July 11, 1000 ANM
At last, all of our burdens have been successfully shouldered! Boxes have been carefully smuggled past the servants, the guards, and my two royal rivals, and shipped past the one-eyed statue and into the depths of the caverns. We made it our duty to sidle behind their watchful eyes, walking delicately on the tips of our hooves to avoid making any unnecessary noise. Stalking in the shadows was naturally an appropriate course of action, and we held to it with all the insistence of a mother requesting her foal to avoid the tremulous traffic of colliding carriages.
“Mother,” Blueblood asked after a narrow escape from an encounter with a lost brown earth pony, “wouldn’t it be easier if we just teleported to the Bat Cave?”
“Indeed,” I replied, “and yet we are not petty nitwits seeking the easiest and most cowardly route from our cunning conundrum. Did we not make an oath together that we should weather all our troubles in the glorious name of tyranny, whether it be through sun or sleet or wind or chocolate? No, Blueblood, we shall sneak about the palace with high hearts and upturned noses, for this is our noble calling to fulfill in this tired plodding creature philosophers call life.”
This was the reason I gave: my pride prevented me from revealing the truth. I have not yet regained my full powers, and cannot muster the strength to perform even a short teleport. There is certainly something to those spell matrices, which is a fact I have grown to appreciate.
In addition to this extraneous escapade, I have installed a peculiar lever in the Bat Cave. Blueblood objected to this initially, but I am certain that he will see reason soon enough. What reason is there to eschew the wonders of modern science? These contraptions, these odds and ends of metal and springs, all serve a noble purpose. That, at least, cannot be denied.
The lever juts from the crystal-studded wall of the cave, gleaming gold to tempt foolish intruders from their initial trespassing. Once pulled, this lever will cause a chain reaction via the mechanisms I have so deftly connected into the wall, traveling up until it reaches the not-so-distant place where it rolls into the ceiling. There a large trapdoor swings open, releasing a reticulated python of considerable size and irritability onto the imbecile who dared to grease the poor lever with their unworthy hooves. The plan is ingenious, if I do say so myself. Nothing could possibly go wrong with this marvelous make of machinery!
“But why a reticulated python?” my dear son asked as I cheerfully tested the lever, flipping its length of metal back and forth as the swinging stone above flapped like an earthbound bird. “I mean, it’s certainly an excellent choice, but wouldn’t something less exotic be practical?” He consumed another costly Fellgian chocolate with all the restraint his princely palate could allow.
“Neigh, for unless events have altered the course of these thousand years, the reticulated python remains the largest snake in all the land. And does the largest of anything not hold a higher degree of quality than its inferiors?”
“True,” he conceded, “but biology has indeed changed. Some unfortunate scientist managed to breed a chicken with a snake, and today the great basilisks lurk in abandoned places such as ancient ruins and the homes of washed-out pop singers. Which is odd, considering their need to constantly eat. The basilisks, I mean, not the pop singers.”
“And how big do these basilisks grow?”
“If my memory serves me right, about a hundred feet.”
“Then we shall pursue a basilisk instead! Can you imagine its long scaly body falling from the ceiling as I once fell from a cumulonimbus, thrashing and writhing in midair as it attempts to escape its futile fate? The entire cave would fairly glow green with its fearful … loving rage, and the expression of the poor soul who unleashed it would also turn green, albeit for entirely different reasons.”
“Basilisks are orange, mother.”
I recoiled. “Orange?”
“Bright orange. The color destroys one’s vision even before the beast’s venomous eyes can hope to do so.”
“I detest orange. We shall pursue a reticulated python, Blueblood, and that is final.”
He grumbled at this, but nevertheless I convinced him to accompany me to the palace menagerie. Animals of all sorts flourish here in that sequestered little slice of paradise, as Sister Dearest had been eager to explain to me. The chances of finding a reticulated python in that place were slim, yet we had neither the time nor the resources to journey to its far-off home. At any rate, the first creature we encountered was a vulture, so thus advanced the hopes of there discovering a beast beyond the realms of the sweet and petite.
“Disgusting winged rat,” Blueblood muttered at the sight of the balding bird, shooing it away with a pedicured hoof. “Why Auntie insists on keeping this sort of monster about the palace is beyond me.”
I patted his head condescendingly. “Oh, my dear Blueblood. Surely you are aware that vultures form a crucial link in the vast web of chains known as life? Why, without them the world would be a foul place, condemned to slime and disease beyond the bounds of imagination. This was during your time, of course. I fondly remember great congregations swooping down from the ash-stained sky to cleanse the land of those who would seek naught but misery for our little ponies. Better to live in an Equestria touched by grimy feathers than one fairly dripping with the eternal stench of rotting meat.”
I am not certain of this for obvious reasons, but it appeared that he turned pale at my words. What does he think he is doing, changing his face in such a way? Does he not understand the horrors it will wreak on his complexion? I really must talk to Sister Dearest about him.
We ventured through the lush garden, barely acknowledging the groundskeeper as he whistled while he worked. Jewel-like hummingbirds flitted about flowers in the distance, yet they scattered before we could approach too closely. So did butterflies, deer, rabbits, and gorillas. It was when a score of skunks slinked away that I wondered if these creatures held some vendetta against us.
“You know, Blueblood,” I remarked as a flamingo fled from our presence, “perhaps I should keep an animal of some sort as a companion, if not a familiar. Sister Dearest has that boisterous bonfire bird, and Twilight Sparkle has the miniature dragon fellow. In fact, I would not be surprised if Mi Amore Cadenza has found ownership of some little yapping dog. Therefore, why should I not be entitled to the same comfort?”
“You can get whatever you want,” he said, shying away from the edge of the nearby pond. “I honestly prefer flora to fauna. Wouldn’t you prefer a pet rose?”
“Roses are adequate,” I replied dismissively. “But removing their treacherous thorns is no small feat, and after the attire I received at the Summer Sun Celebration I see no need for extras. There is also the fact that I am unfamiliar with other varieties of quality flowers, aside from their culinary value.”
“In that case, why not simply keep the reticulated python as a pet?”
“Are you mad?” I barked. “Only successful tyrants are permitted snakes for pets! I shall not allow myself to indulge in such a luxury until I have accomplished my endeavor.”
Mercifully, he was silent for the rest of our walk.
We crossed from one side of the menagerie to the other fruitlessly, for no animals save the bats could bear to remain in our vicinity. Returning to the Bat Cave with empty hooves was no easy thing to swallow, but I suppose it is for the best. We did not have the good fortune to encounter a reticulated python, but nor did we have the displeasure of facing a sneeze-inducing lion. Perhaps I should arrange an expedition to wherever reticulated pythons live? This may be a sign that I must venture from the palace more often.