“Next stop, New Apple Acres!” the conductor calls. “New Apple Acres!” I’d put him in his fifties, though it’s kind of hard to tell since he’s aged well—a bit of grey can look good on a stallion. Blue coat, brown mane, only one cutie mark. It’s a set of rail ties and a pair of tickets.
That’s kind of nice.
I glance across the aisle to the next bench, but Apple Bloom and Echo aren’t getting up yet. They’ve taken this route before, so I assume that means we have a while before we actually stop. I can’t imagine they want to stay in their seats. The Rainbow Tram is as uncomfortable as when I rode it with Green, and they aren’t in a good mood to start with. Echo may appear straight-faced, but I know he’s nursing a hangover, and Apple Bloom isn’t even bothering to hide a sour expression.
I don’t think I need to take any action though. They’ll do what I need them to do. Their feelings aren’t important beyond that.
Sipping my tea again helps pass the time. I got it from a little store in the station. It doesn’t taste nearly as good without the gin, but it’s kind of bitter, which is nice, and I need it to wake up. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Apple Bloom couldn't rouse Echo from his stupor, and after a few failed attempts, we decided it would be better to wait until tomorrow. Going during the day also has the advantage that Applejack will be at work, which means a lot less sneaking around. The cot Apple Bloom found for me was itchy and cold and kept waking me up all night, but it didn’t seem like a good time to complain.
Apple Bloom didn’t offer to make anything up for Berry, but it worked out fine. Berry didn’t object—she just put her head down on the floor and was out like a light.
It was a little odd really, seeing them all that way come morning. Berry poured herself a bowl of cereal and milk, and then used a tablespoon from her bag to measure out her medication. Two tablespoons, mixed in with the milk. Echo got up early and tied up the bathroom for the better part of an hour, brushing every knot out of his mane and coat, and polishing every pin and buckle on his uniform until they gleamed. Apple Bloom made a daisy sandwich for herself and Scootaloo, and asked if I wanted one. Scootaloo hovered around Berry, waiting to take her bowl, because Apple Bloom doesn't like to touch the contaminated dishes, so Scootaloo has to clean them.
It was all so domestic. Nothing exploded, nopony fought or cried. Nopony talked much at all really. About the most eventful thing that happened was we had to take the eleven o’clock train instead of the nine o’clock—between Echo taking forever to get ready and Apple Bloom making some pancakes to leave in the fridge for Scootaloo, we didn’t exactly get out the door on time. Scootaloo insisted that she could take care of herself for one afternoon, but Apple Bloom did it anyway. Then we went to the tram station, got tickets, and I got Berry to buy me some tea from a vendor.
The tram is slowing down, and I can see that we’re pulling right up alongside one of the towers, but still nopony rises. It’s a very large tower, hexagonal in shape and part of a complex of similar constructions. Each one is marked with the same three-red-apples design, so I have no idea if this one tower is New Apple Acres, or if the whole complex is Applejack’s. If the latter, New Apple Acres must be nearly as big as Neptune’s Bounty. The designs are very different though. Not enough windows here.
I think I’d like an apartment like Trixie’s. Or Berry’s. They both had big windows. Tasteful, open, old-Equestrian, but with a nice view of the city. I bet it’s really expensive, but I can probably think of something. Assuming Trixie doesn’t ship me back to Equestria, of course. I still don’t know what’s going on with all that.
I don’t think she will, though. Whatever it is she owes Celestia, I doubt sending me back with scars and burns will settle the score. She’ll hang onto me for a bit in case something happens, but she’ll give up eventually.
I wonder how being an assassin pays. Green lives in an awful apartment, but she has all those expensive mantles she has to buy. Plus, she was hiding out from Rarity. I bet it’s steady work. Berry obviously makes a lot more money, but I don’t think I could be an alchemist. I’d feel bad about it.
Heh. That’s kind of funny.
The train abruptly lurches forward, sending my tea splashing inside its cup. Horseapples! I try to correct, but it overflows the rim a bit, and droplets fly out onto my coat. Now I’ll feel all sticky. I search around for a cloth or something, but there’s nothing to be found, so eventually I levitate a tiny patch of gauze out of my belt and use that to wipe my coat clean.
By the time I’m done, the car is settling downwards, and as the tower slides up outside the window, Apple Bloom and Echo finally rise from their seats. Time to go. I down the rest of my tea in one swig and gently slide my hooves to the floor. I don’t see a trash can or anything, so I drop the empty cup between the seats when nopony is looking.
Then I remember that Berry has the aisle seat. Because of Echo. Of course, she has to get up before I can leave. She’s staring at me now.
“Hi,” I say, uncertainly. Apple Bloom and Echo are already walking to the front of the train car along with all the other passengers. What is she waiting for?
“Hi,” she replies, after one of her long, empty pauses. Then she gets up, moving up the aisle so I can slide out.
Well, good.
The aisle is single file, so there’s not much I can do but follow Berry out onto the platform, a few other stragglers in our compartment standing behind me in turn. She’s walking painfully slowly as always, and with her head blocking the way, I can’t see much but the back of her neck and her purple rear. I can hear something though, getting louder as we near the exit. Echoing conversations, and Applejack’s voice.
“Howdy, y’all,” she says, the recording reverberating through the car. I think it’s coming in from outside, and as Berry reaches the end of the car and puts her hooves on the steps, I can feel a wind blow over us from the station. “Welcome to New Apple Acres. I’m sure y’all already know me, so I won’t bother with introductions.” I round the corner after Berry, my hooves hitting the wrought metal steps. The metal is still cold and damp from being out in the seawater, dripping down onto the platform. But I ignore it and step outside.
There’s a tree.
“If you’re lookin’ for work, food, or a safe place to stay the night, go ahead and follow the blue line on the floor. It’ll take you to some ponies who can help you,” There’s a tree in front of me. A real tree. It’s coming out of a hole in the stone, but it’s a tree. There are leaves scattered on the floor under it. It looks a bit like the plant boxes in—
The pony behind me clears their throat. Loudly. Oh, right. I take two quick steps after Berry, clearing the way as we walk into the station.
“If you’re here to enjoy the green and breathe some fresh air, follow the green line. That’ll take you down to the park,” Applejack continues, in a fairly transparent attempt to sound friendly with a heavy dose of down home country flavor. There are lines on the floor, painted all the colors of the rainbow and going every which way. The station is wide and long, with an arched ceiling—like a cylinder cut in half. That leaves space for the train to come in on one side, and the other side is a mass of doors, ticket counters, elevators and the like. It’s a good layout, and the ceiling is impressively high, but what makes it really stand out is all the green. All the living things.
“If you’re here for business, well, that’d be the brown line. For anythin’ else, just ask one of the hired hooves,” Applejack finishes. The whole message is starting over, but I mentally tune it out, my legs switching to automatic as they follow Berry and I take more time to look around. The center of the station is full of trees and neat little boxes of greenery. The walls are covered in vines. I hear birds tweeting, and a moment later see a flock of sparrows landing on the stone to peck at seeds some foals are tossing them.
The foals aren’t the only ones either. There seem to be a few ponies hanging out here—sitting on the edges of the boxes or under the trees. Some of them are reading. Some of them are watching the train. I see one earth pony struggling to pick up a bit he dropped, next to a coin-operated bin full of birdseed. It’s...
Nice, I guess. If you overlook that he has three cutie marks. Lightning, a flowering plant, and the original banjo on his flank.
Then again, I thought the Pavilion was nice at first, didn’t I? This is Vision. The cuter and sweeter it looks at first glance, the worse it is under the surface. It doesn't matter how nice Applejack acts—she’s Rarity’s friend. She probably mulches up ponies for fertilizer or something.
There’s more to look at—from weird vending machines full of apples to one of those wiredolls wearing Trixie’s hat and cape—but I’ve seen enough. Stay focused, Siren. Eyes on the prize. I step off to Berry’s side and pick up my pace a little, looking around to see where Echo and Apple Bloom have gotten off to. They’re not far ahead actually, and not following any of the lines. Apple Bloom is taking the lead, Echo right behind, while Berry and I bring up the rear.
I pick up my pace. If Berry wants to stay between me and Echo, she can walk faster.
“Welcome home, Ms. Bloom,” rumbles a masculine voice, and I’m so used to that being Echo’s speech tic, I actually think it’s him for a second. It’s not though. The door we’re angling for is guarded by two ponies in that same black uniform, pegasi with spiked helmets that make them look a bit like alicorns. “Hello, sir,” the one on the left continues, evidently addressing Echo.
“Hey, Stonewall,” Apple Bloom replies, friendly enough but without particular enthusiasm. Just being polite really. “I’m here to pick up a few of my things from the family house. Could you have them hold a luggage cart here until I get back?”
“Sure thing, Ms. Bloom,” the guard says, rapping the door behind him twice with a hoof. A lock clicks, and the door swings open to let us through. Apple Bloom again takes the lead, followed by Echo, then me, then Berry. The guards seem to accept that I’m with her, but I nod and smile anyway, and get a smile in return. The door shuts behind us, and we’re left in a long, empty hallway, sterile white stone stretching off into the distance without apparent break or bend.
We walk in silence for a time, as we were silent in the station, only the beat of the lights and the sound of our hooves to keep us company. Then, Apple Bloom speaks.
“Oh, get it out of your system already, Echo,” she says, with an impatient little clip. “I’m stressed enough without listening to you grind your teeth there behind me.”
I didn’t notice anything unusual about his body language, but I can see that she’s right from how he responds. He looks at her, lowering his head down and to the left a little so his gaze falls on her face. For two or three steps, he doesn’t say anything, though an angry lash of his tail shows the emotions behind the stare.
“Never put guards outside an innocuous door. It labels it as important,” he begins, his voice quiet, but quick and tense. “Didn’t do a password check, didn’t check for some form of hard identification, didn’t ID your friends, didn’t take a door count, didn’t search ponies with obviously loaded saddlebags, failed to ID two ponies from the wanted list, failed to ask why an on-duty officer was outside his area of operation. Door not secured. Door not fortified. And most, most inexcusable, when their charge showed up with a bunch of ponies they didn’t know, it did not even occur to them that you might be a hostage.” He spits out the last word and sharply shakes his mane. “An assassin could walk in here!”
“I suppose it’s good that you’re not here to kill anypony then,” Apple Bloom says dryly.
Echo and I share a brief look. We say nothing. Berry is silent as well, of course, but that means less.
The tunnel goes on for perhaps a hundred bone-dry paces before we come to a door on our left—one of those fancy sliding airlocks with the jewel in the middle. This one is guarded by a pair of wiredolls, silvery and silent. They turn to watch us as we approach, evidently active, but say nothing, and Apple Bloom does not greet them. Instead, she walks right up to the door and looks at it head on. “Bloomberg,” she says, and with a click, the door slides open.
That takes us into a stairwell. There’s another guard here who greets Apple Bloom as we pass, and then we’re moving up the stairs. Up one flight, then another, and then out another passworded airlock.
Then, into a field.
There’s grass under my hooves. Soil. Apple trees all around us. A grove. The ceiling is domed, and has been painted to look like the sky, blue with tufted clouds. The lights are on a metal track, and have been stained to glow yellow instead of white. A natural color. I know it’s fake, but... it’s a good fake. It feels good. It may be an illusion, but illusion enough to fool my body into thinking I’m outside again. To get me to relax.
The size of the chamber helps. It’s not even a room, it’s a space. It’s about ten acres in total I’d say—the largest room I’ve seen since the Wharf. I’d forgotten the sort of staggering scale this city can conjure when it wants to, and the ceiling is so far above us, my eye loses the imperfections of the paint. I only see clouds and sunlight, and smell the plants in the breeze and—
A sharp whistle snaps me out of my thoughts, and I whirl around to see Echo and Apple Bloom staring at me. “You okay?” Apple Bloom asks, squinting at me. “You zoned out for a second there.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I reply, shaking my head as though to clear it. “I just got a bit of vertigo.” Looking around at ground level now, I see we’re surrounded by apple trees and collection baskets, and that there’s a trail running off between the trunks. The point of a roof is barely visible over the treetops, an apple-shaped weathervane adorning the peak. “Is that... a house? Like, a real—”
“Yeah,” Apple Bloom says, taking a moment to glance around us. Most of the collection baskets have long since overflowed, and the grass is covered in loose apples. Some of them have been there so long they’re covered in dust, but none of them are rotting. They’re not even bruised. “Applejack had the old family house disassembled plank by plank, then shipped it down here. Put the whole thing back together herself too.”
“Wait, this...” I gesture at the dome above us, and the fields around us. “All of this is her house? I thought this was like... a field or something.”
“It is a field,” Apple Bloom replies, but I can hear the disdain in her voice. The suppressed anger. The confirmation.
“I meant like a real field! For growing food. Not her yard.” Now that I look, the signs are obvious. The baskets aren’t collected, the path is more like a nature trail than an industrial road, and of course, the painted ceiling. It’s perfectly obvious, but this can’t all be for one pony. “Even the Princess’s own palace isn’t this big.”
“Oh, yeah. Princess Celestia. I think I’ve heard of her,” Echo says, with a lilting, lazy tone. He leans his head down to pick up one of the apples, taking a bite out of it and chewing as he considers me. “Which Element of Harmony does she wield again? Was it honesty?” He takes another bite, mouthing out the words, “Because I don’t think it was honesty.”
That caught Apple Bloom’s attention. Her ears are alert. She’s turned to us. She knows something is up. That’s not a normal conversation for two residents of Vision to have. Echo knows it too. Knows I can’t rip his head off or scream at him the way he deserves without giving who I am away. “Cute,” I reply, shaking myself out—keeping my tone merely annoyed, careful not to let any genuine anger show. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
I start my legs into motion, and the three of them follow.
That got things going; a little blood pumping. I know he’s only making fun of Princess Celestia to mess with me, but that doesn’t stop it from working. He’s got no right! Princess Celestia told me what she thought I needed to know, and if I’d obeyed her like I should have, I’d still be in Canterlot.
Not to mention that he nearly blew our cover. He can’t even blame it on the booze this time. Whatever! Just... whatever. I shouldn't let this get to me so much.
As we move down the trail, I turn my head off to the side, and let out a snort. A hot breath. I’ve got to calm down. The last thing I need right now is to get knocked off my game. The important part is only minutes away; I can’t be distracted. I take a breath. Let it out gently. Feel my heart slow down. There we go.
I’m sorry, Princess.
By the time I lift my head again, we can see the house through the trees, instead of over the treetops. It’s more like a barn really, with a huge main building and a little side house attached. A hoofful of windows along the side house mark the interior spaces. The windows have flower boxes, and the whole thing is surrounded by a little white fence. Ivy-covered arches adorn the entrances, and our trail runs right under one, moving past a line of hay bales on its way to the front door.
It looks idyllic, and... well. How it looks isn’t relevant. Keep your head in the game, Siren. We’re going to go in, find Applejack’s bedroom, go through the secret passage, save Green, and murder Rarity. I can worry about Applejack’s taste in decor on the way back.
I don’t see any guards, and Apple Bloom obviously wasn’t worried about us being overheard, but she starts to look around as we get near the house, turning her head this way and that and looking over her shoulder. Is something wrong? Are there wiredolls or alarms or guards? Something Echo didn’t know about? Are we—
“Applejack!?” she calls at the top of her lungs. “You here!?” Oh, right. I would have figured that out on my own. “It’s Apple Bloom!” I perk up my ears, and Echo does the same, as all four of us strain to listen.
Not a sound.
“Alright.” Apple Bloom says, letting out a relieved sigh. “She usually leaves for work by six, but I had to check. Let’s go. Her room is this way.” She pulls a ring of keys out of her saddlebags and opens the side door of the house, leading us inside at a brisk walk.
We start in a kitchen—real old-country flavor stuff, from the flour-stained rolling pin on the countertop to the rough-hewn table. There are family pictures on the walls, a little vase of flowers on the table. A tiny model of Vision, carved out of wood. A spice rack full of mantle bottles, and a little set of measuring cups hanging next to them. It’s like if Interior Decorator Monthly had a special dystopian-nightmare issue.
Well, anyway. We don’t linger long in the kitchen. Apple Bloom guides us around the table and down a hallway, then up a short flight of stairs. There’s a hall here, three doors on either side, and Apple Bloom quickly trots for one of them, pulling it open. She heads in first, and Echo steps up to the doorframe behind her, while Berry and I take up the rear.
“Apple Bloom?” a groggy voice asks, floating out into the hallway through the door. “What’re you doin’ here?”
Oh horseapples.
I freeze to the spot. Echo is doing the same ahead of me, rooted to the ground where he stands, not so much as a feather twitching. I can’t see Apple Bloom—she’s already gone inside. If she’s panicking, we might be sunk. No, wait. I don’t see any guards or alarms around here. We might be able to stop Applejack before—
“Oh, sorry Applejack,” Apple Bloom says, her tone level enough. Apologetic. Embarrassed. Good. Good, she’s handling it. “I didn’t know you were in here. I’m just looking for the attic key.”
“Keyring’s on the dresser,” Applejack mutters, her words slurred and her voice quiet. Good. If we take the key and quietly back out, she’ll fall asleep again and we can go. “Whaddya need the attic key for?”
“I was...” She hesitates. Obvious tell. Not good. Maybe Applejack will be too tired to notice. “Going to get the old couch, if you don’t mind. I thought I’d reupholster it.”
“Oh. Alright,” Applejack says. She’s blandly buying it. I think we might be in the clear! “Is that Echo, there? Ah haven’t seen you in years.”
“Just here to lend a hoof, Ms. Applejack,” Echo says. Not a bad delivery, but not how I would have played it. Those two need to disengage fast before she wakes up. “But we’ll visit some other time. Sleep well.” Phew. Alright, now the key is to back away quietly before—
Then I hear a stiff sigh, the creak of bedsprings, and the cracking of joints. A pony stretching. “Nah, it’s alright. It was about time Ah got up anyway.”
Well, before that happens. Okay, think fast, Siren. How do we play this? “Aww, you don’t have to do that,” Apple Bloom says. Too little too late, and I hear hooves hit the floor. Okay, we’re friends of Apple Bloom here to... help her move the couch? Four ponies is a lot for a piece of furniture.
“Don’t be silly. It’s almost noon fer goodness sake. Besides, you hardly ever visit anymore,” Applejack says. Now there’s hoofsteps, and Echo is backing out of the doorframe. Okay, Siren, game face on! If she’s anything like Rarity, you’ll be dealing with a alchemically enhanced supernatural monster, fueled by dark sorcery and a corrupted Element of Harmony. A horror of magic gone wrong, hidden behind a thin veneer of sanity. But I can do this. I’m ready!
She steps out of the bedroom door with one eye squeezed shut as she yawns, her face hidden under a tangled mess of bed-head. She’s a stocky pony with an orange coat and a blonde mane and tail. I see a few extra cutie marks along her side, and my eyes swing down to do a more through check. She has... uh... that is, I notice her belly is a bit swollen. Quite a lot, actually. She, uh. That is to say. Wow. She is super pregnant.
Wait. Markers can get pregnant?
“Hey, Berry. Long time no see,” she says, reaching up to rub the sleep stuff out of her eyes. “And hey there, uh...”
“Siren Song,” I say when she prompts. How does that work? Would the foal have cutie marks? Wouldn’t they be born addicted? Or are they fine? If they’re fine, does that make them immune? Or do they inherit their mother’s abilities?
“Right. Nice ta meetcha,” she says, with a wave of a hoof. “Sorry for being a bit inhospitable, but I gotta pee like a racehorse. Y’all mind if I step off for a second?”
“Go right ahead,” I say, quickly. She moves towards me, and I step out of the way to let her pass as she heads down the stairs. The bathroom must be on the first floor, and she promptly turns when she reaches the base of the stair, heading down the hallway below.
Okay, none of that proves she isn’t an axe murderer. Axe murderers need to pee too. And maybe have freaky, mutant addict-babies. I don’t know. That could be how it works.
“Okay, we’re fine,” Apple Bloom says, letting out a little sigh of relief. “We’ll take the couch and go. I’ll ask her why she was here today, and we’ll work out a time to come back and—”
“No,” I say, with a sharp breath. “Echo, how long do you need to pick the lock on the passage door?”
“Maybe twenty minutes?” he guesses. Good enough, I’ll take it.
“Fine. Get started. Berry, get the keyring and go up to the attic,” I order, quick and to the point. “Tromp around, make some noise. Apple Bloom and I will keep Applejack downstairs. After twenty minutes, I’m coming up. Berry and I will bring the couch down, and when we go back up to ‘clean up’, all three of us go into the passage. Apple Bloom can say we finished up and left.”
“Whoa, whoa, no,” Apple Bloom says with a shake of her head, keeping her voice low. “That’s stupid. There is no reason for us not to just come back another day.”
“Apple Bloom, your sister looks like she’s carrying a full-size alicorn. Guess why she isn’t at work,” I hiss right back. Apple Bloom’s opinion frankly matters less at this point than Echo and Berry’s, and since his expression is mostly neutral, that means I’m playing this one for the crowd. “She looks like she’s expecting any day now, and precisely how often do you think the house will be empty with a baby inside? The mission happens now or it doesn’t happen.” I turn on the spot to fix Echo with a stare. “You waiting for something?”
He stares back at me for a second. A long, long second. I look into his eyes, see the hesitation there. Come on. Come on, Echo. Do it!
“I didn’t come all the way here to get run off by a pregnant mare,” he says, heading back to the bedroom. Berry takes that as her cue as well, grabbing the keyring off the dresser and moving to the end of the hall, and the door there I assume leads to the attic.
Apple Bloom looks left and right, realizing she’s lost control of the situation. “Echo, get back here. Consarnit, stop and think. How are y’all gonna get back out of the passage when yer done if my sister’s here? The plan’s sunk. It’s time for us to go!”
“You’re free to run if you like, Ms. Bloom,” Echo says with a smirk, grabbing the dresser and pulling it away from the wall. “But the way I remember it, there are several exits to that tunnel. I’m sure at least one of them will be unguarded.” Berry soon has her own door open, and she trots upstairs, hooves banging loudly on the wood exactly the way I intended. Apple Bloom hisses after them one more time, but Echo doesn’t heed her, and neither does Berry. The glare Apple Bloom shoots me is absolutely spiteful, but I’m okay with that.
Echo and Berry are only just at work when we hear a door shut downstairs, and Applejack’s hoofsteps again become audible. “Sorry about that,” she calls up to us, rounding the corner. She still has bed-head, but her mane has at least been pushed back and out of the way, and she’s flicked a few knots out of her tail. Her steps are slow and deliberate, but given how much weight she’s carrying, that’s not surprising.“Wasn’t expectin’ any gues—” She puts a hoof on the stairs.
“Oh, no. It’s fine. Stay there, we’ll come down,” I say sweetly, making a quick-trot down the steps. It’s a single-file stair, which nicely blocks the way without making it obvious what I’m doing, and Applejack obligingly steps out of the way to let me down. Apple Bloom is right behind me, which is where I need her, and I stop right away at the base so that she’s stuck on the stair behind me. She makes an excellent discreet roadblock. “We’re the ones who woke you up. We won’t be in your hair long—Echo and Berry are already fetching things upstairs. You need any help? Get you something?”
“Do you fuss all ponies this much, or do y’all just think ‘pregnant’ and ‘crippled’ mean the same thing?” Applejack asks with a touch of prickly pride, narrowing her eyes at me. It’s angry, but... thin. Nothing behind it. Most ponies couldn't tell from her expression, but I’m sure of it. I can see it in her eyes.
“Are you always this defensive, or only when you’re the size of a whale?” I retort, matching her stare for stare. We hold that contest for a moment—a stiff fraction of a second.
Then she laughs. A quiet little chagrined sound. “Pretty much all the time, but this certainly don’t help,” she admits, reaching a hoof back to rest it under her belly. “Ah was going to make breakfast though, and Ah would be much obliged if you’d ask Echo and Berry if they’ll be joinin’ us. Least Ah can do.”
“Sure thing,” I say, dislodging my temporary roadblock as I squeeze past Apple Bloom. Behind me, I can hear the two of them moving, exchanging greetings of their own as they head back into the kitchen, but I’m already hurrying up. Above me, I can hear Berry tromping around, and I quickly round the corner at the top of the steps into Applejack’s bedroom.
It’s more humble than I’d thought, which I suppose fits the rest of the house. Rough wooden walls and beams, a queen bed with an apple motif on the headboard, a little nightstand with a lamp and a book. There’s a peg on the wall holding an old country-style hat and a coil of rope. It’s absolutely picturesque, right down to the dresser covered in well-worn nicknacks and family photos.
Or it would be, if that dresser weren't currently pulled away from the wall to reveal a hidden panel. A tiny metal plate embedded in the wall, with a shiny gem in the middle. A miniature version of those big metal security doors. Echo is already kneeling in front of it, a profusion of odd little tools laid out in front of him.
“How’s it going?” I ask as I step up to the dresser. The door’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be—it’s more like a cubbyhole than a real door. Echo doesn’t seem bothered though. His expression is intent, focused on what’s in front of him, and he doesn’t even glance up at me.
“Fine,” he answers curtly, picking up a tuning fork from his pile of tools and gently striking the gem in the middle. He pauses and lifts an ear, listening to the resultant ring. Funny—only his main pair of saddlebags are open. I thought the extra bags were for his lockpicks? Well, whatever. Maybe he has other tools.
“Good. Applejack’s distracted,” I say, taking a moment to look around as I kill time. My eyes slide to the top of the dresser. Picture of her and little foals, hoof file, makeup kit, hairbrush, nothing special. “Wait.” Something occurs to me. “Why is a secret tunnel on the second floor?”
“Because we’re not on the second floor, Ms. Song, we’re on the fifty-fifth floor,” Echo replies, adding an irritated growl for emphasis. I’m not sure how that helps, but, um... right. “Shouldn't you be downstairs?”
“Fine. Twenty minutes,” I say, turning to go. By the time I get downstairs, Apple Bloom and Applejack have moved into the kitchen. Apple Bloom is sitting at the table, while Applejack seems to be getting something out of the cabinets. Hay? And alfalfa too, I think.
“—Really wouldn't mind seeing their aunt a bit more,” Applejack is saying, and she waves me over to the table when she sees me.
“They say they’re fine, but thank you,” I interject quickly, so as not to break the flow of the conversation.
“Thanks, sugarcube,” Applejack answers me, before she continues on her original thread. “Ah mean, Ah’d be happy to come visit you if yer busy. Goodness knows y’ain’t that far away.”
“I don’t really live in a good neighborhood, Applejack. It’s probably not a place to be bringing your kids,” Apple Bloom says, with a certain weight to her words that wasn’t there before. Looking at the two of them side by side, it’s... well.
I know Applejack is older. She has six cutie marks, including the pony biting their own tail, so it’s perfectly obvious her youth came out of a bottle. That doesn’t change the look of it though. The look of them. Apple Bloom shows her age and more. Her shoulders slump, there are lines under her eyes and in her face, signs of stress and worry. She’s an unattractive, unmarried thirty-something, and you know it just looking at her. Applejack looks like she’s my age. Young and fit and active, to say nothing of dynamic. She must be expecting any day now, and she’s still quick at work at the countertop, as Apple Bloom sits slumped at the table. Of the two, Applejack seems full of life, and Apple Bloom is just, well...
Sad.
“Ah know for a fact I give you enough to cover a nice place,” Applejack says, pausing to glance at Apple Bloom. Apple Bloom doesn't meet her sister’s eyes though, looking away from her to stare at the wall. “But uh...” Applejack backtracks, returning to her work. “Ah guess that’s yours to spend how you like. Posters n’such, Ah imagine.”
“Yeah. Stuff like that,” Apple Bloom replies, blandly. I sit there and try to become invisible, watching the interplay between these two. The strain in Apple Bloom’s words, and the delicacy in Applejack’s. One pony who doesn’t want to be here, and one pony trying to handle her with care.
“Well, you know,” Applejack replies, putting a cheerful tilt into her words as she leans over to grab a stack of bowls, dropping them onto a tray. “Y’all are always free to live here if you like. We’d all love to have you, and stars know Ah could use the help with the foals.”
“Ah’m sure you can afford a foalsitter,” Apple Bloom says, her ears folding back stiffly. Applejack’s words are having the opposite of their intended effect. She should be shouting, but the more she tries to be nice, the more wound up Apple Bloom becomes. I don’t think she’s going to figure that out though.
“Nonsense. ‘Tain’t no foalsitter who can replace their own flesh and blood,” Applejack says, still with that forcefully upbeat tilt. She grabs the tray in her teeth, sliding it onto the main table. A big bowl of hay and greens, and a little serving bowl for each of us. “Aunt Brown Betty was over all the time when you were little. It’s an Apple Family tradition.”
“What about taking drugs when you’re pregnant?” Apple Bloom asks. “Is that an Apple Family tradition too?”
Silence. Dead silence. You could hear a pony’s breath, if all of us hadn’t just reflexively held ours. What did she do? What did she do? Applejack could throw us out over that! She will! She’s got to. Now we’re all dead because Apple Bloom couldn't keep her mouth shut!
Applejack doesn’t shout though. All she does is stare at Apple Bloom, wide-eyed, her mouth opening only to shut without a sound. Apple Bloom looks away, staring at the wall.
“Apple Bloom, I—”
“Forget it,” Apple Bloom snaps, rising from where she sits. She heads to the stairs at once, stalking off before Applejack can object. “Sorry. I’m going to go help Echo. We’ll be outta your way soon.”
“No, Apple Bloom. Wait!” Applejack calls after her, but Apple Bloom ignores her, moving up the stairs and out of sight. Applejack watches the empty stairwell, hoping her sister will turn around. She doesn’t though, and after a moment, Applejack lets out the breath she was holding. Her ears fold back, her shoulders slump, and she stares at the table.
Okay. Strictly speaking, that worked out in our favor. It was a stupid, stupid risk, but in the balance, Apple Bloom lucked out. All we need to do is keep Applejack downstairs for twenty minutes or so, and that made sure that Applejack won’t want to go see Apple Bloom if she can possibly avoid it. It also left her good and distracted so she won’t notice the little inconsistencies in our story. Now all I need to do is make twenty minutes of awkward small talk, and we’re good to go.
She wipes her face with a hoof, tangled strands of her mane still tumbling down around her muzzle. Her eyes shut, as she takes a moment to collect herself. To draw a breath.
“She didn’t mean it,” I blurt the words out. That is not small talk, but... well. I know what I’m doing. “She’s only... Scootaloo had a bad night, and you know how that makes her feel. She’s been in a mood all morning and...” I’m not really sure where I was going with that, but Applejack is looking at me now. “She doesn’t really think that.”
“Ah’m pretty sure she does, sugarcube,” Applejack says. After a moment though, she shakes her head a little and lays out two of the bowls, nudging hay and alfalfa into each one. She serves me first. Because I’m the guest, I suppose. “Ah know very well mah sister hates me. Doesn’t mean Ah gotta hate her back.” She pauses for a moment, as though surprised she was so open with me. “Sorry that you got dragged into this.”
“She doesn't hate you, she just...” Hates everything you are. But that’s not the same thing as hating you, exactly. Somehow though, that doesn’t seem like the right thing to say, so I end up gesturing at her blandly. “Twins?” I finally ask.
“Yup. A colt and a filly. Due any day now.” She finishes serving herself and pulls the bowl into place, but instead of eating, she rises from the table, walking over to the spice rack and taking a number of the mantle bottles there in her teeth. I float the measuring cups over, and she gives me a nod, settling back into her place. One by one, she lets the bottles down onto the table, taking a moment to stretch out her jaw. “We were going to name the colt Rack Burn after his uncle on his father’s side, and the filly is Sea Apple.”
“Are they your first?” I ask as she pours out precise amounts from each bottle. His father’s side. That’s weird to think. I mean, I guess that makes more sense then Applejack... I don’t know, cloning herself or something. But I can’t think of one of the Elements of Harmony as married. How does a pony marry that? I mean, what exactly is it like to hop into bed with a pony who could have you killed for offending her?
Exciting, probably.
“Nah,” Applejack answers when she’s done with her current bottle, putting it back on the table. “First time with twins, which has been an, uh... interestin’ experience.” She chuckles a little. “But dependin’ on what order they care to be born in, these two make five and six. They’re gonna grow up with three beautiful older sisters and one handsome big brother. That’s their picture on the wall there.” She points to one of the hanging frames, and I pretend to look at it for a while. Family photo in front of the house. None of her kids have two heads or anything, I guess. That's good.
“Wow. Six? Really?” I ask, finding a smile for her and leaning in a bit like I was really just so interested in her personal life. She smiles back, even if it is a bit strained, and she nods. “Planning to stop at any point?”
“When my husband stops thinking I’m hot.” She grins. It’s clearly an invitation to blush and laugh, and I do, acting suitably scandalized. That makes her smile more, and her eyes aren’t quite so heavy when she pours the rest of her mantles into the bowl.
“You know, most mares quit by their forties,” I say, munching on some of my bowl to be polite. I can’t get a good look at her cutie marks with her behind the table that way, but I can see the bottle labels: a pony biting their own tail, a calculator, a crown and a sword, four iron horseshoes, a one-ton weight. Not sure what those mean.
“I’m thirty-eight, you little punk,” she answers, that grin widening. “Besides, what’s the point of being eighteen forever if you don’t use it for anything? As long as Ah got my wits about me and can give ’em a good home, can’t say Ah ever plan on stoppin’.” Her eyes are bright for a moment, but it doesn’t last. The lightness there falters, and she leans down to take a bite of her hay. The strands glisten with the residue left behind. Like an oil slick.
“Ain’t enough kids in the city these days anyway,” she adds. Like an afterthought. “We need more young ponies lookin’ to better their community. All we got is a bunch of old farts with piles o’regret.”
“Does that mean I can expect a new public announcement track soon?” She clearly wants to be cheered up, and I’m nothing if not accommodating. Smile, Siren. Perk your ears. Tail up a hair. Lean forward just so. “Something about remembering to braid my tail and smile at colts?”
“Oooh, because yer totally the first pony to make that joke,” she replies, but I can tell I accomplished my mission. I think I might even be charming her a little. I mean, I’m not going to make assumptions because I still think she’s going to turn out to be the world’s nicest... I don’t know, kitten-grinder. But the plan is working at least!
“Nah,” she continues. “Ah actually try to stay out of civic policy as much as Ah can. I’ll do those announcement things from time to time, but feedin’ the city is hard enough without spendin’ all my time worryin’ about what ponies think.” Wait, what?
“You, uh... wow,” I say, trying to piece it all together. I could wave that off and move on, but this could actually be relevant information. Time to pry as gently as I can. “I thought you and the other Elements... you know. Ran the show.”
“Yeah, but Ah got no patience for it. Rarity and Rainbow Dash took to it like fish to water, but Ah’m not a politician at heart.” She shrugs, taking another large bite of her hay and chewing slowly as she talks. “Besides, running the farm is a full-time job, and I can’t be workin’ fourteen-hour days like they do. Ah ain’t gonna be one of those mares who neglects their family for their job. Made it real clear to everypony that unless the city is on fire, Ah ain’t to be disturbed with work in this house.”
What? What? She’s one of five mares who rule an enchanted city beneath the waves and all she can talk about is clocking out at five because that’s family time? What the heck is wrong with her? “Well, it is a very nice house,” I say, blandly, struggling for some better reply.
“Thanks. Havin’ it down here was a little weird at first, but Ah’m happy Ah did it. When we first got settled in, Twilight set me up with this whole apartment thing. Canterlot style. Ah tried to make it work, but...” She feigns a shudder. “Besides, Ah think it’s good for the children. Foals need a natural, normal environment to grow up in, you know?”
A natural environment. A solid gold house would have cost less than this. “Yeah,” I say, after a moment. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. Gives them a traditional Equestrian upbringing.”
“That was my thought. You know, they keep that whole garden out there?” She gestures to the window. “No hired hooves. Partly so we can spend some time together, but Ah also think it’s good fer ’em to grow up doing real chores. Too many foals these days think you can get whatever you want in life with money, gadgets, and an alchemist. No respect for hard work.”
I manage a dumb nod, but that’s about it. I’m still struggling to decide what to say to that when Applejack looks at the stairs, and I remember this isn’t a chat for our own personal enjoyment.
“So, how’d y’all know Apple Bloom anyway?” Applejack asks, turning back from the stairs to me. “you don’t seem like one of her normal crowd.”
“Oh, we’re uh... friends,” I say quickly. That wasn’t so bad. Her attention is still on me. I think that delivery was okay. “We met at one of her uh... events. I mean, I’m not as fanatical as she is, but Poison Joke isn’t a toy. Ponies need to respect that it’s dangerous if misused. I think we can all get behind that.”
Applejack nods. “Ah suppose so,” she agrees, seeming to mull something over in her mind as she watches me. I take the chance to bite at my own haybowl. “If you two are sleepin’ together, you can just say so.”
I cough, hacking as hay goes down the wrong pipe. Ah. Choking! Choking! I double over as I try to clear my throat, wheezing around the blockage, trying to get it either down or up. My hooves hit the table as I try to draw breath, spots appearing in my eyes. I can’t breathe!
Then, a hoof hits the back of my neck, so hard the world spins around me. I gag, hiccup involuntarily, my throat bobbing as I swallow. Breathing sends fire racing up and down my neck, but I can breathe! I can breathe. As I gasp for air, my vision still full of dancing light, I gradually become aware of Applejack’s hoof tapping the back of my neck, working its way down towards my shoulders. “Easy there, sugarcube!” I hear her say over the ringing in my ears. “Hold on.” The patting of her hoof stops, and a moment later, a pitcher of water drops onto the table in front of me. “Here. Drink this.”
I do, grabbing the pitcher and taking down big gulps of water until my throat feels clear. When I finally put it down, I have to gasp, sucking in a deep breath. But, I can take a deep breath, and the spots are clearing. “Easy there. Take it slow. Don’t go dyin’ on my table now,” Applejack says, unable to conceal the hint of amusement in her voice.
I think my arch-nemesis’s best friend just saved my life. “Uh...” I say. Brilliant, Siren. Very eloquent.
“It’s alright. Take a second,” Applejack says, backing off to let me recover my wits. I can see her now. Smiling at me. The horseshoes are on her shoulder, the one ton weight on her leg. The calculator is right above her dock, the pony biting their own tail is on her back, and the crown-and-sword is on her belly, distorted by her pregnancy. I can see her flank too. Three apples.
“Uh... thanks,” I say, after a second. Staring at her dumbly. “Thanks,” I repeat.
“Don’t sweat it,” Applejack says, making her way back to her side of the table. “Didn’t mean to shock you there.”
I guess she didn’t.
“Oh, um... it’s fine,” I say, managing to recover something like my wits. “You surprised me is all. No. Apple Bloom and I aren’t a thing. I didn’t even know she was... that way. With mares.”
“Ah don’t know if she is or not. She jus’ never brought home a stallion, so...” Applejack shrugs, looking down at the table. Her bowl is mostly empty by now. “Ah just don’t want her to be lonely. This is her time to be enjoyin’ life, you know?”
“She’s dedicated her life to destroying something... evil,” I say after a pause, and it’s only when Applejack gives me a narrow stare that I amend, “Something she perceives as evil, anyway. Isn’t that a noble thing? Shouldn't you be supporting her?”
“Ah pay her rent. Ah listen when she talks. Ah’m always there if she needs me. Ah do support her.” Applejack shakes her head. “But she ain’t fightin’ some noble cause. She’s hurt, and grievin’, and lashin’ out. Needs somepony and somethin’ to blame.”
“For her friends?” I ask, and Applejack gently nods, lifting her eyes my way.
“Yeah. And the city. And the war.” She swirls her bowl, looking at the dregs of medication inside. After a moment, she lifts the bowl with her teeth, downing the rest before returning it to the table. “She ever talk about that? I know a lot of ponies don’t.”
“No. I didn’t even know she fought,” I say, trying to picture Apple Bloom in one of those black uniforms. Nothing. “It’s hard to imagine her as a security officer. Is that where she and Echo met?”
“Well, the war is where she met Echo, but she weren't in security,” Applejack says, with a little sigh. “He was the one who noticed who she was right about when she was gettin’ fitted for a noose. He pulled her out of the line, and I got her pardoned. She spent the rest of the war in Tiara Tower. Trixie owed me a favor, you understand.” Twice, she taps her hoof on the table. “She wanted to make a martyr of herself—spittin’ fire and curses at Echo and me for saving her. I thought she’d never forgive us for that.”
After a moment, she adds, “But I guess she got forgiveness in her heart for him.”
“Not completely, I don’t think,” I say, struggling to think of what to add. “They’ve got... well. Other issues.”
“Ain’t that always the way,” Applejack says, sniffling a bit. “Land sakes, this got personal outta nowhere. Here I barely know you, and I’m practically tellin’ you my life story.”
“It’s okay. I’m always happy to listen,” I say, reassuring her with a little wave. “But... Applejack. You know Apple Bloom’s got a few things to be upset about, right? The city’s not in great shape. I mean... is there anything wrong with wanting to go back to Equestria?”
Applejack lifts her head, and fixes me head-on. Looks me right in the eye. I can feel my limbs going stiff, but I don’t falter. I don’t panic. I don’t show any guilt or shame that would set off a suspicious reaction. I just... I hold her with my eyes, and I ask.
“You old enough to remember Equestria?” Applejack finally speaks, her voice calm and collected. “What with everypony looking so young these days, Ah can’t hardly tell.”
“Yeah,” I say, after a moment. I shouldn't, but I do. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Did you fight?” she asks, still in that steady tone.
“No,” I mutter, quietly. “I was afraid. I’m not a very brave pony. It’s uh... it’s why I got this.” I tap my cheek. Applejack nods.
“What do you imagine you’d do then, if you went back to Equestria?” Applejack asks, looking me right in the eye. “Sing? Compose? I noticed the musical cutie mark there.”
“I’m an actor,” I say, but my voice is quiet. “Plays. Not movies.”
“Sure.” Applejack’s tone is level, almost comforting, but rock solid under it all. “So y’all’d go back, find a troupe. Cut up some fabric to make costumes. Put on something nice for the crowd. Maybe have a spat backstage and then learn a valuable friendship lesson. Laugh it off, go to sleep, do it all the next day.” One ear tilts back. “Ah mean, if that all sounds good to you, Ah can go write you a ticket right now.”
“I, uh...” Of course, now that I actually have something to do down here, sub tickets are practically coming out of the woodwork! “I’ve got some important things to see to. Ponies who need me. I can’t walk away.”
“Oh, there’s no rush,” Applejack shrugs. “Ah can post-date it if you like. How long do you think it’ll take you to wrap up your affairs? A few days? A few weeks? Heck, I could write you a ticket for next year if you’d like.”
Well, I mean. That’s good, right? This stuff with Green will be done soon, and then I can... leave her with Trixie and... and come back here. Get a ride home. Perfect.
I look at the table.
“It’s alright,” Applejack says, reaching a leg across the table to rest her hoof over mine. “Equestria’s a candy-colored playground Celestia made for us to frolic in. And yeah, we all want to go back to that, but you’re older now. You’ve lived through a war. You’ve known real fear. Seen ponies die. You really think you’re gonna be able to relate to somepony whose biggest worry in life was if they got Gala tickets or not?”
I lift my head, and her eyes are there, right in front of mine. “You may have been an adult when you came here, but Vision is where you grew up. This is your home now. You belong here.” She pulls her hoof away, settling back on her side of the table. “There ain’t no place for you there anymore, Siren. Deep down, you know it’s true.”
I...
“Yeah,” I say. I need to look... away. Anywhere but her face. At the family portraits on the wall. Off into the corner. “I know.”
“Aww, don’t be so sad now.” Applejack says, leaning over to try to catch my eye. She’s smiling. “Life down here ain’t so bad. You should give things another shot. Settle down. Meet a nice stallion. Take up some hobbies. Make the city a better place.” She lowers her head over to the far side of the table to nudge a box of tissues my way. Why? Why is she doing that? Oh. Because my nose is runny.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking one and blowing hard. I must look so undignified, but if she notices, she doesn’t say anything.
“It’s okay,” Applejack says. “Jus’ don’t spend all your time mopin’ around and thinkin’ about what you lost. Way too many ponies in this city got a case of the coulda, shoulda, woulda.” She makes little gestures with her forehooves, knocking the points off as she talks. “Coulda stayed in Equestria, shoulda stayed off the mantles, woulda done this, woulda done that.” She nudges me and keeps smiling. Like it was something to be laughed off.
“Why, Ah bet that if they used half the energy they spend on regret and blame actually tryin’ t’improve their lives, we’d be back in the golden days before y’know it.” By now her tone is light. Not mocking, or joking, but encouraging, and she reaches out to tilt my head back towards her. “Don’tcha think so?”
“Positive thinking helps, I suppose...” I say, for want of anything else to say. “But... Applejack. You do know some of them are starving, right? There are ponies in this city who are starving to death.” I try to say it as gently as I can. I mean, I don’t want to offend her. I don’t! But...
“Hooey. That’s jus’ gossip,” Applejack says, with a dismissive little wave. “We give a full bag of apples and hay to anypony who shows up askin’ for it. And that’s not even countin’ all the ponies who sneak into the park to graze.”
“Applejack, I’ve seen starving ponies,” I say, trying to make my point as best I can. I look into her eyes, try to make her understand. “Ponies in the tram stations living out of boxes and scavenging for food out of the trash.”
“There’s food for the takin’. Ain’t my fault if they won’t even make the effort to reach for it.” Applejack says with that hint of pride, the faintest up-turn in her tone. Then she pauses, leaning in a little as she looks at me more closely. “But, hey,” she continues, in a more moderate voice. “Why don’t Ah give you somethin’ right now? Next time you see a pony in need, you can feed ’em yourself and then help ’em find their way down here.”
“Oh, no. You don’t have to...” I protest, but she’s already in motion. She heads across the room and opens one of the cabinets, lowering her head to grab what’s inside. The effort makes her grunt, but she pulls out a beautiful oilcloth saddlebag, stuffed to the brim with apples. A silver clasp in the shape of Applejack’s original cutie mark holds it shut, and a set of straps wait to secure it about my barrel. It hits the table with a thud, and Applejack takes a moment to catch her breath.
“Ah, ain’t nuthin’ to me,” she insists. “‘Sides, it’s the least I can do. You show up here to help a friend move their couch, and here I make you play therapist around my kitchen table.”
“Oh... it’s okay,” I say, looking between her and the saddlebags. That’s a lot of apples. I wonder if she harvested them all herself? “And... I’m happy to. And you’d be surprised how often ponies open up to me. I’ve got that kind of face, I guess.”
“It’s somethin’ about you,” Applejack says, with a vague wave in my direction. “It’s actually kinda weird. Ah haven’t known you for half an hour and y’already feel like an old friend. It’s like Ah can trust you, y’know?”
“Yeah, I, uh...” I swallow. “I have that effect on ponies.”
Then, we don’t say anything for a bit.
“Well,” Applejack finally breaks the silence. “Why don’t Ah help you shimmy on into that, and then we can go upstairs and check on the others? They’ve been awhile.”
I don’t even think about it—the lie is instinctive, out in a moment. “I’m... pretty sure they’ve been awhile because Apple Bloom is talking about you to the other two. We might not want to interrupt.” I say it with an embarrassed little smile. A bit of a glance at the floor. “But I’d love to help you clean up down here.”
And so I levitate the bag over my back, and Applejack tightens up the straps. It fits in well, right below my belt, even if it does feel a little lopsided. Then I collect the bowls, and bring them to the sink, and wash them while Applejack talks about her family. What the older ones are doing, how she met her husband back in Equestria, and how she was thinking of adding a nursery to the house but hates to change it from how it was. I smile, and nod, and ask questions, and laugh when I’m supposed to. We talk about how silly foals are these days, and I pretend to be old. She compliments me on my look. I put my hoof on her belly and feel for the little kick.
Then, Apple Bloom is standing on the stairs, and it’s time for me to go.
“Echo says they’re just about done up there,” she says, speaking only at me—staring straight ahead like Applejack wasn’t there. “Berry needs your help to get the couch down the back stair, and then you can all show yourselves out.”
“Apple Bloom!” Applejack snaps. “That’s no way to talk to—”
“It’s fine,” I assure her, quickly moving to the stair. Best I go now. “It’s fine. I feel like I’m intruding anyway. You two should talk. Apple Bloom, you...” I look at her, then back to Applejack. “You take your time, okay? Talk to your sister a bit?” Apple Bloom may be a bit of a rube, but that’s no call for us to hurt her relationship with her sister. If we can avoid it, I mean. “We’ll leave the couch on the loading dock behind your apartment. Take all the time you need.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” Apple Bloom says with a curt tone. She doesn’t even bother looking at her sister.
“Yeah,” I say. After a moment, I turn my head back to Applejack. “Well, I should be going.”
“I suppose it is that time. Y’all keep safe, now,” she says, giving me a little wave.
“I’ll try,” I reply, adding after a moment: “It was nice meeting you.”
Then I go up the stairs.
The secret door in Applejack’s room is open, and Berry and Echo are both there waiting for me. It swings into the wall, and there’s not much behind it—only a thin, vertical passage with barely enough room for one pony. A ladder, not a stair. I don’t know how we’re going to get Green back up there, but I’ll deal with that problem later. They’re clearly ready to go. Berry is staring while Echo packs up his tools, and I can hear Apple Bloom and Applejack saying something. Can’t make out the words, but that should keep Applejack busy.
“Did you get rid of the couch?” I ask into that silence, disturbed only by the occasional clink of Echo’s tools. I doubt Applejack can hear us, but I keep my voice low, just to be safe.
“I moved it under a section of tarp that has not been disturbed for several years,” Berry answers in her droning way. “I believe it will evade detection.”
“That’ll have to do then. Echo?” I ask, right in time for him to sling his saddlebags back over his shoulders.
“I didn’t touch anything else in the room. We’ll be fine.” He takes a swig from his flask, and then tucks it down into his uniform pocket. “Just don’t make any noise on the way down—the tunnel goes right through the kitchen wall.” He’s barely finished saying it when he swings his rear legs through the open tunnel door, carefully finding the first rung with his hooves.
“Hey, Berry.” I turn to her as Echo’s head vanishes through the door. “You knew Applejack back in the day. Was she always... you know?” I ask, but Berry doesn’t answer. She only stares. “Nevermind. Not the time. Go.”
“Remember to pull the dresser back against the wall behind us,” Berry says before she swings after Echo, the faint tap-tap of her horseshoes on the rungs clearly audible. I glance back over my shoulder, but there’s still no sign of trouble, Only... a bedroom. The sheets on the bed are still rumpled and messy.
Ladders always give me the willies. The way I have to hook my hooves over the rungs makes me feel like I’m about to fall. But, once Berry has had enough time to get out of the way, I slide my hind legs through the opening carefully, fumbling around until I find the rung and hook my hooves around it. My new saddlebag gets caught for a second, but I give it a yank, and it comes free. I still feel lopsided, but I’m on the ladder. There’s a dark passage all around me, faint grunts audible below.
I reach out with my horn and pull the dresser back up against the wall, then duck my head so I can shut the passage door. It seals with a metallic clink, and we’re plunged into true pitch black. I’m pretty sure I can light my horn, but Applejack is an earth pony, so there must be some way to navigate this in the dark. Just to be safe, I keep the light out, reaching down for the next rung with a rear hoof, and working my way down one step at a time.
There are muffled sounds behind me, getting louder as I work my way down. It’s hard to tell exactly how far I’ve descended, but the sounds are pony voices, so I assume I’m about on the first floor. I’ve no idea how much further down the tunnel goes though—I can hear Echo and Berry below me, but the sounds seem to sink away forever into the depths.
Then, something smashes into the wall—a crash, a clatter that sends me scrabbling for purchase. What happened!? Did the ladder break? Did Echo or Berry slip?
“Well fine then! It’s all about you, ain’t it!?” Applejack’s voice comes through the wall, muffled by the space between us. “It’s all about what you need and what you want and your big important cause! Who gives a flying feather about all the ponies you’re hurting along the way.” Apple Bloom’s response is too quiet for me to make it out. I hear muffled sounds, but...
Right. Right. The crash was only something getting knocked against the kitchen wall. Probably sounded louder than it was because of the acoustics in here. I take a breath. Listen for one more second.
Then I reach down for the next rung, and continue on.