Afternoon
Village of Aveligna, Lipizza Province
Fourteenth of High Summer, Anno Concordia 2067
If he were to look back on this moment in the future — and it was almost certain that he would — Second Glance would have concluded that he should have expected it to be nearly impossible to conduct an investigation the day before the Summer Sun Celebration, and would similarly express disbelief that this obvious fact had not occurred to either himself or the Corporal until after that day. But then, there may have been a reason his name was Second Glance and not Foresight.
The Corporal was doing well enough to keep up with the Investigator, despite the organized chaos he was surrounded by. In plainclothes, there was not so much as a speck of white to his coat, which was instead a rich chocolate brown. His mane and tail were themselves brown, albeit several shades darker. From a distance, if the Corporal had not been wearing his amber vest and took care to stand stock still, a pony with failing eyesight might well have mistaken him for an especially large and peculiarly-shaped brownie. Though amusing, this observation did not improve Second Glance's mood.
"Do you think it's wise to try and investigate today?" the Corporal asked, briefly whirling out of the path on a unicorn who was trying — and largely failing — to navigate a too-full box of folded paper lanterns through the crowd. It was not the first near-collision either of them had had, and would not be the last. "It seems unlikely that anypony will have the time to answer any — excuse me — answer anything."
"There is that risk — pardon — but we have to try today. Excuse me. Tomorrow's the Summer Sun Celebration. I can guarantee that nopony will answer anything tomorrow. Either we investigate today —“
"Coming through!"
Second Glance was interrupted as their path was blocked by the sudden appearance of a blue-grey, white-maned pegasus with a raincloud for his mark, one end of a long ladder looped over one wing. After he passed, their path became blocked by the ladder itself.
"Either we investigate today," resumed Second Glance, "Or we stall the investigation by two days, and give the Prince that much more time to get ahead. And while that will certainly displease the Princess, it will displease the Lieutenant even more."
The Corporal, for his part, looked around at the crowd for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Surely they'd both understand," he suggested after a moment, "I mean, look around." And so he did, this time accompanied with a sweeping gesture of his hoof. "It's clear that the Celebration is one of the biggest events of the year for these ponies. They probably wouldn't appreciate even a small distraction from us. They're all extremely busy."
"Tell me about it!" The end of the ladder finally came into view, looped over the wing of a blue-grey, white-maned pegasus with a raincloud for his mark. "I'm working double shifts!"
For several long moments, the Corporal was silent, watching the pegasi and ladder vanish into the rest of the crowd. He finally opened his mouth to voice a question, but stopped and turned to look at Second Glance when he felt a hoof on his shoulder. The Investigator slowly shook his head, and then resumed his walk towards their destination. After watching him for a moment, the Corporal trotted after to catch up, pushing the strange occurrence from his mind.
After another few minutes of navigating the abnormally busy streets, town hall finally came into view, prompting both ponies to put in the extra effort to reach it. Partially, this was because the pony they sought, the mayor, would likely be inside. Partially, this was because the crowd surrounding — and going into and out of — the hall was much thinner than it was elsewhere. At the very least, the crowd immediately surrounding the hall was carrying much less in the way of supplies, food, and favors ferried this way and that, but for them, it was close enough to mean the same thing. With a final, and by that point small effort, they passed through the threshold separating Aveligna's seat of government from the outside world.
Inside town hall, it was the very picture of calm. Clearly, everyone but essential staff were out assisting with preparations for the Summer Sun Celebration. Which meant, apparently, that the only essential staff immediately visible was the secretary, a caramel-colored earth pony who watched the two visitors approach his desk with a mixture of boredom and irritation. "Do you require assistance?" he asked derisively.
"Good afternoon, friend," Second Glance said with a tip of his hat. "I am Second Glance, a Crown Investigator from Caterlot. My associate is..."
The pause that followed was, for all three ponies, unexpected, but lasted only a moment before Second Glance turned towards the Corporal. "I somehow never had the foresight or courtesy to ask, but what is your name?"
"Modus, sir. Modus Tollens."
"Modus Tollens," Second Glance said, repeating what he'd heard. "I know your uncle, I think. Also an Investigator, but for the Guard. Modus Operandi, correct?"
"Yessir."
"Fine fellow." And like that, it was back to the secretary. "My associate is Modus Tollens, a Corporal in the Royal Guard and Investigator in training. We are, as you may have guessed, investigating a matter of interest for the Princess—“ And he had no time to explain further before he was abruptly cut off.
"Which Princess?" the secretary asked sharply. In the wake of this outburst, it was Tollens who found his voice quickest.
"Does that really matter?" he asked, and given the look of disdain from the secretary and the look of admonishment from Second Glance, he knew immediately that this was not the correct way to answer. Fortunately, the Investigator was immediately ready with a response.
"What Corporal Modus means to say is that we, under the orders of Princess Twilight Sparkle, are investigating a matter of interest to the Crown, as I stated previously, and believe that your mayor may be able to provide us with some information that will assist in that investigation. We need only a few minutes of his or her time to ask a few questions, and then we're gone from here, on our way out of town and, if the stars are right, you will never see either of us again."
The earth pony behind the desk, for his part, scrutinized Second Glance intensely for a few moments. Finally, he rose from his seat, saying, "I'll see if the mayor is available," before turning and disappearing down the hallway behind his desk. Tollens did not wait for more than a second after the stallion was out of sight before immediately springing his question on Second Glance.
"Why does it matter which Princess tasked us?"
"It's my fault," the Investigator said, opening his reply. "You've been in the Midland for all your life, it was stupid of me to assume you knew, so here's the short version. Princess Twilight is a Canterlan through and through. Young, energetic, unsure of herself at times, not afraid to admit when she doesn't know the answer to something, and always, always stays in contact until she can deliver a suitable answer. The new Princess is very popular in the Midland. Out here, in the Provinces? They have two Princesses, one for the day, one for the night, and that's it, because that's the way it's always been. The don't need a new Princess, and so any new Princesses that come along are very unpopular, and their servants aren't held in very high regard either. Did you get all that?"
Tollens considered the information for a moment, and then nodded after all the connections were made in his mental map. "If I have to throw authority around at some point, be vague, like you were when we came in. I've been tasked by the Princess, and then don't say which Princess unless specifically asked which Princess put her signature on the Writ of Investigation." A brief moment of silence passed before the Corporal added to his conclusion. "If I had my own Writ of Investigation, I mean. I don't, obviously, so you're the only official Investigator, and I'm just an observer. In training. Which means I should probably let you do the talking and just observe as quietly as possible from here forward."
"There's a good boy."
The conversation concluded not a moment too soon as the secretary reappeared from the hallway. "The mayor will, amazingly, see you. Down the hallway, second door to the left."
Each nodding their thanks, Tollens and Second Glance followed the directions given to them, and in short order found themselves at the door indicated. Second Glance knocked three times, and then opened the door and stepped in after the voice inside bade him entry. Tollens followed and closed the door behind them.
Standing up from his desk was a pegasus, ostensibly the mayor of Aveligna. Bronze-coated and copper-maned, he turned sideways to step around the desk just long enough to show his mark: A claw hammer and two nails. "Gentlecolts," he said, offering his hoof to each of the other stallions in turn. Both shook, and the gesture was as unadorned and spartan as the mayor's office was: There was only enough furniture, books, and documents to facilitate a functioning government, and the hoofshakes had only enough substance and duration to facilitate a greeting. "I'm Woodhouse, the mayor of this fine village."
"A pleasure, Mayor Woodhouse," the lone unicorn in the room replied. "I'm Second Glance, a Crown Investigator under assignment from Princess Twilight, as your secretary has doubtlessly informed you. My associate is Modus Tollens, a Corporal in the Royal Guard and Investigator-in-training. I'm not certain how much else you were told, but we're looking into a matter of interest for the Princesses, and are wondering if you might be able to provide us with some assistive information."
For the few moments it took to return to his desk, Woodhouse considered that. Finally, he gestured to the two cushions sitting opposite to him. "Please, have a seat, gentlecolts, and tell me what sort of information you think I might have that you need."
Even as they were sitting down, Second Glance wasted no time with what he needed to know. "What can you tell me about the Prince of Ponyton?"
If Woodhouse was surprised by the question, he made no show of it. "Very well. Why, exactly, are you asking about the Prince, if I may ask? He's an upstanding stallion, and I consider him a friend of mine, so I'm sure you understand that I may have certain, reasonable and well-founded reservations about your exact intentions for him."
"Of course, of course. It's certainly understandable that you might have such concerns and reservations, but then, so do we." Pausing for just a moment, Second Glance adjusted his hat, and Tollens, in keeping with his previous instructions, remained silent. "The Prince is a pony of interest to the Crown, obviously, and is also something of an enigma to us. This… mystery, I suppose, was not at all cleared up or resolved after I asked about him in his hometown. He is by no means wealthy, and according to every record in Equestria doesn't hold an actual title, but nearly everypony in Ponyton that I spoke to happily regarded him as bonafide royalty, held in higher esteem than the Princesses, in some cases. Naturally, we're very curious as to how this situation developed."
"With the end goal of incarcerating him for impersonating a pony of title, I know how this game works," the mayor spat, immediately hostile. "Even if I were inclined to help you find him, I don't know where he's gone, so you may as well pack up and get going."
While Tollens was briefly at a loss, still managing to hide it, Second Glance clearly had anticipated a development like this. "Of course, of course. But before we do, I'm wondering if you might be able to assist us, at least, by supplying a description of the Prince." Woodhouse was nonplussed, and Second Glance was all smiles. Gradually, however, Woodhouse's expression changed to one of confusion, and then frustration before he began answering, less to be of any help and more to try and work out a perplexing development for himself.
"He's, about this tall —“ A hoof indicated a pony standing a full head above most others. "This, this wide —“ Two hooves indicated shoulders broad enough to compete with the hardiest of ponies. "And, he..."
"Is completely beyond your ability to recall any but the most general of details, and not much even then. His mark, his coloring, even his tribe completely elude you, don't they?" Whether Second Glance intended to sound smug as he finished the mayor's answer for him was a question that would ultimately never be answered. "Almost as if your memories of him were in some way inhibited. Or edited."
To say that Second Glance now had the mayor's undivided attention would not be quite a strong enough term to use. The fact was that the Investigator had Woodhouse's full, undivided, and urgent attention, even if the expression he wore still carried a measure of disdain.
"He seemed entirely normal when we first met him," the mayor began. "Although I suspect many of us thought he was royalty or at least an important lord at first glance. He carried himself like, like a rain storm. He was very gentle and even calming to be near when he walked into the tavern, but everypony knew he could be very powerful if he wanted to be."
As Woodhouse spoke, Tollens silently reflected that, similar to his encounter with the ladder-carrying ponies outside, he could not rightly explain the exact location that Second Glance had produced the notepad and fountain pen he had started taking notes with. "And when was the moment that you came to believe this newcomer was not bringing trouble with him?" the Investigator asked.
Woodhouse began his response with a smile. "The very first thing he did after walking to the bar and introducing himself as the Prince of Ponyton, was say that he'd heard a rumor that the barkeep, an earth pony, mind you, had mastered a heretofore unknown branch of magic and could transform a pile of bits into a pint of bitter. We all took to him quickly after that."
"A charismatic gent, you'd say?"
"Ha!" Whatever plan Second Glance had must have been working, in some fashion. Woodhouse relaxed more and more and he talked, and it seemed he was less reluctant to surrender information. "Charismatic doesn't do him justice. I suspect that if he'd told us that the end of the world was nigh, and the only way to stop it was to allow him to fornicate with all of our sons and daughters at once… well, after a couple of pints, we just might have let him. Maybe.
"He had a story for everything, it felt like, and some of them were even convincing. He drank with us, told his stories, even sang one of his silly traveling songs for us. And I, not wanting to be shown up, did what I could to keep up until both of us were too crocked to be of use to anypony. Somehow, we managed to stumble back to my house, he got me into my bed, laid himself out on the sofa. He even had the courtesy not to steal anything. He had some appointment to keep further down the road, so after a spartan breakfast, I helped him pack a lunch, he said his goodbyes to whoever managed to find him, and then set out on the road west at a quarter past eleven. Roughly then, at least."
As his pen danced across paper, Second Glance would occasionally turn his attention away from his notes and to Woodhouse, and would sometimes make a sound to indicate that he was listening. "And did you notice anything about the Prince that you would consider unusual?" he asked once the mayor had finished his recounting.
At first, Woodhouse shook his head in the negative, but almost immediately turned his gaze upward. "Well, I didn't notice anything unusual about the Prince himself, but the next morning before breakfast..." He trailed off for just a moment, "Well, I wouldn't call it unusual, since I have nothing to compare it against, but our conversation did take a strange turn..."
’Sharp, knife-like pain' would have been an apt description of exactly what Mayor Woodhouse felt when somepony opened the bedroom curtains and let the sunlight in without regard for the ravages it would visit upon him. He tried covering his eyes, but instead elected to glare at his tormentor. He was, of course, standing right beside the bed, looking somewhere between pleased and amused.
"I can't imagine you're too happy with yourself at this particular moment," the Prince said with his old Canterlan accent. He turned to the bedside table and retrieved a glass full of cloudy liquid in his hooves, which was passed promptly to the mayor once he had worked himself out from the covers and into a more comfortable position for sitting. "Here. This will make your head feel much, much smaller."
All too happily, Woodhouse accepted the glass. "Hair of the dog?"
He was answered with a quick shake of the Prince's head. "It's a tonic I learned to make from a zebra some years back," he replied. "A mixture of water, sugar, and boiled willow bark. It will do wonders for aches and pains, but the taste is more bitter than anything you will ever experience otherwise, so I would advise you to drink it very quickly." With a nod, Woodhouse drew in a deep breath and held it as he tipped the glass to his lips to do just that.
The moment the tonic hit his tongue, the pegasus suppressed a gag and remembered very vividly the time he'd tried to eat a bar of soap in his youth.
Immediately after swallowing it down, he quickly drew the glass away from his face and occupied himself with scraping his tongue against his teeth. "I don't think you adequately described just how bitter this would be!" With a chuckle, the Prince retrieved the glass and placed it back on the table while Woodhouse rose from his bed and briefly stretched before moving for the door to the rest of his house. "But, as long as it works. I'll need a clear head to get started with preparing for the Summer Sun Celebration. Particularly the extra measures."
"What extra measures would these be?" The Prince was right on Woodhouse's heels, following him through the short hallway and into the living room, angled towards the fireplace and the dining space that enclosed it.
"Just the usual, additional preparations we've had in the last couple years." Woodhouse eased himself into one of the chairs surrounding the dining table there. "My usual concern at keeping changelings away during the Celebration."
His statement sparked an inquisitive expression from his companion. "Why the concern?" the Prince asked, taking a seat across from the pegasus.
"It's largely concern for my ponies, really. Certainly you can agree that no mayor, or indeed no prince, would want changelings slipping in and crippling everypony just to get a meal." Woodhouse, of course, had no issues sharing this particular concern. That changelings ought to be kept out, lest they inflict grievous harm to somepony, was a sentiment shared by virtually all the inhabitants of Aveligna, and in turn, much of Equestria.
The Prince, however, did not appear to be of the same mind. "Why would they do such a thing?" he asked. "It makes no sense to do that."
"Of course it does!"
The Prince shook his head in disagreement. "You might be tempted to gorge yourself at times, but you don't because you are rational, and understand that the only sure way to have a secure supply of food in the future is conservation and cultivation. Anyone with even a small garden understands this. It's the very foundation upon which all civilization is built."
"You're assuming that a changeling is capable of reasoning. Not just reasoning, but abstraction!" The mayor took a breath to calm himself, realizing immediately that his counterargument was made much more forcefully than he intended. "There are no changeling cities. No art, or writing. Outside of the mess in Canterlot, they've made no attempts at meaningful communication with us. They lack all the hallmarks of a rational race."
For all the mayor's effort, the Prince was no pushover when it came to arguing. "But they pretend to be all those things you say they show no signs of having. Painters, musicians, philosophers, politicians, and so on. Imitation isn't enough there. A changeling pretending to be a painter can't simply copy older works of that painter and get by. It would be immediately obvious that something was wrong. The same is true of a musician. A philosopher must be capable of incorporating new information into the framework of their philosophy. Indeed, the only occupation that would allow the exact same behavior to be repeated again and again without change is, perhaps, the politician, and even that isn't a sure thing. For a changeling to integrate into pony society, to adapt and alter their behaviors to avoid arousing suspicion, to, as their name implies, change as the situation demands it, they must be rational. Do you not agree?"
And in that moment, Woodhouse did not immediately have a counterpoint. It seemed sensible. It seemed rational. But it was not, for him, convincing. "It still seems like too much of a stretch, rational or not," he said. "I mean, a changeling feeds on love, and love is very different from wheat or barley. Surely, it can't be stored, since it has no physical form. And if it permeated the air in all directions as light does, changelings would be plants or fungi, rather than animals. Since they clearly must seek it out at every opportunity, would it not make sense to get as much at once as possible when they find it? Naturally, that would be all that a pony has to offer. And if all the love is drained from a pony, would that not leave them a pathetic shell of what they would otherwise be?"
The Prince raised a hoof to his chin as he considered a new approach, and it may well have been a testament to his intelligence that he was able to quickly formulate that approach. "Consider an analogy, rather than an explanation that, frankly, I'm not convinced I can clearly deliver. A pony is an apple tree, and love, if indeed, that is what a changeling consumes, is an apple. Draining all the love from a pony and leaving naught but an uncaring shell behind is no different from felling the tree to harvest the apple. It works, certainly, but even if it should prove more efficient, the tree will not bear more fruit, is unlikely to recover with any haste if at all, and there is no guarantee that any seeds from the apple will go on to become a new tree. In the same way, if the pony is drained of all love, they will no longer have any love to be harvested, may very well never have the capacity to feel love again, and there is no guarantee that they have made another pony to replace them.
“That is why that particular fear is wholly unfounded. If there were truth to it, then there would be no changelings left in the world. Or, at the very least, there would be no ponies."
It struck the mayor as odd, or at least a bit ironic, that of all the explanations for what became of ponies that changelings fed on, the one that now seemed to make the most sense was ultimately the most benign. What would it matter if there were changelings at the Celebration? They would arrive in disguise, be unlikely to bother anypony, and after eating their fill — and on so important a day, there would likely be plenty of love to go around — would quietly depart to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Aveligna would be left no poorer in the end.
After a moment, however, a question occurred to Woodhouse that seemed rather crucial to ask. "How do you know so much about changelings?"
The Prince simply gave him a look that one might give to a foal, when summarizing a concept that would normally take too long to explain properly, and answered plainly. "It plays strongly into provincial, even national security. You have to know these things when you're a prince.”
"A peculiar way to explain just why he does know so much about changelings," Second Glance concluded at the end of Woodhouse's story.
He was answered with a lopsided nod. "I thought so as well, but I'm no prince. I find it very plausible that the extra responsibility of being one requires a fair bit more expertise than being a mayor does. In any case, that's all I'm able to tell you about him."
With a small flourish, Second Glance finished his note-taking. "We do sincerely thank you for your time, Mister Mayor. Particularly because of the Celebration tomorrow."
"Speaking of the Celebration, there is a fair bit of work left to do before then. I'm afraid I must take my leave."
With a quick bow and tip of his hat — the former of which Tollens mimicked — Second Glance turned to leave. "We'll show ourselves out. Thank you again, Mister Mayor."
Leaving the mayor's office behind them, and then too the secretary and finally all of the town hall, both Investigator and guardspony stepped back through the front door and outside again. Tollens managed to keep his thoughts to himself until then. And then longer still, until they were perhaps halfway back to his cohort.
"What game is he playing at, Investigator?"
Second Glance bobbed his head to one side in a pseudo-shrug. "The mayor of this fair town has just informed us that the Prince of Ponyton has, in turn, informed him that the supposition that a changeling will callously drain a pony of all love is insensible — excuse me." Naturally, the few minutes they'd spent inside had done nothing to thin out the crowds preparing for the following day. "What do you make of that, Tollens?"
"What I make of it is that you're giving me a test to evaluate my skill at investigating, and are withholding information you gathered independently."
"Let's assume that's not the case, for the time being," Second Glance replied. "Instead, I would like you to tell me, in your own words, what you think the Prince is attempting to communicate to us through what he told the mayor."
Tollens spent a few brief moments considering his response, using the time to both organize his thoughts and weave through the crowd which was, finally, thinning to a more easily navigable volume.
"It seems that he's trying to show us that changelings aren't vampires," he began. "That their need to consume love, or whatever eldritch energy it is they eat, doesn't harm ponies the way that taking their blood would." Second Glance nodded, which only prompted Tollens to interrupt whatever response he had prepared and continue with his analysis. "But that seems to contradict our existing evidence. It's a known fact that — what is he now — Prince Consort Shining Armor? It's a known fact that he suffered physical ailments while the Changeling Queen fed on him."
"It does not, in fact, contradict our existing evidence, Tollens. Bear in mind that while Queen Chrysallis was enjoying the Prince Consort's — whatever it was — she was also casting a variety of other spells to both bend him to her will and maintain her cover, so it is, in hindsight, far more likely that it was that combination of spells that led to those physical ailments. Particularly since we have no idea what they actually were.”
The earth pony was looking, to Second Glance's delight, nothing less than skeptical. "And this, I assume, is where the information you've been withholding finally comes into play," he proposed, to which the Investigator once more nodded.
"I met a changeling back in Oldenburg, who lives as his alias, Flapjack. Proprietates a diner, hardworking, very agreeable fellow. He has an apprentice of sorts, Gertrude, and I feel it fair to describe the relationship between them as that of a father and daughter. Despite this, she exhibits none of the ailments that Shining Armor displayed, even though it's plainly obvious that Flapjack is revitalizing himself with Gertrude's love. And so, I ask you again Tollens, what do you make of that?" At last, the pair was again approaching the outskirts of the village, and they were free to walk with the pace and direction they pleased.
"What I make of it, is that the Prince of Ponyton could have very easily slipped away, never to be seen again if he wanted to. Instead, he's leading on this merry case, leaving clues for us to find like he's Carmen Sanfratello, and in the course of piecing together whatever his master plan is, we get to learn exciting and interesting facts about changelings. It’s… an exchange, I think? There's something he wants, but he needs our help to get it, and since he doesn't trust us to not arrest or kill him on sight, he's giving us information that we might find useful or even essential by proxy, perhaps to curry favor?”
"If nothing else, that at least fits the evidence that changelings never do anything in a forthright manner," Second Glance afforded. Their encampment came into sight again, itself reflecting some of the havoc of Aveligna as the guard cohort performed their own preparations for the Summer Sun Celebration.
"A letter to Princess Twilight, then? Detailing the investigation so far?"
Second Glance spent a few moments considering the suggestion. "A short but comprehensive one, I think," he concluded. "Give her too much incomplete information, and she'll run herself ragged trying to figure the rest out. Give her too little, and she'll run herself ragged trying to figure out what we're afraid to tell her, or worry herself sick that something's gone wrong. Either way, she won't enjoy tomorrow, and is likely to create an entirely new set of problems. For all her intellect, she's still very much like a filly in some ways."
"Well, maybe it would be best to tell her nothing then, until you have a bit more?" Tollens' suggestion was surprising enough that it brought Second Glance to a complete halt.
"Now that's really an insensible supposition, Corporal. Whatever put that idea into your head?"
Tollens, again, considered his words for a moment. "What if your letter, filled with incomplete information regardless of how short but comprehensive it is, puts it in her mind that the best way to resolve this issue with the Prince is to come up here and meet him herself, putting her into direct contact with a population that she, being very much like a filly in some ways, wouldn't realize she was unpopular with and only further alienate, creating new problems without ever intending to?"
For several long, exceedingly uncomfortable moments, Second Glance simply stared at Modus Tollens.
"Tollens," the Investigator began in carefully measured tone, "I've known Princess Twilight since she entered the Crown's concern as Princess Celestia's pupil. She won't do that, and I frankly can't decide which opinion is the greater insult. The provincial opinion that she's a pretender who's only a princess because her mentor felt obligated to make her one, or the Canterlan opinion that she's some sort of obsessive-compulsive buffoon who will unwittingly alienate everypony around her because she can't see past the book she's got her nose glued into." Drawing in a deep breath, Second Glance straightened his posture. "There's a bit of preparation for the Celebration tomorrow, Corporal. I would suggest strongly that we get back to camp so we can assist."
Without waiting, or even with another word, Second Glance turned and continued on his way towards the Guard encampment, leaving Tollens to watch him go while feeling an unexpected mixture of both guilt and disappointment. After a few moments, it struck him how it felt much less like performing poorly for his commanding officer, and much more like failing to live up to the expectations of a teacher. It was also, perhaps, for that reason that rather than simply resolving to do better, he instead felt an overpowering urge to be better.
Likewise drawing a deep breath and straightening his posture, Tollens trotted after the departing Investigator.