you violated our agreement! You lied to me, mister Pomacious! You’ve been selling illegal fertilizers!”
“WRONG!” Bard’s voice echoed out over the square, striking the murmuring crowd silent and even sending Dry’s guards back a step. “THAT is where your duplicity reveals itself! When I heard of a town of earth ponies in the middle of several bad harvests I was curious. Even those not blessed with good mana flow can affect that to a degree, or can use other techniques to at least reach a fair level. But when I heard there was a unicorn involved I had my suspicions. So I found the one way to see if there was magical chicanery at work.”
“And how did you do that? If this is a rational discourse between equals, where is your proof? Show it or get out of my town!”
“THIS is the proof. This spike! It’s not fertilizer that does it. I added nothing. I took it away. This dust, ground stones in pure form and infused in oil, comes from one special spot, the one place in Equestria unicorns dare not tread. The one place that makes your power meaningless.” Bard gave a flourish of his forelimbs as Dry paled. “You know. You know what I have done. This powder comes from the Mountains of Madness! A strange, mystic anomaly whose very aura sharply affects magic. It will negate the effect of unicorn spells at the source and weaken them from simple contact with the stones and dirt. It’s why royal pegasi are charged with ensuring no wind ever passes the mountain and storms are rare.”
All eyes were on Dry in an instant. The crowd was not as big as it could have been. But it was significantly bigger than two burly stallions and one frail unicorn. The older male huddled behind the stout males, trembling and looking genuinely afraid for the first time in a long time. “Y-you must be lying! This is some new kind of trickery concocted by your kind! Riverboat charlatan! Huckster! Grifter! Mountebank! Scoundrel! This was your doing somehow, to disrupt our perfect town with your outside ways! Leave this Gulch this instant!”
“No, Gulch! This was their town first. It all came together when I saw that ridiculous radio equipment at the top of your house. It ruins the, frankly, weird aesthetic you were going for in your home to begin with. Why even put it up there? They must be mana amplifiers. You can drive off the mana the earth ponies have moved into the area, with a wave of magic of your own. But the stones from the Mountains of Madness push aside that field and let the mana back in, to green and power the plants like in every other place in Equestria. This is the truth of the matter. You want somepony to blame for this trouble… that’s the one right there.” Bard pointed at Dry, cowering behind his guards. “You thought you could con a con pony, but I followed your rules to the letter and never exercised a single cheating fiat. How does it feel, mister upright citizen Boss?!”
The word cracked like a gunshot, instantly bringing to mind the horrors of Stalliongrad before the Great Repatriotic War. Dry was already in slow retreat, his guards only just with him, his cane fallen to the ground and forgotten. “S-stay back! I hold your mortgages! I have your monetary lifeline! I’m your governance! You cannot push me out!”
“They did it in Stalliongrad. They’ll do it here.” Bard stepped down from the planter with a forceful step, driving the mob forward as he moved. “Destroy his equipment and you’ll be back to real equality. Your harvests will become lush again. And then he’ll have to compete on a genuinely even stance. If he can.”
“NO!” Gulch cut and ran, galloping madly in the direction of his box canyon home. “You can’t! I won’t let you!”
Bard was right behind him, his younger body encumbered only by his pack and now-empty case. That case was thrown off his back, striking Dry in the legs and dropping him to the ground with a pained grunt. “See how well you can compete against these fine ponies if you think you can. You burned all your bridges, and left them free to judge you, without you leaving them in your power. They don’t need to fear you; they don’t need to obey you. It’s rather plain to say, Gulch… they don’t need you.”
“No… g-guards… guards!” Dry fumbled around on the ground, crawling away from the approaching Bard.
“They’re a little engaged…” Bard looked back. Those ponies that weren’t still on the way to the box canyon were bucking and butting the two guards, Lysandra at the front of the attack. “How does it feel, Gulch? Was it worth it?”
“Until this moment… yes.” Dry, still on the ground and helplessly on his side, actually smiled, with a disturbing gleam in his eyes. “I was living the promise of my philosophy.”
“Temporary power is a temporary solution. Enjoy the rest of your existence, if anypony lets you.” With that, Bard simply galloped off towards the box canyon, to leave Dry awaiting his fate.


- - -


“I don’t… I can’t even think of what to say. We can find our own way now that we know what was going on. We broke down his equipment, and put out the word to a local community we had never been allowed to contact before. We’re having a contingent of Constables come out here to take Gulch into custody to pay for what he did.” Lysandra walked beside Bard, as they surveyed the town. It had been only a few days. But with the destruction of the equipment that had been manipulating mana flow there was a new growth. The crops were starting to recover with the change in the environment, the population working to return the land to normal.
“Is that so? Well, I have to be on my way. Can’t be caught around here like this. I may have admitted my trickery, but there’s still the matter of… everything.” Bard had his pack on his back, but his case was nowhere to be seen. “I guess I’ll be back to the local station and be off to the south. Gotta keep moving and all that.”
“Well, you know… there’s no need to everypony to tell everything about what you did. You could just sort of blend in.” Lysandra smiled brightly at Bard and gave him a wink. “Maybe even go by your real name, rather than that dumb medicine show moniker.”
“How do you know I was not born with this name? I could very well be a Roani, or perhaps a Cavallino.”
“No, I don’t think so. But, fine. You can keep the name. What do you say?”
“I’ll keep this community in mind. I need, after all, some places to lay low. And this place seems perfectly suited for it.”
Lysandra smiled sadly, and nodded a bit. “Understandable. But besides that can I… we, offer you anything to take before you go?”
Bard looked to Lysandra and almost seemed ready to say something. Instead he looked down and picked up a somewhat-large rock. “If my next destination is still what I heard, I need to make some stone soup…”

The End