//------------------------------//
// XI - The Garden Party 
// Story: Equestria's Secret Service 
// by EdwardJ 
//------------------------------//





Chapter Eleven



"The ponies of the Hunter branch serve as the eyes and ears of the service, as well as the tip of our lance.  Generally operating as solo units, the Hunters are highly trained agents who delve deep into the wilds, enemy territories, and even our own cities, gathering information and disrupting small-scale problems.  In addition, these ponies are responsible for stopping wild animal rampages, necessitating a principle understanding of rural survival for those ponies wishing to join their ranks..."


~Excerpt from the Guiding Manual of the Secret Service



        Dew had been standing outside the princess' chambers for several minutes, but still she was hesitant to enter.  The nightguards flanked the door as always—silent, unmoving.  Even though the princess was allowing her open access, she couldn't bring herself to knock.  Special permission or not, it just felt wrong to interrupt a princess without a summons, especially for something so foolish as...

        She shook her head; she wasn't used to feeling like this.  Most of her friends had outright turned against her, and those who hadn't now regarded her with an air of suspicion.  The two who didn't gave only little comfort; Gleam was still comatose, and Autumn... Autumn was gone—out of reach.  Ever since they'd saved each other he'd been there, an unwavering friend, but now... now here she was, standing in front of the princess' door, feeling lost.

        She glanced up to the nightguards.  Perhaps, she hoped, she'd feel more at ease if one of them were to accompany her, but it didn't look like they even noticed her presence.  That just made her feel even more uncomfortable.  She let out a sigh and decided to abandon her attempt.

        "Well, hello there, Misty," a sultry voice purred.  Dew turned to see a pegasus mare sashaying toward her, a smile that looked all too predatory upon her muzzle.

        "It's Dew," she responded quietly.  The mare seemed familiar, but Dew couldn't place her.  Her silver coat shimmered in the morning light that shone down from the high windows, her black mane falling carefully to the left.  Her mark was covered by a blue dress, elegant in its simplicity, and her gilded horseshoes clicked softly on the marble floor as she approached.

        The mare shrugged.  "Eh, it's a misty name—you can't blame me for getting it wrong."  She cocked her head.  "Perhaps your parents, but not me."

        "I'm sorry," Dew said, trying to remain polite, "but I don't know your name."

        "Really?  After all your time sorting through papers?  I'd've thought a name like mine would'a stood out."  She leaned forward.  "Isn't that what you were doing in Intelligence?  Collecting dirt on us for your friend?"

        Dew bristled.  "I'm not a traitor."

        "Must be why they reassigned you, then.  Can't have a loyal citizen handing the papers, now can we?"

        Dew bit off her reply.  She remembered this mare now: Starwind.  Dew knew very little about the ponies in the elite ranks, but she knew that she wasn't going to play Starwind's games.  "I suppose," she said.  Looking over her shoulder to the empty hallway, she added, "If you'll excuse me, I have work to return to."

        She managed to take two steps away.  "What're you planning here?"

        Dew slowly turned around.  "What do you mean?"

        "I mean you've done nothing but stand there for hours.  Didja come by to see the bats?"  Starwind's tail began brushing Smiles' chin, slowly sliding up his cheek and over his head.  "I couldn't blame you if you did, you know.  They're dark, handsome, and quite the mystery... not unlike your Autumn, hm?"

        Dew took a slow breath and fought down her rising anger; she was still under suspicion, and fighting could only prove detrimental to her.

        "Besides," Starwind continued, turning toward Smiles, "these stallions are everything the Royal Guard are not."  She leaned up on him, placing her hoof around his shoulders, and, very slowly, licked his cheek from jaw to ear.  Smiles stood motionless—a statue.  "You see?"  Starwind's voice was barely above a whisper, her lips still beside Smile's ear.  "He remains vigilant, never giving in to the distractions around him.  Mmmm... a perfect example of what a guard should be."  She nipped his eartip before turning back to Dew, hopping back down on all fours.  "Bit of a shame, really—he tastes so good."  She circled Dew, coming to a stop between her and the empty hallway she'd hoped to escape by.  "Really, a couple distractions would be good for 'em, doncha think?"  She leaned in close, nuzzling Dew's ear as she whispered, "Whad'ya say?"

        Dew fought to keep her expression neutral.  "Not interested."

        "Shame.  Then tell me: why are you here?"  Starwind's voice turned to ice, and Dew took a reflexive step back.  "Just standing in front of the princess' room might be fine for somepony who didn't have a traitor for a friend, but you?  I know the old girl saw you once, so why would you come back?"  She stepped closer.  "What're you hoping to accomplish?"

        "She was given a summons."  Starwind leapt back at the sound of Meadowlark's voice.  "She was not expected for another hour."

        Starwind's eyes were wide, her mouth open in wonderment.  "It talks," she whispered, slinking closer.  "Hey, hey, Misty, what else can you make it do?"

        Meadowlark ignored her, turning his head to face Dew.  "Miss Dew, her Majesty has time now.  If you'd prefer, I don't believe she would have objection to seeing you sooner."

        "You made it move," Starwind marvelled.  She turned to Dew with a mischievous smile.  "You're good.  Hey, you think it'd dance for you?"

        Dew glared at her.  "He's not a toy."

        Starwind chuckled.  "And yet you're playing with him."  She slid up to Meadowlark, stopping so close she might have kissed him.  "He's bending to your command," she whispered, "and you're just leaving him here, hoping."  She smiled warmly at him, brushing her lips by his ear.  "I wouldn't leave you cold."

        "I will see the princess," Dew said.  Starwind cast her a baleful glare, but Dew ignored her.  "If," she added to Meadowlark, "it is acceptable?"

        "Quite."  He turned away from Starwind and opened the door, motioning for Dew to enter.  Taking a deep breath, she obliged.

        "Hey—"

        Smiles was standing in front of Starwind before she had taken her first step; Dew hadn't even seen him move.  He looked down at her through his emotionless mask.  "My apologies, Madam," he said, "but you will have to remain outside."

       Starwind blinked twice, the look of shock slowly evaporating into yet another sultry smile.  "So, you can move too," she purred, "and fast.  Tell me, girl, what is it about you that brings out the best in these boys?"

        Dew bit her tongue in an effort to maintain a neutral demeanour as she walked past Starwind, past Meadowlark, and into the princess' room.  Behind her, Meadowlark followed and closed the door.

        Very little had changed since Dew had last seen it, she noted.  It was still dark in spite of the bright day outside, the walls still glowed with moonlight, and the princess still lay in the centre, atop her pillows and surrounded by books.  One hovered in front of her as they entered, but it closed and floated to the side as Luna saw them.  "Meadowlark," she greeted, "friend Dew.  What news?"

        Meadowlark bowed, and Dew followed suit.  "Majesty," he began.  "We bring no news.  Dew has visited us out of concern."

        Luna turned to Dew, and a small smile appeared on her face.  "Thou art worried?"

        Dew swallowed hard.  "Princess, I—"  Her words caught.  Why did I even come here? she asked herself.  It seemed obvious now, bowing before her, that the princess had better things to do than give comfort to a lonely pegasus.  She felt foalish, suddenly wishing that Meadowlark had remained quiet outside.

        She felt a tap on her shoulder.  She looked up into his face, and he raised his eyebrows.  Sheepishly, Dew stood, her eyes locked to the floor.  "I-I'm sorry, Princess, I... I shouldn't have disturbed you."

        "Such nonsense," came the princess' reply.  "Thou art welcome here."  A faint cobalt-blue glow moved in the corner of her vision and quickly faded.  Glancing over, she found a pillow had been placed beside her.  "Thou hast concern for thy friend.  Come; let us talk."

        Dew looked from the pillow to the princess, then over to Meadowlark, who nodded.  "Her Majesty asks that you attend; you would not be interrupting."

        'Her Majesty asks,' she thought, wincing.  Going there without a summons, she never expected to actually get one.  With no choice but to obey, she stepped over and lay down on the pillow.  "Of course, Princess.  I apologize."

        "Thou hast done no deed worthy of apology.  Now come; tell us what troubles thee."

        Dew was silent a moment.  "It's... nothing, Princess; I'm just worried for him."

        Luna waited.  When Dew said nothing more, she asked, "Dost thou lack faith in him?"

        "No!"  There was no hesitation in her response, and Luna smiled a knowing smile.  "No, of course not."  She spoke quietly again, remembering she was in the presence of a princess.  "It's just... everywhere I go, I hear the same things.  It's like half the ponies here want him executed, and they're working hard to convince the rest that he deserves it.  A-and it sounds like they're winning."

        "Thou hast no cause for worry; our sister hath commanded that he be alive when brought before her."

        "I know, Princess, but..."  She lay her head on her crossed hooves in front of her, a small sigh escaping her lips.  "He's losing support inside the Service.  If things keep going like this, I don't know if he'll be able to return.  I don't know if anyone would listen to him."

        "Doth thee forget?  He hath allies here, and if thine enemies wouldst seek to silence us, then all the court wouldst know them for the truth of their hearts."

        But you've been hiding from the court since you came back, a small voice whispered.  Would they need to silence you?  Who would care to listen?  She hid the thoughts behind a weak smile.  "You're right; I shouldn't be so worried.  Thank you, Princess."  The princess smiled and bowed her head; Dew raised her own.  "Do... do you know how he's doing?"

        Luna looked out her window, silent.  For a time, she simply sat there, her ethereal mane waving in an absent breeze.  Dew waited, but soon felt foolish for asking.  "I'm sorry, Princess," she said.  "I shouldn't—"

        "He attends a gathering of ponies," Luna interrupted.  "The host is lifemate to the councilmare Sky Tale.  It is not unlikely that others of the council wouldst attend.  If he must have a starting place, we could little ask for better."

        Dew paused.  "You suspect Sky Tale of treason?"

        "We know treason has spread to the council," Meadowlark said.  "Without knowing to whom, all are suspect.  A party like this gives us opportunity to examine a number of the council, and perhaps find those corrupted."

        Dew stared at the princess, unbelieving—Luna's expression was serious.  Meadowlark, too, stood stoically, showing no emotion.  "But... Princess, the Hunters use these parties to gather their rumours!  He could be caught!"

        "Indeed."  Luna cocked her head to the side.  "We thought thee had faith.  Is he not a pony of exceptional talent?"

        "If they do spot him," Meadowlark continued, "it will work to our benefit.  If they know he is still in the city, they will try harder to capture him.  In doing so, they risk exposing themselves."

        "We trust that Autumn will evade capture," Luna finished.  "Otherwise, we wouldst not have sent him."  The look she gave Dew was not without warmth, but it was the look of a princess to her subject.  "Have faith in thy friend."

        You don't know him, she thought.  He's too honest for this.  She closed her eyes, trying to will the thought away.  Luna was right, after all; she needed to have faith.  Even so, faith alone felt scant.  As she looked out the window, she added a prayer.

        Dear Celestia...


~ * ~      ~ * ~      ~ * ~


        Fiddler tugged at the bowtie around his neck, frowning.  In the mirror it looked lopsided, but he had spent the last several minutes trying to put it on right and it was finally staying together.  Still, it was uncomfortable, feeling less like a fashionable accessory and more like a noose.  Perhaps that was just his imagination, reflecting his fears about heading into the manticore's maw.  Perhaps he found it difficult to swallow because he felt trapped, heading into danger without even the comfort of his mask.

        Perhaps it was just on too tight.

        "Almost ready?" Octavia asked, appearing by the door.

        "I believe so," he replied, his hoof still on the knot.  He pulled on it, trying to ease the feeling of strangulation, but only succeeded in making it feel chafing.  He made a noise of discomfort.

        Octavia came up beside him, frowning as she looked him over.  "You really should leave your vest behind, you know.  Some ponies out there are going to think you're trying to outclass them."

        He continued to stare blindly at his reflection, pulling gently at his noose.  "I do not see how," he said quietly.

        "You haven't worked with many of the high class, have you?" she asked, chuckling.  He didn't respond.  Octavia sighed and batted his hoof out of the way.  "You tied this too tight," she said, undoing the bowtie.

        So it was just that, he told himself.  She was still speaking, giving him instructions as she tied it for him, but he only half heard her; the next few hours were weighing too heavily on his mind.

        Octavia stopped.  "What's wrong, Fiddler?" she asked.  When he gave no response, she took his chin in her hoof and turned his head toward her.  "Fiddler," she repeated, "what's wrong?"

        "I..."  He paused, unsure of what to say.  He couldn't tell her the truth—that he was afraid the Service would find him walking about in open daylight—but no other response came immediately to mind.  After a moment, he told her half of it.  "I am just... nervous, is all.  You need not worry."

        "There's no need to be nervous," she assured him.  "You're just going there to meet ponies; you won't be playing for them yet.  All you need to do is make a good first impression.  Which is why"—she tapped his shoulder—"you should leave your vest."

        He forced a smile onto his face.  "The high class would prefer me naked?"

        She smiled back.  "Of course not, dear; they'd never invite you back.  You must understand: clothing is a status symbol for them, and they can be very sensitive to perceived insult.  If they think you're trying to outclass them you'll never get their business.  Show up naked and they'll think you don't respect them, and again you'll lose their business.  It's a delicate dance we're in, but it has its rewards."

        Fiddler thought about that, his hoof coming back up to his bowtie.  "There is not much difference between being naked and a bowtie," he said.

        Her smile turned mischievous.  "We're musicians; we already have them outclassed.  Wearing anything else would be an insult."

        He blinked, confused; the whole thing suddenly felt backward.  Octavia saw his face and chuckled.  "Frederic told me that once.  I like the thought.  Practically, though, it's more likely that they tolerate our lack of attire because we're just the entertainment.  And being entertainers, we should do our best to not insult our hosts."

        He looked to the floor, bringing his hoof to where the vest hid his stomach.  Memories of that first night in the Everfree flashed across his mind; it was a lifetime ago, but some things don't heal.  "I'm trying to help you, Fiddler," Octavia said.  "Do you really think I'd lead you astray?"

        "Of course not, I just... I cannot," he said, shaking his head.  "I do not wish to cause insult, but..."

        Octavia sighed.  "Very well.  I won't force you, but you should know you're trotting on a tightrope, and I disapprove."

        He nodded.  "I understand, and thank you."

        She returned his nod, then pulled on his bowtie and the whole thing unravelled.  "Now try it again."


*               *               *


        A few hours later, Fiddler trotted through an oversized, elaborate garden in the backyard of an upscale Canterlot estate.  Though the party was still almost an hour from starting, several guests had already arrived.  They stood about the garden, dressed in the finery of high class and aristocracy, sipping expensive wines while discussing pointless trivialities at great length.  He noticed that some of them would point and talk in hushed whispers as he walked by.  Such things sent chills down his spine—he felt like he was being hunted.  I am, he reminded himself, but these ponies do not know me.  Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm his nerves; even with his vest and bowtie he felt naked and exposed, and he wished for some shadows to duck into.

        Beside him, Octavia shone.  She held herself with such grace and poise that she instantly stood out.  Many ponies would come and greet her, trying to woo her into their own circles.  She would smile and reply with pleasant conversation, but would politely decline their invitations.  "I'm sorry, Miss Slipper, but I do have business to attend to.  Another time, perhaps."  She was elegant, effortless... and something else.  She noticed his gaze, but said nothing until they arrived at the small stage their host had set up for the musical performance.

        "Is something bothering you?" she asked, setting her cello down.

        "You are hiding."

        Octavia paused.  "What do you mean?"

        Fiddler gestured at the garden behind them, slowly filling with ponies.  "You are a different pony when you talk to them.  They all call you 'Octavia,' but none of them really know you, do they?"  She looked away, opening her case and pulling out her instrument.  "Why do you do it?" he asked.  "Why are you afraid of them?"

       "'Afraid'?"  Octavia looked at him, curious.  "Why would you think that?"

        "I..."  He paused, and it struck him that he never thought about why; he just did.  Hiding was a way of life for him, but the only thing that ever motivated him to do it—

        "Is that why you're so distant?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.  "Are you... afraid of me?"

        "Wha—?  No!"  He'd taken a half step back before he realized how bad of a response that was.  Octavia's expression didn't change, but a sparkle was lost in her eyes and she looked away.  It took two steps forward for him to be beside her.  "No," he insisted.  "You are not..."  ...my enemy, he wanted to say.  "I am not..."

        She sighed.  "Fiddler... I won't pretend to understand what you're going through, being driven from your home and all, but if fear is your first thought..."  She shook her head and whispered, "What have you gotten yourself into?"  He had no answer to give, so he remained quiet.  Octavia turned to face him, placing a hoof on his shoulder.  "I know we agreed not to discuss our personal lives, but that was before you started living with me; I don't know if that promise can keep now.  I won't pry, but... if there's anything that I should know, or anything that I can help with, then please... tell me."

        Her words were a knife in his stomach.  She stood before him, giving him her trust, and he could give her nothing but lies.  He swallowed hard, and gave her one more.  "I—"

        "Early as usual, I see," a mare's voice interrupted.  "Trying to get the best spot on stage?"

        They turned toward the interruption, and Octavia bowed her head in greeting.  When she rose, Fiddler saw that she wore her mask again.  "Symphony.  A pleasure to see you again; it's been far too long."

        The earth pony was a pale olive, and the breeze pulled teasingly at her violet mane as she sauntered up to the stage and set her violin next to Octavia's open case.  "Oh, I do agree," she replied.  "I apologize that I couldn't keep up a more constant correspondence, but it was so busy, you understand."

        "It's quite all right, dear," Octavia soothed.  "I know what those trips are like.  I hope you enjoyed it, at least?"

        She closed her eyes and let out a pleasant sigh.  "Mmmm... It was wonderful, Tavi.  I performed for princes and peasants, for queens and countries.  I saw the world beyond Equestria, and I played for the whole of it."  She met Octavia with a warm smile.  "You should really come next time."

        "Perhaps I will," she replied.

        Symphony nudged Octavia's shoulder.  "You'd better," she teased.  She glanced over at Fiddler and her eyes widened slightly, as though she hadn't noticed him before.  "Oh!  And who's this?"

        Fiddler had been considering using Symphony's arrival as the perfect distraction to slip off unnoticed.  Now her eyes felt like grey-green spotlights.  "I..." he stumbled.

        "This is Fiddler," Octavia said, stepping forward.  "He's a friend from Cloudsdale."

        "Fiddler?"  Symphony's eyes narrowed.

        "He plays classical rather well."

        "Oh!"  Her eyes instantly lit up again.  "Well, then."  Her gaze briefly lingered on his scar, but she said nothing on it, only extended a hoof.  "'Tis a pleasure to meet you."

        There was something in the way she said that, in the gesture of her extended hoof, that tickled Fiddler's memory.  He took her hoof in his own and, instead of shaking it, he leaned forward and kissed the back.  "The pleasure is all mine, Symphony," he said, rising.

        "Ooh, a gentlepony, even."  She leaned close to Octavia and whispered, perhaps too loudly, "Caught yourself a fine one."

        Octavia blinked, her mask slipping for an instant as she opened her mouth to respond, but was spared an answer by a boisterous voice.  "Octavia!" it called.  "Symphony!  There you are!"

        The three of them looked over to where two earth ponies were approaching, one of them waving enthusiastically with a broad smile on his features.  He wore a ruffled white shirt and a black tailcoat, capping it off with a tall top hat.  His right foreleg was draped over the mare by his side, and it looked like she was carrying most of his weight.  In spite of that, she wore a bright smile.  Fiddler recognized her as Beauty Brass, and he noticed that she, just like Octavia and Symphony, wore a bowtie.  He began to wonder if it was simply an unspoken agreement amongst the musicians of Canterlot.

        The duo stopped in front of the stage, where the stallion dismounted the musician.  "Welcome, welcome," he said, giving a quick, unconvincing bow.  "Glad to see you could make it.  After I heard about Concerto, I was beginning to wonder, but here you all are!  We can still have a good show, eh?"

        Octavia and Symphony shared a confused look.  "Thank you for inviting us, Mister Sterling, but what's this about Concerto?" Symphony asked.

        "He—"

        "Oh, I was just talking to Beauty here," Sterling interrupted, "and it seems he won't be able to make it tonight.  Some kind of last-minute pop-up.  Anyway, you three are still here, and it looks like you brought your own?"

        Octavia shook her head.  "He isn't playing, I'm afraid."

        "Oh."  He glanced over to Fiddler, then quickly forgot about him.  "But there's still the three of you, yes?"

        Beauty glanced at Fiddler while Octavia and Symphony shared a momentary frown.  Sterling, oblivious to the exchange, continued to smile happily.  "We can manage," Octavia finally said.

        "Excellent!  Well, then—" he checked his pocketwatch "—the party will be starting in thirty, so I'll leave you girls to set up.  Should you need anything, don't hesitate to call!"  Turning, he gave Beauty a quick peck on the cheek before he cantered off to attend to his party.

        Beauty watched him go, then wiped her cheek.  "Salesponies," she sighed.

        Symphony glared at Octavia.  "Why can't he play?  You said he can manage classical."

        "Unless you brought a spare violin, he has no instrument," she responded, turning to her cello case and leafing through the scores she brought.

        "So, what?  I'm supposed to carry the melody by myself?"  She pointed to the scores Octavia held.  "Tell me: how many of those require a second alto?"

        "Which is why we'll need to find the few that don't, as well as some solo numbers to fill time."

        "Right.  And of course you'll be wanting some improvised melodies," Symphony spat.

        "Sounds fun to me," Beauty chirped, heading to the far end of the stage to collect her sousaphone.

        Fiddler found himself locked in a glare with Symphony.  "Why the hay didn't you bring your instrument?" she demanded.

        His mouth opened, but no words came out.  His mind stuck on the fact that he couldn't tell her why he hadn't brought anything, why he was really here.  He closed his mouth, then opened it again to the same result.  Symphony raised an eyebrow.  The moment was saved from becoming too awkward by Octavia, who glanced over to Symphony as she picked up her cello.  "Let him be, Symphony.  He's here only to meet ponies."

        Symphony faced her.  "But—"

        "Let him be.  He can't join us; there's no need to berate him for it."

        Symphony looked like she was about to protest, but stopped when she caught Beauty's icy glare.  Instead, she closed her eyes and sighed.  "Fine.  We'll play with three, but don't blame me if things go badly."  She looked back at Fiddler and shook her head.  "Celestia, I need a drink."  With that, she walked off.

        Fiddler watched her go, and Beauty came up beside him.  "Don't let her bother you; she's a bit of a perfectionist, and tends to overreact if things go a bit... awry.  She'll calm down."

        "I just hope she comes back before the performance," commented Octavia.

        "She usually does."  Beauty paused for a moment.  "I'll be sure to get her, though."

        Octavia nodded once, plucking a string and listening to its sound.  The result caused a frown to appear over her muzzle.  Fiddler looked up to her as she gave a peg a quarter turn.  "Octavia, I—"  She cut him off with a glance.  He recognized the look; it was the same that Dew would give him when she wanted him to be quiet.  He dropped his gaze.

        "We have a performance to prepare for," she said.  "You'd best go meet with the guests.  I'll see you afterward."

        He nodded slowly.  "I'll... see you after, then."

        As he walked away, he heard Beauty behind him.  "Good to see you two get on well."

        The hint of a scowl darkened his eyes.  He wanted to kick himself; in less than ten minutes, he had already come close to exposing his cover and getting himself thrown out onto the street.  It had never come that close in the Service.  Perhaps they did not care so much for what I did, he thought.

        He paused at that.  It wasn't right, he realized; the ponies in the Service already knew what he did—he only had to keep his past away from them.  Here, though, he was lying about his current actions, and that was something he couldn't recall ever needing to do before.  Even when dealing with overly-curious civilians, the Service had a number of canned responses to use.  He'd never done it on his own, and if the past few minutes had taught him anything, it was harder than he'd imagined.  Maybe Dew was right, he thought.  Maybe I am not up to this.

        Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a unicorn enter the estate grounds, and all his doubts were instantly forgotten.  The deep red pony had a grey mane, and his cutie mark showed a magnifying glass examining an unfurled scroll.  Silent Scroll, a member of the council, had arrived.  Fully ready or not, Autumn had a mission to accomplish.  He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and began to shadow the unicorn.


~ * ~      ~ * ~      ~ * ~


        Silent Scroll cast an eye over the party guests, trying to gauge how this event was going to turn out.  There were a good number of recognizable faces in the small crowd, but more would show up well after the party started proper—'Fashionably Late' was an almost religious phrase among the social elite.  Even for that alone, he much preferred working with Service ponies, but such were the trials of office.  At least the music will be good, he thought, glancing to the stage.

        He wandered over to the eastern side of the garden, where the hors'dourve tables had been set up.  He looked over the offered treats—very standard fare, for a party like this—but his attention was elsewhere.  His ears perked, he listened to the quiet droning of the other guests.

        "...Graphite's business is doing quite well, these days.  In fact, I hear he's putting the final touches on some trade arrangements..."

        "...but really, dear, you shouldn't listen to a pony like that when it comes to the latest in hatwear..."

        "...flew right by my window, nearly shaking the thing loose!  That boy is Wonderbolt material, you mark my words..."

        "...you know Pound Sterling?  The host, yes.  This party is a last-ditch effort to save himself, you know.  Gain new friends.  I'm just here for the cake..."

        He could feel his mind starting to deaden, but he fought it off.  The gossip of the higher classes was a weary affair, but it held nuggets of pure gold if one could sift through the nonsense.  Moreover, he needed to know what the city was talking about, and everything passed through here.

        "...and he's proud of it!  Can you imagine?  Why, if my son joined the Guards, I'd give him a right good thrashing..."

       "...don't know what Celestia is thinking, allowing her sister freedom.  She's a bad apple, you mark my words, and it won't be long before she turns back..."

        "...and Photo Finish's newest model—you know, the one from Ponyville?—just up and vanished!  No-one's seen hide nor hair of her..."

        "...gryphon ambassador.  It's true!  I saw him this morning.  Sitting on the balcony, talking to the princess, smug as you please..."

        Silent Scroll collected a martini glass from a passing server, letting it hover just in the corner of his vision.  He selected a few appetizers—baby carrots, steamed beets wrapped in cabbage, and salted mango—and nibbled on them thoughtfully as he wandered the garden.  Most ponies were too wrapped up in their own conversations to give him notice, but a few greeted him politely as he passed.  He returned the 'hellos;' there was no need to be rude, after all.

        "...disgusting creatures.  Probably drink blood, too.  They must be native to the moon, and she brought them back with her..." 

        "...putting together another expedition to the dragon lands.  Pointless, I know, but he insists that if we can just start talking to them..."

        "...Sapphire Shores' new album!  You know, I saw her in concert a week ago—she had the most wonderful dress..."

        "...never let her go outside, of course.  If she went about chasing mice under the hedges, it would do terrible things to her coat..."

        More guests were trickling in, and he recognized several others from the Service; a good number of Hunters spread throughout the crowds ensured a wide net of data collection.  On stage, the musicians were warming up; it wouldn't be long before Pound came out and gave his speech, formally starting this little gathering.  He was more looking forward to the end, but he was working here, and he would gladly suffer boredom if it meant staying ahead of Equestria's enemies.  Then again, this party might only hold the secrets to Hoity Toity's fashionable new underwear.

        How he hated high society.

        "...party was cancelled, you know.  Shame, really.  I haven't seen Keystone in months, but at her age I suppose it can't be helped if she gets sick..."

        "...wife got a new dress.  Don't tell her I said it, but it makes her look like she should be cleaning our house rather than living in it..."

        "...heard that Upper Crust is seeing other stallions while Jet Set is out golfing..."

        "...couple of gryphons came through today, said they've always wanted to visit.  I think it's nice for them to see how a more civilized race lives..."

]        There was the quiet tinkling of a bell, and the ponies' chatter died down.  Up on stage, Pound Sterling smiled at the herd.  "Welcome, welcome," he began.  "Welcome, everypony, to my humble estate.  I'd like to thank you all for coming and showing your support, or, in the case of Cookie, to eat cake."  There was a rustle of laughter, but one pony simply flushed scarlet.  "No, no," he continued, "that's fine, really.  I made sure to bring in the best cake, so be sure to save room for a piece.  Yes, even you, Madam Dis Lee.

]        "So, really, glad you all could make it.  We've got fine food, drinks, and music for your pleasure.  Please, make yourselves at home, and enjoy the party."  With that, he nodded at the musicians and hopped off stage.  At least he kept it short, thought Scroll as the music began.  All around him, the chatter slowly picked up again, and he resigned himself to the high-class drudgery.

        "...was saying, rumour has it the Eyrie is intending to impose new import tariffs.  Supposedly, it's to protect..."

        "...though it's a prank, they're still asking us to call in if we see him.  Honestly, these Guards are just becoming more..."

        "...and Caesar got jealous, so he went out and bought a yacht too!  Now I have to look at that ugly thing sitting across the harbour..."

        "...couldn't even come up with decent hors'dourves to serve, and he thinks I'm going to invest?  He's lucky I don't walk out right now..."

        He sipped his martini, taking a momentary respite in its pleasant flavour.  He wouldn't be able to drink too much, as he had to maintain a clear head, but he could enjoy what he could.  It certainly helped take the edge off of the increasingly vapid conversations around him.  At least he didn't have to deal with it for much longer; the party would end in... Almost six hours.  Damn.  He decided to leave the after-party to his subordinates.

       "...daughter was caught taking the serving colt into her stable.  He insists that nothing happened, that they just talked..."

        "...closed down, so now I have to go find another spa to get my hooves done.  Really, though, Camellia was the best in the business..."

        "...and then she copied my manestyle!  Now everypony's going to think that I am copying her just because she gets a stage show..."

        "...was asking about earth pony violinists.  I know!  Really, you'd think he'd be the one to know..."

        "Enjoying yourself?"

        Scroll turned around, coming face-to-face with a pale brown pegasus mare, her russet mane tied up in a bun.  She smiled at him, and he rolled his eyes.  "Sky Tale, you know how much I loathe these events."

        "And yet here you are, eavesdropping on my guests."  She frowned.  "Hardly seems polite."

        "Trials of office," he replied.  "I end up doing rude things I hate.  But surely you didn't come over simply to interrupt me?"

        She nodded.  "We have business to discuss."

        He glanced around, spying several of his Hunters in the crowd.  There were enough; he could leave the party for a few minutes without worry.  "Lead the way."

        "My office.  Five minutes."  With that, she wandered off, probably to give her lifemate a peck on the cheek.  He watched her go, and found himself suppressing a smile as he headed for her house.  Certainly one way to catch a break.

        Inside, the house was as decadent as the party outside, which was to say that it was all show.  The foyer was decorated handsomely, and he knew that the dining room shared the motif, but if one was to explore the house, they'd find that little else held up.  It was to one of those other areas that he headed, up the stairs and down the hall.  Out of sight of the foyer, pictures abruptly stopped appearing on the walls.  The place was kept clean, but no extra effort existed.

       He found Sky Tale's office door closed.  Being a gentlepony, decorum insisted that he knock.  Knowing that no-one was around, he opened the door.

        "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

        His eyes narrowed as Sky Tale closed the window behind her.  "I was expected," he answered, closing the door.  Turning, he greeted the other ponies present, two unicorns and an earth pony.  "Pleasure to see you three, as well.  Will there be others?"

        Sky Tale shook her head.  "Just us."

        "Hm.  Then what's this about?"

        "Well, firstly," said the earth pony, detaching herself from the wall, "I'd like to know what you plan on doing with our little protester."

        Scroll frowned.  He hadn't heard anything about any protesters, which doubtless meant that there was some report or two buried on his desk.  Still, he didn't want the mare to know that she had information he didn't.  "Is it really a problem?" he asked.

        She shrugged.  "Not right now, perhaps, but she's certainly adding validity to the Vice-Commissar's posters, don't you think?  She could start a firestorm.  So what.  Are you planning on doing?"

        "I'll look into it," he said.  "Find the best solution."

        She scoffed.  "You'll 'look into it'?  What, are the Hunters afraid of taking direct action?"

        "If it's direct action you're looking for," he countered, "then perhaps you should deal with it.  Operations is, after all, well equipped for it."

        "Something this small is Hunter territory, and you know it.  I'm not going to—"

       "—Derail this meeting with petty squabbles?" interrupted Sky Tale.  "We're here for a reason, if you'll recall."

        "This is important business!" she protested  "If that mare—"

        "—And you have his promise to take care of it.  What more do you need?"

        She didn't respond at first.  Instead, she finished casting her glare at Sky Tale, huffed indignantly, and gained an air of indifference.  "It'll do."

        "Glad you see it that way.  Now, on to the business at hoof.  The letter, please?"

        One of the unicorns nodded and stepped forward.  "This came in," she said, floating a roll of parchment over to Scroll.  Scroll took it, examining the broken seal.  It was plain, unmarked, but the wax sparked at the prodding of his magic.  From the Service, he thought, opening the letter and scanning it.  Most of the coded content was stock language, but that which wasn't...

        "Who's idea is this?" he asked.

        "Yours, I was told."  The others nodded.

He returned his attention to the letter.  "'In light of recent events,'" he read, "'in order to continue the smooth operation of the Service, I call upon the council to restore limited power to the Vice-Commissar.'"  He looked up at the gathered ponies.  "A vote to overturn the Commissar's orders?"

        "Not entirely," corrected the other unicorn, still leaning against the bookshelf.  "It isn't a full restoration, just enough to keep things smooth—prevent unnecessary delays and so forth.  We, plus one other, are in favour."

        "Just enough," said Sky Tale.

        Scroll glanced at the letter again.  "Emergency meeting," he read.  "Well, we'd best not keep them waiting."  He looked over to the other unicorns.  "Shall we?"  The two stepped forward, their horns sparking to life in time with his own.  The earth pony joined them, but Sky Tale stepped toward her window.  "Aren't you coming?" he asked.

        "In a bit," she replied.  "I need to give my lifemate an excuse.  I'll be along shortly.  Protect the Dawn."

        "Respect our Strength," the others replied, and vanished in a flash of light.

        Sky Tale lingered for just a moment, a satisfied smile on her lips, before turning back to her window and leaping out.  Her office door remained closed, and the pony on the other side stood still only a moment longer.


~ * ~      ~ * ~      ~ * ~


        The Shaman hadn't slept in two days, but neither had he noticed the time pass.  Deep under the pony city the air still thrummed with the noise of its magic, but the ever-present ache in the Shaman's head was forgotten.  He was focused, intent—there was a whole world opening up in front of him, and there was no way he was going to let it pass.

        The runes were amazing—a whole alphabet of magical notation.  All his life, he had listened to the song of mana and revelled in its embrace, but he had never known the shape of magic and spells—he had never thought to look.  Now it all opened up before him, and he was enthralled.

        The pony had only taught him only a few runes, but it had been enough.  As he'd played with them, he recognized why they had seemed so familiar: they were the shape of magic!  That simple discovery had led to sleepless nights and busy days spent toying with spells and mana, looking for the runes contained within.  He had found a whole library beyond what the pony had shown him; the shapes hung in the air around him, glowing in an iridescent rainbow of colours.  The discovery that the runes would shape raw mana that was pushed over them had fascinated him.  True, the result was weak and barely worth anything, but the implications!  And if one rune could do that, what might a full sentence do?

        He watched as the mana rolled over the runes before him.  Each flickered with live energy, but the magic felt... rough; turbulent.  He glared at the runes; he'd been having this problem ever since he began writing these sentences.  Alone, the magic flowed easily through them, but the moment he added that second rune—or third, or fourth—they seemed to disrupt the natural harmony of mana; he'd found that trying to cast something through a sentence usually ended up fizzling.  It might have been infuriating if his fatigued mind had the energy, but for now it was content to be just mildly exasperating.

        He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, feeling frustrated.  The excitement of discovery had gone, leaving him suddenly feeling the lack of sleep.  Taking a seat, he waved his staff, shifting a number of runes around and forming a new sentence.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose—his headache was becoming apparent again.  I'll need to sleep soon, he realized.  It's probably several hours past—

        His ear twitched.  He looked up at the runic sentence before him, confused.  Did it just...?  He leaned closer, and pushed mana through it again.  The magic still felt rough, but there, at the end, it was smoother.  He squinted at the last runes, but it made no sense; he'd used those before, in that order.  Why are they smoother now?  Behind him, the unused runes flickered out as he concentrated on the ones before him.

        He pushed magic through them again, watching intently.  Unsatisfied, he did it again.  And again.  And again, save for the fact that the magic was smoother, there was no noticeable difference between the runes on the end and the runes in the rest of the sentence.

        It was fairly close to infuriating, but he didn't have the energy to make it worth the while.  Instead, he sat back in his seat and let all his tension out in a single breath.  The runes flickered, but he didn't let them fade; he had come too close to lose this chance.  He sat there for a few minutes, doing little more than stare blindly at them.  The sentence was a little lopsided, he saw; absently, he straightened it out.

        That's strange, he thought, as the magic suddenly became rough again.  He leaned forward, his curiosity piqued, as he dropped the last rune a couple of—

        "I see you've managed to keep yourself entertained."

       The Shaman stopped, the sudden sound of the stallion's voice a cacophony in the silence.  Slowly, he turned his head to face the intruder.  At least this one didn't try to butcher his language.  "Pony," he said.  "Is little late for visiting, I think."

       "Is it?" asked the unicorn.  "It's barely past noon.  I didn't realize you wanted your door closed so early."  He looked around.  "Ah, but you have no clock down here.  Would you like me to get you one?"

        Barely past noon?  He fought off a yawn.  Did I stay up all night?

        The unicorn, meanwhile, was looking at the runes before him.  "This one's off-centre," he said, pointing.

        The Shaman growled and jabbed his staff into the ground, dispelling the runeshapes.  "What pony want?"

        "Temper, temper," the pony chided.  "With an attitude like that, we may never manage a good working relationship.  And, if you can't follow along, I may just have throw you back into your wasteland without help."  He narrowed his eyes.  "Perhaps without life."

        The Shaman scoffed.  "Is this what pony came to say?  Pony waste breath.  Empty words."

        "You think so?"  He stepped closer.  "I told you once you were merely a convenience.  You doubt me?  No-one's come by in the last two days; we've had bigger things to work with.  Do you think that we'd abandon something as important as you think you are?"

        The Shaman was quiet.  Two days?  Has it really been so long?  He looked around the dungeon, idly wondering where the time had gone.  Now that he thought about it, he was exhausted—and hungry.  Two days suddenly didn't feel like a stretch of the truth.

        The unicorn seemed to take his silence as validation.  "Good, you can see logic—I was beginning to wonder.  So tell me, dog, how important do you feel now?"

        "Enough that pony try to make idle threats believed," he answered.

        The pony burst into laughter, his guffaws echoing throughout the dungeon.  He wiped the tears from his eyes, struggling to bring his laughter under control.  "Oh, this is too rich!" he finally managed.  "You just... you still think..."  A few more chuckles escaped his lips before he finally gained control again.  He cleared his throat, failing to remove his amused smile.  "I'd hoped you were smarter than this," he said, "but I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  Ok, dog, let's see if you can follow along here:

        "I don't need you.

        "If all else fails, I don't need anyone.  I can do this on my own and still benefit from it.  The only difference I have between working with you and working alone is ease.  You help, because you do half the lifting, but I don't need you to."

        He pointed at the Shaman.  "You, on the other hoof, gain everything.  You gain a pack, you gain a goal, and you gain what you perceive as a chance.  You have everything to lose if I cut you loose, but I will only suffer extra hoofwork."

        The Shaman had stopped listening.  He could tell the pony was still talking, but he couldn't bring himself to care.  In truth, he was too tired.  He did, however, realize that this pony thought of him as slow, at best.  More likely, he thought him an idiot.  By his language, he probably didn't think this of the Shaman alone, but about all dogs.  The Shaman would have been angered by the insult, but he was too exhausted for the effort.  Instead, in the calm where his anger would have been, an idea formed.

        A glowing rune appeared in front of the unicorn, silencing him.  "Why this not work?"

        The unicorn glared at him.  "I have no reason to help you, dog.  Your usefulness is about wore thin with the trouble you seem intent to cause."

        "Other pony say rune is magic, but it not work.  What she not say?"

        The unicorn shook his head.  "This just shows how helpless you are.  The runes aren't magic—they represent magic.  You could probably learn a lot if you could understand them."

        The Shaman put a smile on his face.  "Does pony not know?  Then come; learn with Shaman."

        The pony was dumbstruck.  "You... cannot possibly be that..."  He shook his head and regained himself.  "No, dog, I know what these mean.  All unicorns do, it's in our blood.  You, on the other hoof, will get nowhere without us.  You want to learn?  Then follow where you're led."

        The Shaman made an act of being insulted, then slowly letting the anger drain away.  "Shaman will stay," he said weakly, leaning forward on his staff and letting his fatigue show plainly on his face.  "Shaman will... I will play pony's game."

        "This isn't a game, dog.  If you choose to play, you play seriously."

        "Pony right, of course," he said.  "Shaman... will try to remember."

        The pony paused a moment, then smiled again.  "Got through, did I?  Well, then... perhaps I will give you another chance.  Tomorrow, I'll see if we have the time to spare for you, so be ready.  We still must fix your spell, after all."  The Shaman grunted, and a yawn escaped from his muzzle.  "Well, I'll leave you to rest, then."  After the last word, the unicorn turned and left.

        The Shaman watched him go, losing the battle to keep his eyes open.  With a sigh, he gave in and found his bed; he'd look for food once he woke up.  As he drifted to sleep, his thoughts wandered back to the runes, right before he had been interrupted.  So they don't work in a straight line, he thought.  Should change that, then.  Should stagger the runes, or set them on a curve, like the edge of a circle...


つづく
To Be Continued…