Onto the Pony Planet
Chapter 21: A Brief Respite
Admiral Biscuit
Have you ever stolen anything?
I didn't—
What about that apple at Mrs. Smith's stand?
I was—
Did you cheat in school? Did you ever glance at anypony else's test?
I wasn't cheating.
But you changed your answer, did you not?
I—
Were the rooms randomly assigned, or did you ask?
It wasn't, I didn't mean. . . .
Did you ever—
I was curious. You hear things.
Have you ever—
Were you—
Did you—
In my considered opinion, she is a disgrace to all unicorns.
I object.
She suffers from an incurable moral turpitude.
I didn't ask a question!
Were you not preening the Dale?
Lyra backs through the courtroom, her tail clamped between her legs and her ears pinned flat. A dozen Noble Voices surround her, their questions and accusations blurring together into an unanswerable crushing wave.
She wants to run, but she's trapped. The witness box is too small for escape, and the bared teeth of the bailiff gleam wickedly in the guttering lamplight of the courtroom.
She is pressed in on all sides. She wants to run, to gallop, and she coils her legs underneath her, leaping over the witness stand, over the collective herd of barristers, flying almost as high as a pegasus could. She is galloping in the air, galloping over the heads of her enemies, but for every step she takes, they take two, advancing in a relentless tide, their questions never ceasing.
Her hooves hit the ground but she does not move. Her legs move in a familiar cadence, but she gains no ground. Pews full of gape-mouthed reporters, scribbling on their notebooks, slowly drift by as the distance to the door stretches to infinity and beyond.
She cannot outrun them.
She does the only other thing she can do. She spins to face them, her horn lighting in a blaze of glory. The magic fills her, screaming for release. She knows all the spells, she can do anything.
They meet singly, as is the custom. The stage is recessed, so that everypony can see what's happening. A magenta bubble glows around the ancient runes, protecting the audience from spells and preventing cheating.
Because a mare in heat might do anything.
Bon Bon never liked going to her matches, not after the time she was knocked out in practice. Spent a day in the hospital.
They meet singly, as is the custom. She bows her head to her opponent, but Noble Voice stands there, unmoving, as if he were carved out of marble.
She doesn't know his weakness. She's unprepared.
A simple stunning spell.
He's unmoved. When you first saw Dale, he begins, as he moves towards her. Nopony in the audience can hear him, but his voice rings through her head and distracts her. She can't remember any of her defensive spells!
Did you ever—
Another stunning spell. Failure. She can hear the crowd booing. Bon Bon is there, sitting next to Buck Withers and is she nuzzling him?
Have—
She screams loudly enough to shatter the shield, a cry of anguish which can be heard all the way in Vanhoover. The audience is all Noble Voice and they are all against her, they all want her to fail, they want to take away everything. She's outside her house as the auctioneer begins selling her belongings because it's the only way she can pay her debt to society but it would have been better if they hadn't made her watch as her life is sold piecemeal. Her parents don't bid on anything, they just look at her contemptuously.
And who will give me one bit for this lyre? Only one bit—do I have a bid for one bit?
—Lyra.
No bids? Into the fire with it.
—Lyra.
Who will—
When did—
—Lyra Heartstrings, look at us.
Have you ever—
—Look at us.
The rock sits in the middle of the garden, as it always has and always will. Such is the nature of things. Smoothly raked paths circle out and around it, but they do not change the rock, for it is inviolate. A thousand thousand generations will pass it by; the rock was there before the maestro, and it will be there long after she is gone. What secrets it harbors are a mystery that shall never be solved, not by a philosopher nor a scientist.
Her panic falls away, gone in a puff of smoke. A tall, slender pony, completely covered by a neophyte's robe and cowl, patiently rakes the garden.
—Fear not, the robed figure tells her.
She looks around her. Only the robed pony is there, and if she makes her pattern well, there will be no evidence once she leaves the garden, for she will have raked over her own hoofprints.
—We are with thee. We shall banish thy demons and keep thee safe throughout our night.
She reaches the end of her final row and steps onto the stone-flagged pathway. The rake is leaned against the ghostly-white bark of a paper birch, where it will be available to the next student in need.
Out of habit, Lyra looks at the pattern. It is deceptively simple, but she’s learned how to tease out its complexities. It swirls and eddies around the rock, flowing by like a river, trying to claim what cannot belong to it.
Lyra bows respectfully to the robed pony, almost touching her muzzle to the stone path, before looking back up. The hooded pony is gone. She blinks her eyes, and
For a moment, she is completely disoriented. Everything is not quite right, but not really wrong, either. It's a strange moment of jamais vu, of disconnect, but a moment later it snapped back into position and she knew where she was, and more importantly, who she was.
As the last bits of unreality faded from her mind, Lyra stayed perfectly still, letting the comforting familiarity of her home drift back in. The strange moonshadow in the corner wasn't a monster, it was the stupid fern she'd won at a carnival in Canterlot and stubbornly held onto even after any sensible mare could have seen it was never going to amount to anything . . . and then she'd met Bon Bon, and the mare had felt pity for the dumb plant, and now it thrived. Over there, on the wall, an unskilled painting of a grassy field Bon Bon had found at a flea market, which was still ugly, but now it was also a fixture in the living room.
And more important than any thing in the room, the other end of the couch held a warm lump curled under a blanket, revealed to her in the soft rays of moonlight glowing through the window and lighting everything with a preternatural clarity.
Her rock.
Lyra rolled on her side and closed her eyes again. She was joined by the feather-touch of coat against coat, of intertwined tails and intermingled scent, gentle reminders that she was never truly alone.
Lyra laid on her side, stretched out on the couch, and slept the sleep of the just.
Up in Twilight's loft, two beds were neatly made, the pillows fluffed to perfection and the sheets and blankets laid out with near-geometric accuracy. Two nightstands each contained an empty glass with an ewer of water beside it, and a sachet of fresh flowers hanging just above the partially-opened balcony doors gave the space a nice, fresh smell. Aside from the dragon sprawled out in his basket, the scene could very well have been an illustration in a book about hosting a proper sleepover. That, and the lack of anypony in the beds.
Twilight and Luna were seated in the central room of the library. A stack of books, which had been steadily growing throughout the night, stood beside a table.
A faint, almost motherly smile played across Luna's lips as Twilight's head dipped yet again . . . and then she jerked back up, blinking owlishly at the Princess of the Night.
“More tea!” The pot trembled ever so slightly in Twilight's field as she filled her cup, then drained it in a gulp in a desperate bid to stay awake.
“Thou needst not stay awake for us,” Luna said for the umpteenth time.
Twilight nodded instinctively, before rubbing her face. “Yes, I do. We have so much to talk about.” She lifted a stack of slightly crumpled notes in her field and flipped through them. “We . . . the trial. No, we covered that. Professor Laureate . . . Starswirl . . . spell.” She covered a yawn, and then looked back at Luna.
“We spoke of him,” Luna reminded her. “Starswirl was not infallible. There were spells even he could not complete, and he did make his share of mistakes.” Her eyes focused on a point beyond Twilight. “Even before our . . . folly, his experimentations carried him down some paths which were ill-advised. Although she has not spoken freely of it, our sister did place too much credence in him.”
“I know.” Twilight drained her teacup and set it neatly on the saucer, the handle pointed halfway between Luna and herself. “But . . . I've been through this spell dozens of times, and I can't figure out how it went wrong.”
“Celestia thought his spell foolproof, as well.” Luna gently pushed the papers down with her field. “Everypony makes mistakes, Twilight Sparkle. What is important is that we learn from them.”
“If they had been touching,” Twilight muttered. “But Lyra said they weren't. She wouldn't have lied. She took an oath—she swore she was telling the truth.”
Luna nodded. It wasn't the first time this subject had been broached.
“She was telling the truth, wasn't she? Everypony was, right?”
“We . . . do not know.”
Twilight set her papers back on the table and looked Luna in the face, then she glanced back at the papers and penned in a brief note. “What if—“
“No.”
“But. . . .”
“There are spells.” Luna closed her eyes. “And potions. The subject rarely arises, fortunately. Perhaps once or twice in a generation, some bright-eyed pony comes to court with a spell she has discovered, which, she assures us, will revolutionize the Equestrian justice system. They are not new spells, of course; variations, perhaps, but the end result is the same.
“And she is not wrong in her assessment, either.”
The mines were a favorite punishment. Ponies in hobbles, chained to each other. The courts were efficient—one spell, a few questions to the defendant, and punishment was meted out. Perhaps it had begun as a fair system, but it was no longer so.
But the crystal mines always needed more ponies.
Luna lifted the teapot and filled Twilight's cup once again. She set the pot in the center of the table and looked Twilight directly in the eye, even as her horn lit brightly, enveloping Twilight's teacup in a coruscus of light.
“Wert thou to drink that tea,” Luna said quietly, “thou wouldst discover that thou wert unable to speak a falsehood.” Her horn flashed again. “More. Thou wouldst be unable to keep thine mouth stilled. For the next quarter of an hour, thou wouldst be compelled to honestly answer any question we didst ask.”
She gently pushed the cup towards Twilight.
“Drink, and we shall discover together just how efficient the law can be.”
Twilight looked at the cup in horror.
“Shall we order thee?” Luna said softly, nudging the saucer. “Dost thou not drink from the cup because we proffer it? Wouldst thou, if it were our sister? Dost thou not love us? Shall we use a spell to compel thee?”
A faint magenta glow formed around the handle of the cup, and it slowly began lifting off the table, trembling as it went.
Luna grabbed it in her aura and dumped it into a fern.
“We know not how many unicorns offered their spell to our sister during our absence,” she said softly. “But we can guess how many of them would chose to drink from their poison cup. Think no further of this madness.”
• • •
Twilight blinked awake, the familiar sound of Spike's snoring turning her ears slightly. I just had the weirdest dream, she thought.
She pushed the comforter off her body and sat up in bed, her mind already racing. If it hadn't been for the urgent pressure in her bladder, she would have rushed right to the stacks to grab a book.
Her mind barely registered the empty bed across the room from her own; not until she'd answered nature's call did she even remember why it was there.
A quick tour of the library revealed that Princess Luna was indeed, gone. It was hardly a surprise—the Lunar Diarch would have no reason not to travel in the pre-dawn hour. Still, it would have been nice to say goodbye.
Yet the problem from the night before had seated itself in her brain, and it wouldn't let go.
She absently cleared the worktable, dumping the rest of the tea down her sink. A spell could warm it easily enough, but she wasn't sure she wanted to try what was left in the pot. Just in case.
The embers in the stove were still quite warm, and it was but a minute's work to get it going again. She set the kettle on to boil, then headed back into the library.
Naturally, the book she was looking for had been re-filed in one of her organizational purges. Twilight blamed her sleepy state for her repeated instinct to look for the book where it had been, when any sensible mare would have put it somewhere else, even if she couldn't quite remember where that was.
On her third pass of the shelves, she finally found it. In her defense, the book had seemed thicker when she'd first read it as a filly.
She quickly flipped through the pages, skipping back and forth until she found the passage she was looking for.
In spellcraft, even a thin wire of pure chalkos, hardly thicker than a hair, was found to be sufficient to guide a spell. Wrapt around a horn, with a blindfold on and a barrier spell betwixt her and a table, a test subject was able to lift a quill and an inkpot with but a simple strand connecting the two.
Progressively larger objects were tried, however it was discovered that the wire had the unfortunate property of heating, and some subjects complained of discomfort. As the weight was further increased, the wire would heat to glowing, or even melt, causing burns to the horn. At this time, the initial experimentation was ceased, although subsequent research is being carried out in Manehattan.
Based on an earlier experiment with hoof-conduction, a second experiment with a pegasus wings was attempted, although it showed more limited success. This was not due to the failure of the conductive wire, but rather the difficulty of spreading it over a sufficient number of feathers.
The experiment was re-tried with a captive cloud, which proved even more difficult. The chalkos wire could not be easily worked by horn, and had to be woven into a broad mesh by tongs held in the mouth.
We suspect that such a net might enable a unicorn, or even a common pony, to drag along clouds behind her, although we confess we can think of no reason why there would be any benefit to this arrangement.
Although an interesting aside on the magical potential of the material, it is far more useful for simple crafts, or as a medium for reflection: that which the laypony would call a mirror. Given its softness, it should be plain that despite its conductive advantages, it is unsuitable for shoes.
A weary smile crossed Twilight's face. She knew.
Dale yawned and stretched, his mind momentarily casting himself back to when he was a child, before the ache in his bones reminded him that he was no spring chicken anymore. A second after that, the unfamiliar bed and unnatural silence snapped him back to reality.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up, instinctively reaching for his glasses on the bedside stand. When his outstretched hand found nothing, he opened his eyes. As the muzziness of sleep fell away, he remembered that the table was on the other side of the bed.
After giving his eyes a second to come back into focus, he sat up, turning himself so his legs were draped over the side of the bed. With a final moment of regret, he pushed the covers off his lap, nearly ready to face the new day.
He could already smell the brewing coffee, but it took a second to notice that there was no frying bacon to accompany it.
The dresser was almost an insult. There were no clean clothes, and he had to make do with the same thing he'd worn the day before. The nagging voice of his mother ran through his head as he pulled his pants over the same underwear he'd worn to bed, but what choice did he have? It was either wear them or go commando.
I'm going to have to get that white unicorn to come up with more clothes, he decided. A man couldn't only have two pairs of underwear.
Once he was dressed, Dale pushed open the door to his room and stepped out into the hallway. Lyra's room was still empty: the door was open, and the neatly-made bed served only as a reminder of how far away from home he was.
For a moment, the thought of heading down the back hall and checking to make sure Kate was still there crossed his mind, but he couldn't do that. Wouldn't. She was entitled to her privacy.
He hesitated at the head of the stairs, his hand resting loosely on the new bannister. It was a minor touchstone to reality, a thing he had helped create. If he hadn't been here, neither would it.
Dale rolled his shoulder experimentally as he walked down the stairs. Aside from a little stiffness, it was as good as new. Too bad the same couldn't be said about his hair.
Starlight looked up in surprise as he leaned into the kitchen. She was in the midst of getting out breakfast supplies: two empty pans and a coffee percolator were on the stove, warming up, and on the counter beside them, a small wicker basket that looked not unlike an Easter basket was filled with brown eggs, protected with straw.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, eyeing the percolator. “Can . . . may Dale—may I have?” He pointed at the pot.
Starlight blinked, and then nodded. She turned and reached up, hooking a mug out of the cabinet. She dropped back to three hooves and held it out for him.
There is no logical reason why that cup isn't shattered on the floor, he thought. He reached out to grasp the mug, feeling a slight tingle in his hand as soon as he made contact with the ceramic. As he went to pull it towards himself, it held fast for just a moment before behaving like a normal cup should.
He cautiously picked up the percolator, poured himself a cup, and politely held it over Starlight's cup. She nodded, and he topped her drink off before putting the percolator back on the stove.
With his coffee in hand, Dale stood a moment longer in the kitchen, trying to decide if he should make an offer to help her with breakfast, but such an offer would likely be more of a hindrance than a help. There was no way they could make small talk—if these ponies even did that. So far, they'd been very task-oriented; maybe they thought shooting the bull was a total waste of time.
As the silence stretched out, Dale finally made up his mind. He could review the words Cheerilee had taught him while they were still fairly fresh in his head, and maybe even figure out something else from the book. Hopefully, Lyra would come back today, and they could work together some more. He already missed her—her unconventional method of teaching and learning might not have been as effective as Cheerilee's classroom manner, but it was a lot more fun, and she wasn't bothered when their lessons went off on a wild tangent.
Back in the office, Dale held the cup indecisively above his desk. He didn't have a coaster or a trivet, and while he wouldn't bother with such a thing at home, he didn't want to ruin somebody else's furniture. Finally, he settled on using a stack of blank paper.
He picked up the copy of Your Home, and shuffled through his notes until he found the ones he'd taken while he and Cheerilee had gone through the book.
Okay, he thought as he opened the book. If I've got this right, there are four types of pony. The plain ones, the ones that look kind of like horses back home, are called earth ponies. The ones with horns are unicorns, the ones with wings are pegasuses, and the ones with both horns and wings are princesses. They're all born that way, and they all live together. He frowned and picked up his coffee, trying to think back to high school biology. I got the impression that there's a bit of unpredictability when it comes to offspring: if the first picture is accurate, that's their version of a nuclear family, and it has three of the four types of pony. The princess type is probably rare, and has higher social standing, which is why everyone was deferential towards Luna last night.
So if that’s true—as weird as it is—wings, horns, or neither, are probably genetically determined, much like gender. I wonder if their coat and mane color is, too. Perhaps the foal I saw at the hospital had the white nurse as her mother, and maybe a dark-colored pony as her father, or even the doctor . . . or is the coloration more complex? And what purpose would such a wide variety of hair color serve, anyway? How could that have come about?
He absently took another sip of his coffee, pondering the first illustration in the book. I guess it could work. I think that some parts of the human body choose to be one thing or another early in pregnancy, and maybe if they've got more complex DNA, whole new bone structures could form. . . .
I wonder if the unicorns are the only ones who can lift things remotely? Maybe it depends on their family tree. Starlight was holding the cup up somehow.
Dale closed his eyes, trying to mentally imagine what sort of strange evolution might make such a thing even possible. It was something he sometimes struggled with, even thinking about human evolution. How could an eye come about? What use was a half-eye? How did some of the ponies get wings, some of them get horns, and some of them get neither? And the dusky guard who had been with Princess Luna—he had cat-like eyes and leathery bat-wings, but otherwise looked much like the pegasus guards. How could that have happened? Or was he now trying to put too much faith on one outlier?
Could it be that it wasn’t all natural selection? What might a future scientist think if he saw our genetically-engineered crops? Or glowing zebrafish? If all the records had somehow been lost, if there were some kind of protracted Dark Ages on Earth . . . what would they think when they found ancient mutated Monsanto corn?
Maybe this civilization was built upon the ruins of another. He looked thoughtfully at the frontispiece of the book. I haven't seen any children up close, besides the one at the hospital, and she was a normal pony. But if the book's correct—and so far, I haven't seen anything to demonstrate it isn't—the children come in all three varieties, and presumably a fourth.
“Dale?”
He jerked his head up, almost spilling his coffee. Diamond Mint was standing in the doorway, looking at him curiously. “Is now Dale eat.”
Dale nodded absently and pushed his chair back. He hadn't gotten to any of the vocabulary, but that was all right. It would be there when he got back from breakfast.
When he got to the dining room, he wasn't entirely surprised to see Kate there, absently pushing at her scrambled eggs with a fork. She was seated beside a tall, white unicorn dressed in a shirt that was a few shades lighter than Lyra's coat. The design of the clothing looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it . . . until he felt a warm bump against his hand, and looked down at the pink nurse from the hospital.
She's wearing scrubs, he thought. I think I saw her with the other dressed-up ponies one time. They must be doing in-home care. It made sense: Kate was ambulatory, and her injuries were no longer life-threatening. Despite the damage being beyond the ability of Earth doctors to repair, whatever the ponies were doing was working.
If they’re that good at medicine, might they be doing genetic modifications in the womb? He looked at his dining companions—two different types of pony, and the unicorn wearing scrubs was half a head taller than the others. All their coats were different colors, and yet all the armored guards he'd seen so far had had matching coats and manes.
The thought was horrifying—but maybe they had a good reason for it, and wasn't there the possibility that human medicine might one day advance to that point? Values shifted, and anyway, who was he to question another society on their practices? If it's even true, he told himself. You don't know enough to jump to conclusions. All the fundamental rules of life we hold for granted on Earth need not apply on another planet.
Dale took his seat, barely suppressing a grin as the nurse sat opposite the unicorn doctor, neatly flanking Kate, doubtlessly there to keep her in place during breakfast.
Diamond set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him, then gave him a glass of water before retreating back to the kitchen. Since everyone else had already dug in, Dale began eating.
“I don't like scrambled eggs.”
“Huh?” He looked up at Kate.
“I don't like scrambled eggs,” she repeated, shoving them to the side of her plate. “They're nasty.”
“I could—“
“How come they listen to you? That’s not fair.” She narrowed her eyes. “Tell them I don't want scrambled eggs.”
Dale glanced around the table. All eyes were on him.
The problem was, of course, he couldn't just walk into the kitchen and boldly tell Starlight or Diamond Mint that Kate didn't like her scrambled eggs, and did they have anything else? It would be rude, and there was the problem of language: they hadn’t covered the names of many foods yet. He could make a few gestures, say some words in their language to try and get the idea across . . . but that was more than Kate could do.
And how might their thought process be running? If he liked something, they'd have to assume she would too, and that any refusal was more likely to be belligerence than anything else. It wasn't a great assumption, but it was all they had to work with. “What do you like for breakfast? What do you usually have?”
“Frosted Flakes,” she said. “Or a bagel with cream cheese. Anything but scrambled eggs.”
He thought about what they might have in the kitchen. Frosted Flakes were out; the nearest supply was . . . well, wherever Earth was. “Fruit? Do you like fruit?”
“A banana? Grapefruit's okay with lots of sugar. Or pancakes . . . I like pancakes.”
Dale tapped his thumb on the table in thought. He still didn’t like the idea of bothering Starlight if he could help it, but there was Kate’s comfort to consider, too. She hasn’t said she was allergic to eggs, but if they gave her a stomach ache or indigestion or . . . maybe it was better to just bite the bullet and make the request. It wasn’t unreasonable, after all.
How am I going to explain pancakes? “I don't speak their language very well,” he temporized. “So—“
“The green unicorn with the white and blue mane knows English,” Kate told him. “Tell her. Where is she?”
“I wish I knew,” he muttered. “I could—I know. Kate, do you mind if I take your nurse to the kitchen with me?”
Kate looked over at the pink pony sitting next to her, and shrugged.
“Good.” Dale pointed to the nurse. “Come with me. Help me.” He stood, and after a short mental deliberation, the nurse did, too. Dale walked around the table and took Kate's plate, then walked into the kitchen, the nurse following along on his heels.
Starlight and Diamond Mint were seated at a small table in the back of the kitchen, eating their own breakfast, and a pang of guilt made Dale pause. The last thing he wanted to do was annoy the cook . . . but at some point, menu choices were going to come up, and while he'd hoped it would be later rather than sooner, here he was.
“Kate not eat,” he began, sounding the words carefully. “Not, um, sad eat.”
“Sad . . . eat?” Starlight looked at Dale in confusion.
He nodded, stuck his tongue out, and made a face. “Kate,” he reminded them.
The nurse brightened and rapidly said a sentence in their language.
“Sad eat.” Starlight looked down at her plate, and stuck her own tongue out, then pushed the plate away from her. “Sad eat?”
He nodded. Starlight got to her hooves and moved to the cupboard, pulling the door open that had the list of foods he'd checked off in the hospital. She pointed to the egg on the list. “Dale sad eat?”
He shook his head. “Dale happy eat.” Based on what he'd seen so far, he was safe making vegetable choices, so he pointed to an apple. “Maybe Starlight happy eat, Diamond Mint sad eat.” He moved his finger further down, to a drawing of a fish. “Dale happy eat, Diamond Mint sad eat?”
Starlight nodded, and waved a hoof over the drawing, in a clear 'pick one' motion.
Dale held up a finger. Wait. He crouched down in front of the nurse. “You—food. There. Dale, Kate food. You bring—look.” Dale pointed to the toast. “First.” He pantomimed pouring flour into a bowl, stirring it, kneading it, and rolling it. “Then.” He motioned towards the oven, pulled an imaginary loaf out, and then made sawing motions, finally placing the imaginary toast on the plate.
Starlight and the nurse just stared at him.
“First,” he reiterated, making the flour motion. “Then,” pointing at the oven. “Now.”
Starlight drooped her ears, and Dale sighed. She doesn't get it.
The nurse asked a question, and Starlight's ears perked. She looked back at him, then moved over to a cabinet, opened the door, and pulled out a large box. She tugged the lid off and showed him the powdery white contents. “First,” she declared, pantomiming taking a scoop of flour.
She moved throughout the entire bread-making process, going so far as to open cupboards and show him the mixing bowls and breadpans, culminating in a triumphant smile as she placed the phantom toast on the plate.
“Yes.” Dale nodded, to reinforce the point. “Kate want—look.” He pointed to the flour, and began the pantomime anew.
Both the nurse and Starlight were watching him intently as he went through the motion of making pancakes. “Dale and Kate eat there then,” he told the nurse helpfully. “Before.”
Once he was done with his pantomime, the two ponies exchanged a look and began a heated discussion. Finally, a consensus was reached, and Starlight began getting out ingredients.
As Dale looked on, he regretted not knowing how to make pancakes that didn't come from a Bisquick box. He hoped she was making the right thing—he wasn't sure he could go through this again if the whole process ended in a crepe or French toast or something else Kate wouldn't eat. His fears were ameliorated when Starlight finally finished with the batter and began pouring pancakes into the frying pan.
Once she'd finished and stacked them all neatly on a plate, Dale triumphantly came out of the kitchen holding Kate's pancakes aloft. “There. Pancakes.”
He'd just settled into his seat when Kate spoke. “Is there any syrup?”
The sun was just above the horizon when Lyra woke again. This time, it only took her a second to register her surroundings, and she rolled her neck to get the cricks out. She was getting too old for sleeping on the couch.
Bon Bon was still asleep. Unlike most earth ponies, she'd never been an early riser. Lyra gingerly disentangled herself from the covers and slid off the couch, stretching once all four hooves were on the floor.
She reeked of morning breath and stale sweat, so she quickly headed for the bathroom.
Lyra let her mind go blank as she stood in the shower, moving the soap and shampoo in an automatic pattern. She could do nothing to change the past, but the future was still hers to mold.
Grooming only took a few minutes. She'd never been one to spend much time on her mane and tail. Brush the tangles out, a quick check in the mirror to make sure that there weren't any crazy cowlicks sticking up, and she was good to go.
It was only once she was out of the bathroom that the doubts began to set in. Sure, she'd won the court case, but she'd bared herself to the whole town. Everypony was sure to know by now what she'd said on the stand, what kind of questions Noble Voice had asked, and they'd be wondering what she was up to.
She went into her conservatory and looked out the window nervously, almost expecting a pegasus with a camera to be hovering there, but the sun was hardly up, and nopony was out on their street yet.
Just the same, she felt awkward doing her morning stretching routine. She told herself it was because she hadn't had time to do it in a while, but her ears and eyes kept turning to the window, checking to make sure nopony was spying on her.
After she'd finished, she just sat on the floor, looking at her lyre. She hadn't touched it since she'd first been summoned to Canterlot.
She picked it up in her field, frowning at the thin film of dust on its body. I really ought to get to the embassy, she thought, picking up a rag. So I'll just clean it, and then eat a quick breakfast, say goodbye to Bon Bon, and be on my way.
• • •
Her ear twitched as hoofsteps caught her attention, and she turned her head towards the doorway. Bon Bon was standing there, her mane in tangles and her coat matted from sleep.
“Morning, Lyra.”
“Bon Bon! You're up early!”
“I heard you playing.” Bon Bon held up a hoof to cover a yawn. “I'm a mess.”
Lyra set her lyre back on its stand reverently. “You look fine,” she assured the earth pony. “How did you sleep?”
“Pretty well, considering.” Bon Bon covered another yawn. “I . . . it was nice to wake up to music.”
Lyra looked back at her instrument. “It was out of tune.”
Bon Bon nodded. “I need a shower. Could you be a sweetheart and get the stove going?”
“Sure.” Lyra crossed to the door and nuzzled Bon Bon's nose.
“Are you going to the embassy today?”
“I should have been there already,” Lyra admitted, looking guiltily out the window. “I hope Dale isn't having any problems. He's pretty smart, though.”
“I wasn't impressed with him at the hospital.” Bon Bon pushed open the bathroom door and Lyra followed her in.
“He wasn't at his best. Neither of us were.”
“Are you going to stay at the embassy tonight?”
“I ought to. I think I'm supposed to, but nopony's told me for sure yet.”
“It's not fair.” Bon Bon stuck a hoof under the water, to make sure the temperature was to her liking.
“I'll talk to Twilight. If she doesn't stop by before Cheerilee comes over, I'll find her and see what she says. Maybe I could even get her to send a letter to the Princess about it.”
“I don't know about bothering her for—“
“She won't mind,” Lyra insisted. “I'll go get the stove started, and then I have to get to the embassy.”
• • •
Her domestic duties complete, Lyra stood in the doorway to the house, her fears and worries coming back full force. Once she was out on the street, she was going to run into ponies she knew, ponies who had heard what happened in the trial. The gossip machine in Ponyville ran smoothly and efficiently, and never missed an event.
I should have left early. I should have left right after I got out of the shower. I could have been there before there were too many ponies on the street.
But then Bon Bon would have woken up all alone again.
She looked up and down the street. Mercifully, it was vacant.
Her pace was slow, but she reached the end of the block all too soon. She stuck her head around the corner; just as she'd feared, the road was teeming with ponies going about their morning business. Lyra swallowed down a lump in her throat. I could go back home and grab Bonnie's winter cloak.
No. That would just give mares more to gossip about. She took a few deep breaths, letting the stress flow out of her, and proudly stepped forward, head held high.
She kept her head and ears forward, moving down the center of the road at a sedate pace. She was the rock, and the raked lines were just moving around her, never touching her, never changing who she was.
“Hey Lyra!”
Her ears dropped and she turned her head up just in time to catch Raindrops' perfect landing. The yellow mare trotted to a stop right beside her. “Heard about the trial yesterday.”
Lyra hung her head. And so it begins. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see other ponies approaching.
“Me and some of the other weather girls were talking about it this morning,” the pegasus continued. “And we heard what they said about you 'n the creature.”
“It's not—“ Lyra began, but Raindrops continued unabated.
“It isn't right. You did all those things, bringing him here and bringing an embassy to Ponyville, and now some dumb unicorn from out East thinks he can take it all away?” She spat on the ground. “We aren't gonna let him. This is our town, and we look after everypony in it.”
Lyra blinked in confusion.
“Yeah!” She turned to see Daisy, a scowl on her face. “They think we're stupid because we live here instead of some city. Who wants to live in a city? I hear they don't even have flowerboxes on their houses.”
“And they think we don't know what's best for our town.” Lemon Hearts pushed her way beside Daisy. “But we do.”
“And nopony is going to take that away.” Raindrops pawed at the ground. “Nopony.”
How did I not see this coming? Lyra looked around at the encouraging faces, a warm glow suffusing her. Of course they wouldn't turn on me—not for something like this. She took a couple of steps forward, the crowd moving with her.
“What's he like?” Lemon Hearts asked. “I was late to the Mayor's announcement, and was pretty far from the stage.”
“He's nice,” Lyra told her.
“What's his world like?”
“Are there flowers? Does he like flowers?”
• • •
By the time she reached the end of Singletree Street, Lyra had attracted quite a retinue. While it was likely that some of them were just ponies going along with the crowd, unsure of its purpose, the majority were genuinely interested in protecting her from her vague and undefined foe.
As they got close to the embassy, Flitter, Cloudchaser, and Thunderlane chased a pegasus with a camera across town, while Caramel and Goldengrape cantered ahead to block off the road, much to the consternation of a group of mares trying to get to market.
It was only when the Guards turned to face the crowd that they backed off a little bit, letting Lyra move to the fore. She marched down the deserted street, with the townsponies behind her and the Guards in front, her head held high.
She stopped when she was between the two guards, the door invitingly open in front of her. I should say something, she thought. The crowd was still there; she could hear them behind her, feel the pressing weight of their eyes on her as they held their collective breath.
I'm not so good at speeches. Lyra bit her lip and considered what she might say. She could kind of quote Fancy Pants, but the whole meeting at the town hall had passed by in a flash . . . she'd been nervous about tripping over her hooves, or forgetting what she was supposed to say, and then it was over.
Still, her heart was bursting from her chest, like a song she had to share. She'd been expecting to be vilified, and instead everypony she'd seen had been on her side. Even in her dueling matches, there had been ponies who wanted her to lose. But not so now—not in Ponyville.
Sweat beading on her brow, she turned to face the crowd. “Thank you.” Her smile threatened to split her face. “Thank you so much. It means so much to me—to us, to me and Dale, that you're all here for us. I—we couldn't have picked a better town. Thank you. Thank you.”
As the crowd stomped their approval, Lyra went through the embassy door. Even as it shut behind her, she could still hear the ponies outside, and feel their hooves shaking the ground.
“What's going on?” Diamond Mint looked at Lyra curiously. “I heard a commotion, and then you show up at the head of a . . . a mob.”
“That's not a mob,” Lyra said. “It's our town.” She leaned in close to Diamond. “Our town,” she whispered, before skipping off into the office.
Dale had his head down over a stack of paper when she walked in, and he didn't notice her. She'd already guessed that his ears weren't very good at locating sound—like a griffon, he depended more on eyesight than hearing. With his vision focused on the paper, he had no idea she was coming, even though she was making no attempt to be stealthy.
He looked up just as she approached his chair. His face brightened, and he dropped his quill. Before he could even turn his chair, she had her forelegs wrapped around him in a hug.
He stiffened, and shifted his weight away from her, almost as if her were trying to back out of the embrace. Lyra’s ears drooped, but then he reached an arm around her withers and squeezed her back.
“Dale . . . did Dale have good night?” she asked, finally releasing her grip and dropping back to all fours.
“I sad Lyra not here,” he told her. “Cheerilee teach me more words, but I miss you. Is you with me here now?”
His words were hesitant, but his meaning was clear. Lyra nodded. “I am. I am here for seventy-eight moons.”
“Seventy-eight . . . “ Dale started to count on his fingers.
“Day. Light, dark, day.” Lyra picked up his quill, turned over the paper, and began to draw a grid. “Day, day, day.” She pointed to each of the boxes she’d sketched in turn. “This—these days are a week.”
Dale nodded. “A week. Is this a moon?” He circled his hand around the grid. “All this? Day, day, day, week, week, week?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
So, either they have a word which sounds the same for their month and their moon, or it’s a lunar calendar. I wonder how they deal with calendar creep? I’ll want to find about that later on. He did some quick mental calculations. She’s going to be with me for years.
Starlight breathed a sigh of relief as Diamond brought the last dishes in from the dining room. She peeked through the door one more time, to make sure all the bipeds and ponies were gone, before limply resting her head on the kitchen counter.
“I can't believe Ka-th-rin refused my scrambled eggs. Right in front of a Canterlot pony, too. There wasn't anything wrong with them.”
Diamond Mint shrugged sympathetically as she set the dishes down. “I thought they were good. Everypony else enjoyed them.”
“Right in front of a Canterlot unicorn. I'm so embarrassed.”
“Maybe she just doesn't like eggs.”
“Dale likes eggs.” Starlight pointed to the list on the cupboard. “Everypony likes eggs.” She stepped back from the counter and scuffed her hoof on the floor. “Maybe . . . maybe the mares and stallions like different things.”
Diamond nodded absently.
“And she dumped the syrup on without even tasting the pancakes first.” Starlight moved over to the sink and began washing dishes. “Hmph.”
“I hope . . . I need to talk to Lyra. She's the only one who can really talk with Dale, and Dale can talk to Ka-th-rin. Maybe Dale can find out what Ka-th-rin likes to eat, and tell Lyra, and then she can tell you? It'd be faster than pantomimes and drawing pictures.
“I can ask the nurse, too. What they gave her to eat in the hospital.” Diamond picked up a plate and began drying it off. “Dale's pretty low-key, so I don't have to wait on him horn and hoof. It'll give me something to do.”
Starlight nodded. “I'd like to know before I start making lunch. I was going to cook some more meat, but if she won't eat it, it'll go to waste. Nopony else would want to touch the stuff, and I don't know if I could save it for later if I've already cooked it. I've heard it goes rancid really quick, like fish.” Her ears lowered again. “What if she refuses lunch?”
“You could make her pancakes again,” Diamond suggested. “Until you know what she likes.”
“I am not making pancakes for lunch. A good cook provides a variety of food, not the same meal every time.”
“I've got a cookbook up in our room that I got from the library.”
Starlight shot the unicorn a withering glare.
“Not for you,” Diamond amended. “For her. They've all got drawings of the ingredients, and the finished dish, so even without having Lyra or Dale translate, she'd be able to say what she wants.”
Starlight turned and gave Diamond a friendly nuzzle. “That's a great idea. Why don't you do that right now, so if I have to get anything, I'll have time.”
“The market doesn't open until noon, you know.”
Starlight grinned. “I have ways of getting what I need.”
“You mean like bugging a farmer?” Diamond looked at her skeptically. “I tried that once before a party—I ran out of cherries for my punch, and I went over to Cherry Berry's house, and she made me pay double. You're going to spend a fortune if you have to buy ingredients early, and you'll be trotting all over town.”
“Just trust me, I can handle it.” Starlight had no intention of begging a farmer or salespony. Diamond was right: if a merchant thought you were desperate, they raised their rates accordingly. Rather, in much the same way that unicorns generally had a network of acquaintances who they could call upon for spellcraft, most earth ponies unconsciously kept an eye out at the market for who was buying what, and trading between chefs was not uncommon. With her new job, all she needed to do was show up at the back door of a restaurant, and so long as she wanted a common ingredient, she could have it for market price, no questions asked.
Diamond shot her a final questioning look, but Starlight shook her head and bent over the sink.
The unicorn waited hopefully a moment longer, before turning out of the kitchen and heading upstairs.
She'd checked out the cookbook in the hopes of learning a thing or two from Starlight. She could make simple dishes, but everything complicated she'd tried her hoof at just turned into mush, and she wasn't sure why. She couldn't ask around, either; Ponyville was pretty accepting when it came to unicorns, but there weren't very many earth ponies who'd be willing to share baking secrets with one.
But a co-worker was a different story. Sure, she'd probably never be as good a cook as Starlight, but she might be able to learn enough to make some of her favorite meals on her own, and that would save her some bits.
Of course, she hadn't meant to say she had the cookbook. That had just sort of slipped out. But no harm done, and maybe if it saved Starlight some embarrassment, she'd have a better shot at prying some of the secrets of the stove free. It wasn't like she was going to get them from any of her unicorn friends—Minuette was against the idea of eating anything overly prepared, Amethyst Star had trouble with peanut butter, and Lemon Hearts could burn down a kitchen just by setting hoof in it.
She'd arranged most of her stuff already, but the cookbook was still in her saddlebags. Diamond lifted the flap and brought the book out, resisting the urge to flip through it then and there.
She'd just stepped into the hallway when a problem occurred to her: she couldn't just waltz into Kate's room and show her the book. Kate would have no idea what she was trying to get at. She'd have to ask her first, but she didn't speak their language, and Kate didn't speak hers.
So she went back down the stairs, cookbook in tow.
Dale and Lyra were in the office, poring over a foal's primer. She tapped her hoof on the open doorway, just to be polite, before entering the room.
“I want to ask Ka-th-rin what she wants for lunch,” she explained to Lyra. “But I don't know how to ask her. I was going to show her the book—let her pick.”
Lyra blinked, and furrowed her brow in thought. “Tell her . . . tell her this.” She spoke slowly, one word at a time. Diamond dutifully repeated the phrase until she'd gotten it right.
Dale still looked slightly dubious, and got up out of his chair. Lyra held up a hoof and told him something, and then he and Lyra had a short discussion in pidgin.
It wasn't the first she'd heard between them, but they always fascinated her. Both of them switched languages frequently as they debated, so she was able to pick up the gist of the conversation, even if she didn't know all the words. Dale wanted to help her, afraid that she'd have trouble interacting with the mare, while Lyra felt that she ought to get accustomed to it sooner rather than later. Intellectually, she agreed with Lyra, although she would have welcomed Dale's help.
Finally, they reached a consensus. Lyra wished her luck, and repeated the phrase one more time. Diamond parroted it back, then headed upstairs again.
She hesitated at the entrance to Kate's room just the same. It was frightening to be in a room with a creature nearly as tall as Princess Celestia, who—if rumors were to be believed—could be quite violent, with no provocation. Luckily, she wasn't seen right away; the girl was looking out the window at the backyard.
Once again, Diamond tapped her hoof politely on the doorframe before entering the room. Lecol looked over at her; Nurse Sweetheart was nowhere to be seen.
“Ka-th-rin,” Diamond began uncertainly. “I ask what you want eat in book.” When Kate turned, she bounced the book in her aura. “I ask what you want eat in book,” she repeated, opening the book and levitating it over to the bed. She'd been warned to watch her magic around the bipeds, a warning she took to heart.
“Yes?” she asked, pointing to the first page, and exhausting almost the rest of her vocabulary. “Yes? No?”
Kate squinted down at the book, a glazed look on her face. She crouched down so she could see the book clearly, before picking it up off the bed. Diamond moved back, trying to get a glimpse at what she was looking at as she began to flip through the pages, but it was difficult.
Still, she could tell that Kate wasn't fully examining every recipe. She'd skip a bunch of pages, slow down like she was considering something, and then jump ahead again. It was hard to tell what she was thinking—her ears never moved at all.
When she reached the end of the book, she furrowed her brow and said something unintelligible to Diamond, then went back to the beginning.
I'm a failure. Diamond flattened her ears. She can't even figure out the pictures. But hope was kindled anew as she started spending some time on each page, tracing a finger along the lines as she took in the recipes.
She slowly made her way through the book again, reaching the end before she looked at Diamond curiously.
Oh ponyfeathers, I forgot how to say the phrase. “I axe what you wan eat in book,” she stammered out, ears burning.
Kate blinked, and made her choice, pointing to a lasagne. Diamond winced—she knew Starlight didn't have any noodles, and the full recipe would take hours to prepare. Starlight was going to hate her.
Still . . . if she ate it. . . .
She jerked as a warm hand touched her mane, instinctively side-stepping away from the contact.
Kate gave her a hurt look as Diamond hastily picked the book up off the bed and retreated from the room, nearly crashing into the nurse.
“Sorry,” Diamond said. “I wasn't paying attention.”