Chapter 6: The Stage

“...he had learned to hoard little injustices, wishing they might merge and leave him with one significant wound, for which he could guiltlessly martyr himself forever.” John Irving

Amelia

I’m not sure what I expected. If I had been expecting a room full of guards, a room full of actors, or a room at all, I was disappointed. If I had been expecting any of what I saw to make sense, I was disappointed.

Stairs were quickly becoming my mortal enemy. Even the little half-step down through the doorway sent me into a tumble, head over hooves, spinning and rolling for a while. I came to rest on my back, splayed out on top of rickety wooden slats, just a short way from the door. What lay above was my first true glimpse of the world I had been spirited away to.

There was no open sky above me. At least, not as far as I could tell. I thought I could see a ceiling up through the darkness, but it was lost in shadow. Most of the light poured out from the way I had come. Scaffolding crawled up a patched-together wall in such a haphazard fashion that it was hard to tell which was holding the other up. Flat panels, each painted to look like segments of sky or fluffy clouds, hung over the wall from hooks attached to long cranes. They moved, slowly, even as I watched, the cranes rotating on gears. Above it all, a huge, yellow light cranked along a massive apparatus that arched from one end of the set to the other.

Among those clouds, immobile, was Canterlot. From that angle, it became very clear indeed that it had simply been painted and left in place.

Remember, Twilight Sparkle had told me, that misdirection is the first and most important part of any illusionist’s art. When you trick the audience into thinking they see more than they really do, they end up seeing exactly what you want them to.

If I had been expecting to be impressed, well, I wasn’t disappointed. The backstage of Ponyville—or, more aptly, Phonyville—was vast, much of it lost in shadow. Even so, I could still make out crazed assemblages of ramps, pulleys, boards, and belts. Cans of paint, and crates overflowing with costumes and props, lay in heaps around me, teetering dangerously. Everywhere was the sound of creaking and groaning and hissing machinery.

Really, had the whole thing not been some giant venus fly trap set just for me, it would have been one of the coolest things ever. As it was, it was only sort of cool. Like a really awesome toy set that had a habit of slamming on your fingers whenever you tried to play with it.

The sound of a springing pony echoing out from the still-open door reminded me that complacency was in short supply. I had been lucky enough to avoid running right into Fetter or some sort of elite squad of burly foal-catchers—or at least foal-catchers who were burly.

I scrambled back to all four of my stubby legs and bolted across the platform. A long table laid with pastries and pots of cold coffee stood unattended by a row of six mirrors, five of which were decorated in various ways. One was hung with balloons, another with a propped open book, a third had a sequined cape draped over its chair, a fourth a garland of flowers, and the fifth had what looked to be a spare hat for Applejack cocked over a hook. The sixth was bare and empty.

A long, narrow board presented itself as I dove between the dressing stands, leading out to the scaffolds across open air. I hesitated. Somewhere behind me, out of sight, four hooves thudded on wood all at once.

Sucking in my breath, I put a foot out and, carefully, started to walk across. Just one hoof in front of the other, that would do it. I didn’t think about long, dangerous falls from extremely high places into who-only-knew-what. I absolutely did not think about going splat at the bottom of whatever alligator-infested, spike-encrusted, fire ant hive rested below.

Actually, it would be pretty neat to see that sort of place, so long as it didn’t involve crashing into it at terminal velocity.

“Amy-pants, I’m coming to get you!” Pinkie Pie called playfully. Right, it was a bad time to get distracted. “I know you’re here, silly filly!”

Halfway across, the board began to sag, and I stifled a whimper. My hooves slid across the plank, inch by inch. Paint cans smacked together and racks of clothing were shuffled aside by my pursuer. Her excited giggling drove me on.

The opposite side came within reach, eventually. I stepped off my little bridge, allowing myself a sigh of relief once all four hooves were on solid ground again. Somehow, that shaky board had managed to hold my weight, in spite of its protests. The scaffolding ahead was nearly as narrow, consisting largely of steel tubing nailed into the back of the Phoneyville stage and creaky wooden boards lain between those to form a sort of walkway. There were ladders here in there, dimly visible in the dark, as well as folded bundles of cloth and coils of rope. I prepared to saunter forward—

“Wait, Amelia, no!” Pinkie Pie cried out, stretching out her hoof from between the dressing stands. She’d found me at last. In a panic, I leapt fully onto the boards, further away from her.

The snap of the slat under my hooves came as too late a warning—later even than Pinkie’s—and I dropped like a stone. Screaming, I plowed through the layer beneath me, and then the one after that. Each one snapped under my weight and momentum like dried twigs, and I flailed uselessly for anything to hold on to. It seemed as if I might plummet into oblivion, but one of the broken planks beneath me caught on something hard at an angle and, this time, held when I landed on it. Even with the semi-elastic give, it still knocked the wind out of me and rattled all of my teeth. Before I could recover, though, both it and I slipped off. Flashes of carved stone jumped out of me as I careened down unknowable depths on my makeshift surfboard.

When my breathe returned, it seemed that I had finally met the light at the end of the tunnel. Instead of dying, however, a great glass window rose up to meet me. Its stained decorations were a terrifying blur, and I lifted my forelegs to cover my face at the imminent prospect of being vivisected by pretty colored glass. Instead of hitting it, however, my sled dropped suddenly, and I plummeted again, banging and skidding off worn stone before sliding to a stop with an unexpected splash.

It was impossible to tell how far I had fallen. The whole trip had taken no more than a few seconds, even if the terror made it feel longer, and I was so dizzy I couldn’t tell how much of it had been down, around, or even up. Bruised and battered, I crawled away from the crash site, flopping through shallow water. I probably should have been surprised that nothing was broken, but my jaw dropped as I took in my new surroundings.

All around me rose the walls of a massive cavern, carved out of natural stone and worn smooth. A stream ran through it, cascading down a huge throne near the back, which had been carved from the same hard granite. The throne had no top, instead forming a pillar that supported the ceiling beside a crevice where the water poured from in a steady, clear flow. A great staff of ash wood—almost a tree trunk in itself—leaned against one arm.

Sections had been carved out and stained glass windows marched down the hall beneath the vaulted ceiling, each depicting a strange person and a number of wooden sticks. Statues of similarly misshapen people stood in rows under them, though many bases were missing their occupants and other statues looked to have been damaged or left incomplete, with their subjects rising out of unworked stone.

A bang of iron on stone rang out from somewhere behind me, and I jumped, all of my considerable hair standing on end. My erstwhile sled was quickly kicked into the water before I searched about for somewhere to hide, desperation making me prance in place. Footsteps thudded with steady purpose as I dove past a pair of unfinished-looking statues and squeezed past a crack in the wall behind them that looked to be in the middle of repairs. There were cans of plaster and sealant left scattered about. The only light came from the crack, and it seemed like I was in a small back passage of some sort. Feeling around with my hooves, I found the rungs of a ladder and, lacking other options, started to climb.

The sight of a filly scaling a ladder with her hooves would probably send anyone who came looking into a fit of laughter, at the very least. Putting my rear hooves on the lower rungs and using my fore-pasterns to climb made for slow, but steady progress. When I reached the top, I bit back complaints and tears at the strain—tough and flexible or not, I don’t think ponies were meant to climb like that.

Back in the throne room I had just vacated, the footsteps had grown louder, with a heavy clop, clop, clop that made me wonder if one of the larger ponies had come looking for me. Once I had scaled the ladder, I was able to climb all the way up to the level of the windows. They each had ledges where I could stand and get a peek back into the throne room. The area was cramped with more scaffolding, too, so it was easy to clamber up. Apparently the entire cave or whatever was under construction, with haphazardly discarded tools and material scattered about.

Growing curious, I took the opportunity to check over the massive sill of each window. It took a while, but I found one that had clear glass and pulled myself up to press my face against that spot.

“...made in readiness, great lord,” Fetter’s voice rose as the figures entered the hall, echoing through the pane. “Yer castle is nearly repaired, and more of us arrive by the day from the Ways. The Well and the Golden Bridle remain as they were, untouched.”

Looking down at the throne room from above, I grumbled, for I couldn’t see the great chair in the back from here and the owner of the hooves had moved on. However, Fetter was there, standing to one side of the stream and looking on, nervously holding his gnarled wand close.

“Fetter,” a voice boomed down the cavernous hall, “in all of your many years of service, I have never questioned your casting calls before.”

“And I must admit, the parts were all spot on. Spot on. I just wanted to ask one thing. One, little thing.”

“Ah... y-yes, Yer Majesty?” Fetter asked. “What might I, yer humble servant, eluci... luci... er, clarify for you?”

“Did I see one of the actual, unadulterated, indisputable Elements of Harmony in my castle?” the voice demanded, rising into a bellow that shook dust from the ceiling.

“Haha! Oh, yer Majesty, what a fine sense of humor you have, I—” there was a bang and the terrible sound of cracking stone. “Y’know, there’s a funny story about that,” Fetter changed tack at once.

“Not in the least, your Magnificence,” the goblin went on. “It’s all to do with the timing.”

“Timing?” the voice asked, skeptically. “I had best hear some sense before long, Fetter. I can find a new Knight if I must. One who will not bungle quite so dramatically as you seem to have. Timing was never a key part of the Event, so long as it happened in the correct fashion.” Peculiar emphasis had been placed on the word “Event.” My ears cocked forward, trying to catch every little nuance.

“No, no, you see, my lord, in Equestria it has been nearly nine years! Why, we only just barely fixed up your castle, y’should have seen the state of it, it was proper dilapidated it was. All of the foals went and grew into mares, while our Rainbow Dash went missing entirely. I sent messages and flyers out everywhere.”

“Why did you not simply transfigure someone suitable? Did I give you that wand so you could scratch your back with it?”

“It weren’t that simple. It just wouldn’ stick, m’lord. I must’ve gone through half a dozen goblins and all of them turned out completely wrong. Something was hinderin’ the wand’s power from the start—I thought at that point we’d have to kidnap a pony, do the usual, but it would have taken bloody forever. That’s when the opportunity came knockin’ for us.” Fetter stepped forward towards the throne, pulling a rolled scroll out of his coat, going on. “It was one of the messages we sent out. The receiver wrote back.”

“Yes, in her very own hand! Er, hoof,” he corrected, and unfurled the scroll. “‘Dear Castin’ Agency guy, I understand you’re lookin’ for somepony to play the part of Rainbow Dash in an upcoming play. Obviously, this was the best idea I had ever heard in my life. Who wouldn't want me in their play? I can’t believe you never wrote me when I’m right here, though, totally available and obviously completely suited to the role. I think it’d be,’” he paused, “Hold on, she scribbled on this part. There’s a drawin’ in the margins of a pegasus in flight with rainbows and stars.”

“Here we go, it goes on to say, ‘totally impossible to find someone who was even half as awesome as me to play as me, so why not try the real thing? Signed, Rainbow Dash. PS: Keep this signature, my autograph is going to be famous! See attached for photos of me posin’ and performin’ stunts, along with a handy illustration of me fightin’ a giant eagle, because I can totally do that if the production calls for it.’”

“Don’cha see, great king? It’s perfect!” Fetter beamed. “She hadn’t the slightest clue, she thought it was just a performance! Oh, she grumbled a few things about gamblin’ and made us pay her an obscene sum to keep on for a few days, but she seemed to enjoy the work. Right tidy job she’s been doin’, too. The girl loves her.” Fat chance she did. Shows what he knew.

“Then we get to the part where she was flying out of the castle. Doesn’t seem quite so ‘tidy’ to me from here.”

“Ah, yes, that.” Fetter chuckled nervously. “Well, yes, I’m right on that, actually! Our Twilight was catchin’ up with her. Fine girl she is, seems to really understand the craft, took right to it. In fact, I’d better go see how she’s doin’!”

“Wait, Fetter,” the voice said, arresting the goblin in his tracks. “It occurs to me that this nearly complete disaster of yours regarding the Element has an unexpected silver lining.”

Pulling away from the window, I set my jaw and raced along the scaffolds. There had to be an exit in the direction Fetter had started running if Rainbow Dash was leaving. I could potentially reach her before he did, too, if he was being held by his unseen master, unless the way turned in an unexpected manner. Chances were, likely, but I was pretty short on options at the moment.

A run turned into a crawl as I squeezed past a small, rectangular opening. Uncut stone was above me and someone’s roof lay beneath. Patches of canvas were stretched here and there and pipes were left to direct dripping water. From the sounds coming from below—shouts, arguments, snoring, cheers—I was apparently in a crawlspace over a bunch of apartments. Desperation sped me on, and I didn’t care if anyone heard my hooves tapping over them in my headlong rush.

There was a small hatch up ahead, and, behind that, a set of stone doors lay in the room beyond. A pair of short, lumpy statues stood guard, with minuscule braziers full of burning coals casting smoking light across what must be the entrance to the castle. A tiny blue figure hovered impatiently before them, and a small stream hissed on the far side

I blinked, and looked again, the perspective readjusting as my eyes focused. Rainbow Dash, her multihued mane and tail unmistakable, was her normal size. The two statues I had seen were enormous, however, each towering at least ten or fifteen feet over her head, all hard stone and studded with spikes. What seemed like a small stream was in fact a fair-sized portion of a river, probably the one I had seen outside the castle when I’d first arrived.

As a further shock, the statues moved, and I saw that they weren’t statues at all, but a pair of great ugly goblins as big as houses, their armor made of riveted iron plates. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I had imagined it, but I was positive they had been stone and stock-still just a moment before. The huge ogrish soldiers looked down at her with puzzled expressions, evidently wondering what this technicolor horse wanted with them. I tried to spot Dooris, but I couldn’t even see the tiny door Fetter had approached that first night, assuming this was even the same side of the castle.

Even as I watched, a dark blur skidded to the floor beside Rainbow Dash in a hard landing, her wings and mane askew. Twilight Sparkle no longer looked quite so much like a princess to my eye. She was a mess, for one, and her stricken face conveyed a wealth of panic that was not at all regal.

“Wait, Rainbow, please!” Twilight Sparkle pleaded, coughing up dust as she scrambled back to her hooves.

“I already told you, I’m leaving, and I’m leaving right now,” Rainbow announced as she flew up to the face of one of the guards. “Open up! I’m getting outta here.”

The giant looked thoughtful, something that it didn’t look like it had to do regularly and which caused it enormous discomfort. “Boss Fetter sez no openin’ the doors.”

The giant blinked, slowly, and moved to push at a door. His partner reached over and banged on his head, sending up a great gong as gauntlet met iron helm. “Don’ be an idjit. Warn’t that good a trick.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Rainbow protested, before landing in front of the doors. She turned and bucked them with her rear hooves, eliciting no more than a faint thump. “Oww.”

“Please, don’t go,” Twilight said, coming up to Rainbow’s side while the latter nursed her cannons. “I don’t understand what’s gone wrong.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rainbow demanded. “I mean—okay, so I have no idea what’s going on, except that I’m in a freaky castle filled with freaky people and a bunch of freaky pony actors. Just what kind of production is this, anyway?” She rose up and flared her wings aggressively, advancing on Twilight. “Just what am I looking at here?”

Twilight fell back, her own eyes falling to the floor and her wings drooping. “I-I thought you knew, I-I m-mean, didn’t Fetter explain?”

“Explain? Explain nothing! I get a letter looking for someone who’s supposed to be playing Rainbow Dash, I show up, show off, get the gig, and then, outta nowhere, I find out that I’m supposed to play big sister to some kid who obviously didn’t know the whole thing was staged. For days. And she went and practically bit my nose when I tried to tell her!”

Rainbow’s wings sagged once she’d finished, and she muttered, “Little twerp, I was just trying to help.” The echoes carried the sound my way.

Red filled my vision, making it rather hard to concentrate. If I hadn’t been trying to hide, I might have sprung down and charged her right then.

It was just like with Daphne. Rainbow Dash was just like her. Big sister, indeed.

I knew all about big sisters. They existed for one purpose: to let you down and abandon you when you needed them the most.

Twilight had managed to get a hoof on Rainbow’s shoulder, and spoke so softly now it was hard to catch the echoes in the chamber. “It’s all right… sure she… wonderful little filly… cares about you… acted back at the… talk to Fetter… straightened out—explain everything.”

“Look, you.” Rainbow knocked Twilight’s hoof aside and pointed one of her own at the other mare. She flinched back, looking hurt. “I’m not doing anything, except leaving.”

Twilight’s response was inaudible, but she looked to be acquiescing, before another pony sprang into the room, pink legs flailing wildly. “Girls, girls!” Panting, Pinkie Pie slid to a halt beside them, gripping the pair of them in her forelegs. “I just saw Amelia. She fell down the scaffolding!”

I didn’t need to hear any more. There was no getting out the front door. Fetter would be here any minute and now they were actively looking for me.

Besides, I didn’t want to spend one more minute looking at that awful blue pegasus.

If a river was flowing through the castle, then that meant there was a way out, and I was going to find it.

* * *

Obviously, dashing across the open entryway would have ensured everyone and everypony would have seen me, so it was back into the crawlspace. The leaky, poorly maintained tunnels had me squirming and shuffling for what felt like miles. I nearly fell into someone’s living room more than once, and almost into someone’s bubbling stewpot on one occasion. As I went, goblins were starting to rouse and collect themselves, heading out to do whatever it is a goblin did with their day.

My break came when I saw where they were getting their water. The main part of the castle was a great empty shell, I noticed from another scaffold, rising up to the Phonyville stage and its artificial sun. Not too far away, a massive vertical conveyor rose towards the ceiling, with enormous buckets full of water on one side and upturned ones on the other. It was emptying itself somewhere above, but what was far more interesting was where the water was coming from—down below.

With a determined grin, I found the nearest point on the bucket elevator, gathered a running start, and leapt clear across the gap to land on the bottom of one of the descending barrels with a hard, painful thud. I glanced around, hoping to see if Rainbow Dash, Twilight, and Fluttershy were in the air looking for me, but none of them were around.

Come to think of it, I had never seen Fluttershy actually fly. Reflecting on the conversation Fetter had held with his unseen master, I began to wonder if I had ever actually met somepony named “Fluttershy” at all, or anypony aside from Rainbow Dash for that matter.

“‘Anypony?’” I mouthed, rolling that over on my tongue. Great, now I was doing it.

At that point, I decided to look down off the side to see where I was going. This proved to be a tremendous mistake, and I spent most of the trip down curled up in a ball at the dead center of my ride. Perhaps leaping off the scaffold like that had not been my brightest idea.

Vertigo subsided as the descent neared its nadir. The bowels of the castle, dug deep into the native rock, were damp, dark, and filled with strange noises that echoed up out of unknown, impossible vastnesses. Dim light filtered down from above, but also from below and along the sides; a faint, eerie luminescence in a white pallor. It seemed to me that I could hear snatches of song drifting out. Perhaps from above, where the goblins were just starting work, or from below and beside. It was impossible to tell.

With axe in hand and stone beneath,
Into the maw below,
For a pauper’s life we can’t abide,
To the tunnels we must go.

We go, we go,
In service to the throne.

The descending bucket drew lower still, and I could dare to look over the edge now. Groaning, I pulled back. A dark pool lay below, glittering in the dim light and rippling from the passage of the conveyor. If there was a river exit there, I had missed it. Leaping from the bucket as it lowered, I spun down the smooth, slimy, moss-covered rock and slid to a halt.

Against heartless beasts below,
Into the deep we march for gold,
They’d eat us, ‘fore we know,
But the riches lie untold.

My head lifted up, and beheld the creature standing on one of the spurs of rock that rose all about. “The short way was straight down.”

Rising, I shook myself. Maybe this was what keeping a cat was like. They came and went as they pleased and never showed the least bit of interest until you pretended you were poisonous.

We brave the deeps for the King of Wands,
We soldiers down below,
From a thousand worlds, we mine for our Liege,
To the tunnels we must go.

We go, we go,
In service to the throne.

“Do you know the way out?” I asked the Morgwyn, checking to make sure nothing had fallen out of my bag. My floodlight still worked, the beam shuddering on after I pulled it out. Of course, how I would carry it was another matter. If only Twilight had taught me telekinesis.

If she even could teach me telekinesis. Who even knew what she really was, anyway?

The deeps bring death,
The dark eats light,
Stone crushes us below,
But we have no fear, no weakness hear!
No goblin stands alone!

When it neglected to elaborate, I glanced up at it. “Where is it?” I asked again, and then quickly corrected myself in case it decided to be clever with its answers, “I mean—where can I find the way out?”

“The wee bairn asks this one such a thing after it took the time to bring it here? Oh, she is a bold one, like a spark leaping from flame,” the Morgwyn said, by way of answering. Those burning blue eyes were like a pair of bright stars against its black fur, points of purpose in a silhouette.

“I’m not going back up there. Even if they took me, I know they’re faking it now,” I told it seriously.

“So what does it hurt to just tell me the way out, Morg?” I asked, more persistently, shining my beam around. There was an odd smell. Somehow oily, it was a mixture of pleasant and unpleasant; sweet in one breath, and then foul the next.

We come back up into night,
The sky dark as the deep,
As we head back to homes,
To sleep in beds, to rest our heads!
For the tunnels we will go!

Cocking an ear, the Morgwyn lifted its head and stared up at the hole from which I had just come. “To the river. Up, and away. Not the way you came, but another.”

“Can you…” I trailed off, gritting my teeth. “Will you lead me out of the castle, safely?” When I got back home, I would have to apologize for telling my English teacher that her lessons would never save anybody’s life.

“The Morgwyn will see to it that the wee bairn does not... fail,” it answered sardonically, leaping down to pace beside me. In my filly form the Morgwyn was taller than me at full height, though usually it kept its head at the level of its shoulders. I ought to have found it imposingly huge, but I couldn’t help but find that bulk and power oddly comforting.

For just a moment, I felt a brief pang of longing for Asmodeus. Aside from my bag, everything I had on hand was purely practical, and nothing really felt like home. You couldn’t cuddle a flashlight, no matter how dark it got.

Sticking the floodlight’s handle in my mouth, I carried it along as I walked. If Morg was going to keep me from failing, I might as well start trying to get lost. Hopefully that would be a sufficient failure.

The castle’s underbelly was apparently honeycombed with underground galleries and tunnels. Somewhere, goblins were working nearby, so there must have been some way for them to get up and down that didn’t involve riding the big, dangerous water wheel. I didn’t look forward to the thought of wandering the tunnels randomly and hoping that the echoes weren’t entirely misleading.

As we started into one of the entrances close to ground level, I perceived at least part of the source of the smell I had detected earlier. Warm, hot air, much warmer than that around me, flowed out before being met by an inhalation of cold that swept my mane back, as if the cavern were breathing. The warm air was rank with oil and grease and made my nose twitch. Even Morg looked briefly annoyed.

The singing was definitely louder there. Hopefully that meant it was also the right way to go.

The ceiling of this cavern was riddled with great pipes that had been drilled through the rock, cast out of iron or wood in a hodgepodge of styles. Some looked positively ancient, covered in rust and rot, while others were shiny and brand new. All of them dripped unmentionable, unwholesome stuff down into a huge pool that lay at the bottom. The pool itself was ringed with stairs that rose up in interlocking pyramids, and judging from the blackened lines on the walls, the pool had settled at different heights throughout the ages.

It also stank like the river downstream from the industrial park, where even the bravest kids refused to swim—all oil, rotting plastic, and things you’d need a degree in Chemistry just to appreciate how foul the thing you had just stepped in was. The Morgwyn gave me an absolutely withering look as I lingered to peek down, but I didn’t need its encouragement to keep going.

Just as we were starting to circle the sewage pit, though, it surged. The churning fluids reacted with one another to form a filthy sort of phosphorescence as a great bulge rose and swelled. At first I thought that some disgusting bubble was rising to burst, but then a huge, warty, frog-like head slipped out of the murk and turned its foul gaze on me. Dark green and tough, it opened its mouth to reveal a number of blunt, cracked teeth and a huge purple tongue.

“What’ve we here, then, eh?” it asked. Stinking webbed hands rose up on either side to brace itself in the pit, while it licked at one tooth to suck thoughtfully.

As far as little girls went, I knew that I was considered strange compared to others my age. I couldn’t help it if most girls didn’t see the value of memorizing the periodic table and the complete works of Jules Verne, if they thought preparing for werewolf and vampire attacks was paranoid, if they didn’t understand how completely awesome insects and reptiles were in all of their alien beauty, variety, and dangers, or if they thought collections of animal skulls were too morbid. Even I had to draw the line somewhere, though, and this frog-trash-compactor was definitely not cool.

Come to think of it, the principal didn’t think much of my skull collection, either. Guess that goes to show that you can’t really trust authority figures with anything.

“Nobody,” I said, putting my flashlight down to speak and glance around. No way was I going to get past this thing if it didn’t want to let me. Retreat might be necessary.

The great frog-thing craned up, breathing foul breath heavily on the pair of us.. “Don’cha mean no pony?” it asked. “Why be in such a hurry to go? Pull up a rock. Stay a tidy spell. Stay for lunch, even.”

“You see a lot of ponies down here, then?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder. I debated whether I could run or not. Of course, if I waited any longer, it might pull itself higher and get a better vantage. Then again, if I was too obvious he might spring now and catch me. “We haven’t seen any. Also, it’s totally dinner time.”

“We who, wee pony?” he asked. “It’s just you’n’me. Nice little dinner party.”

Blinking, I stared around again. For a moment, I thought he was right and that the Morgwyn had abandoned me, but then I spotted a shift in the shadows nearby, a faint flash of witch-light. Damn it. Was Morg hiding from the creature and leaving me to fend for myself?

“Wotcher, wee morsel?” the frog asked, with a hungry light burning in his eyes.

“I don’t know what that means! But, really,” I started to back slowly, “I’m kind of small, aren’t I? A wee morsel. Hardly even a nibble, not worth the trouble.”

“Oh, no, no trouble at all.” The great frog or goblin or whatever it was put its huge feet higher, and it now loomed well into the cavern. The filthy goo was churned up into a bright, sickly green radiance that filled the cavern with its shifting shadows.

I picked my flashlight up, readying it in one hoof. Really, I should have been terrified, but I just felt wired. This thing was about to try and catch me like a fly with its big, ugly tongue and gobble me up as a snack, and I was almost ready to start laughing. It was a ridiculous and probably not a very healthy reaction, but there it was nonetheless.

“Yeah? Well, I think you’ll find me more trouble than you might believe.” I lifted my floodlight into my mouth and flicked the switch to flash it directly into the frog-thing’s eye as he came closer. Hurriedly, I started to turn around, prepared to run for cover.

The strength of his reaction caught me off guard, however. He flinched, all right, but then he fell back with a terrified shriek, almost falling back into the pit entirely. “Take it away, take it away!” he begged, his voice trembling, its very echoes pathetic. “Mercy, pony! Don’ let it take me!”

I spat my floodlight into my hoof and stared at it uncomprehendingly. Was the frog monster that sensitive to a sudden bright light? At the sound of heavy breathing, however, I turned and saw the Morgwyn standing beside me now. Its eyes were open wide, the blue light in them flaring, while its mouth was open wide with all of its glowing teeth revealed and dripping. The frills along its back were fully extended, and more light issued forth from it, as if the tendrils were white hot. Then heat did roll from it, the air around it shimmering. Steam rose from where its paws touched the damp earth, and it advanced a single step, claws out.

The frog monster wibbled. That was really the only way to describe its sudden attack of blubbering squeaks. Far from hiding from the monster, it seemed as if the Morgwyn was more than capable of frightening the creature, despite their incredible disparity in size and apparent strength.

And it was on my side. Sort of. Oh, this was going to be just awesome. I was so going to abuse this.

“So,” I stepped forward boldly, “my friend here is very angry. It told me once that no one would interfere with its prey. The goblins called it the Morgwyn.” I drew the name out, enjoying the way the frog-thing shuddered and covered its eyes, trying to sink further back into the viscous puddle. “I can’t really be held responsible for what happens if it stays here,” I mused aloud, rubbing my chin. “Maybe if we just knew the way out of this pit and back up to the surface, by the river, I could convince it to leave.”

Smiling down at the monster with a grin full of teeth, I asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Just as well,” Morg hissed, cooling slowly as it relaxed, “the Morgwyn would not have cared to taste such a revolting creature.” It sniffed disdainfully, and settled back to preen at its own frills.

* * *

The tunnels underneath the goblin castle were long, more by virtue of being twisty and redundant than by real extent. Mines, the frog monster had called them. It seemed like a really silly idea to dig a big hole mine right under where your castle was, but then I wasn’t a goblin, and I didn’t really know much about engineering. At the least, I didn’t need my flashlight here. There were shafts cut into the rock above and steady light flooded down from them, along with fresh, cool air. and they lent the tunnels a radiance about them as the minerals that were left behind sparkled and gleamed.

Were it not for the instructions given I might have been lost completely, and, as it was, I was already lost since the frog monster’s instructions hadn’t been all that good to begin with. Of course, the Morgwyn had promised to keep me from failing, but that didn’t seem to prevent it from letting me accidentally take a wrong turn and having to backtrack. Indeed, my friendly cat monster seemed enormously amused whenever I did, its tail flicking up in a way that suggested merriment.

This, however, was getting to be the last straw. I had just passed through the turn the frog creature had wanted me to take, but it just looped back on itself and put me back at the turning junction. Briefly, I wondered if the creature had lied and whether or not it may be a good idea to go back there and see if the Morgwyn might reconsider eating him. Just a bite, really, I didn’t want to see the thing killed.

Taking a deep breath, I exhaled, and started back the way I had come, wondering if I had just missed a turn earlier and wound up in a dead end.

I jumped as the lyrics reached me. It sounded so close that I might have been in the same room as the singers. With a swivel of my ears, I tried to follow the source of the singing as it rose and fell, and found it led right back into the looping dead end. I launched off at once, charging down the tunnel.

This time, something was different. Among all of the rocks that had been discarded by the goblins in their quest for whatever it was they were mining, one of them had moved, and it wasn’t a rock any more. Instead, a beefy goblin stood leaning against a cave mouth, from which light and verse were issuing in equal measure.

Like most goblins I had seen, he had rough features, with big, floppy ears, thick skin, and was dressed like he was late for a party in the wrong century, with a big canvas sea coat. He took one look at my coming and yelped in shock, then stepped into the hole, tucked his arms, heads, and legs against himself, and turned to stone. His rough skin and his worn coat both took on the texture of the rock around him, such that he seemed a completely natural part of the setting and blocked off the portal.

Even if your illusion is perfect, Twilight Sparkle’s voice floated up in my mind again, it can do you no good at all if you botch the delivery so badly everypony knows it’s there.

Stepping forward lightly, I tapped a hoof against the rock, hearing a satisfying clop. “Excuse me, Mister Goblin?” Might as well be polite before I tried anything drastic.

Silence was his response. I narrowed my eyes, and tapped again, more firmly. “Mister Goblin, I saw you transform. You clearly saw me see you.”

“No you didn’,” the goblin-turned-rock muttered back at me. “Go ‘way.”

My jaw worked a few times in bewilderment. “You really intend to go through with this, even after I have already seen you?”

“Don’ know what ye’re talkin’ about. Just a rock here. Go play somewhere else, lass. Git.”

“Mister Goblin,” I said, tapping on him again, “rocks don’t talk back to people, whether to tell them to leave or not.”

There was a momentary silence, then it muttered, “...’course they do. Just told you to git, and I’m a rock, I am. But I don’ like you so I’ll shut up, now. It’s proper stoic it is, tidy-like.”

“If you’re a rock, and rocks can talk, these other rocks should talk as well, right?” I asked. The goblin-turned-rubble didn’t answer, so I went over to one of the bigger stones nearby, tapping.

“Ahem!” Only to interrupt myself, pitching my voice as deep as I could. “Mister Boulder is my father, kid. People I know call me Rocky. Youse better wise up. Fillies like you better not stick dere hooves into other people’s faces all the time like dat.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, Rocky,” I apologized to the rock, reverting to my normal tone of voice. The goblin had not yet responded. Thinking back, I reflected on what I had overheard behind the door that led to the backstage of Phonyville, nearly a week ago, and grinned. “I just thought I’d ask you about my friend over here.”

“Dat guy?” I said in my Rocky voice, really getting into it now. “He’s a schmuck. Ain’t got the slightest clue how to be a rock.” The goblin-rock shifted slightly. “Not method enough.”

The goblin’s head snapped up, as the impression faded, texture returning to his own rough features. “What didja say, y’barmy stone you?” he demanded, scrambling to his feet, “Well? Say that to my face!”

I looked between him and the rock I had been speaking to. “See? He’s ignoring you to show how much more of a rock he is.”

“I’ll show him what a rock is, you just wait right there!” he growled, heading into the light. “Where’s my rock hammer? I’ll pulverize the cheeky git into gravel!”

Giggling with excitement, I scampered into the hole after him, pleased with my success over the guardian, however dimwitted he was. I even started prancing like a pony at show.

A goblin’s leg was surprisingly unyielding for something made of flesh and bone, and I smacked into one hard enough to send stars through my vision. I reeled, and my bag overbalanced me and made me fall flat on my back. My heart curdled in my chest as I stared up, directly into the face of another goblin.

As far as goblins went, he was very different—at least among those I had met up until now. Unlike any of the ones I had seen so far, he wasn’t particularly malformed aside from the green spots decorating the back of his arms and near his hairline. His face was, actually, very smooth and kind of handsome. Not that I cared about such things, boys being stupid and all. A cloak, of all things, covered his head and back. It had been pulled back enough to reveal that his ears were slightly furred and triangular, however, like a cat, even though little else of him was.

Regardless of what he looked like, though, I was toast. Other goblins, shorter and uglier than he, were gathering around to look down at me. Barring the Morgwyn swooping in and hauling me away to safety, my chances of keeping them from dragging me back to the others was pretty much nil.

“Well, you’re new,” Cat-ears said. He had the same funny accent as all the rest, though not as thickly—rather like Twilight. Hands grasped me and hauled me upright, the goblins dusting me off. “What’s your story, little one?”

I stared around blankly, momentarily at a loss. Up above, a square mine shaft had been dug into a natural cavern. It had obviously been expanded, leaving behind columns of native stone supporting a ceiling carved with vaulting braces, much like the throne room. Goblins by the score toiled with hammer, pickaxe, and more, while conveyors rattled and clanked along as they hauled rubble down belts into huge rollers that crushed them into powder. All throughout it, the goblins were singing their strange work song, in voices throaty, unharmonized, and untrained.

It seemed the Morgwyn had abandoned me again, but it sidled up to join me, apparently having been just behind me. Evidently, the goblins had more than a little reason to take me seriously, though none of them seem to recognize the cat-creature.

“Uh.” I blinked up at him and the others looking down at me. “I’ve come to look at your... fine operation, here!” In a long history of lying to adults and authority figures, I had developed a keen sense for when a lie was solid and believably delivered. This was neither.

“You seem a little small for the king’s inspector,” Cat-ears said skeptically. “Place is dangerous for kids, you know.”

I braced for the cry of recognition, the realization that I was lying, the hands dragging me into a bag or clamping me in irons or—wait a second, what? I stared around at them. The goblins all looked at me in an uncertain fashion, but none of them had taken the step of fingering me as a liar yet. This was almost disappointing.

“Fetter sent me, because he couldn’t come himself.” My future depended on being able to carry this off convincingly, so I drew on all the little details I could remember. “I was just up in the throne room a little bit ago, and the king was grilling him something fierce over the big project going on at the top of the castle—you know, with the big stage and the ponies?”

The light of understanding dawned in several faces, though Cat-ears still gave me a doubting frown. I smiled up at him and buffed a hoof against my coat. “You know how the Great King can get. His hooves were pounding so hard the granite in his throne room cracked, and he brandished that big ash staff of his like he was about to turn Fetter into a whole mess of frogs. I’m really just hoping to deliver some good news so he calms down and doesn’t blow us all up. Why don’t we just get this inspection over with and I’ll tell Fetter what a good job you’re doing. Tidy?”

One day, I really needed to ask what that word meant. Well, I knew what it meant, but not the way the goblins used it. Ideally, it wouldn’t be while I was rotting in a dungeon cell.

Cat-ears chuckled, and I suppressed a whoop. “I thought I heard the King bellowing. That’s a goblin’s lot in life, innit?”

“Come scurrying when they yell, bow and scrape to appease them, and then get back to doing the real work around here?” I suggested, going out on a limb. Gambling was going to get me in trouble someday.

The other goblins laughed. “I’ll drink to that,” one voice called. Even Cat-ears looked amused at it and cuffed me.

“All right, little one. We’re tidy, then. Let me show you around. Fetter’ll be proper impressed.”

* * *

The goblins were in another repetition of the song I had heard, but I didn’t pay attention this time. The more full-throated goblins used the echoes of the cavern to their advantage, with one group singing a verse and then another joining it with the next. No wonder I heard it all the way over in the well.

“Oh, wow, so you produce all of the metal used in the goblin city?” I asked, feigning awe as I trotted alongside Cat-ears—or Cord, as he named himself—as he led me around, showing off the operations with a distinct sense of pride. I always liked it when people were receptive to flattery.

There was something very confusing about the way goblins worked, but they seemed to do so enthusiastically. They were heedless of danger, often swinging massive hammers quite close to one another’s heads, or dropping heavy bags of rocks over the edges of walkways and only belatedly warning those below. Despite that, the brutish creatures laughed off minor injuries and accidents with a sort of cheerful grace. Even as I watched, a fight broke out over who had the right to control the speed of a conveyor belt, and Cord watched as the machine nearly flew out of control without batting an eye.

The two belligerents traded blows until their fellows parted them. Almost immediately, they started laughing and working to fix the damage, picking up loose gears and refitting the belt. The two who had attacked one another worked side-by-side as if nothing had happened. Harmony and barbarism hand-in-hand.

“More than just that,” Cord picked up where we had left off, “we’ve expanded to smelting and forging it right here.” He indicated a line of enormous brick kilns, lining one upper-floor gallery near a shaft that drew the smoke outside. Goblins in cloth masks hopped up and down on the bellows. Rhythmic clanging and flashes of light—all in time to the music—issued forth from half-seen smithies, while big goblins carried bars of solid steel to and fro.

“Ooo,” I cooed appreciatively, poking my nose over the edge to see where they were dumping the waste from the smelters. Practically on top of the heads of other goblins working to free veins from the rock, as it turned out.

“Of course, that’s hardly the extent of production. Why, aside from providing all the high-quality stone and metal for the king, we also provide the weather,” Cord went on, leading me across a rope bridge that crossed a chasm. Goblins hung on lines down below, digging at glittering gems in the walls.

My cover was nearly blown right then, though by all rights it probably should have been lost earlier. I mouthed it to myself instead. “Weather?”

“It’s the damned pegasi, of course,” he explained anyway, to my relief. “This end of the Everfree brushes up against their control. It’s bad enough we have to deal with the crossworld weather patterns the Everfree already has, but bumping up against controlled airspace? It’s just chaos here, I tell you.”

The rangy goblin kicked a door open, leading me into a division of the cavern where an enormous cauldron was embedded into the rock, steel bolted into the striated red stone. It bubbled merrily with a multi-hued fluid, stirred easily at the behest of a huge mechanical spoon mounted on a gear shaft that was being turned by goblins hitched to a wheel. Each of them was hooved and quadrupedal, and, indeed, they looked a lot like ponies, though their coats were coarse and tufted. Some of them had feathered crests, while one had scales running up his legs. They all argued in rough voices, and I caught snatches of it: they were discussing mares, their kids, and something called “hoofball.”

“Finest rainbows you’ll find outside of Cloudsdale, they are,” Cord said, sweeping a hand, drawing his attention to a set of goblin ponies with leathery wings. They were working a skein and pouring the rainbow mixture directly onto it. Beside them, another humanoid goblin was pouring a bag of rough, red gemstones into a cylinder, then sand and some sort of viscous liquid, before closing it and turning it with a crank. “We grind together seven colors of gemstones and bind the mixture with rare manticore oils. Don’t ask where the oil comes from. It ain’t a pretty answer.”

Cord seemed to notice my intent stare at the strange ponies, and chuckled. “Don’t happen to have a relative in there, do you? I don’t think we have anyone that scrawny working down here.”

“Proper actors, eh? I wish I could get into that.” He rubbed his chin. “Used to be in the circuit back in Niflheim, but, well, you know how that went I suspect. Transformations were never my strong suit.”

Having absolutely no idea what he meant, I made a noncommittal noise, which seemed to satisfy him. I knew that transformations were a subset of illusion when it came to stage magic, of course, but he could have meant with a wand, like Fetter’s, or some trick Twilight never got to show me. As for Niflheim… that tickled something familiar, but I would have to dig up Dad’s comic book collection to find where I last saw it—and that wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon.

“Glad you asked!” he said, taking me over into another chamber. Huge fans were being cranked by sweating goblins, blowing droplets of water from pipes above into a fine mist that spun in a little tornado around a central pole. Another goblin in a white robe, heavy gloves, and goggles was pouring some bluish-black powder into the tornado, and great fluffy clouds puffed up. It was like a giant cotton candy machine, with the results being funneled into pipes leading who only knew where.

“Neat,” I said, only half-lying this time, and prepared to move on, suddenly hungry for cotton candy. There was a crack of thunder, and I jumped, coat standing on end. “Holy cats!” I yelped, glancing around. Looking up, I saw a number of jars wired together and bolted into the ceiling, with arcs of blue electricity jumping between them.

Cord laughed, waving to another of the winged goblins who was checking each of the jars, her hair standing on end. He made a catching gesture, and what looked awfully like a flint handaxe was tossed down to him. It was presented to me, Cord grinning broadly. “Thunderstone, see?” he said. I touched it, gently, and felt a subtle thrum pulse through my hooves. Then he abruptly tossed it to me, barking, “Careful you don’t drop it, now!”

With a yelp, I caught it in my teeth, and got a jolt that numbed my tongue for my troubles. A few nearby workers guffawed, but I put it in my pack thoughtfully and offered a grin back up to him. Taking a prank with good nature was a good way to ingratiate yourself with some folks, I found. The female not-a-pegasus dropped to a clumsy landing nearby, giving me an uneasy smile as she scuffed a hoof across the ground. To my surprise, she was at best only a couple years older than I was, if ponies had the same age progression humans did. Awkward, leggy, and coltish—or filly-ish, however it went—very much like a teenager.

“And this here is the vascular system of our little marvel.” Cord demanded my attention again, bringing me around to the mineshaft. An enormous multi-lift elevator ran up and out of sight in a tangle of ropes, pulleys, wood, steel, bracings, and platforms. Great counterweights, over a dozen huge stones, rose and fell in graceful mechanical majesty on either side. “Got a throughput of well over a hundred tons an hour on the good days, and it replaced the workload of well over a hundred goblins, too, with a water wheel near the surface as big as several houses.”

“Impressive,” I said. That was probably the water wheel I had seen outside when Fetter first brought me to the castle, which meant that this had been exactly where I wanted to go. I squinted up at the device. “What are they doing?” I pointed a hoof up at goblins in tight black clothing climbing around the elevator, scaling its ropes and framework.

“Oh, they’re the mechanics,” Cord elaborated. “They keep the gears lubricated and check the stress on the system. Without them, the elevator might fly to pieces under its own force.”

He chewed on that one for a moment, running numbers in his head. “Maybe eighty, ninety?”

“Ain’t it,” I agreed tightly, suppressing an eye roll. Starting towards one of the smaller elevators, barely big enough for a few people to stand on, I was surprised to see the goblin filly who had been tending the lightning jars already there. Her face was buried in a paper bag that apparently contained her lunch, with her wild, frizzy white mane falling over one side and her leathery wings tucked up.

She jerked, pulling her face out of the bag, her muzzle stained. “Oh, uhm, yes.”

“No, she isn’t,” Cord said, looking annoyed as he stomped over. “Didn’t I tell you that you had another shift today, Wire?”

“I-I cleared a schedule change with th-the sh-shift manager, sir,” she stammered, ducking her head and folding her ears back.

“Well, I’m unclearing it, and I’ll be having a talk with your manager, too. We’ve got big business afoot. The King’s prophecies are coming around, and we can’t have anyone slacking, even if they’re young. Speaking of,” he directed his attention to me, “we’ve still got part of the caverns to look over. I don’t want Fetter stomping down here with a big magnifying glass looking for problems because of a scanty report.”

That put me in a bit of a conundrum. On the one hand—hoof—Cord seemed to have bought my story, hook, line, and sinker. On the other hoof, the alarm had certainly been raised in the castle and they would definitely be looking for me, and it didn’t seem likely that they’d just forget to look down in the caves. On a third hoof, I was getting seriously bored of the place.

Running out of options and hooves alike, I examined the ropes and pulleys around me, and then gestured to the Morgwyn. “Cut that line.” I pointed at a rope that led from the release catch by the platform.

Wire caught on a moment before Cord did, already in the process of wiping her face and stepping off as her boss had instructed. Her pale blue eyes turned to mine in shock, and she tried to leap off, only to connect with Cord, who had been too surprised to move out of the way. She rebounded and fell back against me as the Morgwyn reached out with one glowing claw and snipped the thick rope effortlessly.

Somewhere above, a stone began to fall, and we rose with it. It fell faster, and our elevator platform shot up the shaft, picking up incredible speed. Sunlight, blessed sunlight, poured in blindingly as we rose to meet the top of the shaft.

The shaft let out into a chamber that was alive with the sound of shouting goblins. Groans, creaks, and a horrible rattling filled my ears with the forces unleashed. The roar of the river that ran through the canyon outside the goblin city added to the cacophony, and a portion of it ran through the chamber, between a pair of decorative columns of floppy-eared goblins fashioned to look as though they were holding the ceiling up.

When the platform hit the top of its measure, the three of us flew off, and I landed hard on the stone, the wind knocked out of me. The Morgwyn barely seemed to notice as it landed on its feet, and it snarled with such ferocity that goblins nearby scrambled away at once. Struggling to get back to my hooves, I made to leap into the channel, but something heavy made me fall flat on my jaw again.

Turning my dazed head, I saw Wire holding on to me, the teenage goblin gibbering with panic from the rapid ascent. “Leggo!” I protested, and strained for the channel, while Wire continued to cling in a death grip. I tried to appeal to the Morgwyn, but goblins in spiked armor and a forest of long weaponry were pouring in, and it had turned to fend them off.

“Don’t hurt her!” I heard a familiar voice cry, and saw the white coat of Rarity standing out against the stairs that led out. “Amelia, darling, please stop this!”

The thought that I might be captured at any moment sent fire to my veins. My forehooves strained, and I dragged myself bodily to the edge of the channel. Unable to free my hind legs, I summoned all of my meager strength and twisted. Charged with desperate adrenaline, I hauled Wire along with me, and we both tumbled into the fast-rushing water.

Rarity’s scream and the splash of the Morgwyn hitting the water followed me, before I was swept out of the castle and into the river, heading for the woods. Wire clung to me with strength surpassing her meager frame as we traveled, and how either of us kept from drowning in the current was a mystery, but travel we did. Hopefully, it would take us far away from that stupid castle filled with stupid goblins and stupid, fake ponies.

* * * * * * *

Through the Well of Pirene

by Ether Echoes

Chapter 6: The Stage