The Education of Clover the Clever

by Daedalus Aegle


Chapter 10: Peer Review - The Temple of Tabanid

The Cambridle market was in full swing in Crescent Square. The fact that the board of directors of the First Bank of Cambridle had fallen under the sway of an underground rebellion made no difference on the ground, and unannounced visits by royalty that had the arbiters of culture in a tizzy meant nothing to the tradesponies hawking their wares. Nothing was going to interrupt the sacred work of commerce.

Nothing, that is, until one mare poked her friend with a hoof and pointed down the street leading away from the market in the direction of Canterlot House 1. Her friend, who had been deep in negotiations over a crate of carrots, turned to chide this interruption, saw what her friend was pointing at, and fell silent. From there the silence spread.

Entering the market from the east were seven figures trotting side by side. As they passed by the market stalls, the ponies behind them gasped, and hurriedly began to secure their wares, packing away their more fragile goods and closing them in boxes. The seven ponies stopped as one, their cloaks billowing in the breeze, and raised their heads, as the crowds around them drew back and observed them with caution.

“Cambridle,” said Star Swirl the Red, with resolve.

“Cambridle!” said Star Swirl the Green, with wonder.

“Cambridle?” said Star Swirl the Purple, with skepticism.

“What are we looking at?” asked Star Swirl the White, who was immediately shushed by Yellow and Orange.

“This city doesn't deserve us,” Star Swirl the Purple warned. “I remember what happened last time.”

“Are we slaves to public opinion now?” Star Swirl the Red asked. “I thought we did what we believe to be right, but I guess I was wrong.”

Purple snorted derisively in response.

Red shook his head. “Doesn't matter. This a grand city, full of life, and secrets. There is much to do here.”

Star Swirl the Green giggled to himself. “So many possibilities, I don't know where to begin.”

“Long has it been since I went up the mountain,” said Star Swirl the Grey, and all the others drew aside respectfully to let him pass. The oldest of them all, he took a few tottering steps forward, his eyes vacant and unfocused, yet seeing everything. “This city is a nest of fools and naifs, unknowingly marching to its doom. I must warn them. Hear me, Cambridle!” He cried, his voice so strong that everypony for several blocks around could hear him. Your deaths will come in fire and ice and illness! You will be broken by sword and by spear and by crashing waves! Flee! Flee for your lives!”

There was a brief moment of silence. Then the panic erupted in earnest. A small stampede soon took form and toppled over half the stalls in the market as every pony there tried to outrun their fellows, and soon the cobblestone square was stained red with fruit and vegetable juice, and the air was filled with the lamentations of the merchants crying out for their bottom lines.

“Well done,” said Purple. “That will surely help them prepare.”

“It is only the beginning,” Grey muttered, as he wandered aimlessly away. “So many blind oafs. I must warn them. I must warn them all.”

Red took a deep breath. “Do you smell that,” he said, his sharp eyes fixed on a point at the horizon. “There is adventure in the air! A hidden treasure beckons me to save it from obscurity and ignorance. I must away.” With a flourish, he sprang into action and set off down the street.

“Let's follow him,” said Orange to Yellow and White. “He knows where the fun is.”

This left only two Star Swirls still standing in the now-abandoned market square.

“No, I just can't decide,” Green said with a smile. “What do you want to do, Purple?”

Star Swirl the Purple turned to gaze at a particular structure that stood out on the city skyline. His countenance darkened at the memory of a task left undone long ago, and a debt yet to be repaid. “I am going,” he all but growled, “to the library.”

“Oh, what fun!” Green cried, skipping along behind Purple. “I'll come with you.”

Then they were gone, leaving the ponies to slowly and mournfully begin the task of picking up the pieces of their ruined market.

They were interrupted just a couple of minutes later by the sound of gasping and heaving as a young unicorn mare came running down the street from the East. “Excuse – me, has – anypony seen—” Clover began, struggling to catch her breath, but stopped when she saw the state of the square. “Okay... okay, I can see you're busy, and I'll just – leave you to it. He's really a very nice pony once you get to know him!”

– – –

Knowing your audience was key, the shopkeeper considered, as he waved goodbye to another satisfied customer. This one had not known quality, so had happily bought inferior ink because it was in a nice bottle. Others might not know their parchment, or quills. Others still might be amenable to believe that the real goods were known only to a hidden inner circle, and would believe anything told them by someone who recognized and acknowledged those beliefs.

Some would call it dishonest, the shopkeeper knew, but he paid them no heed. He was not a foolish or a lazy pony. He worked long and hard to hone his skills, and he knew that his success came from his extra awareness of the world around him, and he apologized to nopony.

The bell rang, and the shopkeeper returned to the counter to see the backside of a red robe emerging from under a display, and heard the familiar sounds of somepony searching for a desperately needed item, a gruff voice muttering to himself, “where is it? Useless... No, not that... that's the shoddiest thing...”

“Can I help you sir?” the shopkeeper asked.

The pony froze up at the sound, as though he had thought himself completely alone and left himself open to an attacker. Slowly, the pony raised his head and turned around.

The jingle of bells as he moved sent a cold chill down the shopkeeper's spine. His thoughts flew to the crates of ink bottles, gently stacked in layers of hay and locked up in the back of the shop.

“You can't hide it from me, crypt-guardian!” Star Swirl the Red shouted. “Your cult will not sacrifice Epona's Tear to your mad god! It belongs to all equinity, and I will not rest until it has been returned to its rightful place!”

Star Swirl the Red then leapt up on the counter and wrapped his hooves around a rope that suddenly hung from the ceiling in an ill-defined fashion, which the shopkeeper was quite sure had not been there a second previously. With a cry of “Geponymo!” Star Swirl swung across the shop and crashed through a window. Immediately after, screams erupted on the street.

The shopkeeper stood frozen in shock, his heart racing. At length he was able to calm his shaking legs and turned back to look over his shop.

Right behind him was another Star Swirl, this one clad in grey. Their eyes met, and the shopkeeper froze again.

“Your wife is cheating on you,” Star Swirl the Grey said. “With your sister.”

Then he turned, and slowly trotted out of the building.

– – –

There is a land far beyond the sunset, across the deep waters where the biting winds and piercing rain would strip your coat off your skin in mere minutes. The way there goes through forbidding marshland and jungle and across great gaps in the bedrock where the fires of Tartarus could be seen, by the foolhardy traveller. There, at the ends of the horizon, is a mountain which grows downwards from the pinnacle of the heavens, whose inverted peak touches the eldritch magic core from whence all things sprang. Within that mountain is a great cavern, and in that cavern far beneath the earth there lies hidden the secret labyrinth, and the labyrinth, for those both foolish and wise enough to go through it, leads to the Temple of Tabanid, the Song of the Swarm, the scourge of Epona's children since time out of memory.

Fearlessly strode Star Swirl the Red through the labyrinth's many twisty passages, all alike. Swiftly and stealthily he evaded the traps, and ducked by the guardians ever-watchful. Bold and full of vigor, the young adventurer had been searching for many moons, but now at last the trail had led him here on the eve of the Blood Dawn: the time when Tabanid could be awoken, with a sacrifice of Epona's blood.

“Star Swirl? Professor? ...Ah, there you are, I've been trying to call you for – hey, where are you going? Wait!”

Unfortunately, in spite of his best efforts, Star Swirl was being followed along the way by a strange young mare who seemed hellbent on talking to him about something. Whatever it was she wanted, Star Swirl could not imagine that it could possibly be more important than stopping the mad god and saving Epona's children. And yet, in spite of the grave danger they both, and all the world besides, were in, she clearly would not take no for an answer and let him save the world in peace.

What was her name again? Parsley, that was it. Parsley... Something.

“Professor, please stop, I need to talk to you!”

Furthermore, in spite of the fact that the labyrinth was filled with elaborate death traps which Star Swirl was going to great lengths to dodge, she was just running after him in straight lines. And nothing was happening to her! Also, even though the labyrinth was lined with statues who were in truth immortal slumbering guardians, waiting to awaken at the slightest disturbance to hunt down any intruders, she was yelling at the top of her lungs for him to stop. Yet there was nothing! It was as though they were simply running down an ordinary city street!

It simply ruined the ambiance.

“Star Swirl! Please come back to the house, you're going to hurt yourself!”

“Parsley the Persistent,” Star Swirl the Red muttered under his breath. His mind raced to find some way to shake her off his tail. “It can't be that difficult. I have a whole labyrinth filled with death traps at my disposal. I just need to make sure I don't rouse the ire of the dronies.” He scanned his surroundings, and a grin spread across his face as he saw exactly what he needed.

“If you just return the quill display I'm sure the shopkeeper won't press charges—”

There was a snap, and a sound of gears spinning, and a final thud as the cage fell down upon her. It was better this way, Star Swirl told himself as he left the trap behind. She would be safe there for the time being, and not risk alerting the cult to his doings. Then, once he was done, he would get her out and they would escape from that fell abyss to safety.

– – –

Clover had to admit, she had not expected ever to see her mentor be quite so spry. Star Swirl the Red managed to scamper up walls and balance on laundry lines strung over alleyways, leapt off railings as though they were trampolines and swung across broad streets on ropes that appeared out of nowhere and were supported by nothing. And he did it all too fast for her to catch up even as she ran on flat, open ground.

She yelled after him as she ran, but if he heard her he did not acknowledge her. It was possible that he did not, she supposed, or that his concentration was such that he did not distinguish her voice from that of the other citizens who were yelling for other purposes, though their purposes also often involved him.

She drew a deep breath to try again as he turned a corner shortly ahead of her. “If you just return the quill display I'm sure the shopkeeper won't press charges—”

Clover ran around the corner. A trip, stumble, and fall later, Clover found herself face-planting in the soft soil, the daylight vanishing above her.

She got up and looked around to find herself at the bottom of a ten-foot pit in the middle of the street. Up above she saw the warning sign which read “Roade Maintenancee,” which would have stopped her, if it hadn't been floating some distance above the street, held in Star Swirl's distinct magical aura. It dropped back to the ground with a dull clonk, and she heard the faint sound of a stallion laughing receding in the distance.

“I guess that proves he could hear me,” Clover mumbled. “Hello? Star Swirl? Anypony?” She cried up, but received no answer.

She glanced around her, picked a likely-looking wall of the pit, and set about trying to climb up. She got one foot up before she fell back.

She repeated the process for a while with equal success. Finally, with a grunt of exertion, she leapt up as high as she possibly could, all of three feet, and crashed muzzle-first back down into the soil.

She lay there for a moment, silently contemplating the nature of the universe, and paid no heed to the sound of light hoofsteps approaching her up above.

“Is she asleep?” a foal's voice asked.

“Maybe she's dead,” said another.

“No she's not. She's breathing. Sort of whining actually. Her magical signature is still working too.”

“Maybe we should help her.”

“You're right. We should dump a bucket of water on her. That'll wake her.”

Clover leapt up with great speed, flipped over, and wound up sitting on her rump. “I'm fine!”

“Phooey! I never get to do anything fun.”

Clover looked up. “Oh dear,” she said.

Looking down at her from the edge of the pit above were three identical foal Star Swirls.

– – –

In the woods, birds sang. In the fields, crickets chirped. The waters flowed, the sun was pushed along its carefully-planned path by a shift of unicorn sorcerors and sorceresses, pegasi shaped clouds and pushed them around where the highest bidder wanted them, and the plants carefully used every aspect of the quadrupeds' strange society to thrive and spread their dominion over the earth. For a moment, Clover's mind was in everything, and everywhere, and she understood all of existence, because it made more sense than the alternative. But it couldn't last forever, and before long she found herself drawn back into her own head.

– – –

Absolute knowledge of all cosmos vanished from her mind like a candle blown out, and Clover was back in the pit, looking up to see her mentor Star Swirl the Bearded, the wizened century-old archmage of legend, rendered in the form of three little colts. The colts looked to be about seven years old, and peered down at her with wide eyes, their expressions ranging from curiosity, to confusion, to skepticism.

Unlike the others, the foals wore travellers' cloaks similar to the one Star Swirl had made for Clover, simple and functional. The hoods alone were different colors: white, yellow, and orange, and the rest were cut from the same brown cloth. Their manes were brown, not Star Swirl the Bearded's grey, and their coats were dark grey, compared to which Star Swirl as Clover knew him was faded almost to white with age. Clover felt strange and slightly uncomfortable to realize that Star Swirl the Bearded had also, at some point in the distant past, been an innocent child.

Innocent and also, she had to admit, adorable. Their wide eyes and fuzzy coat made them look like plush dolls.

“Oh dear,” Clover said again.

“What are you doing down there?” asked the foal with the white robe. He peered at her with rapt fascination, as though she were some strange mythical creature that needed to be studied. “It doesn't look very comfortable.”

Well, the red one could be halfway across town by now, but at least I can corral these three, Clover thought to herself. That can't be too hard. I'm good with foals, right?

“I'm... playing a game,” Clover said, forcing cheer into her voice. “Do you want to play? It's great fun! See, I have this, um,” she looked around and grabbed the first thing she saw, “this special rock, right? I have to bring it back to Canterlot House, for points. If you find a rope or a ladder or something that I can use to climb out, you'll get points for that. Then we all go back to Canterlot House together, and win! Doesn't that sound fun?”

She looked up hopefully with a broad grin and a drop of nervous sweat running down her dirt-stained cheek.

“That was just sad,” said Yellow, while Orange gagged theatrically.

“We are going to remember that for later,” said White, nodding. “And you are not going to be happy about it.”

“Okay, fine,” Clover groaned. “I was trying to catch Star Swirl. The red one. Every second I'm down here he might be going farther away. Could you please help me out of here so I can get after him?”

“You want to catch the Adventurer?” White's eyes lit up. “We know where he is! We can lead you right to him!”

“There's a ladder up here,” Yellow said, turning away. “I can—”

“Not so fast,” Orange raised a hoof to hold Yellow in place and turned to Clover. “Why should we help you? Maybe you're a spy!”

This gave the other two pause. “We do have a lot of enemies,” said White, and Yellow nodded.

“Yeah,” said Orange, glaring down at Clover. “What exactly do you want with the Adventurer?”

“Don't you remember me at all?” Clover asked. “It's me, Clover! Your apprentice! I live in your house! I read your mail and make sure all your spell ingredients are in the right places!”

“I think she's telling the truth,” said Yellow. “I have this vague memory of telling a green pony to do pointless things just to see if she would, and watching her do them without question.”

Why doesn't that surprise me, Clover thought to herself. “I'm afraid the red one is going to do something reckless and irresponsible. I just want to get you all back to the house safely.”

“That sounds boring,” said Orange. His eyes narrowed. “Anyway, what's it to you what Star Swirl does? Nopony ever asks what Star Swirl does. Everypony just stays out of his way.”

“He could hurt himself!” Clover said. “He's running around Cambridle in an altered state of mind! He could have an accident, or get into a fight and get arrested, or get into a fight with the poor ponies trying to arrest him.”

“So what?” Orange asked. “He'll handle it. He always does. Worst thing that can happen is that he'll have to pay for some construction work and physical therapy, and he can afford that easily.”

“Star Swirl doesn't actually spend money on things,” said White. “He has a bank account that's never seen a withdrawal. He used to just keep it all in a vault in the basement until the Royal Bank complained that he was depressing the economy.”

“Yeah, see,” said Orange. “It doesn't matter what he blows up, they can just send him the bill. Just let him blow off steam and then you can collect them when they're all worn out.”

“It's not about the money!” Clover said. “You can't just go around hurting ponies and blowing things up! Didn't you learn that in Magic Kindergarten?”

The three foals looked among each other, and hesitantly shook their heads.

White coughed, and said quietly, “There was no Magic Kindergarten in Edinspur when Star Swirl was little.”

“Only the beasts in the wild, and the outlaws, and the moonlight to guide his way,” said Yellow.

“There was loneliness, and hunger, and occasionally monsters that would have eaten him whole if he slipped, and only a promise to remind him to keep going,” finished Orange.

“Well, that's... awful,” Clover said. “Look. I suppose by any sensible measure you're all still older than I am. But right now it looks like I'm the responsible adult of Canterlot House, and I have to make sure that he's alright, and that everypony else is alright around him. I just don't want anypony to be hurt, and sometimes that means not waiting until after the damage is already done even if you can afford to pay the medical bills. Also, I want everypony else to see his best side, and this isn't helping. So please, help me find him and bring him back safely before anypony gets hurt?”

The three foals looked sheepishly back and forth amongst themselves, fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable with this kind of talk and doing their best to avoid looking into Clover's pleading eyes.

“...Fine,” said Orange. “We'll help you find them. But in return you have to, um... what should we have her do in return?”

“I don't have any ideas,” said Yellow.

“This is the downside to being an arch-mage,” said White. “We can't actually claim we're missing anything. We pretty much make our own world.”

“Don't tell her that,” Orange hissed. “We can't just go along with her without getting anything in return, even if it's nothing we care about. We have a reputation to uphold!”

Clover got an idea. “I'll bet I could think of something you want.”

“Oh yeah?” Orange asked. “What's that?”

“I'll tell you,” Clover said, smirking, “once you help me out.”

Orange snorted. “You seriously thought that bluff was going to work?”

“No,” Clover admitted. “But I do think you could agree to it, and then if anypony asks you can say that you totally didn't just help me for nothing.”

The foals looked uncertainly back and forth between Clover and each other.

“...Fine,” said Orange. “Get the ladder.”

– – –

Star Swirl the Red gently but firmly pressed the point of the diamond against the glass display case and brought it around in a circle. Then, with a single sharp push, he knocked the circle loose, and it fell in.

He slowly reached his hoof inside the case to retrieve the Idol of Resheph. The task required absolute concentration to avoid triggering any of the traps the cult had lain for him, and the blaring siren that had been ringing ever since he kicked open the other display case to retrieve the diamond wasn't making it any easier.

He laughed as he triumphantly held the Idol of Resheph aloft. In the distance, the servitors of Tabanid emerged from the honeycomb passages of their temple, ready to defend their god with their lives. Leading them was a withered old adept garbed in black.

“Will somepony put a stop to that infernal noise—oh Celestia, what in the world is he doing?”

– – –

“I'm not sure I understand this,” Clover said. “So Star Swirl decided to split into a gang of kids?”

“Of course not,” said Yellow. “We are Star Swirl. We are what we are. We cannot be other than ourselves. So there.”

“That doesn't explain much,” Clover grumbled.

“It's not our fault you're slow,” said Orange.

“The Adventurer headed this way,” White said cheerfully as they led Clover through the streets. “He was talking about a 'temple of thieves' and returning the lost to their rightful homes. It sounded fun.”

“The adventurer. That's the one in red?” Clover asked, and the foal in white nodded. “How many of you are there who left the house?”

“There's us three, and the Adventurer,” White began,

“And the Innovator,” said Yellow,

“The Scholar,” said Orange,

“And the Prophet,” White finished.

“Those aren't just nicknames, are they?” Clover asked, thinking back to what she had seen and heard from them in the house. Worry grew in her mind. “I'm really not sure anything good can come from splitting your own mind into different components like this.”

“Well, that's why you're the apprentice and not the teacher,” Orange replied.

“Right. So what are you three, then? And why did Star Swirl decide to split into a gang of foals in the first place?”

“We're not really sure,” Yellow admitted. “I kinda think he just stuck us with everything that didn't fit anywhere else.”

“Can I be Curiosity?” said White. “I wanna be Curiosity.”

“They're all curious,” said Orange. “They just wouldn't work otherwise.”

“No they're not,” said White. “The ones back at the house aren't curious at all. The Prophet isn't curious either. He can't be, he already knows everything.”

“Well, you seem like a helpful gang,” Clover said. “Maybe you can be Star Swirl the Reasonable.”

Orange shuddered and groaned at the suggestion.

“This is it. He's in there,” said White, and pointed to a large building with an ornate facade of columns and sculptures: the Cambridle Historical Museum. The streets were deserted, and the door attendant was unconscious in his chair by the entrance. The front doors were open, one door hanging off its hinges. Inside, an alarm bell rang insistently.

Clover ran up to the guard pony and began to check him for injuries. He roused, and pushed her off. “What's this now?” he said, and sat up slowly, his joints creaking and cracking.

“Are you hurt?” Clover asked. “What happened to you?”

The guardspony's eyes opened wide. “Security breach!” he cried. “Somepony set off the alarm! The museum is under attack!” Then he turned and ran inside the broken door.

Clover called out after him, “he's really a very nice pony once you...!” before the watchpony disappeared around a corner. She turned to face the foals. “You stay here,” she said, and ran inside, ignoring their high-pitched objections.

Clover ran after the guard, across the lobby and through the broad open doorway to the exhibition hall, where she stopped short, and gave off a high, choked squeal. The hall was in shambles. The tile floor of the chamber was covered in muddy hoofprints and clattering marbles. Some of the pedestals were toppled, and the sculptures they had held of historical ponies now lay on the floor like fallen soldiers.

Almost every exhibit Clover could see had its plaque defaced with a red painted X. Tapestries had been torn down from the walls. Portraits had been flipped upside down or turned around so they hung facing the wall, and their backs scribbled on with chalk. Pottery, some of it smashed, lay scattered on the floor. Coins, gemstones and jewelry had been tossed carelessly aside, and now lay mingling with the glass of their former display cases on the floor.

From farther within, amid pleas for him to stop, and angry shouts to summon more guards, Clover heard a powerful stallion's voice angrily proclaim, “This doesn't belong in a museum!”

This was followed by a loud crash, and the wailing despair of the museum staff.

“Stop! For the love of the Princess, stop!” A voice sobbed. “That is a priceless historical treasure!”

“Oh no,” Clover squealed, and ran inside.

She turned a corner and found Star Swirl the Red standing on a table, pinning down an elderly guardspony who looked up at him in horror. The table and the two of them were surrounded by a shimmering magical shield. A massive exhibit floated above Star Swirl's head, a richly ornamented ceramic urn depicting Whinnyseus escaping from Knossox, tipping this way and that, while a crowd of a dozen museum staff and guardsponies surrounded them.

“Put the urn down!” cried an elderly mare in black, who seemed to be the senior member of the staff present. “Be careful with that! That is thousands of years old and worth countless bits!”

“Release the hostage!” cried a younger pony.

“That too,” the old mare continued, “but just be careful with the urn!”

Star Swirl gave a flick of his head, and the urn sailed through the air.

The museum staff screamed in horror as it flew, with great force, towards the stone wall. The old mare in black swooned, falling backwards into the arms of a guardspony.

Clover gasped, her eyes widening in shock. “No!” She screamed, and ran forward while summoning as much magical force as she could. Just before the urn made contact, she grabbed it with all her willpower, and held it tight. It slowed, then stopped, then gently set down on the floor.

Everypony looked at her as she breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank Celestia,” said the mare in black. “The emergency is over.”

“He's still holding a hostage, madam curator ma'am,” said one of the guardponies.

“Yes, yes,” the mare in black waved a hoof vaguely. “We'll get to that. Point is, now that he's no longer threatening anything valuable, we can charge him. Guards, ready to swarm!”

Clover ran out in front of Star Swirl, yelling, “Stoooop!”

The ponies halted, eyeing her warily, and for a moment there was no sound but the blaring siren. “Who in Tartarus are you?” the curator demanded.

“I'm his apprentice,” Clover said. “Please let me talk to him!”

“Oh, Parsley, you escaped?” Star Swirl said. “Well done. You must be more capable than I thought. Listen, since you're here,” he pointed to the elderly museum watchpony lying underneath him. “Help me secure this servitor's vestments.”

“He's trying to steal my uniform!” the watchpony cried.

“Well, Parsley,” the curator said, “your mentor has been destroying my museum, and I am going to put a stop to it. Now get out of the way! Guards, charge him already, before he grabs another exhibit!”

“Oh, quit your complaining,” Star Swirl said. “None of your exhibits are worth more than five bits, and that includes shipping. And you,” he looked down at the pony squirming beneath him. “Stop struggling and give me your jacket!”

“Please listen to me, everypony!” Clover cried. “I promise you, there's a good reason for all of this! If there's one thing I've learned it's that Star Swirl always has a reason.”

“There, you see?” Star Swirl the Red declared. “She gets it. Now, Parsley, give me a hoof and get this jacket off of him before he gets away.”

“He has an explanation,” Clover said. “He always does.”

“You can't have it,” the watchpony said. “It's mine!”

“He's really a very nice pony once you get to know him.”

“Hurry up, he won't stop squirming!”

Clover gritted her teeth together. “Star Swirl, you are not helping.”

“Nonsense, Parsley, this will just take ten seconds and everything will be—”

“My name is Clover!” Clover shouted, stepping forward. Star Swirl opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off. “You've known me for months! I am trying to help you, but you are making it very difficult and for the love of Celestia, can somepony please turn that alarm off already??”

The ponies fell silent while Clover took deep, heaving breaths. After a few seconds, the siren died with a sad final warble.

“Finally,” Clover said. “Now then, professor, you're my teacher, and I trust you, and I actually believe that you have a good reason for all of this. But you need to actually explain yourself, because it looks to everypony like you've gone insane and are harassing innocent ponies! So leave that poor pony alone and explain.”

The room was deathly silent as all the museum staff slowly backed away from Clover, as though expecting lightning to strike her down.

Star Swirl cleared his throat. “Well, Par- I mean, Clover, there are two major elements at play here,” he began. Then he tugged on the watchpony's jacket and gestured to the row of plain metal buttons running down the front. “Do you see these? Those are genuine ancient Braytannian true-iron coins, consecrated to Epona. They're over a thousand years old, and were thought to be lost forever after the Battle of Haydon Hill.”

Everypony fell silent. The curator looked at the watchpony, who opened and shut his mouth a few times before murmuring, “I got this jacket from my grandfather, who had this job before me.”

“This jacket is more valuable than everything else in this museum put together, and you have it being worn by a doorpony,” Star Swirl hissed, glaring at the curator. “Ponies chased after those coins for centuries. You threw them out as thrift in order to make room for counterfeit Neigh Dynasty pottery.”

Everypony turned to give questioning looks to the senior curator, who merely looked angry.

“Which brings me to point two,” Star Swirl said, and pointed a hoof at the massive urn. “That thing, which you had exhibited as an ancient Lacedaemane relic depicting the story of Whinnyseus and King Minos, over two thousand years old? That clay was baked fifty years ago. The paint was bought in a discount art supplies store in Trottingham. It's the same story with all the rest. Almost everything in this museum is fake. Everything except these,” He pointed to the coin-buttons on the watchpony's jacket. “This jacket is more valuable than everything else you thought you had in the museum added together. I estimate that after everything is counted up, I will have just earned the museum about two million bits. And I'm not even going to ask for a finder's fee.”

“This entire story is preposterous,” the curator said. “All our exhibits were subjected to every test of authenticity known to unicorns upon their acquisition.”

“Then either your testers are frauds, or the old curator had forgeries made and sold the originals off under the table,” Star Swirl said, jumping down to the floor and brushing dust off his robe. “Either way, that's your problem.”

“Or you're a delusional madpony who destroyed our property in the midst of a hallucinogenic rampage!”

“It's true,” said one of the younger curators, with a thin, fearful voice. She was examining the urn. “The paint just... scrapes right off. It wouldn't last another twenty years.” She stepped back like a coroner declaring the moment of death. “There is no chance that this is two millenia old.”

“And the jacket?”

“It can't possibly be true,” said one of the museum staff, who was carefully approaching the watchpony. He took hold of the jacket and looked at the buttons through a tiny eye-mounted multi-lens magnifying glass. “Let's see, this just looks like perfectly ordinary...”

He fell silent and did not move for a very long time.

After a while, he started softly weeping.

As two other curators took him by the shoulders and led him gently away, he managed to mumble between sobs, “more tests will be needed, but...” before they closed the door behind him.

“Run your tests,” Star Swirl said. “You'll see that I am right.”

“Oh, I will carefully check every single exhibit,” the curator spat, turning a vicious glare on Star Swirl the Red and Clover. “And I will decide how best to repair this institution. As for you two...”

– – –

In another corner of Cambridle, Professor Quick Quill, junior faculty member of the Academy of Magic, was walking home after a long day of grading papers when the sound of bells tinkling overcame him.

“Your scholarship will be very influential,” a voice growled from behind him. Quick Quill squawked, and turned with a jolt to see Star Swirl the Grey looking straight through him.

“Professor Star Swirl?” Quick Quill asked. Star Swirl did not answer. They stood watching each other tensely for several seconds, before Quick Quill said: “Are you lost, old chap?”

“Your dissertation on the genetics of thaumaturgy will lead to a permanent revolution in agriculture,” Star Swirl said.

Quick Quill blinked. “Oh! Well, that's mighty kind of you to say so, professor. I think it has a lot of potential myself, but it's still a work in—”

Star Swirl stomped his hoof on the ground, his blank eyes somehow compelling Quick Quill's attention. “No,” Star Swirl growled. “Permanent revolution, scribbler! Your subjects will rise up and overthrow their pony gardeners, and break the cities of the world between their roots! Scattered survivors will huddle in caves of bare rock, living on carefully-cultivated fungus, fearfully washing away any soil where plants could grow.”

By now Quick Quill was backed up against a wall, wilting under Star Swirl's glare, unable to look away even as cold sweat dripped into his eyes.

“If you do not abandon your work, you will destroy this continent. The greatest and best you can possibly be, scribbler, is an empty hole in the world.”

Star Swirl perked up at the sound of a large crowd in the distance, and music, and commanding cheers. “Something... terrible... approaches. I must warn them.”

Quick Quill watched him leave, thinking that this time he would arrange his vacation a year in advance, and would possibly never come back.

– – –

“But I'm innocent!” Clover protested as the watchponies led them back to the exit. “I was only helping you! Why am I banned?”

“Curator's orders,” the watchpony on her right said. “Not my place.”

Clover threw him a killer glare. “Is this how the museum treats ponies who try to contribute? Because my parents will be cutting off their donations after I tell them about this!”

“This is what happens when you embarrass the establishment,” Star Swirl the Red said. “You should cherish it. The first time is special.”

Clover sighed. “But I like going to the museum. I would spend hours admiring the statue of Gilgamane...”

“Fake,” said Red.

“Oh,” Clover said. “Well, the collection of Romanesque painting was...”

“Also fake.”

“What about the great Neighyptian obelisk, is that fake too?”

“No, that's real,” Red admitted. “But by rights it belongs back in the Temple of Horsus, from which it was stolen by Naponyon. That wasn't even archeology, that was just theft. This museum is a den of thieves and forgers, and you should not regret being kicked out. In fact you should be proud.”

Clover grumbled, staring down at the floor as they walked.

“Come on, Clover,” Red chuckled. “We're being kicked out of a building together. You can't deny that's at least a little funny.”

“The things I do for you, Star Swirl...” Clover said, her voice low and sad.

“Don't exaggerate. I was doing just fine on my own.”

“I saved you,” Clover said, but as she spoke her frown turned into a smirk. “And now you're going to help me.”

“Is that so,” Red said, in a flat tone that strongly indicated absolute disinterest.

“I have a mission for you.” Clover watched him unblinking. He continued walking nonchalantly, but his left ear perked up and turned to listen under his hat. “I need you,” Clover continued, “to help me track down some ponies. You'll like them. They are very unpredictable. Probably easily angered. They can be extremely dangerous, and have a tendency to attract trouble everywhere they go. In spite of all that, it's very important to me that they are safe, and I think that after this, you owe me. So I want you to help me find them, and protect them. What do you say?”

“Hmmm,” Star Swirl the Red raised his chin thoughtfully as he walked. “I dunno. I have all kinds of stuff I wanted to get done this weekend.”

Clover leaned her head in close and all but whispered, “it will be an adventure.”

Star Swirl shot back a cocky smirk. “Point the way.”

“Great,” Clover said as they arrived at the entrance lobby. “First we need to track down where they headed. That could prove difficult, I lost sight of them as soon as I left Canterlot House. We'll have to ask around and see if anypony's caught sight of them.” They passed through the door out onto the street and stopped. “Or we could just follow the screams and the plumes of green smoke rising from the center of town. That works too.”