The Education of Clover the Clever

by Daedalus Aegle


Chapter 5: Scholarly Debate

AN: As an experiment, I'm trying something new here: unlike the rest of the story thus far, this chapter is written in the first person from Clover's point of view. Let me know what you think of the change in the comments.
-Daedelean.

– – –

“I said don't worry about it,” Star Swirl said for the twentieth time, the bells of his robe jingling as he strode through the great research hall, with me running along behind him trying to keep up.

“Don't worry?” I said, in what I admit was a somewhat mocking tone. “You were attacked by ninjas!”

“Don't exaggerate. There was only one.”

I sighed, ignoring the telltale signs of an impending migraine. “You were attacked by a ninja assassin, professor! That's not okay!” I reached out a hoof and took hold of his robe, to try to keep him still and examine him for injuries. He immediately pulled it away and shot me a cold glare. Note to self: Star Swirl the Bearded doesn't like it when you touch his robe. I decided to stand my ground. “Stand still! I need to make sure you're not injured.”

“I had everything perfectly under control,” he said, and resumed his walk resolutely away from me. I cantered up beside him, ready to let loose a numbered list of arguments for why he should stop and let me examine him properly when his right foreleg shot out and smacked me right in the throat. He either failed to notice or just ignored my resulting gagging, and only muttered "wait." I turned to see what had happened, and saw that a cluster of multi-sided metal spikes lying on the floor. “Caltrops,” he said, and I watched in mute shock as he poked one with his hoof, and idly examined a droplet of blood forming on the sole. “Coated in Peaceful Sleep poison. Mark... VI, I believe. That's at a premium," he said conversationally. “If you prick yourself on it you won't feel a thing or notice anything wrong, but that night it'll kill you in your sleep.” He then casually picked the things up with his magic and put them in a bag—which popped into existence for the occasion—marked 'hazardous materials'. The bag then popped out of existence with as little fanfare as it arrived.

“Is this going to happen again?” I demanded, my mind filling with thoughts of being stabbed to death in my sleep.

“Don't worry about it.”

I could feel a vein throbbing on my forehead and clenched my teeth together. “If I'm going to be working here then I will worry about it!”

“Don't worry about it!”

“I just told you I'm worrying about it!”

"There is nothing to worry about!" my teacher all but yelled at me. "They are assassins, not thugs. They're professionals, they only kill those they've been paid to kill. If you're ever in danger of having a contract taken out on you, you'll know it beforehoof. Then you can start worrying."

This did not exactly make me feel much better, and I was just about to say so when a bell rang out from across the hall and Star Swirl cut me off with a cry. "Hup! Suppertime! No more idle chit-chat."

I choked back my planned remark and only grunted, and allowed my feelings about my teacher's apparent attraction to ninjas subside for the time being. This conversation isn't over, Star Swirl.

We headed for the break room, where we ate our meals. It had only taken a few days before Star Swirl's porridge had taught me to dread the ringing of the suppertime bell, and I could feel the tension building in my back as we approached the room, but I didn't let it stop me. This time would be different, if only slightly, and I determined to walk straight and neat, with my head held high, to the break room.

The break room itself was, well, I would like to say it was on the ground floor, but using that term in Star Swirl's house had a few complications. Like the fact that, when you looked at it from the outside, the entire building seemed to defy gravity and hang in thin air, connected to the ground only sideways. Or the fact that the inside seemed to be bigger than the outside. Or the fact that the layout of the platforms inside the great research hall seemed to change over time. I am also convinced that the platforms that see the most use grow bigger to accommodate the work, and that the others shrink back to give them more room. One time, I woke up to find that two platforms had switched place overnight, even if Star Swirl and the big map he had placed in the center of the hall insisted otherwise.

Anyway, the break room. To get to the break room, we just walk down every stair we can find until we get to the bottom level of the research hall, what I would normally call the ground floor if not for the complications I listed above. Down here is the storage area, where Star Swirl keeps the wealth of equipment he owns but never needs, which is at least as abundant as the equipment upstairs that sees regular use. Here, a nondescript doorway led to an entirely mundane kitchen and dining area: the break room.

Apart from the porridge ritual, I actually rather liked the break room. It was a bastion of serenity and relaxation in the otherwise relentlessly magic-charged and productive atmosphere of Canterlot House 1, someplace where I could sit in a comfortable chair and enjoy a nice cup of tea surrounded by soothing colors. I could even rest in the sunlight shining through a window which somehow opened on a bright meadow filled with flowers, which could not be seen from anywhere nearby outside the building. Strange as it sounds, I suspect Star Swirl put it there for my benefit, since he certainly doesn't seem to gain any joy from it himself.

I steeled my nerve as Star Swirl filled two bowls of porridge from a pot on the stove, and wordlessly presented one to me. I took hold of it with my telekinesis, and broke away from the soothing sight of the meadow to sit and stare into the endless void of the porridge. My stomach felt queasy at the sight of it, and even though there was nothing in it that could even vaguely take on the shape of a face I swear I felt it was watching me. This time, though, I was prepared. I opened my saddlebags and rummaged around inside. “Aha!” I almost squealed in delight as I found my secret weapon: a small hoof-shaped jar of salt. I put it down on the table, opened the lid, and gently took a dash of the white crystals in my grip, and sprinkled them over the porridge.

In my mind's eye Clover the Bold watched as the gelatinous devourer from beyond space and time shriveled up and died, its plans for covering and consuming the entire world foiled by the brilliant young adventurer who had learned everything her mentor had to teach and was the only pony ever to earn his respect. The foul blob monstrosity writhed and screamed in horror as it shrank until the assault of the magical powder that rained down from the ceiling after triggering the trap I had carefully laid for it.

If Star Swirl noticed me snicker and giggle while staring at the falling salt, he diplomatically kept it to himself. I raised a spoonful of the porridge, said a silent prayer to Celestia, and stuck it in my mouth.

A warm wave passed through my entire body as the flavor hit my tongue, at once electrifying and incredibly relaxing, like a full massage in the course of a second. A tingling shot out from my mouth, across my skin and out to the tips of my hooves, making me shiver softly as a slight moan escaped from my lips.

It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my entire life.

I grabbed another spoonful and stuffed it in my face, locking my lips around it and running my tongue over it to make sure I caught every last bit. I continued like that, assaulting the bowl like a starving pony getting her first taste of food in days, forgetting everything around me in my single-minded quest to consume the salted void-porridge.

I didn't realize how thoroughly I had forgotten my surroundings until I was halfway through the meal, and happened to glance up and saw that Star Swirl was looking at me with stoic, subdued, but nevertheless present and genuine horror. I felt my face burn with embarrassment, my green coat turning red, and the warm, pleasant feelings in my mind were wiped out and replaced with flashbacks to being caught stealing cookies by my preschool tutor and being forced to wear a sign that read “COOKIE THIEF” around my neck for the rest of the day.

I forced the thoughts from my mind with techniques I'd honed for years: they would come back later, when I was safely by myself someplace private and could let them run free until they were worn out and crawled back where they came from. “Sorry,” I said quietly to my teacher, who was still staring at me, and for lack of any better ideas I held up the salt. “Want some?”

He peered at it suspiciously, then shook his head. "I can't put salt on my porridge. I'm Scoltish."

– – –

That evening and the next day were delightful. I got through my chores in record time, barely even noticing the clock as I worked with a spring in my step while humming a jaunty, cheerful tune. I remembered why I had been so excited to work with the great Star Swirl again, and the whole house seemed to buzz with excitement, the thrill of discovery thick in the air! I slept like a baby that night, and got up extra early to hit the books. Even Star Swirl's unreadable, hyper-dense prose couldn't stop me, and I felt like I was really understanding Thaumic Herd Theory for the first time.

It turns out Star Swirl discovered the mathemagical equation that explains when and why ponies burst into song. I burst into song when I understood it. Star Swirl got drawn in with some lines during the chorus, too. He wasn't very happy about that, and expressly forbade me from ever singing in his house afterwards.

Like every day, I counted down the hours and the minutes until supper time, but this time I did so with eager anticipation completely free of existential anxiety, unable to wait to repeat the experience of last night. So you can imagine how I felt when the time finally came, and I sat down to eat my porridge, and my salt was no longer in the break room.

I felt the panic steadily rising in my chest as I searched the table, then my saddlebag, then the cupboards, the drawers, my saddlebag again, the cushions on the couch and all the chairs, the drawers again, until finally I noticed that Star Swirl was looking entirely too innocent, and his innocence grew more prominent and blatant the more I looked at him.

I took a deep breath, and thought back to how my mother sounded when she was extremely cross with somepony, a voice so filled with cold and menace that it would make a minotaur sit up like a frightened puppy and beg forgiveness. “Professor,” I said, doing my best to copy that tone. “Why is the salt gone from my bag?”

A few seconds passed in which I could have sworn that Star Swirl was debating whether to turn invisible. “Well...”

By now pure liquid rage was beginning to flow through my veins. “Where. Is. My. Salt?”

“I threw it out,” Star Swirl said, after a moment's thought.

Why?” I yelled, feeling like I was about to burst into flames.

“It had hydras.”

By now I was sure I could feel smoke pouring out my ears now. “What?

“There were hydras nesting in the salt,” Star Swirl explained calmly. “I had to get rid of it.”

A few tense moments passed. Just as quickly as it had erupted, the fire inside me was extinguished. The salt, my precious, wonderful salt, was gone. It had only been there for such a brief time, but already I couldn't bring myself to imagine life without it. I deflated, and slumped forward over the table as tears built up in my eyes at the thought.

Only after several minutes of this was I able to think through exactly what the old stallion had said. “Hydras.”

He nodded.

“Hydras... are gigantic monsters hundreds of feet tall... It was a tiny jar of salt... How could there possibly...”

“Well, they were phase hydras, obviously,” Star Swirl explained. “Phase hydras, as I described in my work on arcano-cryptozoology, The Other Side of Up, by Star Swirl the Bearded & Swirly Star the Wise, make their nests in the vacuum between atoms. Once they've found a way into a hospitable terrain, it's almost impossible to get rid of them.”

I only stared at him with huge, tear-filled eyes.

“Salt is hydraphilic,” he said helpfully.

Silence reigned, while Star Swirl ate his porridge at his meticulously regular pace. “Anyway,” he said after several minutes had gone past, “phase hydras are no good. Let me know if you find any lightning hydras, though.”

“Lightning hydras,” I said flatly.

“Yes. That's where you get hydraelectric power.”

– – –

“Don't waste your energy on me, Clover, I'm done for,” Star Swirl said. “I'm going to die here in this Tartarus-blasted desert of Saddle Arabia, but you must go on!”

“No, Star Swirl! Just over this dune we will find the oasis with the research camp,” said Clover, although between the thirst and Star Swirl's recent sudden and unexplained turn to being a petty jerk, her heart wasn't really in it.

“Clover!” Star Swirl cried. “I'm sorry about blowing up the city for no reason, and laughing at the orphans, and letting the cultists take the Sceptre of Nightfall in exchange for a yogurt. I don't know why I did any of those things, but that's not important now. What's important now is that you save yourself and go on without me, even if that means leaving me to slowly die an agonizing death in the blistering desert heat.”

“Okay,” Clover said, and climbed over the dune.

Look, don't judge me. This wasn't interfering with my chores, and it was definitely helping me control my less than charitable opinion of my teacher just then.

I got through supper in the old fashion, and afterward I did one of the few chores I was in a proper state of mind for: sorting the mail. A task I could do entirely without thinking, and still be useful.

As befits a great sage, Star Swirl received impressive amounts of mail every day, and one of my duties was to sort through it all. A lot of it was orders to purchase simple potions and charms, which my teacher seemed content to make and sell, although I never saw him actually spend any of the money. Another load consisted of correspondence from colleagues afar who somehow managed to keep a cordial relationship with Star Swirl the Bearded, and contained discussions of recent research by mages across the continent.

The finest letters, the ones with gold trimming and fine calligraphy, were the ones Star Swirl almost invariably threw out unread: invitations by the high-ranking nobles of the Unicorn King's court, or even members of the Council of Horns, to attend "functions", "gatherings", or "events". There were occasionally outright offers asking Star Swirl to serve as this or that ambitious noblepony's personal advisor, in exchange for piles of gold or jewels or promises of power. I recognized some of the names from my parents' work. Star Swirl would take these offers and put them someplace for special attention, and I don't think I ever saw the same pony ask twice.

Yet another batch was made up of packages of reagents or research materials delivered from distant lands. This actually got him interested, and I often noticed him lingering nearby while I worked if there were any large packages in the day's shipment. Part of my postal routine consisted of opening these packages, reading the accompanying documents, and cataloging their contents properly.

The next package was a small box, only a few inches across and and inch thick, which I opened to find a note and some ounces of a soft white powder. I picked up the note and read it:

"Dear Star Swirl the Bearded,

Know that it was the Sapphire Wizards of Skay who have unleashed retribution upon you for your blasphemous pillage of our sacred temple of Hovos of the All-Seeing. The white powder kills shortly after making contact, either by touch or inhalation, and you should begin to feel the effects momentarily.

Hovos does not laugh, having extra eyes in place of a laughing orifice, but if he did he would surely laugh vigorously at your impending demise.

Sincerely,

Secure Seal, keeper of the gates, ward of the inner sanctum, handler of hazardous materials."

"Staaaaarrrr Swiiiiiiiiirrrrlllllll!"

Two minutes later, I was pacing anxiously back and forth in front of a mirror, checking to see if my coat or mane was falling out, and noting with fear that my normal soft green color had turned pale and sickly and that my mane was a frazzled mess.

"Don't worry about it," Star Swirl said behind me in an insufferably calm tone of voice. "If it was going to do anything you would have felt it by now."

"I think I AM feeling it!" I turned, and glared at my unbelievable teacher. "You said it was safe! You said they wouldn't harm anypony but their target! You lied to me, Star Swirl, and had me handle a poison that kills by touch!"

"Strictly speaking I said that professionals wouldn't harm anypony but their target," Star Swirl clarified, completely missing the point as always. "The Sapphire Wizards are kind of amateurs, frankly. There wasn't even anything worthwhile in their temple, I left it pretty much as I found it. But there's nothing to be afraid of, Clover. Canterlot House is warded against every kind of poison known to ponies, griffons, minotaurs, and dragons. The moment that package crossed the doorstep the powder was neutralized."

It took a while before I could respond to that. I stared at my disheveled appearance in the mirror, and saw Star Swirl reflected in it, looking at me with his usual unflappable calm that looked increasingly like sheer callousness, my feelings shifting between relief that I wasn't dying, shock at how absolutely wretched I looked, and finally anger at the pony who had put me through it all. I took a deep breath, turned around, and looked him right in the eyes, and said, "You didn't think to maybe mention this earlier? Such as, just as an example, before you put me in charge of the mail?"

“There have been a bit more of them than I was expecting,” Star Swirl admitted. “I thought it would take them a while longer to notice I'd moved. Somepony must have talked.”

I let out a deep growling moan of frustration as the burning anger rose up in my throat, my heart threatening to burst out of my chest. “Professor, these are completely unacceptable working conditions! I can't go on like this!”

Star Swirl only scoffed. “Working conditions? I once solved one of the greatest problems in unicorn magic while I was plummeting to my death. This is nothing." He thought for a second. "Admittedly, the solution only works while you are plummeting to your death, but still.”

I was quickly coming around to see the would-be assassins' point of view. “It's not nothing, professor! Even if the legendary Star Swirl the Bearded doesn't see the problem, it's more than any normal, sane pony can handle!” I struggled to control my anger, and keep my voice to a reasonable volume and tone. “I want to learn everything there is to know about magic, really I do, but working with you is like, like navigating a maze filled with deadly traps around each corner, following directions written in a language I can barely understand. In the dark.”

I pleaded as heart-rendingly pathetically as I could, but it seemed to leave him completely unmoved, or possibly somewhat annoyed. It was hard to tell with him. “My teaching methods,” the old stallion gravely intoned, “are carefully designed to instill in the student the necessary respect and care for the subject matter. None of it is any harder than it needs to be.”

I sighed. Looking over to the side, I opened my saddlebag and levitated one of the books Star Swirl had given me, Introduction to Basic Arcane Theory. I held it out for him to see, then flipped it open to the table of contents and began to read: “Chapter one,” I began. “Inverted Universes and Other Animals. Chapter two... I can't even go on because the text stops existing and the page just screams at me.” I clapped the book shut, and looked him right in the eyes. “Basic Arcane Theory is an introductory class for teenage unicorns with no prior magical knowledge, and you wrote a textbook for it that could only be read by a hooffull of the world's greatest magical scholars, including one lich scholar who had spent a hundred years locked in a library.”

“Yes,” he replied, “and they all said it was the best treatise on arcane theory that they had ever read.”

I now had a headache that was threatening to kill me if the assassins weren't going to do so. I outright yelled, “It was written in seven dimensions and could only be read backwards in time!”

“It was practically oriented!” He yelled back. “That's supposed to be in fashion nowadays! You can't be mad at me for both following and not following modern educational trends!”

My patience finally ran out. My frustration took over, and I threw up my hooves and cried out, “I can't take it anymore!” Then I charged off to my workspace to grab my things. “You're impossible! I'm leaving.”

– – –

I stomped down the cobbled streets of Cambridle, heading back towards Unity Hall and my past and future dorm room, too angry to care about the way everypony drew back and averted their eyes from "Star Swirl's blackhearted apprentice," as they had apparently begun calling me. Their muttered comments were, in any case, not loud enough to drown out my own, and whatever complaints they had about the wizard, I was sure they were less informed than mine.

As I made my way home, I thought back to all the stories I knew about him, and compared them to the stallion I had stayed with for the past week and a half. Each story crumbled into dust as I mentally inserted the Star Swirl I knew in place of the hero. Where Star Swirl of the stories had delved fearlessly into the lair of the Draugr to confront the dreaded beast with only a dowsing rod to point the way, I imagined Star Swirl tromping into some mindless animal's home and beating it with a stick, evicting it with as little interest as he showed for anything else in his life. I thought of the ancient temples Star Swirl had explored, hunting for magical relics and treasures, and wondered if the secret guardians who dwelled in those temples had tried to have him arrested for burglary. That might have been more effective than all those riddles and traps. He's made enemies for himself everywhere he goes, I thought to myself as I climbed the stairs up to my floor. It almost makes me wonder why all those stories made him a hero in the first place. That thought spun around in my head for a few moments, as I reached the right door.

“Hi, Bunnies, I'm back,” I called out as I entered our dorm. Well, it's not my business anymore. I'm going to go back to being a regular student, I thought, attempting to shake Star Swirl out of my head. I crossed the shared living room, aiming at my roommate's bedroom, and ignored the chatter from around the table. “Don't mind me, I'm just gonna borrow your textbooks for a bit to see what I've missed. Star Swirl the Bearded threw my copies out.” I pulled her door open with a creak and looked inside.

I stood still for a few seconds, blinking, as Chocolate Bunnies came running up behind me. "Bunnies? Is there supposed to be a catapult in your room?"

“That's a trebuchet, lady,” said a voice from behind me. “Catapults are so last millennium.”

I turned and focused on the others in the room for the first time. Bunnies was standing right behind me with a nervous grin on her face, and sitting around the living room table were three ponies dressed in black robes that looked like they had come from a cheap fancy dress shop, all of them looking at me with expressions ranging from 'no, please don't look at me' to 'pssh, you're not even equipped to appreciate this'. “Hi, Clover,” Bunnies said through a wide, nervous grin. “I wasn't expecting you. I'm kinda in the middle of something here.” At the head of the table was a lectern with some papers, and behind it stood a large portable chalkboard covered in scribbles detailing... a rugby game plan, possibly, but with the addition of barricades and a not-catapult thing? Are there not-catapult things in rugby? This is not really my field of expertise.

On top of the board was written “All Hail Chocolate Bunnies,” and underneath it said “The Rise of the Siblinghood of the Hoof, phase 1: The Battle of Neighton Road.”

It didn't seem like a rugby team name, really.

“A fully functional 1:10 scale model Germane-design trebuchet, I might add,” said one of the ponies, a pegasus mare with a sharply styled mane and silver knife-shaped earrings. I couldn't see her cutie mark on account of the cheap black costume robe, which I noticed had been altered to allow her to use her wings while wearing it, but if she was following the common fashion her earrings would be a match, and a knife cutie mark generally meant a fondness for warfare, or for art. “It might not look like much now but by the time we finish the real one I'm totally gonna deck it out in late Reneighssance Rococo style. I'm just sayin', it's gonna blow your mind. Also your walls.” Or maybe both.

“Honestly, Cutting Edge, this is not how we agreed to introduce ourselves to the public!” said the second pony, the one who had cringed and attempted to hide her face when I first looked at her. She was a unicorn mare, and between her mane, which was dyed gray and tied up in a tight bun, her slim black spectacles, and the cravat that looked like it cost five times as much as the robe she wore it on, I guessed she was in business school.

The final pony was a pink earth pony stallion, who just looked bored and annoyed as his two companions immediately began arguing loudly about business strategies versus design strategies.

A hoof took hold of my shoulder led me firmly back to the door, the voice of Chocolate Bunnies loud in my ear, a swift stream of sound that went something like: “HereyougoCloverhavesomebooksandohit'ssuchalovelydaywhydon'tyougositoutsidesomewhereandreadokaysonicetoseeyouBYE!”

And then I was outside again, somewhat disoriented, with a stack of textbooks on the floor as the door slammed shut behind me.

– – –

Okay, that was a bit odd, and not quite the return to civilized society I was expecting. Anyway, I tried to put it out of my mind, and focus on studies. I figured it would take me a day of hard reading to get through the materials they had done in class over the past week and a half, and then I'd be ready to jump in, a bit wiser for my experiences outside the lecture halls. I found myself a quiet place to sit downtown, looked over the lesson plan and took note of which chapters of which books had been covered, then I picked up the first book and set to reading.

It would be a slight exaggeration to say that the relevant material in that book consisted of the first half of one sentence. Actually it was the first one and a half chapters, but still, it took me just ten minutes to go through it. I shrugged, content that I understood the introductory material, and picked up the next book. The same thing happened.

After another three books in fifteen minutes, I began to wonder if I had misread the lesson plan, and double-checked it but found nothing new. On a whim, I decided to keep reading the next book until I reached material that I didn't already know. Instead, I found myself getting annoyed when I realized I knew the material better than the author of the text himself, and felt an urge to write detailed corrections in the margin. I stopped myself when I remembered that these were Bunnies' books, and kept moving through the list.

The same thing happened again and again. The material was not only old to me, it was a basic and incomplete version of what I had already learned with Star—

I bit my tongue to avoid finishing the thought, though my muzzle was already scrunching up in a sneer, and I felt the heat of anger rising in my cheeks again. Completely impossible arrogant blowhard without an ounce of empathy in his whole withered body. I quickly scanned through the remaining stack of books, until I removed the second to last one and saw something else that Bunnies had thrown into the pile in her hurry to get me out of the dorm. Lying there was a small, thin book with a cheap cover and a badly-drawn picture of a young unicorn standing in front of an unnatural-looking cave opening.

The Caves of Maretania. The first of the Star Swirl the Bearded adventure books. I remembered it well, having read it only twenty or so times: Star Swirl the Bearded delves into the cave of the Maret in order to learn its secrets. He is captured, but escapes deep into the cave and steals the treasure of the Maret from right under her snout, and leaves the cave just as the furious monster brings the entire mountain crashing down on top of herself to stop him. Then he returns to his home and uses the treasure to create the Amniomorphic Spell, the greatest discovery in recent pony history.

All in all, nothing at all like the real thing. Again it occurred to me to wonder why the writer of these books had made him so heroic in the first place. Maybe he wrote them himself.

After another fifteen minutes of reading I had finished the last of the textbooks and sat there deep in thought, wondering if Bunnies and her companions were done with whatever it was they were doing. But my thoughts kept coming back to the old wizard, and all the stories I'd read about him. Why were they so different? The wizard of the stories helped ponies, made discoveries and taught them to everypony who wanted to learn, whereas the real wizard was completely impossible to understand, his work almost unreadable. Better to stick with normal teachers who can actually communicate, I thought, and looked at the stack of books I had just read... and which were horribly disappointing.

I picked up the first textbook that met my eyes, and flipped through to the last chapters. Lengthy detailed explanations of points that to me seemed obvious. Five pages spent explaining what Star Swirl had told me in a sentence. I know this, I thought. Star Swirl the Bearded taught me this.

Even though I was dead on my hooves and I think maybe at one point I was hallucinating things, he got me to understand it.

The anger dropped out of my chest as I thought back to the stories again. Old tales, told by my nan at my bedside, about a wise stallion who outwitted ogres and chased away nightmares, leaving behind safe villages as he wandered off into the sunset. Then, when I could scrape together a half-bit as a child, I would buy those cheap serialized books in secret, and sneak into my room unseen by the servants to escape the disapproving stare of my mother. Then I'd read about Star Swirl the Bearded, a bold adventurer who delved into the deepest caverns and darkest jungles hunting for secret knowledge, which he then made public and helped make the wonders of modern living. Then, as a teenager, when I could read proper books, I sought out the library and dug up something closer to the original sources, the modern history of ponydom where I could look up "Star Swirl" or "Bearded, the" in the index, and seek out every mention of a mythical figure who still walked among us mortal ponies when all the others were gone. Fragments of confused text, that only hinted obliquely at his work but to me were like traces of gold dust hidden in the sand. "Diplomatic envoys exchanged between the Court of the Unicorn King and the land recently discovered behind a closet by Star Swirl the Bearded." "A monograph recently published by Star Swirl the Bearded suggests shape of universe, new recipe for cherry pie." "Star Swirl the Bearded arrived at the Palace of Duke Godfrey to speak with Griffon King Blaze on the evening of the 24th of June. On the 27th of June the Palace of Duke Godfrey burned to the ground. On the 30th, the Griffon army withdrew from the border of Prance. Griffon King Blaze swears revenge. Star Swirl the Bearded could not be reached for comment."

He makes enemies everywhere he goes. Studies magic at Cambridle, makes enemies. Stops a war, makes an enemy. Revolutionizes our lives, makes an enemy. And he never so much as bats an eyelid. Told me not to worry. Told me he had everything under control. Keeps on going, making new discoveries. Because he's Star Swirl the Bearded, and that's what he does.

I sighed, and set off towards Canterlot House 1.

– – –

I climbed the stair to the house once again, and rang the bell. After half a minute I was just about to knock again when the door swung open and Star Swirl the Bearded was once again standing there just looking at me.

Maybe this time I can make a better first impression, I thought. “Professor, I'd like to apologize,” I began, carefully adopting a tone and stance of appropriate remorse. “I was exhausted, uncertain, and afraid, and I lost my temper. It was undignified and inappropriate, and I'm sorry.”

Silence. I glanced up at the wizard to see his reaction.

Star Swirl looked at me as though I had grown a second head. Which is to say he didn't bat an eyelid or give any indication that he was looking at anything out of the ordinary, but I could see the glimmer of surprise deep in his eyes.

An awkward silence ensued. “So... are you coming in?” he eventually asked.

I gulped. Here it was, the moment of truth. “You're still willing to have me as your assistant?”

He frowned. “Is there some reason I shouldn't that I am not aware of?” he asked.

Ah yes, here he was again: Star Swirl the Oblivious, completely blind to the feelings of those around him. “Maybe because we got into a shouting match and I called you 'impossible' and said I couldn't stand being around you anymore?” A second passed. “For which I'm really very, very sorry?”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “That wasn't a shouting match, believe me. The last time I got into a real shouting match, I wiped a country off the map.”

“Look, Professor,” I said calmly, “I want to work with you, but I need to say one thing. I'd like to trust you. But if I'm going to be working here, I need you to promise me, for real, that it actually is safe to be around you and that you really do have everything under control, and I need to know how the security works so I can feel confident that it is working. Alright?” Please don't say it please don't say it please don't say it—

“Don't worry about it.”

Yes, he said it. He stepped inside, expecting me to follow, and slowly I did. Once again my heart sank in my chest. Were we doomed to continue arguing back and forth about this? Was I doomed to continue debating myself on whether to stay or leave, with Star Swirl always on the verge of going too far? We entered the research hall, and I noticed my teacher-yet-again looking at me funny. I gave him a blank, unenthused stare.

“Wait here,” he said, and trotted off to a nearby wall. He lit his horn, and a section of the wall slid out to reveal a hidden doorway. He entered, and the doorway closed seamlessly behind him. I slowly approached it and scrutinized the wall, but was unable to detect anything unusual about it at all.

Five minutes passed, with me standing there waiting in front of the bare wall, until I heard a rumbling sound, and the hidden door slid out again. It opened to reveal a sight that blanked out my mind for several seconds, while I struggled to comprehend what I was looking at.

Slowly seeping out of the doorway before me, there came a glowing, sickly-colored amoeboid entity with glistening, translucent arms. Unnatural ripples ran through its weird, unearthly, gelatinous flesh, forming what might have been eyes that looked out upon the world for a second before melting back into the chaotic, churning mass that formed it. It was massive, filling the doorway, its long tenebrous tentacles extending out towards me.

I screamed and dove for cover behind a nearby chest of drawers.

“Come on, out you,” the voice of Star Swirl the Bearded called from behind the monstrosity, which emerged to reveal a line of similar but smaller many-limbed entities following it. Finally, after five of the creatures total had emerged, there was Star Swirl, sternly guiding them towards the exit.

He drove them out of the building, and in the dusk moonlight they dissipated into thin air and were gone.

“Star Swirl?” I said, struggling to keep my voice flat. “What was that?”

“Phase hydras,” Star Swirl the Bearded said. “I had to drive them out manually. Swirly Star the Wise said to say hello.” He dropped something gently on the floor in front of me. “Here.”

It was a small, hoof-shaped, jar of salt.