//------------------------------// // Chapter III // Story: The Prince and the Workhorse // by fellstorm //------------------------------// THE PRINCE AND THE WORKHORSE PART III         Prince Blueblood stood alone in Big Macintosh’s room, now seriously reconsidering his quest for self-improvement. What had he gotten himself into? Only an hour past sundown and the whole household was already asleep? The nightlife in Canterlot had barely begun!  He surveyed his surroundings. So bare! So common! The room was illuminated by a single candle, and there were no furnishings besides the bed, dresser and lonely shelf with its read-worn books and hideous ragdoll. A painting of a sad clown gazed morosely out of its frame. Painted oak floors with no carpet? Lumpy peasant mattress? Tacky ceramic jug and bowl? Ugh. This was going to be much more of a trial than he imagined. At least he wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. His host had kindly gone to fetch the guest accommodations, which he could only assume would be nicer than the cheap cotton-stuffed affair he was looking at now. Loud squeaking on the wooden stairs signaled the return of Big Macintosh with the “guest accommodations.” A short minute later, Big Mac backed into the room, dragging some sort of grimy, rectangular mass in his teeth. Blueblood realized with horror that it was a straw pallet. Big Macintosh dropped the pallet unceremoniously in the center of the room and stamped it a few times with his forehoof, throwing a cloud of moldy dust into the air. Blueblood coughed and let escape an involuntary “Eeeugh!” Big Mac stopped his adjustments and shot the ungrateful prince a dirty look. Blueblood coughed again. “Sorry, dust always does that to my sinuses… eeeugh, eeeugh” he enunciated into his hoof. Big Mac didn’t seem convinced… “You know I really am grateful to you for your hospitality. Your home is… lovely.” Blueblood pretended to admire the décor “I am sorry about the fuss Tombs raised. I know it must be odd to have a guest sleep in your pantry…” Tombs’s thoroughly cultivated valet propriety did not allow him to share a room with his betters and, in the absence of proper servants’ quarters, the pantry seemed to be the next best option. Big Macintosh nodded, then gestured to the ceramic jug and bowl. “Y’all can wash up there.” he explained. So that’s what those are there for… Blueblood fought hard to keep the distress from creeping into his expression.  Meanwhile, the farmpony doffed the heavy yoke he wore around his neck, hung it on its hook and fell into bed with a symphony of creaks from the wooden frame. “Goodnight” he grunted. Blueblood fidgeted his hooves, discomforted by the illicit cargo stashed in his new boots… He considered his next words carefully. The old “fairytale come true” bit was a surefire hit with the mares, but he’d never tried it on a stallion before. Oh well, here goes nothing… “Mister Apple,” he began. Big Mac stirred in his bed and his ear pricked up to listen. Blueblood continued, “I am moved by the simple beauty of your home and your family, so in my gratitude I have decided to share with you my secret.” Big Mac’s ear drooped immediately “Uhhh… That’s not necess-” Blueblood shushed him. “Though it shames me to say it, I have deceived you. I am not the handsome stranger you believe me to be.” Big Macintosh rolled over to face Blueblood. “I am, in fact…” Blueblood threw his sunglasses and hat aside with a dramatic flourish of his golden mane.  “Prince Blueblood, traveling incognito!” Blueblood used his magic to fling the rest of his outfit off and drop it to the floor. Big Macintosh stared for a few seconds before rolling back over to his other side. Not quite the reaction Blueblood was expecting. He walked up to Big Mac and jostled him with his hoof. “Did you hear what I just said? I’m a prince traveling in disguise! I can reward you handsomely for your gracious hospitality! I can give you everything! Money! Power! Titles! How would you like to live the life of a prince?” Big Mac considered this. “Nnope.” Blueblood huffed in frustration. “I can give you anything! Isn’t there something you want?” “Eeyup.” “Name it.” “Sleep.” Blueblood backed off and reconsidered his tactics. This hayseed was too buried in the so called “simple things” to be tempted by the accoutrements of civilized life, like a buffalo not understanding the value of a land title… So what did this farmpony want? What was the lowest common denominator? What was the cheapest, easiest- Blueblood conked himself on the forehead with his hoof for not thinking of it sooner. “What about mares?” “Nnope.” “What about that Purple Mare?” That got Big Mac’s attention. His hackles raised and he rolled over in bed again. Blueblood backed off a little when he saw the intensity of Big Mac’s glare. “I saw the way you looked at her…” he said “Every filly in town made goo goo eyes at you, but you only sat up straight when she came sniffing around.” Big Mac glowered. Blueblood continued. “It’s a pity she didn’t show any interest in you. Trust me, though, it’s for the best. You’re better off without her type-” “What do you mean, her ‘type’?” The edge in Big Mac’s voice put Blueblood off balance. He’d meant to strike a nerve, but aggravating his host was definitely not in his best interest. Blueblood gave his best disarming grin. “Oh, you know; the sophisticated type. She’s obviously a mare of high standards and education…” Big Mac’s tense muscles eased a little. “It’s a shame she doesn’t appreciate a hard working Earth pony like yourself. All she sees is a common workhorse.” Big Mac avoided Blueblood’s eyes. His expression darkened. “A pony like me on the other hoof…” Big Mac was up and out of bed in a flash. He raised himself up to his full height and snorted deep in his bull-like throat. “You stay away from-” Blueblood spoke quickly “Could easily win her for you. For you! For you!” he cringed. Big Mac sat back down, the weight of his haunches sent a tiny tremor through the house. “Just how the heck would you do that?” he asked. “Simple!” Blueblood popped his boots off with his magic and upended them in midair. Zecora’s golden horseshoes clattered to the floor. “You stole those!” Big Mac exclaimed. Blueblood shushed him again and held up his forehoof so that Big Mac could see the bottom. It was bare. “Not stole, traded.” Blueblood smirked “My horseshoes are made of gold too, see?” Blueblood turned around and raised his left hind leg. Nailed to the bottom of that hoof was a golden horseshoe almost identical to the pair that had recently been in Zecora’s possession. “Tradin’ without permission is stealing.” Big Mac frowned. “Maybe in a technical sense, but if she doesn’t miss them, has she really been wronged?” “Eeyup.” “Then which is more wrong? Taking these horseshoes, or the Purple Filly ignoring everything you have to offer her simply because she can’t see past your country bumpkin exterior?” Big Mac opened his mouth to speak, but stopped to consider. Blueblood leaped on the hesitation. “Exactly. So, here’s my proposal:  I want to be appreciated on my own merit, but all anypony sees is a handsome prince. You want to win the heart of a high-class mare, but all she sees is a dumb bumpkin.” “Y’all can quit callin’ me that anytime.” “Sorry. Anyway, what if the magic spell on these horseshoes works? We swap bodies, and all our problems disappear!” Big Mac considered for a long time. He looked over at the shelf where Twilight’s Smartypants doll sat in a heap, and at the book he still hadn’t finished (he was stuck on John Gulch’s sixty-page denouement) and he thought about Cherilee.  “Ah don’t know…” “Faint heart never won fair lady, my friend.” Blueblood urged, “If you try this and fail, we switch back and you’re no worse off than you were before. If we try and succeed, you’ll win the heart of your true love!” “What happens when she figgurs out we switched?” “By then she’ll already be in love with you, and we all live happily ever after!” Big Mac thought hard before reaching a conclusion. He got up and walked over to the dresser, pulling open a drawer with his teeth and rummaging around. Blueblood watched him with a puzzled expression. “So…?” Big Mac pushed the drawer shut with his face and walked back to blueblood. In his mouth were a hammer and nails. “Capital!” Blueblood exclaimed. He levitated the magic horseshoes up and slipped one onto his forehoof. Big Mac tapped the nails into place with the hammer before turning it over to Blueblood, who pried off Big Mac’s simple iron horseshoe and affixed the golden one in its place. As Blueblood tapped the last nail flush with the shoe, a gust of wind blew across the orchard and rattled the windowpanes while a wolf howled from a distant hill. They stood there in silence for a few moments. “Do you feel any different?” Blueblood asked. “Nnope.” “Me neither. Maybe we did it wrong… I’ll try again.” Blueblood levitated the hammer and wedged the claw underneath the edge of his golden shoe. It wouldn’t budge. He concentrated harder. Sweat beaded on his muzzle and he felt his heavy pulse in his forehead, but the shoe still wouldn’t move. Blueblood eased off a little, gathering his strength for a second try. He blasted the hammer with his magic. It flew off his hoof and embedded itself in the wall with a loud “wham!” Some oldster mumbled from the other room and a mare swore loudly through the wall. “Whazzah?” “Tarnation! Go to sleep Applebloom!” “It wasn’t me!” Big Mac and Blueblood shared a moment of panic and blew out the candle. They remembered no more. *** Prince Blueblood awoke as he did every morning, spooning with a beautiful mare whose name he had completely forgotten. He ran a hoof over the body of his latest conquest. She was heavier than he usually went for; he must have been extremely drunk last night, which would explain the pounding headache. She sure smelled nice, though; like Fleur De Lis’s Herbal Rinse. He opened his eyes. She had a well-groomed, snowy white coat and a beautiful golden mane. Blueblood gripped her closer and slid his hoof down her side, caressing her thick haunches and stroking her great, big-  Horn!? Blueblood leaped to his hooves. That was no mare! That was- “Big Macintosh!”  somepony hollered from the floor below. Hoofsteps on the stairs. “Big Macintosh!”  the female voice called again in a Southern twang. Blueblood started to panic, what would he do? At his feet, the prince’s body stirred at the sound of the mare’s call. An orange filly in a cowboy hat and soiled work duds stepped into the room and glared at him. “Big Macintosh! Ah thought you were up hours ago! We’re s’posed t’ be plowin’ the east field and we’re already behind!” “Umm…” Blueblood mumbled, then froze at the unfamiliar sound of Big Macintosh’s voice coming from his throat. “And whut’s the idea of stashin’ a guest in our pantry? He just about scared Granny Smith to death this mornin’ when she tripped over him!” “Err…” The orange pony sighed. “Don’t worry, Mr. Tombs explained everythin’” “He did?” Blueblood croaked. “Yup, but you still need to give us a heads up if yer bringin’ strangers to the house! Now hop to it!” The orange pony pushed past him, grabbed Big Mac’s yoke and crammed it over Blueblood’s head. It felt like it weighed a ton, yet somehow, Blueblood shouldered it easily. He looked down at his sleeping body with concern. “Don’t worry ‘bout our guest. I s’pect he’ll manage, but our seeds won’t if we don’t get them planted in time! Move it!” She planted her forehead on his flank and shoved him through the door before he could formulate an objection. *** Big Macintosh yawned. Ugh. It felt like he had a frog in his throat. Was that Applejack he’d heard just a moment ago? “Applejack?” somepony said. Big Mac sat up. “Who’s there?” somepony asked. Wait a second. That was him talking. But his voice was so nasal and whiny! Big Macintosh shook his head and looked around. He was alone in the room, light poured onto his face and birdsong drifted through the window along with a cool spring breeze. He was laying on the straw pallet he’d dragged up here for that weirdo “prince,” but there was no sign of his houseguest. Oh well, he didn’t have time to go looking for him right now, the sun would be up soon and… Big Macintosh realized what time it was. Celestia! He was late! He was supposed to be up before sunrise to help plow the east field! Big Mac stood up and stepped over to grab his yoke. His forehoof clunked on the floor and he realized he’d thrown a shoe. Great, no time to fix it; Applejack was probably already furious with him. Now he’d have to plow the whole field with only three shoes. And no yoke. Big Macintosh nickered in confusion and looked around the room. Had that “prince” character taken it? He stepped out into the hall. Or he would have if somepony hadn’t just slammed him in the forehead with a mallet! The force of the blow knocked him to the ground. Big Mac searched for his attacker, but there was nopony nearby.  Above him, he noticed a deep divot in the lintel over the door. Could he have hit his head on that? Big Mac put a hoof to his forehead to check the damage. Clunk. His hoof struck something hard jutting out of his forehead and poking it sent vibrations through his skull. He crossed his eyes to try and see it, but whatever it was was infuriatingly beyond his field of vision. He poked it again and dim realization coalesced in his brain. He looked at the hoof he’d just poked his horn with: the hair was white! Memories of last night and the magic horseshoes flooded back to him. “Ah, sire, you’re awake.” Big Macintosh turned to see that Tombs character perched at the top of the landing. How had he made the climb without making any noise? Big Macintosh saw that Tombs was levitating a tray of breakfast and realized he was famished. Tombs trotted past him into the room. He placed the tray on the bed and Big Mac dug into the bowl of oatmeal with abandon. “Ah hem.” Big Macintosh looked up into the stern, mustachioed face of Blueblood’s valet. “Who are you and what have you done with the prince?” he glared. “Uhh…” Big Macintosh shifted his eyes away from Tombs’s stern gaze “I’m the prince.” “Hardly, Prince Blueblood is never awake of his own volition before ten, he certainly wouldn’t refer to himself as ‘the prince’ and I’ve never seen him eat his oatmeal without a spoon…” Tombs levitated a spoon off the tray and suspended it in Macintosh’s face. A drop of oatmeal fell from Big Macintosh’s chin onto the breakfast tray and he hung his head. He’d never imagined the magic would really work, but he figured that if it did, he would at least get farther in Blueblood’s body than the first five minutes before being discovered. “I suspected something like this had occurred when our gracious host had to be dragged out into the field via his tail.” “Eeyup.” That sounded like Applejack alright. He didn’t envy Blueblood right now. Big Mac looked up at Tombs. “What’re you going to do?” Tombs gave it some thought. “I’m going to draw you a bath, get you groomed and then we’ll work on getting you both sorted out.” Tombs sensed Macintosh’s confusion. “As a valet, one of my responsibilities is to look after my master’s appearance. You may not be my master, but that is his appearance and it must be kept presentable at all times. As for this mix up, I suspect sir was more the victim than the perpetrator…” Macintosh nodded and followed Tombs down the stairs. His new body felt strange. Though Big Mac and Blueblood were roughly the same build, there was a significant difference between a body hardened by decades of field labor and one sculpted by a personal trainer. He felt lighter, leaner and more limber. The aches and pains of a long day’s work, as familiar to him as old friends, were conspicuously absent. Something else was missing, too; all Earth Ponies are born with a connection to the land, a subtle whisper that soothes their spirits and guides their hoofsteps. The void it left was so alien and unsettling that Big Macintosh couldn’t even quantify it to himself, as if a deafness had settled over his soul. In its place there was only a fresh lilac scent and a strange, electric tingling at the base of his horn. He hoped Blueblood was faring better wherever he was. *** “Big Macintosh! What’s wrong with you? Why’re you sittin’ down again?” his tormentor chided. Blueblood looked over his shoulder at his progress. The furrow he’d spent the past hour plowing was barely twenty feet long. He opened his mouth to explain how difficult it was, but Applejack was already barking at him again. Blueblood began to realize why Big Macintosh was a pony of few words. Anything he needed to express had to fit between the gaps in his sister’s constant yammering! The stream of yokel speak gradually eased to a trickle. Blueblood wiped the sweat from his forehead, pausing to rub the spot where his horn used to be. What bothered him most was that the spot didn’t even hurt. He expected to have at least some reminder of his missing extremity. “You feelin’ ok Big Mac?” Applejack’s frustration had melted into concern. She’d never seen her brother like this. “Uh… Eyop?” Blueblood tried his best approximation of Big Mac’s laconic drawl. Applejack looked more concerned than ever. “You sure yer okay? You seem really troubled by somethin’…” “Well, now that you mention it, I feel quite…” Applejack raised an eyebrow. “I mean… ummm… durrr… I don’t feel too good?” Applejack placed the back of her hoof on Blueblood’s forehead. “How much sun did you get yesterday? I bet Applebloom and her friends must’ve ran you ragged! You gotta remember to hydrate when yer dealin’ with them.” Blueblood decided to run with it. “Oh! Yes! I’m so exhausted. Uh… Applebloom made me run to and fro all day and I think I may have a touch of heatstroke.” “Have you been hangin’ out with Rarity?” Applejack sighed “No point in workin’ yerself to exhaustion ah guess. Just sit down and cool off. Y’all kin pick back up once you feel better.” Applejack helped Blueblood unhook himself from the heavy plow and guided him to the shade of a nearby apple tree where he pretended to swoon. Applejack tutted, then returned to her work in the field. Blueblood opened one eyelid and peeked to make sure the coast was clear before rolling over into a more comfortable position. He drank in the fresh air and idyllic surroundings. The soft cushion of grass felt as welcome as a goose down bed while the living earth beneath his feet sang its silent song, quieting the tumult in his body and mind. Blueblood relaxed, grateful for the brief respite. Maybe the farm life wouldn’t be so bad after all… END OF PART III TO BE CONTINUED…