I wake to silence. It isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last, but this is the first time that the silence has bothered me. For a moment, I feel… incomplete, as if some part of me was left back at the Sugarcube Corner. My heart beats, but it sounds like one instrument in a duet, trying vainly to make up for its lost partner. Then I whack my head on the bottom of the bed and break the silence with curses, and the moment is gone.
I wiggle my way from beneath the bed and stretch, popping my joints in the process. Looking around, I can finally appreciate the vanity of the room. The bed covers are blue silk, with a mahogany headboard studded with small jewels. The curtains, which I forgot to close last night, are made of some extremely heavy and opaque material. Through the windows that they frame I can see the sun slowly rising. The chairs I wedged under the doors are also mahogany, carved with strange patterns that must make them worth a fortune. Too bad I chipped the top of one in my haste to feel safe.
I remove the chair from the bathroom door and head in to take a shower. The floor is marble, a delicate shade of white that shines with the weak light from the small windows near the ceiling. The shower itself is metal, and the shower curtain is a slippery plastic that feels water-resistant. I turn on the water, sighing as the warm liquid runs through my fur.
After I towel myself off with what feel like dry clouds, I make my way to the door leading into the hallway. I remove the chair and slowly open the door, peeking out to see if anyone managed to get in despite my make-shift barriers the night before (old habits die hard, and checking for intruders is one of my oldest habits). Looking left, I see the stairs leading downstairs. Looking right, I see about a hundred yards of doors and plush carpet. Sweet Celestia, this house is huge, I think, making my way to the stairs. When I get to the bottom, I groan at the sight that waits.
Sofas are upright against the windows, the cushions scattered over the floor. The front door is barricaded with a dresser whose drawers are half-open. A bookshelf is on its side at another door to the right, books at crooked angles inside. The place is a disaster area, and I can’t believe that I managed to do this in about an hour. As I shove the dresser away from the front door, a low knocking reaches my ears. Who is it at this time of the morning? I wonder, and open the door a crack.
A soft yellow pegasus, her face half hidden by light pink hair, smiles shyly at me from the front step. “He-hello. My name is Fluttershy, I-I take care of the animals in Ponyville. I just want to let you know that there are a cute little family of owls nesting on the top of one of your columns, and I was hoping to move them now that somepony is living here, if that’s okay.”
She points to the top of the column that sits to the left of the door. I look up and see a small corner of the nest. I’ve always like owls, and the thought of having to make them move just because I moved in is not appealing. “If they want to stay, they can,” I say to Fluttershy. “I don’t mind owls, really, and they shouldn’t have to move because of me.”
Her face lights up in joy and I feel a strange burst of happiness at making somepony smile. She holds out a hoof timidly, still smiling, and I take it. “I’m Ghost. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fluttershy.” I say, shaking her hoof softly.
“It’s nice meeting you too, Ghost. Thank you ever so much for letting Mr. and Mrs. Owl stay here. They—oh, Angel, this is Ghost. Say hi!” A small rabbit with an impatient frown hops up and tugs on Fluttershy’s tail. When she doesn’t move, he thumps his foot and pulls harder. With an apologetic smile, Fluttershy starts to walk away, but she calls over her shoulder, “Thank you again, Ghost, for letting the Owls stay! Maybe we’ll see each other later, if that’s okay?”
“Sure, that would be great. Bye!” Angel leads Fluttershy to the right, past the library. I stare after them until they disappear from my line of sight. Then I shut my door and stare around the room, running my hoof through my mane in exasperation. Cleaning this is going to be a pain in the flank. But somepony has to do it.
Three hours later, the sun is high in the sky and I’ve restored the room to its previous state. The couches are against the walls, the bookshelf beside the door to the kitchen (which is mercifully organized and stocked with food), and I find the key to the front door on one of the stairs. I’ve just collapsed on the softest couch when there’s another knock on the door, this time a firm, three-tap knock that means business.
I open the door warily to see an older, dark gray stallion with glasses holding a package stamped with the royal seal and fixed with a strap for easy lifting. When I step out of the house, he asks me, “Are you Ghost Anlace?”
I nod, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Yes, I am. Who are you?”
The older stallion raises a hoof, smiling slightly. “My name is Silver Bursar. I’m the manager of Ponyville Bank, you see, and the bank received a package today with your address on it. It also carries the royal seal of Princess Celestia, as you can see. The instructions that came with the package said to hand-deliver it to this address. Here you are, Mr. Anlace.”
I shake his hoof and pick up the package, settling it on my back. It’s extremely heavy, and I nearly buckle under its weight in surprise. “What—what’s in this?” I grunt.
Mr. Bursar shrugs. “I don’t actually know. I’m not supposed to open packages, and this is no exception. Do you need some help?”
My injured foreleg burns from the strain of holding the package up, but I shake my head no. Mr. Bursar nods. “Very well then. I’ll be on my way back to the bank, unless there is something I can take down there for you, like mail or a package?”
I shake my head no again, and, satisfied, Mr. Bursar wishes me good day and trots away. I stagger inside, shutting the door with my back hoof, and sling the package onto the couch. “What in Celestia’s name is in this thing? Rocks?” I wonder, heading to the kitchen for a knife to cut the seal. I cut it cleanly, so that no slivers of wax curl off and make a mess. When I open it, I have to blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Inside the package are hundreds of bits bundled into bags according to their value. On top of all of them is a note. It reads,
Ghost Anlace,
The bits enclosed are one-sixth of the amount that the Princesses’ Grace is awarded with. A forth of it was used to buy your house. The rest of the bits are stored in the Royal Canterlot Bank under your name. In the basement of your house there is a vault, which I would advise you to put these bits in. The passcode is up to you.
Cordially,
Quillus Amanuensis, Royal Secretary of Princess Celestia
I drop the note and stare at the collection of wealth in front of me. If one fourth of the whole reward was enough to buy this house, and this is one-sixth, then what in Celestia’s name must that vault in my name look like? I sit down heavily, stunned. What am I going to do with all these bits? I could buy a small nation with this! I think, and suddenly I remember yesterday at Sugarcube Corner. Mrs. Cake had given me cupcakes when I was bitless, and now it was time for me to repay her.
I pick up one of the pillows, unzip the cover and take it off. I open one of the bags and take fifty bits out, transferring them to the pillowcase. Then I tie the pillowcase around my neck, leaving the bits hanging down by my chest, and close the box. I pick it up and put it on my back again. I stagger to a door behind the stairs, which I correctly assume is the door to the basement. I decide not to chance the basement steps with the box on my back, choosing instead to push it down the stairs.
I trot to the basement floor and see the vault immediately. It’s set into the back wall, which is all metal, and the lock on it would look more comfortable in the royal vault than here. Four wheels made of metal sit in the middle of the vault door, and on them are stamped numbers. The vault itself is cracked open, waiting for somepony to set the lock. I open it (the thickness of the door is unbelievable) and I’m surprised at how little space is inside. Two ponies could squeeze in here, but it would be a tight fit. The box of bits will fit easily, though.
I walk over to the box and lift it again, bringing it to the door of the vault and swinging it in. Now I have to set the lock, and when I shut the door the numbers will scramble, leaving the combination a mystery to anypony but me. I select four numbers at random (random numbers are always hard to guess): 6,2,9,7. Then I shut the door and the numbers spin to read 4,9,1,0.
Satisfied, I walk up the stairs and shut the basement door, the pillowcase around my neck jingling as I hunt for the key to the front door, which I left around here somewhere. When I find it, I set out for Sugarcube Corner, locking my front door behind me.
The streets are full of ponies and stalls selling various goods. I stick to the inside of the sidewalk, as always, and make my way unnoticed through the crowd. Halfway to Sugarcube Corner, I come across a cart that’s blocking the sidewalk. The wheel facing me has two cracked spokes, which make it impossible to pull any further. I’m about to walk around it when a white unicorn mare pokes her head out from inside the cart. She looks around and sighs impatiently, as if waiting for somepony. Instead, she sees me and calls out, “Excuse me, sir? Have you seen a light blue pegasus with a red mane recently?”
I can’t ignore her now, that would be rude. So I sigh internally and say, “No, I haven’t, Miss. Have a good—”
A light blue blur streaks by me, dangerously close to the ground, and a pegasus of the same description perches on the side of the cart. “Discord’s claw, Em, there isn’t a single bucking room available that we can afford in the whole of the bucking town! I told you that giving half of the money to that orphanage in Manehattan was a bad idea!”
The unicorn frowns. “Well, those foals needed it more than we did, Cinder.”
Cinder snorts. “Yeah, well, the head of the place smelled like six bottles of liquor, so I’m guessing that the foals won’t be getting the bits we gave up anytime soon.” She turned to me, her blue eyes squinting in distrust. “And who are you?”
I’m stunned by the attitude radiating from this pegasus. But I’m also slightly relieved, as arrogant ponies are more what I’m used to dealing with. “I’m Ghost Anlace. Who the buck are you?” I snarl, knowing that the only way to deal with such arrogance is to be nasty in return.
The unicorn rolls her eyes, but Cinder grins, the meanness disappearing from her face. “Well, at least one pony in this town has some life in them. I’m Cinder, and this is Ember. Nice to meet you, Ghost.” She hops down from the cart and extends her hoof. I take it, surprised at her change in tone. I try to get a look at her Cutie Mark, but all I see is a blank flank. At my stunned expression she laughs. “Yeah, you’re seeing right. I don’t have a Cutie Mark. It’s this really rare condition called Jack-of-all-Trades, which means that I’m good at just about everything, but not outstanding at anything in particular. So, no Cutie Mark. It makes me really stand out, but I’d guess that you know about standing out, seeing that injury.”
Unwillingly, a smile twitches at the corner of my mouth. Cinder is very blunt, but she doesn’t seem to be cruel or vindictive. Not afraid to speak her mind, either. Ember carefully steps out of the cart, extending her hoof to me as well. Her Cutie Mark is a paintbrush and canvas, both devoid of paint. “I’m sorry for Cinder. She can be very… hard to handle. We’re here to set up a shop, you see, but our cart kind of broke. So Cinder has been zipping around looking for a place where we can stay for a while, until we can get a place of our own—”
“And there isn’t a single bucking place that we can afford because Em gave two hundred bits to the Celestial Orphanage in Manehattan! Hmph!” Cinder interrupts, sitting on the edge of the cart. Ember nods, the sun catching the red streaks in her mahogany hair.
My eyes widen. “The Celestial Orphanage? I lived there for fifteen years. Is the place still as run-down as I remember?”
Cinder nods. “Yeah, and the stallion that runs the place smelled like alcohol, so I’m guessing that none of that money is going to the foals. Did you know him?”
“Mr. Moonshine? His special talent is making alcohol, but his wife’s is taking care of foals. He’s a good pony, though, and he doesn’t drink a single drop of the stuff he makes. Neither did any of the foals while I was there.”
Ember smiles triumphantly and turns to Cinder. “I told you that he seemed nice!”
Cinder snorts. “Yeah, well, in my experience, ponies that smell like alcohol are always trouble. Always.” The seriousness of the moment is ruined by Cinder’s rumbling stomach.
Ember sighs. “You just ate, Cinder! What is it with you and food?”
“I love food, and it loves me, so I don’t see how you can be so critical. Now come on, I saw this place down the street called Sugarcube Corner that sells sweets and I need my sugar. Let’s go!” She zips away at street level, weaving through the walking ponies expertly.
Ember starts after her, but I call, “Uh, are you just going to leave the cart here?” The ponies here seem nice, but it only takes one to steal something.
She rolls her eyes and motions me to walk with her. “Yeah, I’m okay with it. There’s really nothing of interest to anypony in there. Just brushes and canvases, stuff like that. I’m a painter, you see, so I go around selling portraits in towns until we have enough money to leave. We’ve been all over Equestria, but I really think that this is where I want to set up my base of operations. Do you know where Sugarcube Corner is?”
“Just follow me.” I lead her through the mass of ponies to the door of Sugarcube Corner, the window of which is fixed as if nothing ever happened to it. Walking in, I see Cinder at the counter, hopping impatiently from hoof to hoof, waiting for us. I pull the bag of bits from around my neck and put it in front of Mrs. Cake, who is manning the register. “What would you like, Ember and Cinder? My treat. It’s the least I can do for two mares who gave so much to my past home.”
Ember sighs. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”
“I’ll take three carrot cupcakes, two grass squares, two lemon squares and a cinnamon roll,” Cinder lists, licking her lips.
Ember mutters, “See?” Raising her voice, she says, “I’ll take one grass square, please.”
“And I’ll have a carrot cupcake.” I open the bag expectantly, waiting for Mrs. Cake to finish tallying up the total.
“That’ll be twenty five bits, please.” She scribbles our order down on a piece of paper and hands it to a stallion whose Cutie Mark is three cakes. I can only assume that this is Mr. Cake, who takes our order into the back room.
I push the whole bag of bits across the counter, holding up a hoof to silence Mrs. Cake’s protests. “You fed me when I didn’t have any money, Mrs. Cake, so now I’m going to repay you. Please don’t argue.”
She nods in defeat, handing me back my pillowcase after the bits are removed. There are remarkably few ponies in Sugarcube Corner right now, so I’m able to secure a booth while waiting for our sweets to arrive. When they do, Cinder digs in with a ferocity that amazes me. On the other hoof, Ember nibbles at her grass square, the very picture of manners.
After Cinder finishes her cupcakes (which is before Ember and I finish our treats), she wipes her mouth of frosting and crumbs. “So Ghost, do you have a room me and Cinder could rent out for about three months?”
The question is so sudden that I nearly choke on my cupcake. Ember frowns at her friend. “Cinder, you can’t just ask him that! I’m sorry, Ghost, she’s a bit tactless.”
I swallow, trying to get the crumb in my throat out. Cinder leans in, patting me on the back. “Well, I asked around to see if anypony had room in their houses for us to rent, but nopony does. Then I flew over to this gigantic house past the library, and there was this note on the front door that said ‘Ghost’. There was nopony home, so I gave up. Is that your house?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak until the crumb is completely gone.
Cinder is persistent. “Well, can we rent out a room or two?” Ember yanks Cinder’s mane until Cinder sits down in her seat, forelocks crossed and eyebrow raised.
When I swallow the crumb, I take a deep breath and think it over. I barely know these two, which should be enough for a resounding ‘no’. But they’re mares, which means that, in terms of muscle, I have an advantage over them if they want to kill me for whatever reason (it happened twice to me during the war—a mare who I bunked with tried to stab me and another tried to set me on fire for taking the last hay fry). Also, the thought of the two of them sleeping in their broken cart down a deserted alley pops into my head, and I sigh, knowing that my conscience will not allow me to say no.
I sigh and murmur, “You can stay in my house for a few months, since I have a feeling that if I say no Cinder will pester me to death.” Cinder grins and goes back to her food, oblivious to Ember’s glare.
“Thank you, Ghost. We had better get our cart fixed, then. I hope I remembered to pack some duct tape...” Ember drags Cinder to the door, the latter still eating her cinnamon roll. I put my head in my hooves, groaning internally. My conscience assures me that it was the right decision, but my cranky, selfish side disagrees. The only thought both sides have is: What in Celestia’s name have I gotten myself into?