Climbing the Mountain

by Talon and Thorn


No Goat Left Behind

Max awoke the next afternoon and regretted it immediately. Every part of his body either ached or was almost entirely numb, and they seemed to switch between the two states at random. It took him almost twenty minutes just to roll himself off of his bed and onto his hooves. Even then, the best he could manage was a stiff-limbed gait to slowly move across the room.
 
He had finally moved out of the hotel a few weeks ago and purchased a home of his own. It was about the size of the town hall back at Sadlzberg. Fragrant had worried that the place would not be big enough for his needs, but he didn’t think he would be using a ballroom any time soon, and the dining room could still seat a dozen ponies if he did need a hold a party. Plus, although he didn’t want to tell the Duchess, the place taxed his finances as it was. His family owned a good deal of the best land around Sadlzberg, and most of the farmers paid him rent so he was fairly rich, but Canterlot was an expensive place to live. He couldn’t have afforded it as it was, but Fragrant had run him through how to apply for various grants open for night court staff in the city. Even so, he had hardly been able to afford this place on the fourth tier of the city, amongst the city’s middle class residents. Fragrant had been worried that this position would affect his standing at court, but Max was sure they’d be able to look past something as petty as his postcode.
 
He staggered through the house to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t a pretty sight; much of his body was swollen with dark marks showing through his coat. His eye, although better than yesterday, was still blackened. He waddled into the shower and turned the temperature up to as high as he could stand, and gritted his teeth as the near-scalding water slowly unknotted his muscles until he could move more or less freely again. Turning back to the mirror, he wiped off the condensation. He didn’t look much better. He’d better cover himself up, lest he scare the rest of the court. Turning back to his room, he painfully took out his suit and began to crawl into it. He wished Mrs G, or maybe Fragrant, was here to help him dress. It was a few moments until he could get the image of the latter out of his head. As for the former, well… Mrs G had her own place now, he reminded himself; she was renting on the seventh tier in a mostly goat area. Max had offered her a place in his house - he had two spare bedrooms after all - but she said she wanted her privacy in case she had billy callers, which had made Max squirm uncomfortably at the thought.
 
Now with his clothes covering the worst of his injuries, Max left his new house and started the long painful walk up the city towards the castle. At this rate he was going to be late; no breakfast with Posey today, he thought with a heavy heart.
 
To his surprise, he was the first at the office despite his slow rate of movement. Something must have delayed Mrs G; she was normally here first, even if he arrived on time. He kneeled painfully and took the post in his mouth before staggering over to his desk. It looked like Piste’s weekly report had arrived, as well as some other post from home. He was just about to start reading when there was a knock on the door.
 
“Come in,” he yelled. He didn’t want to have to get up and open it himself.
 
The door opened to reveal a young guard. He opened his mouth to speak, then caught sight of Max’s eye and gaped.
 
“Can I help you?” asked Max with a frown.
 
“Err, yes sir,” said the guard, shaking away his surprise. “There as a visitor at the gate for you, sir, a, um, goat. She says she knows you.”
 
“Mrs Gobhar?”
 
“That’s what she said her name was. She said she worked here but she didn’t have an identity spell on her.”
 
“Oh, this again?” asked Max. The spells the guard used to identify night court staff had not been designed for goats and their manaphagus metabolisms. Magic that would last a year or more on a pony was absorbed in only a few weeks by goats; Mrs G had had to have her’s replaced twice already. Some of the guards were apparently looking into it, but hadn’t come up with a solution yet. He wondered how the other goat servants he occasionally saw about the place coped.
 
“You need me to sign her in, then?”
 
“Yes sir, sorry sir.”
 
“No problem,” said Max, wincing as he got to his hooves. He was starting to lock up again.
 
The two of them trotted through the castle to the front gate, where Mrs G was standing patiently - looking very small compared to the burly guards flanking her.
 
“That’s my assistant, officer,” confirmed Max. “Sorry about this, Mrs G.”
 
“Not a problem, dear,” said the nanny.
 
The guards relaxed slightly. “I’m afraid there is a problem,” noted an officer,”There isn’t currently anyone on duty who can cast an identification spell over your servant’s... abnormalities.”
 
Max frowned. Mrs G was perfectly normal for a goat. “Is there something you can do temporarily? We’ve got quite a bit to do.”
 
“I’ve got quite a bit to do, you mean!” said Mrs G.
 
“Well, we could give her an ID card for the moment, but she’ll need to be properly enchanted in the morning.”
 
“That should work fine for the moment. Hoof it over,” said the nanny.
 
The guard looked back and forth between Mrs G and Max. The latter shrugged and nodded. The guard withdrew a small carved wooden block on a ribbon and passed it over to the goat, who placed it over her neck. “Thanks,” she said.
 
“Can we go now, officer?” asked Max.
 
“Yes sir,” confirmed the guard with a salute.
 


 
It didn’t take long for Max and Mrs G to make it back to their office, and for the Nanny to get back to work. Max tried to do the same, but once again found it hard to concentrate.
 
“You’ve got this evening more or less free, don’t you?” called Mrs G, looking up at the clock. “Your committee meeting was cancelled.”
 
“Yes,” agreed Max slowly, not sure where this was going. Viceroy Night Light had been meant to speak to Max’s committee this evening, but he had cancelled due to some sort of family emergency; he’d heard rumours the Viceroy’s daughter had been arrested for something. He hoped they were unfounded, as he quite liked Night Light, the little he’d seen of him. The committee chairman had thus decided to cancel the meeting and reschedule.
 
“Well, I’ve got something for you to do to keep yourself out of mischief. I was talking to my landlady, Caragh, and she told me her eldest, Malachi, was looking for work… he’s just gotten married, already gotten a kid on the way as well.” Her eyes started to look a little distant.
 
“Um, what can I do about that?” asked Max. “I don’t think we need any more help right now.”
 
“No, but he apparently applied for a post with the post office, but they turned him down.”
 
“Not something I can help with, if he didn’t get the job he’ll just have to try again later.”
 
“Ah, but look at this letter.” The old nanny produced a crumpled note and unrolled it on the table. “We regret to inform you that although you meet the minimum requirement for this position, interest has been particularly high, and we have decided in this situation not to give you an interview,” she read.
 
“That seems perfectly normal to me. I still don’t see what I can do.”
 
“Ah, but look here.” She pulled out a thick book entitled ‘rules and regulations of the Equestrian Postal Service, volume 12, employment’ and carefully tongued through the pages. “Anypony who reaches the minimum requirements for a role must be given an interview,” she quoted again.
 
Max squinted at the text. There certainly did seem to be mix up somewhere. “You’re right, but shouldn’t Malachi raise this himself?”
 
“That’s what I said, but the kid doesn’t want to rock the boat. He, and I, think it might be better coming from you.”
 
“Well, if you think so,” began Max.
 
“Plus it’ll get you and that,” she pointed to his bruised eye, “out of court for a while. It might be an idea to keep out of sight until you heal.”
 
Max considered this. He supposed it made sense; it was a bit embarrassing how he’d gotten the black eye, and he didn’t want rumours to start to circulate. Maybe it was an idea to lay low for a while. “Ok,” he agreed. “I’ll go and talk to someone at the post office about it, then.”
 


 
It was gone midnight by the time Fragrant decided to confront Fisher about his altercation with Max. Long enough to allow her to come up with a reasonable plan, and hopefully long enough for Fisher’s immediate rage to subside while still soon enough to forestall any longer term plans Fisher might be putting in place. She had Notebook arrange a meeting with the Archduke, and as agreed collected Mrs Gobhar shortly before the appointment. She was surprised that Max had not been in his office, but Mrs G mentioned he was out running an errand, whatever that might be. What the old goat planned to do when they saw Fisher, she didn’t know. She hadn’t really interacted with any other goats and Mrs G seemed harmless, but she knew that her people survived in harsh conditions - maybe she had a trick or two up her sleeve.
 
“Don’t worry about me, dear,” said the goat, apparently picking up on Fragrant’s nervousness. “I skipped breakfast,” she said with a wink.
 
Fragrant frowned at this apparent non sequitur. Was it some sort of goat proverb?
 
The two of them arrived at Fisher’s office, or more accurately the wing that contained Fisher’s office. His position as the head of multiple ministries, coupled with Corona’s recent return, had resulted in a whole block of the castle being turned over to his people; rows of bureaucrats working away and several offices of guard personnel discussing the ongoing attempt to locate the Solar Tyrant, along with other pressing issues. The setup was at least partially designed to intimidate visitors, and Fragrance had to admit that it worked to an extent; she had visited enough times in the past that she was used to it.
 
She had to ask herself why she was putting so much effort into helping Max. It was his own stupid fault this situation had occurred. Accepting Fisher’s challenge - what had he been thinking? That he was protecting his people and her honour, apparently, another part of herself thought. It was stupid, it was impetuous, it was noble, it was sweet, it was... Max. Plus he was her responsibility; the princess herself had decreed that she had to teach him how to behave in court, and not to get into a fight with the minister of war should have been an obvious lesson. If only she had returned from visiting her family a little earlier, then this whole thing could have been avoided, but she had left earlier than she had planned as it was because... because she had felt out of sorts without Max to talk to. It had felt odd not to have him to talk to, to bounce ideas off of, to listen to his stories of Nulpar, even for only a few days. What was wrong with her?
 
Fragrant was drawn from her thoughts by the arrival of a page who told them that Fisher was free to talk to them now, and led them to the war minister’s personal office. Mrs G drew a few querying glances as she walked by, and several unicorns seemed to give them a wide berth, but she ignored them.
 
The outer part of Fisher’s office was spartan; the walls were almost entirely unadorned apart from a large map of Equestria on one wall, various markers indicating the position of military units throughout the land. The furniture was robust and simple. As they arrived, Fisher was talking to another noble, Baroness Thornbush. “Ah, Duchess,” he announced as she arrived. “Just one moment.” He returned to his previous conversation. “Now, take those papers to Builder and explain to him that I expect a reduced estimate if he wants that grant next month.” Thornbush bobbed in place for a moment then took the papers and left, the page following her. “Now Duchess, what was it you wanted to talk about? Your servant was rather vague about the details.”
 
Fragrant took a deep breath and straightened her outfit. It was a grey colour and cut in the style of an ancient Pegasopolis officer’s tunic; she hoped the implication was not lost on Fisher, as she knew how to fight as well. “I wish to talk about the incident between yourself and Baron Max yesterday.”
 
Fisher’s jaw tightened for a moment. “Ah, I think we should discuss this in private don’t you?” He gestured towards his inner office.
 
Fragrant nodded and walked towards it with Mrs G in tow. Fisher seemed to notice the goat for the first time and scowled. “I doubt Max’s pet will add anything to the discussion. I’m sure Volk can entertain her.” The lithe bodyguard gave a nasty grin at this. Fragrant was about to argue when Mrs G raised a leg.
 
“Don’t worry about me, dear,” she said. “I’m sure I can deal with this nice young stallion while you talk with this amadan.” Looking around, she dropped herself onto a chair against one wall.
 


 
Max sighed as he looked around the waiting room. If he’d wanted some quality boredom like this, he could have stayed in his own office. He was in one of the numerous rooms that made up Clover Square, the centre of Equestrian government bureaucracy for the last few hundred years since it had outgrown the castle itself. He’d heard that the offices were almost filled to bursting now, and there was talk than a second area would have to be opened up for further growth. However, change was slow; one committee had apparently been locked over the name for the new area for almost a year now. Smart Square and Clever Corner were the most popular, apparently. Max had spent the last few hours being pushed from petty bureaucrat to petty bureaucrat, but at least now he was waiting for a meeting with the head of the office that had put out the job advert - or so he had been told. He had heard that earlier, but that had turned out to be the head of the department that printed the advert, and he’d been moved on again.
 
“Baron Max, sir?” came a voice, and Max looked up. It was a pretty young mare. “Mr Delivery will see you now, sir.”
 
“Thank you, miss?” said Max with a bow.
 
The girl seemed surprised and rather pleased. “Oh, Mail, sir. Priority Mail.”
 
Priority led him into a rather untidy office. Its occupant, a somewhat overweight cream pegasus stallion, was busy trying to shove a thick wad of paper into a much thinner folder as they entered. “Ah,” he said, letting the file drop to the ground. “Baron, would you like a drink? Tea, coffee, something a little stronger?”
 
“Err, no thanks, Mr Delivery.”
 
“Please call me Recorded.”
 
“Then call me Mounty,” said Max, dropping into a seat.
 
Recorded blinked a few times. “Umm, very well, Baron... I mean, Mounty Baron, err, Baron Mounty. May I ask what brings a member of the Night Court to my humble office? Nothing wrong I hope?” He laughed nervously, his eyes flicking to the file he’d dropped to the floor.
 
“Well, it’s just a little thing really, a bit of a mix up in a job application. Look here.” Max brought out the letter and book and went through the problem.
 
“Hum, it looks like it’s been an unfortunate mix-up,” agreed Recorded. “What was the name again? Malachi? Odd name.”
 
“Goat,” said Max.
 
“Really? Huh, no, it’s not on the interview list,” said Recorded checking a list. “There must have been some sort of mistake.” He turned to a speaking tube in the wall. “Miss Mail, can you ask Miss Paid to join us as soon as possible.” He turned back to Max. “My assistant. She reviewed most of the job applications for me. I’m sure she can explain everything.”
 
It wasn’t long before Miss Paid arrived. She was a tall thin pegasus with her orange mane tied back in a tight bun.
 
“Now, Baron Max here wants to talk to you about a certain irregularity in our employment record,” said Recorded.
 
The mare looked rather shocked. “An irregularity, sir? I don’t understand. I have adhered to our regulations to the letter.”
 
“Well, you see here,” said Max, pointing to the regulations again. “It says that everypony who meets the requirements should have an interview, but Malachi didn’t get one.”
 
Paid looked at him oddly and with a touch of fear. Max shuffled uncomfortably. He didn’t understand why everypony around here seemed so on edge. “Well, yes sir, it says everypony should have an interview.”
 
“Yes and Malachi didn’t get one,” he repeated.
 
Everypony. This Malachi is a goat, not a pony.”
 
Max blinked a few times. “That’s rather splitting hairs, isn’t it? It clearly means everyone… it’s just a turn of phrase.”
 
“But it does say everypony,” insisted Paid, glancing at her superior for support. Delivery shook his head slightly. “So you want this goat to get the position, then?” she muttered.
 
“I think he should get an interview same as everypo... everyone else,” he corrected himself. “Getting the job depends on how that goes.”
 
“I’m sure Miss Paid can get this all sorted out now that it’s been brought to our attention, can’t you Duty?” said Delivery, somewhat forcefully.
 
“Yes sir,” said Duty through gritted teeth.
 
“Well that’s all sorted out, then,” said Max with a grin.
 


 
Fragrant looked around Fisher’s inner office with a little trepidation. It was not much different from the outer; a scale model of Stalliongrad graced a side table, and there were a few pictures of a teenaged colt around the place, but it was mostly hard stone and wood. They both sat and Fragrant examined her opponent for a moment. Was that a slightly discoloured patch on the Archdukes coat? She peered closer. Was that some sort of makeup or dye? The stallion was trying to hide his bruises from yesterday! Fragrant felt a surge of excitement. Seeing Max’s condition this morning, she had thought the fight might have been entirely one sided, but it appeared he had at least landed some telling blows on Fisher - and the Archduke was hiding them. She could work with that. “Archduke Fisher,” she began. “I understand there was an... altercation between you and Baron Max yesterday.”
 
“We sparred,” announced Fisher.
 
“Yes, and I believe he won.”
 
“He did not win!” replied Fisher slowly, his face like thunder. “He just took longer to lose than I expected.”
 
Internally, Fragrant smiled. “Still, if the story got out it might not be seen that way, and that might be... damaging to your image. Given your position, it is important that you, and Equestria, look strong.”
 
“Do not think that I hold my pride above all in this matter. Baron Max is possibly harbouring a group of foreign national’s intent on harming Equestria.”
 
“A group of Griffin exiles who have lived in Equestria all their lives without harming any pony.”
 
“So the Baron seems to believe. However, I do not trust his judgment in this, and many other, matters. The situation should be investigated thoroughly, along with Max’s part in it.”
 
Fragrant stared at the pony opposite her. She could not tell if Fisher actually believed himself, or if it was just a justification for punishing Max over his wounded pride, but she had to do something about this matter now, before things escalated. It was time to bring out the stick.
 
“Yes, an investigation might be best. Maybe we could also look into the pollution matters in Stalliongrad?” she said sweetly.
 
Fisher blinked. “What pollution issues?” he asked slowly. “Your own family’s factory neutralises all the pollutants produced by the city. None remain.”
 
“Yes, that is true at the moment, but over the last five years the level of pollution had increased by twenty two and a half percent while the factory’s charges have remained level. The contract is due to be renewed in less than a year, so it might be a good chance to look into the matter and see if an increase is due.”
 
Fisher shuffled nervously. “There are other weather companies bidding to take that contract. A change might be for the best. I am thinking of setting up a new company - Fisher Weather Control - to compete in that market.”
 
“But none of the others, your new company included, already have equipment in place or experience with the city’s unique situation. Their start-up costs will be higher, which would have to be passed on to you. There would likely even be some pollution overflow whilst a new factory gets up to speed, and punishment for such spills fall under my ministry.”
 
Fisher glared at her. So far so good, thought Fragrant. She had distracted him away from Max to herself. Now came the tricky bit; the carrot. “However, things do not have to go that way. I am sure we can renegotiate the situation. Prices will have to increase, but not necessarily in line with the increase in pollution. Certain improvements mean the job can be done for say, a twelve percent increase.” Thunderous’s report had indicated it could be done for a ten percent increase, but it never hurt to shoot high, so she’d have a little extra to fall back on.
 
“That sounds reasonable,” muttered Fisher, steeping his hooves in front of his face. “Still, Baron Max’s lands are woefully undefended. Troops may need to be introduced.”
 
“And that matter can be looked into by your ministry over time. Given the situation, I am sure there are many locations which may need reinforcement. Your lines may well be stretched thin, you will need to choose your battles. Is Nulpar really that important?”
 
“Maybe...”
 
She needed something else, a tiny additional sweetener. She thought back a few minutes. She had it! “I understand you are looking for a building grant in your lands next month?”
 
“Yes, I have several cities that need increased protection, given the recent events.”
 
It occurred to Fragrant that very few ponies seemed willing to refer to Corona’s return as such, herself included. Maybe it just sounded so crazy, said out loud. “I have heard that Vicereine Puissance is also looking for the investment to be in her lands.”
 
Fisher rolled his eyes. “Puissance is always looking for investment in her lands.”
 
“True, but she has more supporters in this matter than you.”
 
His eyes narrowed. “Maybe. Are you proposing something?”
 
“As you know, I have Vicereine Wallflower’s ear, and I may be able to have her and her supporters vote your way next month.” Wallflower had already asked her to look into the matter, and she had decided that, although the balance was small, it would benefit the common pony more if the grant went to Fisher than Puissance, but the stallion didn’t know that. “Or I could suggest she side with Puissance.”
 
“I see, and in order to gain your aid...”
 
“You need to keep away from Max!” That had come out sharper than she had planned. “I mean, Baron Max. After all, I am sure that you have more important matters to deal with than a mere baron or a small group of Griffons on the edge of Equestria.”
 
Fisher thought for a moment, then smiled. “Very well, I accept.” He held out a hoof and Fragrant took and shook it, feeling vaguely dirty.
 
“Nice doing business with you, Duchess,” said Fisher, grinning more widely. “I do hope Baron Max appreciates what you have done for him.” Fragrant felt uneasy; she had ended up giving away several important bargaining chips she had been saving to use against the Archduke in the future, for little personal gain. Looking into her adversary's smiling face, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been played.
 


 
The outer office was quiet, almost too quiet for Volk. The bodyguard looked across at the goat sitting against the opposite wall. She had not spoken or even moved since Fisher and Fragrant had entered the inner office. Was she still alive? he wondered idly. If she had suddenly upped and died, it would be difficult to explain. No, her chest was still moving, just.
 
“I was there when Fisher was wailing on your boss, you know,” he announced with a grin. “He kept getting up just to ‘Wham’” he shouted loudly, taking advantage of the room’s soundproofing. Mrs G didn’t flinch. “Down he’d go, again and again and again. It was really something to watch - looked like it hurt, but really fun.” There was something about a foe that kept getting back up again; it was fun to beat somepony, but to get to do it again and again, that would be great. Maybe he’d get a chance to fight Max in person someday.
 
“Course, Fisher was going easy on your colt. He could have put some permanent hurt on him if he’d wanted. Maybe he will, make an example that you don’t mess with him. Maybe he’ll ask me to do it, real quiet like… no pony would know, no pony would see,” he boasted.
 
Still no reaction from the goat. “Hey, don’t you care about your boss? I heard you goats were cold, I guess he’s just a meal ticket to you.”
 
Now the goat moved, her head slowly but smoothly turned to face him and stared. He shuddered for a moment and almost dropped his gaze. Her eyes were not angry; he could detect no emotion at all… they seemed to examine him as if he were some interesting bug she’d found on her hoof, but they were just so strange, so alien, oblong pupils set into yellow irises which filled her whole eye made even larger by her glasses. He swallowed painfully and realised he was sweating.
 
Gritting his teeth, he struggled to keep his eyes focused on the goat. He was damned if he was going to blink. He was the Volk! No old goat was going to psych him out. Snarling, he took a step forward. The goat didn’t move; she just kept the same even stare at him, her misshaped eyes seeming to grow even larger as a chill ran up and down his back. He needed an edge. He started to feed power into his horn - a little magic would be all that was needed to put this... this creature in its place.
 
He waited for the familiar glow on his head, but it didn’t occur. His magic, what had happened to his magic? He struggled and poured on more power. His horn began to flicker into light, but then he felt the strangest sucking feeling, as if his horn was being pulled towards the old nanny. His eyes twitched up to see a faint stream of power stretching from his horn to the goat’s mouth. She was eating him! The old witch was eating his soul!
 
Giving a cry, Volk leapt back as far away from Mrs G as he could in the cramped office, just as the door to the inner office opened and Fisher and Fragrant appeared.
 
Fisher immediately noticed the dishevelled state of his bodyguard. “Volk, what’s wrong?” he demanded.
 
“How was your meeting, dear?” interrupted Mrs G. “Did you get everything sorted out?”
 
“I think we have set the matter to rest for the moment,” said Fragrant, looking between the goat, the shaking guard and her host.
 
“Good, then I’m sure we’ve taken up enough of the Archduke’s time for the moment. Thank you for looking after me,” she said to Volk politely. “You were delicious.”
 
The bodyguard flinched slightly as the two mares left.
 
“What happened?” asked Fisher. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
 
“No... nothing, sir,” said Volk steeling himself again, but another chill ran through him. I am the Volk, he thought, but even in his head it sounded hollow. I fear no pony... but that thing... it scares me!
 


 
“Well, that seemed to work out,” noted Mrs G as she and Fragrant entered the latter's office.
 
“Well enough, I suppose, but I do wish Max wouldn’t do these things... that he would think before he acted.”
 
Mrs G chuckled. “If he thought about things, he wouldn’t do anything. He’s not the smartest of ponies. It’s just as well his instincts are normally good, normally.” She sighed. “Take you, for example. He’s got to thinking about you so he hasn’t gotten around to doing anything about it.”
 
Fragrant stiffened. “I do not understand.”
 
“I think you do. He likes you.”
 
“And... I like him, he has a good heart and tries to do his best. With some... lots of training, I am sure he will make an excellent courtier.”
 
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
 
“I... I am aware that the Baron may have a certain interests in me.” Her heart sped up a little to say it out loud. “He does wear his heart on his sleeve. But nothing can come of this, I... I do not... I can’t... It can’t happen,” she said with finality.
 
“He’s a good stallion, strong, passionate, loyal, caring. You could do a lot worse than him. I think the two of you would make a good couple.”
 
“You are out of order!” screamed Fragrant slamming a hoof down on the desk. Her change in demeanour made even Mrs G blink. “This is my business and I will not... not again.”
 
“Oh,” mumbled the goat. “I’m sorry. Whoever hurt you so badly?”
 
“This is none of your business,” replied Fragrant icily. “I do not discuss my private life with servants.”
 
Mrs G glared for a moment, then her gaze softened a little. “Very well, but if you do want to talk, I’ll be about.”
 
Fragrant slumped a little. “I... I apologize for my outburst, but I am Max’s teacher and... friend, nothing more. There can’t be anything else, ever. Now, I’m sure we both have other duties to attend to. I will speak to Max later.”
 
Mrs G stared at her for a moment, then turned to leave. “We’ll see,” she mumbled. Leaving Fragrant in her office, alone.
 


 
Max sighed as he gazed out over the city. Today had been a good day; he’d sorted out Malachi’s mix-up, and that had motivated him to start making inroads into his paperwork - he now had a tall pile in his outbox. Of course, it was still dwarfed by his inbox, but not as badly as it used to be. He even felt a little better physically; his body was moving freely, although he still ached in places. But he was sure, thanks to his earth pony metabolism, he’d be fine in a few days. His eye’s swelling was even beginning to go down.
 
He was staring out onto a balcony he’d found when he had been exploring the castle a few weeks ago. It was secluded, and he enjoyed spending time here when he just wanted to think. The only downside was that the rising sun was normally blocked by another tower a little distance to the east, but you couldn’t have everything, could you? Or could he?
 
He looked up. The tower he was in stretched upwards quite some distance. Getting closer, he examined the walls. They were old, pitted and crumbling in places, but still quite solid. He shoved a hoof in one gap and carefully applied his weight to it. This might work. Throwing caution to the wind, he began to scramble up the rough surface. He would have to hurry - the Princess would raise the sun in only a few minutes.
 
He was scrabbling onto a ledge about two stories above his starting position when he was almost blinded by a sudden flash of light. He blinked and turned to see another figure clothed in some sort of colour-changing fabric leaning over the ledge. She appeared as surprised as he was.
 
“Sorry,” she said, examining him with her head craned over so that she seemed upside down to him. “I don’t normally see anyone else up here.” Her voice was light and musical with a touch of laughter in it.
 
“That’s quite alright, I wasn't expecting to see anypony else either. Um, are you supposed to be up here?”
 
“I don’t think there are any rules against it. Don’t worry, I’m not a thief… well, not right now anyway, if that’s what you were thinking. This is just a good way to stay sharp.” She leaned over and pulled him up with surprising strength. “And you?”
 
“Oh, um, I was going to see the sun rise.”
 
“Ah, the view is lovely from the top. You should hurry if you want to see it. I’ll see you around, Mounty Max.” With that, the cloaked figure scampered over the ledge and down the wall, her clothes quickly blending into the wall.
 
How odd, thought Max, before putting the incident aside for the moment. He still had quite a way to go and not much time; already light was starting to spill around the other tower.
 
He reached the top just as the sun started to rise over the horizon. It was well worth the effort as he saw the glowing orb lift into the sky and felt the heat of a new day begin to permeate his body. He should do this more often, he thought, leaning back against the body of the tower.
 
“Excuse me, sir,” came a gruff voice from nearby. Max turned to see a squad of pegasus guards approaching, weapons at the ready. “But who are you, and what are you doing on the roof of the Princesses quarters?”
 
Max sighed. He guessed he probably had a little explaining to do.
 


 
Max frowned. There was that term again… why hadn’t anyone noticed it before?
 
He and Fragrant were in her office, burning the midday oil as it were. It had taken a while for him to explain himself to the guard, so he had been late for their normal post-court meeting. Fragrant seemed somewhat withdrawn this morning and hadn’t complained about his tardiness. Once he had finished apologizing to her he had shown her the latest draft of his proposed road building stimulation bill, and as with all the previous versions she had covered it in red ink, noting his various ambiguous phrases, repeated sections and outright misspellings. She had explained through gritted teeth how it would be torn to pieces, or worst misrepresented in committee. She had passed him a copy of her cloud export bill and suggested he look through it for examples of the correct wording to use, before she had started to discuss other matters with Notebook.
 
Max had taken to his task but something was beginning to bother him about the document. “Fragrant,” he called.
 
She turned to him. “Yes, Max?”
 
“Isn’t this a little misleading?”
 
“Where?” she asked with puzzlement, leaning over his shoulder. Max tried not to shudder as he felt her body heat on his back.
 
“In the event of any objection to the planned route used to transport the clouds anypony may report the objection to any weather office within a period of no more than 90 days of the route being officially released,” he quoted.
 
She frowned. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
 
“Well, it says anypony. What about griffins, or goats, or mules or whatever?”
 
“Huh, that never occurred to me.” She sat down, brow furrowed. “But really, everypony is interchangeable with everyone, it’s just a turn of phrase.”
 
“But it doesn’t actually say that, does it,” he insisted. “It sounds like only ponies have the right to object. I met a pony earlier who thought it meant a goat shouldn't get a job interview.”
 
She considered for a moment. “That’s a good catch, Max.” She smiled. “It’s never really occurred to me before.”
 
“I’ve seen the mix up in other documents as well - lots of them - maybe we should look into it.”
 
“I suppose so. It’ll be a big job.”
 
“Well, I guess that’s what we’re paid for,” said Max with a grin.