Chapter 5
Unlikely Alliances
Admiral Biscuit
“What do you mean, she’s gone?”
Perry didn’t even look at the dean; he just kept staring morosely out the window. His eyes were darting from pony to pony on the street and his right ear was twitching nervously. “I mean, she’s gone. Flew out the window.”
Bright Star resisted the sudden overwhelming urge to bang her muzzle repeatedly into something unyielding. The floor would be a good first choice, but Perry’s skull was running a close second. “You were supposed to watch her.”
“I did watch her.” Perry turned towards her for a moment. “I watched her fly right out the window. I watched her fly toward the hospital.” He pointed a hoof in the general direction of the builiding. “I suppose I could have grabbed her tail, but I didn’t. I could have lept out the window after her, but I didn’t do that, either.” He peered back out the window, muzzle pressed up against the glass. “I don’t see her anywhere.”
“She’s probably still at the hospital,” Bright Star muttered. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it now. We might as well deliver the book and get this over with.”
“I don’t see what help I can be. I should probably stay here until Featherbrain comes back. Somepony will have to open the window for her.”
Bright Star stomped across the floor, her rage further fueled by the circuitous path she had to take to avoid Featherbrain’s belongings. It appeared as if the pegasus had emptied her trunk by making a mini tornado—her journals and papers were scattered all around the room—mixed with half-empty jars of feather gloss and mane and tail shampoo. A small collection of badly-wrinkled formal clothes were laid out on the bed and bench; three striped socks were draped over the headboard.
I should have just given her the book, let her get to the hospital, deliver it—if she remembered—and come back. Bright Star paused to examine a book Featherbrain had re-bound by driving straightened shoe nails through the covers. On second thought, it’s better that I didn’t. “Come along, professor. We’re ready to go to the hospital, and you’re coming with us.”
“Very well.” He turned away from the window and made a dramatic show of straightening his tie. “I suppose the sooner it’s over with, the better. Then we can go back to our hotel and wait.” He absently kicked a jar of hoof polish out of his way. “Next time, I suggest we all get separate rooms. I prefer a tidy space.”
“Then you should be glad I didn’t get us rooms at the Paradise Inn. Just turn your back and pretend she isn’t here.” Bright Star led the stallion out onto the narrow balcony. “I see Lecol and Ivory are already waiting for us.”
Ivory looked up at the sound of the dean’s voice. “Can we get a carriage?” she asked hopefully. “My hooves hurt from walking from the train station.”
“It’s not that far. You can see the hospital from here.”
“You can see Canterlot, too. You’re not suggesting that we walk there are you?”
Lecol rolled her eyes. “Good physical exercise is good for the brain. Everypony says so. Good, well-balanced meals, too. All of you eat too quickly, that’s why you’re out of shape. A proper meal is served slowly with several courses, and should always be enjoyed with a glass of red wine.”
Ivory lowered her head. “Oh, please, not again. Don’t—”
“Good bowel health is also important. A mare shouldn’t—”
“All right, all right! I give. We’ll walk!” Ivory glared at Lecol.
• • •
Bright Star led the way, gritting her teeth at the group’s slow progress. Lecol frequently paused to admire a particular bit of the town—be it flowerbox, storefront, or fountain, she felt compelled to remark upon it. Ivory spent most of the walk looking down at the grassy thoroughfares below her hooves, trying to pick the firmest, cleanest patches of grass to step on. She only picked up her pace when the route took them across a paved courtyard. Perry remained close to the dean, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Had he been able to keep his neck still, he might have managed, but he was snapping his head around every time he heard a mare’s voice.
“She’s probably not even here any more,” Ivory muttered.
He jerked his head up. “She is,” he whined. “Pokey mentioned her in his last letter. She could be anywhere. Why couldn’t we have waited until after moonrise? I bet the street’s empty by then.” He flattened his ears as a distant bell rang across the town.
“That must be the school bell,” Lecol remarked. “How quaint. This would be a nice town to raise foals in, I think. Everypony here seems so friendly.”
“What’s wrong with Canterlot?” Ivory looked down at a patch of grass in front of a store suspiciously. It was greener and less-trampled than the surrounding grass. She cautiously stepped around it as a precaution. “If I’d known the streets weren’t paved, I’d have put in my calkins.”
“It’s not natural to walk on stones,” Lecol remarked. “Our foremothers did just fine with bare hooves on earth.”
“And they starved to death in the winter, too! If you’re such a hopeless romantic, write historical fiction!”
“Try walking with a little more toe,” Bright Star suggested to Ivory. “It helps.”
It’s hard not to be romantic,” Lecol replied. “Look at the homes: traditional earth-pony architecture. The beams are just as curved as they were when they came out of the forest. They’re not trying to change nature; they’re living in it. I saw a home built into a tree.”
“Which way is it from here?” Perry looked around. They’d rounded a corner and stumbled into an open-air market. Lecol gave a squeal of delight and trotted over to a small stand with a hoof-painted sign advertising grapes.
“I don’t know,” Bright Star admitted. It had seemed easy enough to get there when viewed from the inn—the hospital was one of the more substantial buildings in Ponyville, and could easily be seen over the cluster of houses and shops around the center of town. No road led straight there, though; houses had been built wherever there had been space with no thought of urban planning. Naturally, none of the roads or alleyways had names—or if they did, the Ponyvilleans assumed that everypony would know them, and didn’t bother with signs. “I think it’s that way. But maybe we better ask somepony.”
“Yeah.” Perry looked over towards a blonde unicorn filly that was eyeing a display of chocolate candy. “I’ll ask.” He quickly walked over to the stand, ignoring the cold blue eyes of the salesmare. “Excuse me, little filly. Do you happen to know the quickest way to the hospital?”
“I sure do.” The filly smiled brightly. “From here, it’s best to go around the end of the market, cut through the alleyway by Mr. Breezy’s fan shop, and then take the left road at the statue. Are you hurt?”
“No, I just have a . . . somepony I have to meet there.”
“My mom goes there sometimes, ‘cause she’s kinda clumsy,” she offered. Losing interest in the conversation, she turned back to the display of candy. “Hey, Bon Bon, do you have anything with coconut in it? Sparkler said I should try something different to see if I like it, and we learned about coconuts in school today. They’re from tropical islands and grow on trees.”
Perry began going down the road the filly had suggested, not bothering to see if the rest of the group was following. He’d decided that he’d already been around far too many unfamiliar ponies for his comfort; if he got to the hospital before anypony else, so be it. They could just catch up later.
However, Bright Star had managed to corral Lecol while he was talking, so the three mares fell in behind him. Unconsciously, Perry slowed enough so that the dean was back alongside his flank.
The fan shop was an easy enough landmark to identify; besides the expected signboard with a painting of a fan, the store’s name was lettered above the windows in neatly-painted Unicorn script—it was obvious the proprietor had meant to appeal to a high class of pony. A blue and yellow diamond awning hung over the front door. He hardly spared the neat display windows a passing glance, intent on not missing the alleyway.
As promised, it ran alongside the fan shop, past a small wainwright’s shop, and deposited them into another wide grass street. It was just the kind of shortcut a filly would like, but Lecol had to duck under a short arched brace that spanned the alleyway, and neatly-stacked spokes and felloes encroached into the path, requiring the unicorns to press up against the wall of the adjoining shop. Ivory seemed particularly distressed by this—she leaned over so that her clothes wouldn’t brush on the wall while carefully planting her hooves on the gravelly soil.
The statue was unmistakable: it was a pony balanced on a ball, carved out of pink marble. It certainly lacked the solemnity of Canterlot statues, but the artist had faithfully captured the essence of a playful pony. Best of all, the street was utterly deserted, lined with two-story homes instead of businesses.
Even if he hadn’t been instructed which street to take after the fountain, the correct route wasn’t hard to find: a quick glance revealed the hospital just over a bridge; the other street ended when it reached a pair of houses.
With their destination finally in sight, Perry picked up the pace. The dean and Lecol—who’d finally seen enough nearly-identical houses to be able to pass them without stopping—also followed, while Ivory kept up her slower pace, treading carefully on the unfamiliar grass.
• • •
The inside of the hospital was fairly familiar. Most of the rural hospitals had been built to nearly the same blueprint. The lobby was filled with simple benches and the same painting of Princess Celestia that graced every public building.
“We’re from the University,” Bright Star explained to a nurse. “Do you know what rooms the . . . aliens are in?”
“Second floor, south wing, in corner rooms—192 and 232. Up the main stairs, to the left. Should I wake the doctor? He was up all last night caring for the patients. He’s asleep in the nurse’s lounge.
“We could just give her the book,” Perry suggested. “And then go back to Canterlot.”
The dean narrowed her eyes.. “We did not come here just to hand off the book and be done with it. I wish we had. I wish I had. Then I wouldn’t have had to put up with all of you whining for the entire train ride, the trip to the hotel, the hour we were actually at the hotel, and the whole way to the hospital. But we are here now, we are highly educated—specialists in our various fields, in fact—and therefore we must offer any assistance we are able.”
“But—”
“I need not remind you that Princess Celestia personally asked for us to do this.” She opened the flap of her bag and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “I regret that it has come to this.”
“You read us that letter at least a dozen times on the train,” Ivory interjected. “I could recite it by heart.”
“This isn’t that.” The dean dangled the paper in the air between Ivory and Perry. “It’s a letter of resignation. I took the liberty of writing four of them. One for each of you. All you have to do is sign at the bottom, and you’re free to do whatever you want. Shall I ask the nurse for an inkpot and quill, or shall we go up to the second floor together?”
Twilight had already had concerns when Professor Featherbrain and Fluttershy had burst into the room. Still, her former professor had been a convincing talker, and she’d eventually relented and let them stay. She was, however, beginning to regret that decision.
A small part of her brain was wondering when she’d changed from the wide-eyed foal who believed that her elders and professors knew everything to the more mature mare who realized that even the most well-intentioned ponies made mistakes sometimes—and maybe some of them weren’t as wise as they’d seemed.
Oh, sure, she’d enjoyed her class with Featherbrain. First, the pegasus was more interesting than the other professors. They all wore jackets and ties and generally had conservative mane-cuts. If Featherbrain remembered to wear anything at all, it most often clashed with her coat. Her lectures were memorable as well—one time she had dumped a cage full of fruit bats out over a lab table. As the fillies ran around the room trying to catch them again, she first apologized for bringing the wrong container—and then calmly explained the bats’ flight habits to her students, and why they were particularly attracted to Blue Belle’s lunch. In the end, the bats had been successfully corralled, and Twilight was inspired to write a paper on them.
At the time, she’d assumed that Featherbrain had meant to do that as a way to spice up her lecture. After all, nopony had been hurt, and nothing had been lost except for Blue Belle’s sandwich. But if it had been an accident—and if it had happened with the more dangerous arboreal cephalopod—what would have happened then?
What was Featherbrain doing in Ponyville anyway? Had Princess Celestia sent her here to help them with Dale? The most helpful thing would have been either a doctor who specialized in Dale’s species—which didn’t exist—or the book which he had brought that had detailed pictures and drawings of his anatomy. She might have given it to the doctor already, Twilight thought. No, she probably didn’t. If she’d gone to see the doctor, she would have come in through the door, not the window. She regarded the pegasus again. Probably.
It was unsurprising to see her whip out her camera—she’d proudly passed around photographs of some of the less-common species of Equestria during her lectures. She’d flatly stated that a photograph was worth several pages of writing. Twilight had never imagined it from the receiving creature’s end, though. It was kind of intrusive, to be honest; even Dale seemed to be losing patience with the whole operation.
When she finally ran out of film, Featherbrain approached him cautiously, and Dale squatted down. ““He crouched like that a lot on the beach,” Lyra said. “He seemed generally opposed to having his rump touch the ground, at least at first. It’s probably so he can be prepared for flight at a moment’s notice.” Twilight nodded. She’d seen him do that with Ambrosia, too. Featherbrain held his scent in, getting a good memory of it. There was a lot one could learn from scent, although many unicorns overlooked it, since it wasn’t polite to go up sniffing strangers. It was interesting to see that—once again—Dale did not reply in kind. Instead he asked Lyra a question.
Despite not knowing more than a few words in Dale’s language, the entire process of communication was enlightening to study. Twilight hadn’t imagined the complexity of the exchanges Dale and Lyra had had on the beach: he combined charades with a few words; Lyra responded back in his language. Once he was satisfied, she turned to Twilight.
“He wondered about his scent,” she said. “Aside from food, I haven’t seen him smelling anything else consistently. It’s probably not a sense he uses very much.”
“He’s probably more oriented towards pungent smells. He hasn’t got very large nostrils, so he’d have trouble picking up subtle odors. I suppose that wouldn’t matter too much for a scavenger.”
Dale kept watching Featherbrain intently, so he didn’t notice as Fluttershy crept across the room to get a closer look at him. Twilight thought about saying something—but the way in which Dale and Ambrosia had interacted had been quite informative, and she wondered what he might do if he were approached unexpectedly.
At first, he did nothing. His ears did not turn towards Fluttershy, even though her approach—while quiet—had not been silent. Instead, Dale seemed to be focused on Featherbrain’s wings, almost to the point of rudeness. Of course, Featherbrain didn’t notice; she was occupied with her camera. She probably wouldn’t care if she did notice, Twilight thought.
Fluttershy sized him up and quietly tried to get his attention. As he continued to ignore her, she finally took matters into her own hooves and gently tapped his side. Dale looked down in surprise.
“Do you think he’s frightened of Fluttershy?” Twilight asked.
Lyra watched as Dale tentatively placed his hand on the pegasus’ back. “No, I don’t think he is.” She frowned. “I wonder how she does that? He seemed reluctant to come close enough to touch when we were on the beach. Do you think her influence on animals extends to him as well?” She looked over towards Kate’s bed. Featherbrain had pulled the covers back and was taking photographs of the girl. “If so, it might help when she wakes up.”
“I don’t know.” Twilight frowned. She hated not knowing things. “Fluttershy’s pretty introverted around other equines, but gets along with Spike quite well. I don’t think she liked Gilda—but nopony did. She doesn’t like adult dragons . . . Dr. Goodall said that Ka-th-rin attacked her and the nurse; if she’s aggressive towards Fluttershy, she might become frightened of Dale, too.”
“I wonder if the painkillers are having too much of an effect on them? Maybe they’re making Dale a little more . . . tactile. Maybe they’re why the mare reacted so badly when she first woke up.” Lyra looked over at the girl, assuring herself that she was still asleep.
“Painkillers sometimes have that effect—or he might be reaching for comfort in a stressful situation. When he had his hand on your head—it’s probably just a comfort reaction, like nuzzling or grooming or preening. You might want to tell the nurse that his behavior is a little unusual. If it is an adverse reaction to the medication, they’re better off knowing as soon as possible.”
“I wonder if they’re using anything special.” Twilight levitated over the clipboard on the foot of Kate’s bed. She took out a pen and parchment to make a few notes. “Fairly conventional, except for the potions. Maybe they’re sensitive to opiates? I’ll have to ask the nurse to cut back the dosage.” Her ears perked as a distant bell rang. “School must be out.”
The two mares shared a slightly horrified look. “I don’t suppose the—”
“I hope not.” Twilight tapped her hoof on the tile nervously. “Rhyme won’t be in for another hour, so I suppose they won’t find out until school tomorrow.”
Her ears snapped around at the sound of a loud smack. Featherbrain was rubbing a hoof and flapping slowly backwards while Dale shouted at her. His face was a brilliant crimson color.
“He’s quicker than he looks,” Lyra commented dryly.
“I wish I’d seen what angered him.”
“I think he doesn’t like her . . . or maybe pegasi in general.” Lyra’s ears were focused on Dale. He pointed at her, but Twilight took the initiative first.
“Professor Featherbrain, mind your manners.” Twilight looked at the two pegasi. Fluttershy was her friend, and Featherbrain had once been a respected professor—but she was no longer a student.
“But there is so much we can learn from this creature!”
“I don’t care.” Twilight stepped forward. “He is not a specimen in your lab, he’s a sapient being. Whatever his wishes and desires are, we must respect them.”
“He came here,” she muttered. “If he didn’t want to be studied, he wouldn’t have come.”
“No.” Twilight stomped her hoof. “That’s not relevant. An hour ago, he legally became an ambassador of Equestria. His motivations are no longer an issue, but his legal rights are. So long as he remains within the borders of Equestria, he is entitled to all the rights and privileges of every other Equestrian citizen, and that includes the sovereignty of his body. He is under the protection of the Crown.
“I will allow you to stay in this room and observe from a distance, if you so choose. However, I cannot in good conscious allow you to approach closer than two body lengths from him henceforth, unless he personally allows it.”
“He doesn't speak Equus,” she protested. “Does he? How can I ask him?”
“It makes no difference to his rights what language he speaks. Talk to his interpreter.” Twilight waved a hoof at Lyra.
“Fine.” Featherbrain pointed to the bed. “I suppose that one is another ambassador?”
“As far as you’re concerned, yes.” Twilight looked over at the bed. “Honestly, I’d think a little restraint would do you well. She is seriously injured, and despite the best efforts of the doctors and Zecora, she may not fully recover. As I am sure you are aware, Equestrian law provides automatic asylum for any refugee until such a time as they are clearly able to state their case before a judge or noble. Even if she spoke our language—or we hers—her injuries and treatment make her legally incompetent at the moment, so she cannot give consent. In fact, I think you should take your camera and leave. He’s obviously not in a mood to deal with you right now.”
Featherbrain snapped her wings out and snarled. “You’d be happy if we never made any progress . . . I see why you live in this backwater town, now. You never wanted to fit in with modern society.”
Twilight’s horn glowed faintly—just a small corona right at the tip. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Lyra side-step so she’d have a clear line if she needed to cast a spell.
“I’ve learned a lot since I left Canterlot,” Twilight said quietly. “I’ve learned to be respectful to guests, and to put myself in somepony else’s horseshoes.” She tilted her head towards Dale, never breaking her stare with the pegasus. “He’s awfully curious about you, too. Would you like it if I held you down while he satisfied his curiosity?” Her aura flared a little brighter.
Featherbrain glared at her for a moment, clearly thinking of something to say but failing. Her wings drooped in an unconscious signal of defeat. Finally, she nodded. “I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, to scare him. I’ll stay at the hotel. Even if the rest of the professors go back to Canterlot, I’ll stay. He’s—he’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I want to study him—I need to!” She placed her hooves on the windowsill. “Let me know if he changes his mind, okay?”
Twilight breathed a sigh of relief as Featherbrain flew out the window. Things were getting just a little too hectic . . . she’d have to set up some kind of rule, or else everypony would be crowding into the room. Especially since there were other professors here: they’d be falling all over themselves to gain access. And there would be the doctor and the nurses, Cheerilee to help with the language lessons—probably Octavia at first, too.
“Fluttershy, I ask you as a friend to keep back from him as well.” Twilight’s expression softened. “Please don’t make me order you.”
“He’s sick and hurt,” she protested. “I . . . I want to help him get better.”
“We all do . . . but we can’t mess this up.” Twilight smiled reassuringly. “Remember when you tried to care for Philomena?”
Fluttershy hung her head. “But . . . this isn’t the same. He needs somepony to look after him! Look at how skinny he is—he must be starving!”
Twilight saw her opportunity and seized it. “Yes, he probably is. Lyra says that he eats carrion. It’s probably an important part of his diet.”
“Are you sure?” Fluttershy looked back at Dale, then Lyra. “I, um, don’t want to contradict you, but from what I can see, his teeth look just like any other stallion’s.”
“He had it for lunch twice,” Lyra replied. “I know. I shared his meal.” Her face reddened.
“Oh.” Fluttershy looked at her curiously. “What was it like?”
“It was kind of salty—not like fortified grain, but more than pasture grass or vegetables. A little stringy, too; kind of like celery, but stretchier.”
“Was it tough, or tender? Did you have trouble chewing it or swallowing it?”
“No, not really. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever eaten before.”
“He must either wait until it’s decomposed or cook it,” Fluttershy said. “That could explain why he hasn’t got good teeth for tearing flesh. It wouldn’t be any trouble to get some fish; that would probably do, but if he needs more calories in his diet it might not be enough. Some of Opalescence’s food might do in a pinch. I could have Mr. Vulture see what he can find in the Everfree, and tell the other birds to keep a watch out, too. I bet we can find something tasty for him by dinnertime.” She turned back to Twilight. “I’ll write a letter to the Griffon embassy. We can get a steady supply through their couriers.”
She turned towards Lyra again. “Did you see any insects? He might eat them, too.”
“Ew, really?” Twilight stuck out her tongue. “Who would eat bugs?”
“Oh, um, a lot of animals do. They’re full of protein and stuff, and a lot of them are pretty easy to catch . . . things like grubs and ants. But some of them are poisonous to the wrong kind of creature. I should bring some of them. A lot of my animal friends like them, and his teeth would be fine for eating them. Mr. Bear knows where there’s a bunch of rotten logs full of them.”
“Thanks for taking care of that, Fluttershy. It’s such a relief to be able to rely on you. I’m sure he’ll be happy with some food he likes.” She floated a sheet of parchment out of her saddlebag. “I already took him to the kitchen to pick whatever he liked that the hospital already had, but I made you a list of . . . of carrion he marked off on his list. I didn’t think to list any insects, but if you think that’s what he’ll want, can you get some of those, too?
“Oh, um, it’s not a problem.”
“Twilight?” One of the guards nosed into the room. “There’s some ponies here who want to talk to you.”
She turned to see the eager face of dean Bright Star peering around the guard’s backside, no doubt hoping for a glimpse of Dale.
“I’d better go see what she wants. She’s probably not alone . . . I’ll see if I can coax them into another room. Then, maybe we can bring in one at a time to look at Dale, if he’s willing.”
Fancy Pants shifted on the uncomfortable bench. Not for the first time he regretted his decision to take the local train from Canterlot, rather than the express.
You needed to make sure, he told himself for what seemed the hundredth time. You needed to know whose side Princess Celestia was on before you committed yourself. She’d hinted that it was more a political consideration, and she’d said that the trial was a formality—but she’d had to recuse herself. She’d promised to do her best to delay the warrant until the vote on the Ambassadorship.
In that, he had not been disappointed. When the Princess gave specific orders, they were carried out to the letter—in this case, it had been particularly easy. He knew that by law a Royal Guard serving legal papers must travel by the soonest available means of transport to get to his destination, and the local train left Canterlot a full half-hour before the express. True, it arrived many hours later—had Celestia wished haste, she would have told the guard to take the second train. But she had not, because she had wanted to buy just a little bit of time.
Fleur had paced up and down the superannuated coach, looking for her mark. It hadn’t been hard—he was wearing full regalia. She’d sat down beside him, engaging him in small talk while they sat at the station. Whether or not he’d guessed the purpose of her visit was immaterial; she was a sufficient distraction. He’d already told her to delay him at the station for as long as possible while he went into the office and received a very important telegram. Of course, this was assuming that the Nobles’ Council would successfully come to a decision—and that their decision would be the proper one. A stallion could hope..
Fancy Pants flattened his ears as the shriek of the brakes rang through the mostly-empty coach. From the other end, a feminine yelp followed by a loud thud announced Fleur’s latest ploy—a ruse so old the guard was sure to fall for it.
He trotted to the vestibule, a single small travelling bag suspended in his aura. Fleur was responsible for the rest of the baggage, and if he knew her, she’d convince the guard to carry it all off the train for her. If not—well, she played a weak fashion model well enough, but had a field strength stronger than any unicorn he’d known. She could tangle him up hopelessly in suitcases and bags, and make it look like an accident.
Before the train had come to a full stop, Fancy Pants executed a somewhat sloppy dismount, skidding across the wooden station platform before he regained his footing. The telegraph office was just to the end of—there.
A moment later he emerged, a small yellow rectangle floating securely in his aura. He glanced up the platform, noting with a small smile the careful way in which the conductor placed the step for Fleur to descend. As soon as her hooves were on the ground, she glanced up the platform in his direction. He waved the telegram slightly and nodded. Fleur smiled and gave him a wink, then he was off at a gallop.
His first stop was the Ponyville Express. The paper was written by the rather oddly-named Apple Honey—Fancy Pants had long since given up on determining how earth pony parents named their offspring—when she wasn’t busy running her small freehold or repairing and selling used farm implements. An antique printing press sat in the back of her shop, dutifully pressed into service once a week. While it would never win a literary award—the mare could barely spell, and her typesetting skills were sadly lacking—it was the one reliable source of local news, and she dutifully attended every major event in Ponyville. He’d discovered this with a few hastily-composed telegrams. Fancy Pants kept his ear to the ground in Canterlot, but was less well-informed of the events in Ponyville. Had it not been the home of the Element Bearers, he doubted whether he’d have known the town existed at all.
Before he even opened the door, the unmistakable smell of printer’s ink assaulted his nostrils. Oddly, it was more muted once he stepped inside the shop—the pervasive odor of grease and farm masked it somewhat.
When he entered the small office, she was nowhere to be seen. He heard a feminine voice call out “I’ll be right with you,” followed by a loud clang of a falling wrench.
He glanced around the shop. It was fairly neat—by Ponyville standards. A yellowed newspaper tacked to the wall announced the opening of this very shop; the tagline was her own name. Even the header was misspelled, which hardly surprised him. The plaster walls were in need of a coat of lime, and the chairs appeared to have been rejects from a rummage sale. The desk was piled high with harness pieces, rusty plow teeth, and a stack of papers weighed down with a bent horseshoe. A spool of twine and two small rolls of soft wire were hung from a fairly-straight branch, which was tied up to the bottom of a home-made desk. He glanced over the counter and discovered a faded Wonderbolts pin up calendar that was two months behind—although he had to admit, it was a flattering, if somewhat unrealistic portrayal of Soarin. No wonder she hasn’t changed it.
In short, it was not the kind of shop that he was accustomed to. However, he took it in stride. His business took him odd places, after all, far outside the comforts of Canterlot. And while this shop wasn’t as trendy or exclusive as Barneigh’s, it was the better for it. Barneigh’s made things for mares and stallions who never worked a day in their life; this store was a vital chain in Equestrian food production.
A mare he presumed to be Apple Honey finally emerged from the back room. A patch of dried mud matted down her coat on her left withers, and a small stripe of grease angled across her muzzle. A range of conflicting emotions ran across her face the instant she saw him, and he wasn’t surprised. He was hardly the type of stallion one would expect in such a place.
“What can I do for you, sir?” she managed, unconsciously rubbing her muzzle. She opened her mouth again for a moment and then clamped it shut.
“I’m from Canterlot,” he began before remembering that being ‘from Canterlot’ and a unicorn automatically meant he was one of ‘them,’ and therefore to be regarded with due caution in a small town such as Ponyville. “I’m on the Nobles’ Council.” Which did not help his case, if the narrowing of the mare’s eyes was any indication. “Just today—this afternoon, in fact—the Council approved a new embassy. It’s to be located in Ponyville. They also nominated a new ambassador. A resident of Ponyville. Lyra Heartstrings.”
That got her attention. “Lyra, eh? The things that mare gets up to . . . my cousin Bon Bon and her—” The mare’s mouth clamped shut again, suddenly realizing that he might be a reporter here to get an early scoop, one she desperately wanted for herself.
“I’m on my way to deliver the message,” he said, waving the telegram in his aura. “I’d heard Applejack speaks well of you—” a little flattery wouldn’t hurt, even if it wasn’t true— “and thought I ought to let you know. You are the mare who publishes the local paper, aren’t you?”
Her chest puffed out in pride. “Darn right I am.” She pointed a hoof at the wall, indicating the faded newspaper page. “Goin’ on twenty years. I suppose this’ll be front-page news in alla them Canterlot papers.”
“No doubt,” he replied. “I wouldn’t know. I’m on my way to let Lyra know. She hasn’t accepted the post yet.” Fancy Pants paused, waiting to see her reaction. The glint in her eyes was all he could have hoped for. As badly-composed as the local paper was, she at least had her ear to the ground when it came to important local news. “I wonder how the mayor will react?” He tapped his hoof against the ground. “I suppose by tomorrow, there’ll be Canterlot reporters all over Ponyville, and maybe even a story in the evening paper.” Back off a little, he reminded himself. Just because it’s a small town doesn’t make them all idiots. Rarity didn’t become any less of a designer when her humble hometown was revealed. “I have to meet with her, but I’d be glad to answer any questions you might have afterwards. She’s at the hospital, I’ve been told. Good day, ma’am.”
“Good day,” she muttered automatically. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked out the door. She’d be a little suspicious that the story had been dropped in her lap, but as soon as she took a trip down to the train station, it’d be confirmed—well, assuming that the stallion who took the message revealed the contents. He wasn’t supposed to—but Fancy Pants guessed that this was gossip too good to pass up. He smiled inwardly. The first half of his mission had been accomplished; now he had to tell Lyra before the guard made it to the hospital.
He ignored the stares from ponies walking through the streets. Some of them knew him, but most were probably just curious about what a well-dressed unicorn was doing walking through town. He couldn’t know that he was following in the hoofsteps of the professors, or that their behavior had been odd by anypony’s standards. Even without overhearing conversations, there were enough turned heads that he knew the townsponies were watching him carefully indeed. He would have to make some time for them later—they would be his strongest allies. The case would largely be tried in public court before it even got before Luna—and while that wouldn’t influence the younger diarch’s judgement, it would mitigate her sentence if the trial went badly.
The law was not unlike a good game of chess, he reflected. If one planned more moves ahead than one’s opponent, the game was won long before the final moves were played. His opponent had even given herself a handicap, and told him what moves she’d make—so his only challenge was to play to the best of his ability, and there he had no doubts. Luna was his only variable; otherwise, it was a done deal. It was difficult to lose a game when his ‘opponent’ was on his side—yet that was no excuse for poor planning. He knew of several noble unicorn houses that had discovered the hard way that what they had believed was a sure thing had been anything but.
He nudged open the doors of the hospital and boldly stepped up to the counter. Breaking into his most winning smile, he regarded the mare at the desk. “I’m looking for Lyra Heartstrtings. Would you happen to know where she is?”
“192 or 232,” the nurse replied. “I should just write a sign for as many ponies who are asking.”
“Thank you.” Fancy Pants flashed a smile at the nurse. She didn’t look impressed.
The room numbers told him that they were on the second floor, but he wasn’t familiar with the hospital’s layout. He looked towards the stairwell; the nurse helpfully pointed a hoof in the general direction. With a polite head-nod, he turned to the staircase.
• • •
He found the room the nurse had indicated without much difficulty—the two guards flanking the door gave it away. One of them gave him a polite nod before he stuck his muzzle into the room.
The creature—he could think of no better way to describe it—was crouched in the center of the room. He was draped in a bedsheet and wrapped in bandages; Fancy Pants had to suppress a snort of laughter. It looked like an ill-prepared foal’s Nightmare Night costume.
Lyra was standing next to it; judging by their posture he had caught them mid-conversation. Her eyes widened, and the creature turned to look at him. A brief thrill of fright overtook him, and he took a step backwards before moving into the room cautiously. How did she handle being alone with it on a beach? “Miss Heartstrings?”
“Yes?” Her glance was as guarded as the creature’s, and her voice was strange. Deeper than a stallion’s, even—it came out like a dragon’s bassoon rumble.
“Might I have a minute of your time? In the hallway, if you please?”
She nodded, and spoke some words to the creature before moving towards him. He noticed a faint glow on her throat which dissipated as she stepped into the hallway.
Lyra regarded Fancy Pants warily. Her gaze kept shifting off him and back to the hospital room, as if she were expecting some kind of trick. “As a member of the Nobles’ Council, it gives me great pleasure to announce that by majority vote, the Council has decided to appoint you to a six-year term as ambassador to . . . uh, the creature’s unknown government.” The telegram unfortunately was of little help, but he could improvise the rest. “A formal ceremony will be held as soon as the embassy is opened. You should think about who you wish to appoint for your staff. Personally, I suggest at least one pony who’s on the Council. It helps to get things done in Canterlot.” He waved his hoof dismissively. “There’s a lot more formal stuff, but that can be dealt with later, if you accept the post.”
She nodded.
“Let me be the first to congratulate you, Ambassador Heartstrings,” he said, extending a hoof. “If there is anything I can do for you, I’ll be more than happy to assist. On behalf of the Council, we all wish you the best.”
She glanced down at the telegram again, a small smile playing across her face. He watched as she read it again.
A faint click at the end of the hallway drew his attention. The guard pony Fleur had been distracting on the train had finally made his appearance. He slowly walked down the hall, frequently checking the paper that floated just in front of him. Fancy Pants couldn’t blame him; when he was younger he’d done the same.
When the stallion reached the pair, he looked at Fancy Pants uncertainly before reading the charge sheet. “Lyra Heartstrings, auxiliary guard of the Ponyville detachment, you are hereby accused by Captain Shining Armor for negligently injuring two non-Equestrian citizens during peacetime and forcibly bringing said aliens to Ponyville against their consent and against orders. Due to the severity of the charges, you shall be taken into custody in chains to the nearest barracks—which is Canterlot—and there you shall remain until the time of your trial, which is to be within one week's time.
He spoke quietly, which was a blessing—but the look on Lyra’s face, so different from her earlier elation—wounded him, and he stopped the stallion before he could finish.
“Miss Heartstrings,” he informed the stallion, “is an ambassador, and should be treated as such. She cannot be taken into custody until after a court has found her guilty of the charges being laid at her hooves.”
The stallion backed up a step. He hadn’t been prepared for this.
“As a member of the Nobles’ Council, it is my duty to defend her, unless she refuses my assistance.” He advanced on the hapless stallion. He took no satisfaction from the act; it was just another move in the game which was still unfolding. “I pledge my lands as a surety of her appearance.” The familiar words rolled off his tongue. “Grant us the complaint, then begone. Your duty is done.”
The stallion nodded and wordlessly passed the scroll to Fancy Pants. Without another word, he marched back down the hallway.
Dale glanced out in the hallway at the new group of ponies that were milling around the door. They were all wearing half-suits, which was a worrisome development. His observation of pony clothing thus far had revealed that they had not invented pants, but did sometimes cover the front part of their body. While he couldn’t imagine the cultural history which had led to covering what—for him—was the upper part of the body, while leaving the genitals exposed, they were dressed exactly like he would have expected pony FBI or CIA to dress. That Twilight personally had responded suggested how serious it might be: Lyra had been the one to take change until Twilight appeared, which clearly indicated Twilight’s rank.
The only good news was that her conversation with the new ponies seemed to be going in her favor. In a way, he was glad of the fiasco with the winged green pony earlier, because it gave him an opportunity to hear different intonations in speech—a valuable asset. He listened as the group marched down the hallway.
He stood up and checked on the girl. She was moving around a little bit, which he figured was probably a good sign. Of course, it meant that he would have to come up with something to tell her, and that was problematic.
Dale gently placed her dog tags back around her neck. Hopefully that small bit of familiarity would help. I could tell her I’m a doctor, but she wouldn’t fall for that. Not unless I can scrounge up some convincing scrubs in short order. They probably don’t know what scrub pants are, so that’s out. I could blindfold her, and tell her she’s got a problem with her eyes. She’ll still hear the doctors and nurses, but maybe if I tell her it’s an effect of the drugs, she’ll relax a bit.
He was considering what he might use for a blindfold when the folly of his plan struck him. The only thing worse than waking up in a hospital bed in a strange foreign land would be if you were also blind. And, if she took off the blindfold despite his suggestion, she’d see her vision was fine, and he’d lose any credibility he might have.
On the other hand, if he told her the truth, his credibility would be suspect, too. Of course, he didn’t know exactly what the truth was. He could ask Lyra . . . but how long would it take to explain?
He looked back to the door as stallion stuck his nose into the room. This one had a very fancy-looking suit jacket, light-colored waves in his blue mane, and—inexplicably—a thin blue moustache. With that much attention paid to his grooming, he was either very important, or very gay. Judging from Lyra’s surprised expression when he spoke, it was likely the former. She said something to him, and he frowned.
“Lyra speak there.” She pointed into the hall. “Dale wait here.” Then she stepped out of the room. A moment later, she began speaking in a higher register—Dale had gotten so accustomed to her lowered voice, he’d forgotten she didn’t normally speak like that, but of course it would seem odd to others. Twilight had reacted the same way, he recalled.
The girl gave a soft moan and stretched out her arms. Dale stood up and moved over towards her bed. I’ll have to tell her the truth, he thought. Even though I don’t know for sure what it is. She wouldn’t believe him, of course. Why should she? If he’d been in her position, he’d be just as skeptical.
What would she do next? She’d probably assume he’d somehow gotten out of the psych ward and call for a nurse. At that point, things would get interesting. He didn’t even know their word for nurse, but they’d probably send one anyway, just because she was up.
I need to get my hands on some paper. I think we’re going to be drawing messages back and forth for a little while yet. He smiled, imagining himself sitting at a desk in a fancy office, wearing his makeshift toga and passing drawings back and forth.
At that point, all bets were off. She might attack him again, and then Lyra would have to restrain her until the sedatives kicked in. She might comply, assuming she was hallucinating. She might even try to pull her bandages off; he’d have to figure out a way to prevent that. It would be safer for everyone involved if she were restrained—but the ponies hadn’t seen the need, and might not believe him if he suggested she be tied to her bed. Were they too trusting to try that, or were they just that confident in their ability to stop her if she rampaged? So far, they had every reason to be confident. . . .
If he sat in one of the short chairs, maybe he could pass for a doctor or nurse or intern or something for long enough to get her to listen to him, at least. Ultimately, of course, she wouldn’t have a choice. Nobody else would be able to tell her anything she could understand. Unless, of course, Twilight was prepared for that eventuality with another one of her picture-stories.
Suddenly remembering the magazines for her gun and the bottle of pepper spray tucked in his makeshift pouch, he quickly shoved them into the only hiding place he could think of—under her mattress. The bullets wouldn’t be of much use without the gun, but she could do a lot of damage with the pepper spray. Nobody was in the room to see what he’d done with them—but he’d want to remember to find a better hiding spot for them later.
She shifted around in the bed again and reached up to rub her face with her right hand. Predictably, the bandage collided with her face unexpectedly, and her eyes snapped open, focusing on her right hand before darting around the room. Her gaze paused on the heart monitor before locking on him.
“You’re in a hospital,” Dale began. “You hurt your hand and ribs in an accident.”
“I feel funny,” she slurred. “Like . . . everything’s weird.”
You have no idea. “It’s the medication. That’s normal. Don’t worry about that, Kate, you’ll be fine. The top experts are assigned to your case.” As far as he knew, that was true. Of course, there was a time when expertise was measured in how fast one could amputate a limb in a battlefield hospital. But they’re beyond that, he reminded himself. I think. I hope.
“Are you my nurse? ‘Cause, no offence, you don’t look too good. Were you in the accident, too? What happened? You look kind of familiar.”
“I’m a . . . uh, I’m kind of an assistant. To the nurse. Who’s busy with another patient right now.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Ok, look—I know this is going to be a lot to take in all at once, but—”
She grimaced and lifted the covers slightly before deciding she was sufficiently clothed to remove them. Before he could stop her, she’d tossed them off and was slowly sitting upright, gingerly pushing off the mattress with her left hand. “Never mind that right now. Where’s the bathroom?”
“Ah . . . well, about that.” Dale glanced down under the bed. The bedpan was still there—but he couldn't imagine telling her she had to use it. And what if she didn’t know how and asked him for advice? Or didn’t believe that she should have to—either way he was doomed. So, parade her past the cluster of ponies in the hall? And then—then what?
Well, there was a school of thought that said it was better to jump right into a cold lake than to lower yourself in slowly.
“Well?” Kate glared at him.
“Down the hall to your left. There’s a . . . uh, drawing of a pony on the door.”