Trixie opened her eyes and glanced around the interior of the wagon. Nothing seemed out of place. She closed her eyes again and rolled over in bed. Unfortunately, on this side of the bed, the late-morning light through the open door was much too bright, even with Trixie’s eyes closed. She mumbled and pulled the bed cover over her head.
Trixie’s eyes snapped open. She was not supposed to be sleeping. She kicked off her covers and bolted to the door.
The wagon was parked in a very large clearing. The dirt road was a gash through the clearing’s center. On either side, the breeze pushed ripples and waves across the tops of the tall, yellow-green grass. Trees surrounded the clearing on every side—the youngest of these swayed and rustled in the wind. The sky was cloudless overhead.
On the nearest edge of the clearing, Ditzy leaned against a tree—doing something, but Trixie couldn’t see what.
Trixie climbed down and trotted towards her. She spoke under her breath as she went. “Trixie’s good, Trixie’s great, Trixie’s powerful. Trixie’s good, Trixie’s great, Trixie’s powerful.”
As she got halfway there, she could see what Ditzy was doing: the pegasus was reaching into a hole in the tree’s trunk. Then Ditzy, noticing Trixie’s approach, pulled her foreleg out of the tree and waved.
“Trixie’s good! Trixie’s great! Trixie’s powerful! Anything they can do, Trixie can do better!” As Trixie closed the distance to Ditzy, she raised her voice and said, “Oh, Dizzy! You take Trixie to the nicest places!”
This produced the desired effect: Ditzy stared back and said nothing. Except the look on her face was ambiguous. Was this canny, well-traveled pegasus surprised into silence by Trixie’s words, or had she judged them and found them too stupid to merit an answer? Regardless, it was too late to back down now.
“So,” Trixie continued, “where is this lovely clearing we’ve found ourselves in? ... Actually, is it a clearing or a field? It’s just large enough that it could be either, right?”
Ditzy found her voice. “I dunno.” She spared a glance at the tree, then turned back to Trixie before continuing, “And we’re still heading south. If I read the map right, and we keep the same pace as yesterday, then we should reach Baltimare before sundown.”
“Of course Trixie can keep the same pace!” She flicked her head to the side, to make her mane fall just so. “So, what’s so interesting about this tree, Dizzy?”
“What tree?”
“The one you were hugging while Trixie was walking over here. Trixie isn’t blind.”
“Oh.” Ditzy turned to look back at the tree. “It’s a cottonwood. It’s interesting because you don’t see many of them this far east.”
“Interesting enough to hug?”
Ditzy smirked. “We all appreciate trees in our own way, Trixie.”
Trixie mentally filed that away in her One-Liners to Use Later folder. “You sure know a lot about them,” she said. “Are you some kind of expert?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest. What’s that tree?” Trixie pointed at a thick tree to the left.
“Umm ... a ... hardwood tree?”
Trixie blinked.
Ditzy added, “A big one.”
“Trixie sees. And what about that tree?”
Ditzy stared intently at the tree in question. “Hmm ... I got nothing.”
Trixie harumphed. “Some expert you are.”
“I’m not an expert! I just know a few trees that are relevant to my interests.”
“If you say so. And what, precisely, are your interests?”
Ditzy stared at Trixie for a few seconds. “I need to go.” She lifted up and flew back to the wagon.
Trixie watched her go, then turned back to the trees. Her gaze fell on the cottonwood tree, and her brows furrowed. She circled the tree, examining every inch of the trunk up to the canopy. When this visual inspection did not find what she was looking for, Trixie cast her telekinesis up and down the trunk. “Hmmm ...” she said as she trotted back to the wagon.
When she got there, Ditzy was bent over a sheet of paper with a quill in her mouth.
Trixie cleared her throat and asked, “So, what words of wisdom are you leaving for future generations?”
Ditzy looked up, wearing a quizzical expression. “Oh!” she said. “I’m just writing a letter to my parents.”
“Oh, Trixie is the best at writing letters!” She snatched the paper and quill from Ditzy. She wrote as quickly as she could, calling out as she did, “Dear Mrs. and Mr. Dizzy’s Mom!”
“Hey!”
“Your daughter is a great kisser! You should be proud of her!”
Ditzy leaped into Trixie, tackling her to the ground. “Give that back!”
“Oh my goodness, she can’t keep her hooves off Trixie! Trixie must go now! Love, The Great and Powerf—”
Ditzy shoved Trixie’s head into the ground and snatched the paper out of her telekinesis. She zipped into the air, landing on the wagon roof.
Trixie stood back up and shook the dirt out of her mane. She looked up at Ditzy.
Ditzy stared at the letter, a slightly confused expression playing across her face as she read Trixie’s additions. She looked down at Trixie.
Their eyes met, and they both said in unison, “What is wrong with you?”
Neither broke eye contact. Trixie, however, levitated the quill up to Ditzy and placed it behind her ear.
Ditzy quirked an eyebrow. “It’s your turn to pull the wagon,” she said. “It’s the only way we’ll make Baltimare by sundown.”
“Of course!” Trixie spun dramatically and trotted over to yoke herself. “Are you ready, Dizzy?”
Ditzy landed in the doorway. “Hi ho, Trixie, away!” she called.
Trixie turned in her yoke to glare backwards. “You’re not allowed to say that!” But she started trotting anyway.
She kept silent as the wagon pulled onto the road. Ditzy resumed writing her letter.
When they passed into the shade of the forest, Trixie loudly cleared her throat. “So, Ditzy ...”
Ditzy’s head snapped up.
Trixie continued, “About that tree from before ... What’s the real reason you were so interested in it?”
Ditzy sighed. “Look, sometimes you just can’t explain—”
“Trixie isn’t blind. She saw you sticking your arm through a hole, up to your shoulder.”
Ditzy’s eyes widened. “Excuse me one second,” she said just before bolting into the wagon. The noises of furious packing came from inside, then she emerged with her saddlebags on her back. “Continue.”
“Going somewhere?”
“Maybe.”
“Anyway, when you left, Trixie looked at that tree again, and realized there was no hole in the trunk.”
“Maybe you—”
“Trixie examined every inch of that trunk. Trixie used magic to look for glamours or any other concealment. If there were any hole, Trixie would have found it. There was nothing.” Trixie looked back, mustering up her most curious and least confrontational face. “How did you do that?”
“Ummm ...” Ditzy tightened her saddlebag straps. One of her eyes pointed to the sky, and the other looked at Trixie.
Trixie unleashed her puppy dog eyes. Trixie was the best at puppy dog eyes.
Ditzy sighed. “Cottonwood trees can dig outside of normal space, into other dimensions. Unfortunately, this makes the cottonwood a suitable bridge for monsters from those other dimensions to enter Equestria.”
Trixie furrowed her brow.
Ditzy continued, “But when they do, it leaves distinct signs. So I was sticking my hoof into a higher dimensional hole to look for those signs.”
Trixie trotted a few seconds before saying, “And?”
“What?”
“That’s some great patter—I love the bit about higher dimensions. But how do you actually pull it off?”
“How do you stick your hoof into anything?” Ditzy rolled her eyes at Trixie’s snickering, then continued, “I just kind of ... reach over there, you know?”
Trixie gave a dramatic sigh as she turned forward again. “Fiiiiine. Every illusionist is entitled to her secrets. Trixie won’t pry.”
“What.”
“But why didn’t you tell Trixie you were a prop magician? And a good one, at that! That was a clean solid-through-solid illusion, and you did it like it was nothing!”
“What are you oh! Oooohhh ... Well, I—”
“And you’re so modest! ... Well, Dizzy, Trixie is no stranger to the small stage herself. Would you be interested in joining her show? Perhaps you could even get co-billing, depending on how much material you bring.”
Ditzy unstrapped her bags and set them inside the wagon. “Eh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I don’t ... no, I barely have any stage experience.”
“Everypony has to start somewhere. What else can you do, besides the leg-through-a-tree illusion?”
“I guess I can ... teleport. And do a vanishing act.”
“Good, good. You’ll have to show Trixie when we get to Baltimare.”
“Yes.” Ditzy pulled the paper and quill out of her bag and resumed writing her letter.
Trixie thought about her unfinished story from yesterday. It was the story about saving Hearth’s Warming, but she couldn’t remember where she left off, no matter how much she racked her brains. But there was a more efficient way to figure it out. She cleared her throat loudly and said, “So, to pick up where Trixie left off yesterday ... There Trixie was, on top of Mt. Brushmore. Sister Winter drew her icicle rapier and said to Trixie—”
“She said,” Ditzy interrupted, “‘Revenge is a dish best served cold! And all shall feast on it, after I’ve had my way with Equestria!’ Yeah, you already told this bit, remember? You left off at the part with you and Uncle Tannenbaum trapped in the sinking submarine.”
“Of course!” Trixie smiled slyly. “Good to see you were paying attention. So, Uncle Tannenbaum turned to Trixie and said ...”
“... and everypony agreed it was easily the third-best Hearth’s Warming, ever!”
“Only third best?” Ditzy said. “What were the best ones?”
“They’re stories for another day. Oh, and before you ask, Nestor the donkey replaced all the missing horn-rimmed glasses.”
“Good to know.”
Trixie said nothing as she continued trotting. After rounding a curve in the road, she telekinetically grabbed her map and examined it. The map said they were very close to Baltimare, but Trixie still had not noticed any signs of civilization. She returned the map to Ditzy’s side, then stopped the wagon.
“Dizzy, dear,” Trixie said as she unyoked herself, “how good is your vision?”
A groan came from behind her. Her heart sinking, Trixie remembered her traveling companion’s eye condition and realized, too late, just how her question must have sounded. She turned around and met Ditzy’s harsh gaze with a smile. “Because Trixie needs some reconnaissance!”
“Oohhh.” Ditzy’s expression softened.
“Be a dear and fly up to see how much further we have to Baltimare.”
“Got it!” Like a gray bolt, Ditzy took to the sky. She rose and rose, until she was merely a dot, visible between the tree branches. Just as Trixie’s neck began to ache from following her, Ditzy descended.
“About a mile more to the outskirts,” she said.
“Great!” Trixie said. “It’s your turn to pull the wagon.”
Ditzy squinted.
Trixie rolled her eyes. “What? Now you decide you can’t pull it?”
“I had to twist your leg to let me pull before, or do it while you were knocked out cold. And now you’re just letting me do it? What’s your angle?”
“Oh, that. It’s better if potential future audiences see the Great and Powerful Trixie being pulled in her carriage, rather than doing the pulling.”
“Why, exactly?”
“Glad you agree!” Trixie pushed past Ditzy, into the wagon, and closed the door. A second later, the door reopened, and the familiar bundle of rags hovered out, landing on Ditzy’s back. Ditzy shrugged and yoked herself.
The forests abruptly gave way to flat farmland, with Baltimare’s suburban edges and urban center just visible over the horizon.
By the time the wagon rolled past the first farmhouses, it had been completely transformed. It was decorated on all sides with banners bearing pictures of Trixie’s cutie mark or her smiling face. The four corners all bore industrial-strength, magic sparklers—bright enough to shine visibly in the late afternoon light. And a phonograph cranked away, loudly playing what Trixie had called her theme music. Most of the album was instrumental music, but the song currently playing was the exception. Some stallion crooned—over an electric harp with a marked tremolo—about a fortune teller who may or may not have lied to him.
This transformation had the desired effect: a group of local ponies had already gathered beside the road to watch the wagon roll past. There were a few adults, their faces a mix of surprise and suspicion. But most of the gathered ponies were children, their eyes lit up with wonder.
Trixie, from her seat on the wagon, took all this in, but only from the corner of her eye. She never looked directly at them or acknowledged them in any way. She was in costume, after all. It was a larger version of her favorite outfit from childhood—a pointed hat and cape, both of royal purple with stars glittering in the sun’s light.
Ditzy, oddly enough, lowered her head and quickened her pace. She perspired, even more than she already was from pulling the wagon. It was almost as though the crowd were making her nervous.
As soon as they passed the farmhouses and the crowd, Ditzy stopped the wagon on a deserted patch of road between two wheat fields. “I don’t think I can do this,” she said. “This is not the sort of entrance I like to make.”
“Oh?” Trixie said. “What’s your style, then?”
“The sort of entrance where nopony even notices I’m there.”
“But that’s exactly what you are doing, Dizzy!”
“Oh, really? And all those ponies gawking at us—”
“Gawking at Trixie, not at us. They all think you’re just ... hired help. You might as well be invisible!”
“I’d still rather be invisible for real ...” Ditzy muttered.
“Wow,” Trixie said. “You weren’t kidding about not having stage experience. Misdirection, hiding in plain sight—why, those are the most basic skills in our line of work. Trixie would have to be ... brainwashed or something before she forgot them.”
“Alright,” Ditzy said as she resumed pulling. “If you say we’re safe then I’ll trust you. But if you like the crowd so much, why don’t you say something to them? Keep their interest, you know.”
“Trixie already has their interest, with her resplendent attire”—she waved her cape dramatically—“and her demeanor. As a very wise philosopher said once, ‘I don’t want to be a member of any club that will have me as a member.’ You see, Dizzy, the only reason these gawkers even care is because Trixie is so aloof! If she were friendly, Celestia forbid, they’d turn on her in a heartbeat.”
“That’s incredibly cynical.”
“Cynical is just another synonym for true, Dizzy.”
“No, that’s stupid. Trixie, I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I actually have been betrayed by somepony I considered a friend. And it happened because I was being too sneaky, not too friendly.”
“Really? That sounds like a story Trixie would like to hear!”
“Ugh, no.” Ditzy snorted. “I don’t think our relationship is that close yet. And that story is all tied up in why everypony thinks I’m crazy.”
“You are crazy, Dizzy! But the good kind of crazy.”
Ditzy stared back at her.
Trixie continued, “If the ponies in white come along to lock you in a padded room, they’ll have to go through The Great and Powerful Trixie first!”
“Thanks.”
“So, Dizzy, what was your prior stage experience, anyway?”
“High school band.”
Trixie facehoofed.
Ditzy added, “I played tenor saxophone!”
Trixie stepped out of Baltimare City Hall and spared a glance back at the Hall’s imposing Neo-Preclassical façade. Before, she had wondered how Baltimare could afford such a building. Now, as she regarded her new Public Performance Permit and her almost-empty purse, the answer to that question was obvious. Still, Trixie hummed an upbeat melody to herself as she tucked her Permit under her hat.
She trotted down the road back to her wagon. To her right were a string of picturesque small businesses, tightly packed and well-maintained. To her left was a line of trees bordering a grassy park. A small herd of fillies and colts were loosely organized into a game of hoofball—a few of them paused to stare at Trixie. She permitted herself to smile, but her pace was uninterrupted.
Adult ponies passed Trixie in the street, nearly all of them smiling and offering some banal greeting as they did. “Hello!” “Good afternoon!” “How ya doin’?” Trixie said nothing, but nodded slightly at each passerby. Excessive impoliteness could be almost as bad as excessive friendliness.
Then one greeting, spoken in a harsh whisper, brought Trixie to an abrupt halt.
“Psst! Trixie! Hey, Trixie!”
The voice was Ditzy’s, but no matter which way Trixie turned, she couldn’t see her. Then Trixie looked up, just in time to see a gray blur falling on her.
“Augh—” A hoof covered Trixie’s mouth, cutting her cry short. There was a turmoil of flapping wings and wiry pegasus legs, then Trixie suddenly found herself free. She was surrounded by tree branches and leaves, and Ditzy stood in front of her, perched on a branch. Trixie bit back a shout of fright when she realized she was also on a branch, some thirty feet off the ground.
She willed her legs to stop shaking, and with the most even voice she could muster she said, “My, Di-Dizzy, Trixie didn’t realize you were such a r-romantic.”
“Cut it out. There’s no time for that.” Ditzy pulled a poster from her saddlebag and hoofed it over to Trixie. “Look at this! I found it while I was hanging your posters everywhere.”
Trixie’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she said. “This looks serious. But can we talk it over back at the wagon, rather than in this tree?”
“Oh. Yeah, sorry about that.” Ditzy flitted forward and landed, crouching at Trixie’s hooves. “Climb on, and I’ll give you a lift back down.”
Trixie smirked and opened her mouth, but laughter overcame her before a single word could come out.
Ditzy looked over her shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. “What now?”
“Hahahaaaa … Dizzy, dear, are you quite certain this is how you want to get Trixie down from this tree?”
“Well, either we do it like this, or we do it the hard way.”
Trixie scrunched her eyes shut as she tried to bite back more laughter. “Snrk snrk! ‘Hard way’! Snrk!”
Ditzy waited for Trixie to regain her composure, then said, “Look, would you rather just stay in this tree for the night?”
“Dizzy, Dizzy, stop and think about what you’re saying to Trixie. You’re waving your butt at her and asking her to climb on … Is that the signal you want to send?”
Ditzy’s eyes widened. Faster than the eye could follow, she spun on her forehooves, landing so she faced Trixie again. A furious blush spread over her face.
Trixie continued, “Because if you’ve changed your mind since last night, Trixie will gladly—”
“Nevermind!” Ditzy shook her head, hard. “Forget it.” She marched forward and grabbed Trixie’s forehoof with one of her own.
“Oh, my, Dizzy, you’re so—”
Ditzy stepped to the side and pulled Trixie with her. She went to Trixie’s left ... but it was unexplainably wrong, a left that Trixie had somehow never noticed before. The air parted and Trixie was dragged through.
Bright blue grass brushed against Trixie’s legs and flanks—the two ponies were now in a neon prairie stretching as far as Trixie could see. The sky was dull yellow, with a large black spot where the sun should have been. A metallic odor filled Trixie’s nostrils as she inhaled deeply. But before Trixie could say anything, Ditzy took another of those wrong left turns. The air parted once more, but Ditzy shoved Trixie through first.
Trixie stumbled and regained her footing, then looked around. She was back on that street in Baltimare. Other ponies walked down the street, paying no more attention to Trixie than they would pay to any other well-dressed, incredibly attractive unicorn. And Ditzy was nowhere to be seen, not even in the tree overhead.
Trixie shook her head, then galloped back to the wagon. Ditzy was already inside.
“How did you ...” Trixie closed the door. “What was that thing you did back there?”
“The hard way. It was either that, or let you climb on my back and never hear the end of it.”
“Wait, wait ... Is that the reason for this?” Trixie brandished the poster Ditzy had given her—a poster with a sketchy portrait of Ditzy and the headline Have you seen this mare? Ditzy read aloud the text below: “This mare is mentally disturbed, and poses a danger to herself and others. If seen—”
“‘If seen, do not confront her. Instead contact...’ blah blah blah.” Ditzy paused. “Yeah, I guess they’re connected.”
“Then why don’t you show them? Prove that you’re not crazy!”
“Oh yeah, show them that the pony they think is crazy also has unexplainable magic powers! I’m sure that’ll work.”
“Now who’s the cynical one?”
Ditzy sighed and sat down. “You got me. Still, I can’t stay here. We need to leave, now.”
“What? No, Trixie can’t leave!”
“But ...”
“But nothing!” Trixie pulled out her performance permit and showed it to Ditzy. “Do you know how much this cost Trixie? Too much! Those pin-headed pencil-pushers persist in pumping up the price of paperwork! Trixie ... Trixie ...” She hung her head. “She doesn’t have enough bits to get to the next city.”
“Oh.”
“Trixie needs to put on her show! Just a one-week engagement, then we’ll have enough bits to go anywhere in Equestria. Or maybe we could even book an airship and head overseas! Trixie’s always wanted to perform in Prance or Neighpoli or Saddle Arabia ...”
“But I don’t have a week, Trixie. Some of the locals recognized me, I’m sure of it! They were giving me funny looks as I was hanging up your posters. Not ‘Haha, what’s wrong with her eyes?’ looks, but nervous looks, like they expected me to bite their faces off!”
“Even so, it will take at least a few days for the hospital orderlies to get here from Manehattan. Maybe longer—I swear the Equestrian rail system makes no sense sometimes.”
“They won’t be coming from Manehattan. There’s a sanitarium right here in Baltimare. Those orderlies might be on their way here right now! Or maybe they’ll just liaise with the police to pick me up. That’ll be fun.”
“But there has to be something we can do!” Trixie paced, but the wagon’s interior was so small she could only walk a few paces before needing to turn. “You could hide in here all week! No. You could wait in the woods outside of town, and ... No, no. Trixie could make you a disguise for ... No! Aaargh! Trixie can ... You can ...”
Trixie’s head lowered, and she sat down.
“Maybe ...” Ditzy said. “Would it be better if I just left?”
“No!” Trixie’s head jerked back up. “No no no no ... no ... maybe?” She sighed and traced a circle on the floor with one hoof. “You’re right, Ditzy. This is more serious than anything Trixie’s ever dealt with. Trixie doesn’t think she can help you where you’re going. She would only drag you down.”
“No, that’s not true. You’re—”
“I’m not good enough for you! You deserve better!”
Ditzy blinked.
Trixie continued, “You’re somepony truly special. And your destiny ought to be bigger and better than I can give you.”
“But—”
“Go!” Trixie stamped. “Find your destiny! Find that place where you can fulfill your special talent without small-minded ponies questioning your sanity!”
“Alright.” Ditzy slung her saddlebag over her back and tightened the straps. “Trixie, these last ... Oh my goodness, has it only been two days? Still, I wish it didn’t have to end like this. I hope we can meet again, someday.”
“Ditzy! Before you go ...” She scratched at the floor again, then threw off her hat and cape. Stepping forward, she placed both forehooves on Ditzy’s shoulders. “Can we kiss, one last time?”
“Umm …” Ditzy looked away, her eyes independently flitting to every side, then she looked back at Trixie. “Yes.”
Trixie closed her eyes and leaned in towards Ditzy. When their lips met, Ditzy’s were far less limp than they had been during last night’s disastrous snog—but Trixie still felt ice in her stomach. She moved her hooves to massage Ditzy’s withers, and the pegasus squirmed slightly but kept all four hooves on the ground.
She’s not into this, Trixie thought. She’s trying, Celestia knows why, but she’s just not into it.
Trixie pulled away, stepping backwards, and smiled. Ditzy smiled back at her.
Trixie threw a smoke bomb at the floor.
After about thirty seconds of coughing and wheezing and opening all the wagon’s doors and windows and waiting for the smoke to dissipate, Trixie could finally see again.
“What the—” Another coughing fit interrupted Ditzy. “What the hay was that for?”
Trixie spun to face her. “Why are you still here?! That was your cue to leave, you dummy!”
“Oh. Well, bye then.” She turned and bolted out the door.
“Stupid saxophone player,” Trixie muttered. “Wouldn’t recognize a stage direction if it bit her in the rump ...”
She picked up her hat and cape from where they had fallen and began examining them. Her first show was tomorrow night, so there was no time like the present to make sure her stage attire was spotless. She paused to wipe a tear from her eye—a tear from the smoke, of course. It had to be.
“Stupid pegasus. Stupid Trixie, for caring about you. Stupid mental hospital ponies for, for ...”
As Trixie trailed off, she heard her own voice in her head, repeating words from just a few hours ago: “If the ponies in white come along to lock you in a rubber room, they’ll have to go through The Great and Powerful Trixie first!”
Her hind legs buckled, and her rear dropped, landing on something rough and uneven. It was a burlap sack, and some of its contents cracked under Trixie’s haunches. With a scowl, she looked into the sack. With a harsher scowl, she leaped to the cabin door.
“Ditzy!” she called. “Get back here, you airhead, right now!” She waved the sack in the air. “You left your stupid pine cones back here! Ditzy! Ditzy!”
She called into the darkening twilight for about two minutes before her voice cracked. Trixie coughed, then in a normal volume, she continued, “Fine! Be that way, you dummy. Trixie will just have to eat all these pine cones herself!”
Trixie grabbed one cone and bit off half of it. After a few seconds of chewing, she flipped the burlap sack, dumping all the remaining pine cones onto the street. She stepped back into the wagon, locking the door behind her.
Night fell in the forest just west of Baltimare. Ditzy lay for an hour on a tree branch, tossing and turning. She had to snatch a passing cloud to use as a pillow before sleep came to her.