//------------------------------// // Chapter 23: Dale's Day Out // Story: Onto the Pony Planet // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Onto the Pony Planet Chapter 23: Dale's Day Out Admiral Biscuit Things had begun to settle into a routine for Dale. He and Lyra would work together until mid-afternoon, when Cheerilee showed up, and then the three of them together would have a lesson, eat dinner, have a second, shorter lesson, and then relax for a little bit before bedtime. The lessons were intense, and it felt like he was getting nowhere, but Dale could tell progress was being made. Fortunately, unlike high school Spanish, the lessons were immediately useful. He'd learned enough of their language to have at least broken conversations with the construction ponies, and had picked out the paint for what he considered the 'human' part of the embassy. The only exception was Kate's room; he'd let her pick her own color palette. He hoped she still liked it when they weaned her off the morphine. During meals, he'd taught the construction ponies some English words, and he'd noticed that Diamond Mint and Starlight were picking up on quite a few, as well. A few communications problems and other setbacks had occurred, of course, but nothing too upsetting, and everyone had had a good laugh once things had been straightened out. Dale wasn’t a very demanding person, and the ponies working at the embassy were very laid-back. He'd also discovered, quite by accident, that Twilight was copying his notes. He'd gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and had heard a noise downstairs; when he went to see what was going on, he'd discovered the purple unicorn sitting in his oversized chair, copying down his vocabulary notes onto a fresh scroll. Dale wasn't surprised that some pony was doing that, although he'd assumed Twilight was some sort of important figure, since she’d given a speech and had been at the embassy open house. However, she'd revealed in a drawn-out discussion that she was just the town librarian and archivist. He suspected that something had been lost in translation, but to her frustration and his own, they simply didn’t know enough words between them to clarify. •        •        • The one thing he liked most about mornings was his coffee. Starlight brewed it just right, and there was something ineffably satisfying about sitting down at his desk with a hot cup of coffee in his hand while he looked over notes from the day before. It's like when I had a job, he thought. There's a purpose to it. That was how his day at the machine shop had always started: gossip with the night watchman, turn on the shop lights, start the air compressor, power up the tools, and then head to the office with a cup of fresh coffee to review the coming day's work. The only difference now was that Starlight played the role of the night watchman, and there was no gossip—not yet, anyway. But he was getting closer every day. She'd learned to ask him what he wanted for breakfast, and he'd learned to name a dozen or more different breakfast foods. Dale leaned back in his chair and waited for Lyra to arrive, idly going through his notes from the night before. Cheerilee had thrown him for a loop, covering vocabulary which he thought was a bit illogical this early in the game. He was sure they had their reasons, though. He was lost in attempting to pronounce ‘princess’ when Lyra walked in, a cup of coffee floating next to her head. Her hair was still damp from her morning shower. “Morning, Dale.” He set the papers neatly on the desk and smiled at her. “Morning, Lyra.” She switched to their language—this had become part of their morning routine. They'd exchange greetings in English, and then try to speak Equestrian for the rest of the time. It was his idea: while Lyra and Cheerilee were becoming proficient, he knew that while he was here, he'd be better off speaking Equestrian rather than English. “Did you sleep well?” He nodded. “I feel well-rested.” “That's good.” She tilted her head towards the papers on the desk. “Are you ready to begin?” Dale pushed the papers aside. “I have different idea. I would like to take the day off.” He'd been thinking about this for a couple of days. While the utility of language lessons was obvious, he just wasn't the type to deal with sitting inside and having intensive sessions every day until he was fluent. He’d go completely stir-crazy. He watched her closely. In general, the ponies weren't very good at hiding their feelings—their ears especially tended to give them away. Not for the first time he wondered if they ever played bluffing games like poker. She didn't act opposed. If anything, he'd guess she was intrigued by the idea. She cocked her head slightly to the side, her ears turned out just a little bit, and she swished her tail. What he was really curious about was how much latitude he'd be allowed. He understood that they were giving him lots of things, and he knew that such things came with a catch. It was obvious that they were working as hard as they could to get a home for him and Kate ready, and it was equally plain that his responsibility in the deal was to sit through the language lessons and not complain; to learn their language so that he could fulfill whatever they imagined his duties to be. But it wasn't something he felt he could keep up every day until he was fluent. He was a bit of an explorer at heart, and his curiosity needed to be sated. He'd just about reached his saturation point with books and things on the embassy property—he and Lyra had spent one morning naming all the plants outside, and he needed that type of escape again. “What . . . are you tired of books?” Dale nodded. “What do you want to do? Go outside? Sit in yard?” Dale shook his head. “Walk around. See town.” It hadn't been a great week for the detective and the FBI agent. Even after agreeing to give more out to other labs—despite the risk it might compromise their court case—they were no closer to a solution than they had been before. It takes time, Moller reminded himself as he checked his e-mail for the hundredth time. Time to process the samples. Time to run the tests, and then re-run them because they keep coming back as 'inconclusive.' His actions had become so automatic, that he almost missed that there was, indeed, a new e-mail from an archaeology professor who specialized in weapons. Moller clicked it open and skimmed past the opening pleasantries until he got to the meat of the text. Regarding the photographs of weapons you sent: the spearhead, unfortunately, has no distinct characteristics which would enable us to positively identify a culture of origin. Your attached report indicates that it was most likely hand-forged, although that does very little to limit its providence. As I'm sure you know, most spearheads were historically made this way, and there are many modern blacksmiths who could easily produce a spearhead. We are also unable to determine what the curved 'sword' blade is for. The holes make it obvious that it was meant to be attached to something, and perhaps if we knew what that something was, we could provide a better answer. It could plausibly be a blade for some sort of industrial machine. We checked some of the more obvious uses for such a blade, and could identify no commercial machine which would use it. However, the report indicates that this blade was also hand forged, and as such, may have been intended as a repair piece for some old-fashioned piece of equipment. If you were to have the metal of the weapons analyzed, it might help you determine their origin. Trace elements could provide clues about the source of the metal, and the microstructure might provide an additional determination of how and where they were produced. Moller typed out a non-committal reply, hit send, and leaned back in his chair. They'd already thought of that—they just hadn't gotten the lab results yet. CSI makes it look so easy. Put it under some fancy-looking thing hooked up to a computer, and ten seconds later you've got an indisputable result, unless the plot requires there to be some confusion. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Gross examination of the objects had turned up one interesting trend, at least. All the items that they could identify were commercially-available items: Dale's canoe, his marine radio, all the research books that had been in his tent. All the items they could not identify were assumed to have been hand-made by someone, down to the smallest detail. Even the buckle on the saddlebags wasn't a mass-produced buckle. There was a second person there, he thought. Maybe not on the final day, but before that. Dale had been there for a couple of days at least. His thoughts wandered to the odd books out in the tent, and an image came of Christopher Colombus exchanging trinkets with the natives in exchange for food. He turned back to the computer and pulled up the case file. They'd found the receipt for Dale's inexplicable book purchase, and a lot of those books had been in his tent—but not all of them. He suddenly had a feeling that they wouldn't be at Dale's home, either. It wasn't much of a lead, but it was something tangible. They'd found a stack of books in his office along with the receipt. That had stood out—all the rest of the books in the house were on shelves, except for a Poul Anderson novel on the toilet tank. Moller started clicking through screens, scribbling the results down on a legal pad. When he was done, he had a short list of books which were neither place. He picked up the phone and punched a number. “Hey, Adams? It’s Moller. Need you to check out a car and run over to Mr. Paard’s house. What? No, we never closed the warrant; there’s still an officer out there. You got the address? Yeah, that’s it. Okay. I need you to look for some books: a visual dictionary, a copy of Gray’s Anatomy—that’s a textbook, not the TV show—and a book called Stars and Planets. Look everywhere. The first two are pretty big books; they shouldn’t be hard to find. Call me back if you find them, or if you don’t.” After he hung up the phone, he leaned back in his chair. Who would want a visual dictionary, an anatomy book, and a book about the galaxy? “See the town?” Lyra repeated back, stalling for time to think. She could tell Dale was getting antsy—the longer they studied together, the more he'd shift around in his chair, and the more easily distracted he was. He was already fidgety this morning, so they probably wouldn’t get a whole lot accomplished here, anyways. It's not his fault, she thought. He was no more prepared to be a student than I was to be a teacher. Really, it was a miracle they'd gotten as far as they had. She didn't like to think where they might be if Cheerilee and Twilight hadn't been helping—even if she'd forgotten half the stuff Twilight told her before she took her first solo visit to Dale's world, she remembered enough of it to not be overwhelmed. Truth be told, she didn't like being cooped up in the house either. She'd had more freedom when she'd been on the beach with Dale. There hadn't been the pressure to get him speaking well enough to be formally introduced at the official embassy opening, for example. Which is tomorrow, she thought. I need to tell him that, if Cheerilee doesn’t. “We need to come back before Cheerilee arrives,” Lyra said. Dale nodded. “Yes. I need Cheerilee to teach me more. I not want to make her disappointed.” “‘Do not want,’” Lyra automatically corrected. “I do not want to make her disappointed,” he repeated. “If we go into town, will you work extra hard with Cheerilee this afternoon?” “Yes.” Dale put on his most sincere face and looked her right in the eye. “I want a break, and it is a beautiful day.” It's an opportunity, Lyra decided. She knew that ponies in the town were getting anxious to meet Dale—over the last week, Bon Bon's stand had been inundated by ponies wanting to get the latest gossip, and the uptick in business had helped offset the bitterness over Lyra's new living situation. I can see where he’s coming from, she thought. When Tavros was visiting Canterlot, he wanted to go around and see all sorts of stuff that wasn’t on the official tour. He didn’t want to stay on the school grounds when he wasn’t practicing with the choir. He didn’t like lounging around the dorm room. There was no reason not to use this to her advantage. It was a market day, and Dale wanted to see town. Plus, she'd get a chance to see Bonnie, which further sweetened the deal. “Okay. We'll go into town in the morning, but we need to come back here for lunch.” Dale smiled. “Thank you!” “And you need to work on your language while we’re out, too.” His smile faltered a little bit, but it quickly came back. “How soon can we go? Do you need to get ready?” She shook her head. “Finish your coffee, and we'll go.” •        •        • It was silly, but the air felt different when Dale stepped outside. It wasn't like he'd never seen what was around the house before—he had a view of the street from his room, and he'd watched the ponies go by. He’d studied the houses around his, taking in every detail of their style and the decorations around them. He'd seen his neighbors coming and going, and working in their backyards, although he hadn't been formally introduced to any of them yet. I wonder if they normally bring casseroles or cookies or something like that to their new neighbors? Are they holding back because this is an official building? I wonder if I could have Starlight make casseroles for the neighbors? Or we could have a cookout. I should introduce them to some American customs. I’m supposed to be exchanging triangles and squares. Lyra interrupted him from a vision of a bunch of ponies standing around a barbeque grill, cans of Budweiser in their hooves. She was about thirty feet down the street—obviously, she had a destination in mind, and he'd just been standing there. “Sorry!” Dale walked up to her sheepishly. She frowned at him. “Please stay close. I don't want an incident.” “Incident?” “Trouble. Bad.” She reached back and touched her barrel. “On the beach, with Kate.” He nodded. I've been too busy thinking that they're like my neighbors in Grand Rapids—almost all kind and friendly. It would only take one mistake—one misunderstanding—to cause all sorts of problems, just like on the beach. He glanced behind him, and noticed that one of the door guards had detached himself from his post and was following along behind. They're probably not all friendly, and some of them might be violent. Lyra beckoned him to move closely, and then said “Down.” She motioned with her foreleg in a downward wave, and Dale crouched down. Lyra moved close to him and spoke quietly right into his ear. “The town can be dangerous. Not all ponies are like you or me. There are monsters who live in the forest, and they sometimes come out. If something happens, you need to do what I say.” And he didn't need reminding of what the ponies could do. He remembered Lyra flattening Kate at the hospital, as well as the work the doctor had done. He knew that they could lift multiple objects with their horns, and he also knew that a fair number of them could fly. He was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. She had seemed hesitant. Maybe she was worried about security. It had certainly crossed his mind on the island, but he'd been too complacent, figuring the remote location would keep them safe. That hadn’t worked out as well as he’d planned. He could suggest that they go back. No. Dale squared his shoulders. If he was here, he might as well explore. And if that wound up costing him, so be it. Scott hadn't made it back from the South Pole, Magellan never finished his journey, and nobody knew what had happened to Earhart. History didn’t think less of them for their noble attempts and ultimate failures. He couldn't afford to risk too much, of course—Kate still depended on him to get her needs across to the ponies—but there was a line between a reasonable risk and cowardice. Since Lyra and the guard were with him, and she'd approved the trip, she didn't think it was too risky. I'll just make sure to stay close to her, and do what she tells me, he decided. “I agree.” She nodded in satisfaction and began walking again, with Dale at her side. When they got to the end of the street, Lyra didn't hesitate; she crossed the street, angling to the left. Dale lagged slightly behind—he instinctively checked both ways for traffic. He was halfway across, still glancing both ways to ensure that there wasn't a vehicle bearing down on him, when he noticed a cluster of ponies standing in front of a shop window. He looked at Lyra—she'd spotted them, too. Her ears bent in their direction. They hadn’t noticed him yet, but it was only a matter of moments before they did. Like the shops he’d seen on his carriage-ride from the hospital to the round meeting-hall tower, this looked the same as nearly every other house, except that there was a board out front with a pair of interlinked horseshoes on it—one silver and one gold. It gave him no real insight into the purpose of the shop. He suspected the ponies would have just as much trouble with Earthly corporate logos—Pepsi’s little ball-thing or McDonald’s golden arches wouldn’t mean anything to a person who hadn’t been inundated with advertising all their lives. The three ponies turned and looked at him. The tan one who was closest to him took a step back, the light yellow one in the middle lifted her tail slightly, and the green one on the end took a sideways step away from the other two, before all three froze in position, their eyes and ears on him. They stood that way for just a moment, before the tan one ducked inside the store, and the light yellow one with bows in her mane stepped forward. Dale looked over to Lyra for guidance. He didn't want every approach to be the same as the one he'd taken with Ambrosia in the hospital—it had worked, but if he had to crouch down and wait for every individual pony to come to him, he wasn't ever going to get anywhere in town. At the same time, he didn't want to be panicking the populace, either. His height made that a very real concern, and for the first time he wondered why they built their buildings so tall, until he remembered that Victorian houses often had ten foot ceilings despite the lack of ten-foot humans. “Hi, girls! We were tired of being inside, so Dale and I thought we should go for a walk around town.” Lyra gave them a friendly wave. His face turned bright red. Of course he could just talk to them: that was the whole point of the language lessons. “Um, good morning.” He waved, keeping his hand low and feeling kind of foolish. “How are you?” The yellow one replied; Dale caught about half of it. He turned to Lyra. “What did she say?” Now it was Lyra's turn to blush. The two ponies who were on the street held their hooves up in front of their muzzles, and he swore they were snickering at him. However, that served as a good tension-breaker, and once their mirth had subsided, the one with the bows started walking over, while her companion went into the building, either to hide, or to recover the third member of their trio. “Good morning, Dale,” she said slowly. “I saw you at the town meeting. I’m Lavender Fritter. It's nice to see you out.” “Thanks,” he said, to stall for time while he parsed what she'd said, and came up with a response. He'd gotten used to Lyra and Cheerilee's speaking habits, but Lavender Fritter had a different intonation, and it was giving him a bit of trouble. He actually wasn't sure what else to say; he hadn't learned the language nearly well enough to engage in small talk, nor did he know what pony small talk was. Did they talk about the weather? Gossip about other ponies? Ask about the family? Instead of trying to guess any further, he hedged his bets by crouching down and extending a fist, figuring if it had worked once, it would work again. “I am please to meet you.” She grinned at that, and lightly bumped his knuckles. Emboldened, Dale went on. “May I know your friends?” “Meet,” Lyra corrected. “Meet your friends.” “I have only spoken for a week,” Dale said apologetically. “My language is not good.” “It's okay; you’re doing better than you did at the town meeting,” Lavender Fritter reassured him. “Yes, my friends would like to meet you.” She turned and walked back towards the store, keeping both ears pointed back in his direction. Bemused, Dale followed her, with Lyra walking at his side. She doesn’t look entirely happy with this turn of events. I hope the guard is still back there in case things go awry. Lavender Fritter led him to the front of the shop, but Lyra held a foreleg up against his thigh when he went to follow. “We should wait outside,” she told him. “Why?” Dale motioned to the door which was closing behind Lavender Fritter. “She didn’t say to wait outside.” “To be polite,” she said. “Nice.” Dale suspected that wasn't the whole reason, but he kept his mouth shut. If he couldn't figure out the answer by context, he'd ask her once they were back at the embassy. Lyra probably wanted to avoid making a scene. Lavender Fritter came back outside a moment later, her two friends in tow. “Good morning,” he said again. “I am Dale.” He waved his hand, feeling slightly less foolish this time around. “Apple Leaves,” the tan said, reaching out for a bump. “Peachy Sweet,” the green one told him. “I am happy to kn—to meet you.” He backed up his words with a big grin. “Can I come inside? I would like to see what is inside.” Lavender Fritter nodded. Peachy Sweet shook her head no. Then the three mares leaned towards one another and held a brief palaver. Dale took the opportunity to crouch down in front of Lyra. “Is this like a pony OB/GYN?” he asked in English. “What is OB/GYN?” “A place for girls—mares—only.” She smirked. “No—it's for both. But.” She licked her lip as she considered an explanation. “You might scare Caramel if you go in, um, by surprise.” “Caramel? Does she work here?” Lyra snickered. “He is a customer.” “How do you know he's in there?” She touched a hoof to her nose. Right. Dale leaned down and sniffed himself. They didn’t have any deodorant—or if they did, he’d utterly failed to communicate the concept. However, the scented soaps did an ample job if he showered every day. True, he smelled a bit girly, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that, and he doubted they were going to judge him based on that. Dale looked at the cluster of mares, who were still having a heated discussion. I can see scent being a possible issue going forward, since they are so much more attuned to it than I am. Would they be offended if I used so much cologne that I completely masked my natural smells—if that’s even possible? Are there particular scents they don’t like? What do I do if certain things are only communicated by scent, or reinforced by it? If I say I’m scared, but I don’t smell scared, are they going to believe me? Heck, certain facial expressions are universal among humans, and for all I know, some primates, too. I’ve already seen that they use their ears and tails for body language, and I can’t do that. Then again, if they have multiple colony worlds, maybe they have different ponies who specialize in different tasks, and they just keep like with like. Maybe these ponies can deal with fixed ears and no conscious scent-control. “You can come in,” Lavender Fritter announced, motioning towards the door. Dale noticed that Apple Leaves was gone again; she'd probably gone inside to warn Caramel about him. The first thing that Dale noticed when he stepped inside was that the floor felt very rough—it felt like an endless procession of cleats had scarred up the wood. Even before he'd taken in the whole room, he looked down to make sure there weren't any big splinters sticking up to skewer his bare feet. Seeing none, he carefully stepped away from the door to let Lyra follow him in, before looking up at the inside of the shop. It was nothing like the customer side of an Earth shop; instead, it bore a resemblance to a storeroom. There were shelves with wooden boxes all around the room, but they looked more like they were being used for storage, rather than display. Each of the boxes, he noticed, had colored tacks in the end, which apparently served as the filing system, since they were otherwise unlabeled. The counter itself had a row of horseshoes hung along the edge. It wasn't until he saw the little tags hanging off of each one that he realized he was in a farrier's shop. Moments like these reminded him of the familiar alien-ness of the world. He’d almost be to the point where he thought of them as little furry humans, and then he’d see Starlight wearing a harness. Wearing horseshoes felt like a subjugating behavior—but to who? Or was he overthinking it; were the shoes a necessity of hooves? A tan stallion was standing in the center of the room, with one hind leg bent over a tripod that looked very much like a cross between a jackstand and a crutch. Apple Leaves was right under the stallion's neck, resting her barrel against his breast. His chin was on her withers, which put his muzzle right against the bun in her green mane. A light blue mare with a curly mane and tail was crouched down behind his hoof; Dale could tell by the way she was moving that she was shoeing him, and he didn't want to interrupt her, so he stood awkwardly where he was, trying to give the immobilized stallion a harmless look. I shouldn't have come in here, he thought. That's what Lyra was trying to warn me about. As interesting as it was, as much of an insight into their culture as it appeared, he felt for the poor stallion. He could imagine how he'd feel if visiting aliens stopped by while he was in a dentist's chair. And this would be even worse; while he didn't know all that much about shoeing a horse, it was a fair bet that when the process was only half done, that leg was out of commission. He moved back against the wall and squatted down, figuring that if he stayed back, it would reassure the stallion. Plus, it gave him an opportunity to observe. I would be so much better at this if I’d grown up on a horse farm, gone to college, and majored in Anthropology and Language Theory, he thought, shifting until he was comfortable. From his vantage point, he didn’t have a full view of the operation, but he knew enough from working in a machine shop to make a very good guess what she was doing as she leaned over Caramel’s hoof, turned and set the shoe on the horn of an anvil, struck it a few times, then turned back to the hoof. She was pretty good—he hadn’t heard any hammering as he came in to the shop, so she was just starting the fitting, and it only took her three tries before she was satisfied. That was the kind of thing which came with experience. When she was satisfied with the fit, she grabbed a hammer and a mouthful of nails. Dale winced as she began driving them in, imagining how it would feel to have nails pounded into the soles of his feet. To try and distract himself, he turned to Lyra. “What are those for, on the counter?” “They're all the different kinds of shoes she sells,” Lyra explained. “Why the different shapes?” “It depends on what they're going to be used for. A pony who only does light work around town and spends a lot of time inside would want to wear a simple, smooth shoe, but a farmpony needs a shoe with calks.” ”Calks?” “They’re . . . points. Like a round triangle, or a knife.” She frowned at her inability to explain. “Like a chisel.” He used the Equestrian word—naming tools with Ambrosia and Silver Spanner had paid off. Lyra brightened. “Yes! During planting season, for the soft earth, they dig in. They’re useful in snow, too, but they’re hard on floors.” Dale looked at the stallion dubiously. His pompadour and glossy tail didn’t suggest he did hard work, although he supposed that even fairly light farm work would be impeded by slipping and falling. “Oh.” He'd never considered that there might be different kinds of horseshoe, but it made sense. Normal shoes came in all kinds of different varieties; he had his work boots, hiking boots, and loafers, as well as the dress shoes he almost never wore. Is the type of shoe a pony wears sort of a status symbol? On Earth, no one would trust a banker who wore battered sneakers to work. Maybe that was why Twilight was so reluctant to show her hoof at the hospital. She might have been embarrassed by her shoes. When the nailing was done, she grabbed a pair of end cutters and proceeded to nip off the points of the nails that stuck out of Caramel’s hoof wall, then crimped them down with the hammer and cutters. When she was done with that, she picked up a file and smoothed off the rough edges of the nails and the border between his hooves and shoes. Then she sat on her rump and lifted Caramel's leg with one foreleg, while pushing the jack out of the way with the other. He looked relieved to be standing back on his feet again. He touched his hoof to the ground lightly at first, and rocked it back and forth experimentally, before putting his full weight on it. Dale felt some of the tension in the room dissipate. The mare who had been standing protectively under his neck moved back, then headed out the door while he turned to look at Dale. Then, much to Dale's surprise, he bowed slightly—just a little head-nod, but it was unmistakably a bow. Without so much as a word in greeting, he walked out the door, followed by Peachy Sweet. Lavender Fritter gave him a small wave, then left with her friends, leaving Dale and Lyra alone in the shop. “Let me put my tools away,” the farrier told them, and then proceeded to do just that. Dale took another look over at the rows of storage boxes. There was a definite pattern to the colored pins, although without the key, it told him nothing. He didn't notice the farrier right away. The ponies often were quieter than he thought they ought to be, and she got next to him before he noticed her. He caught a bit of movement out of his eye, and looked down to see her examining his feet. “I can't fit shoes for you,” she told him flatly when she looked up. “Sorry. Maybe the cobbler can make you some kind of paw-boots.” “I just came to look,” Dale said. “I was . . . I do not know the word.” “Curious,” Lyra suggested. Dale nodded in agreement. “I am Dale.” He stuck out his fist, and the mare bumped it lightly. “Shoeshine.” “Can I look here?” “Look?” “At the things you have here.” “Sure. Follow me.” She bumped her muzzle into his hip to give him a light push in the right direction, before leading him across the room. Like most of the ponies did when he was around, she kept one ear cocked in his direction. He began at the very end of the counter, examining the first shoe. It looked to be made of plain steel, tarnished from exposure, but with no significant wear. Is there a market for used shoes? The shoes she'd taken off Caramel were hanging over the edge of her tool bucket, and there were enough storage boxes around it was easy to imagine that some of them might be filled with used shoes. The tag had three circles on it, and no other markings. He glanced down the counter—even to his untrained eye, all the shoes looked different, so there would be no need for a label to tell the pony what kind of shoe each was. “You can pick it up,” Shoeshine said, startling him again. She leaned in and grabbed the shoe in her mouth, then tilted her head up towards his hand with it. Dale took it from her and hefted it thoughtfully. Unsurprisingly, it was smaller and lighter than what a terrestrial Equine would wear, although it was still a bit heavier than he would have guessed. He was pretty sure on Earth, horses usually wore shoes on all four hooves, although he'd noticed here that a lot of the ponies didn't have shoes on their forehooves—of the construction ponies, only Silver Spanner and Allie wore them up front. Diamond Mint did as well, but not Starlight. He was less sure about the hind hooves—he'd seen Silver Spanner's when she was lying under the sink, but the rest of the ponies had kept their hind legs on the ground when he'd been around them. Dale set it down and moved along the counter, picking up the next shoe. This one had six circles on the tag, and had threaded holes between the nail holes. Unlike the others, the bottom didn't have any calks for traction. As he moved down the counter, he discovered that not only were they in different shapes—including ones with connecting bars across the heel—but they were made from several different metals, as well. Whether that was a fashion statement, or had some other purpose behind it, he didn't know. He did know racehorses sometimes wore aluminum shoes. They didn't wear very well, but they let the horse run faster. But racehorses didn't get to choose the shoes they wore—if his shoes were nailed to his feet, he'd be certain to wear the one shoe that did everything and had good durability. Of course, women did a lot of things for vanity. Probably mares and some stallions were no different, and put up with frequent shoe changes for the sake of their vanity. If bronze shoes were ‘in,’ surely all the fashionable ponies would be wearing them. Or maybe the lighter shoes were just for the fliers. He hadn’t paid much attention to their hooves, but if they spent a lot of time in the air, it would stand to reason they wouldn’t wear out their shoes as fast. That, and a thousand other questions were on his mind when he looked over at Lyra. Lyra appeared to be getting bored of his inspection of the shoes—her ears had gone to what he considered to be the ‘neutral’ position. Shoeshine was watching him with the interest of a shopkeeper who's just going through the motions, since she already knows he's not going to be buying what she has to offer. He was still curious, but he lacked enough vocabulary to have a meaningful discussion of horseshoes with a stranger—or anything else, for that matter—so some of the mysteries would have to wait until later. He nodded to Lyra, gave Shoeshine a polite fist-bump, and headed back outside. The first thing he noticed was a green pegasus perched on the lifting beam of the building across the street. Her stance was almost bird-like, and she looked vaguely familiar. He churned through all the different ponies he’d met until he placed her at the hospital, along with the timid pegasus that had later offered him a dead woodchuck. He was pretty sure she lived in the house on the next street over—he’d seen a pony that looked just like her through the back window several times. It was funny how she kept turning up. He gave her a wave, which she returned enthusiastically, and he looked back to the street. Even though he'd told himself more than once that he was going to stay close to Lyra, to keep himself out of trouble, he kept on becoming distracted by the shops they passed. Most of them were the ground floor of a house, and he only caught a quick glimpse through the front door. The board out front apparently advertised the shop, but his brief glimpses inside didn’t help him make sense of the signs. One of the stores had a drawing of a brush and an hourglass; a quick look through the front door revealed a dark blue unicorn leaning over a pony who was lying back in a strange chair. He assumed that was some sort of hairdresser. And further down the street, he saw a pony go into a shop with a drawing of a couch and a quill; if it had been a pegasus, he might have thought it was a pegasus psychologist, but it was a light magenta unicorn with a diamond trio for a cutie mark. On top of that, they had to stop several times so that he could introduce himself to a new group of ponies. Oddly, Lyra acted less bothered by those delays, often carrying on short conversations while Dale fumbled his way through an introduction. Luckily, they were almost as formulaic as pleasantries on Earth, and by the third group of ponies he'd encountered, he'd gotten the hang of it. Sadly, the same couldn't be said for their names. He'd already forgotten how to pronounce the farrier's name. He was going to have to come up with some clever mnemonics or something. He’d heard of a few tricks using human names, but word association was a lot more difficult in a foreign language. They turned down another street and came out into the market. He hadn't seen a proper open-air market in decades—most of the farmer's markets that the trendy cities had established were a pale imitation of what once had been, with organized sales booths arranged underneath a pavilion or inside a building. This was the real deal. No two stalls were identical: each had been decorated in whatever manner the owner felt would attract the most attention. Most of them had painted signs or banners with an illustration of what they had to offer, although some were a little more esoteric, like the ladybug. Small brightly-colored triangular banners were stretched from trees and poles and tents, giving the whole thing the appearance of a used car lot or a church function. All that was missing was one of those silly waving windsocks. Wagons were haphazardly parked near many of the stalls—wagons were some of the stalls—and shoppers wearing saddlebags or towing small single-axle carts were working their way through. He spotted Apple Cobbler over at a lettuce stall, with one of the mares he'd seen in the kitchen next to her, hitched to a wagon that was almost certainly loaded with food for the hospital. If she had been looking his way, he would have waved. As he watched, a greyish pegasus with a spiky blue-white mane stepped into a clear spot with a bag held in her teeth and took a brief flight up to a low cloud. She disappeared over the edge, only to return a moment later with the same bag, empty of its contents. As Dale gaped at the inexplicable sight, he saw a charcoal-colored leg point over the edge towards a stand, and the grey pegasus soared off the cloud and headed that way. •        •        • Lyra let out a little sigh of relief as they finally reached the market. Dale had behaved like a filly window shopping as they'd gone through town, and while she thought it was cute, it wasn't the goal she'd had in mind for the morning. Although, it had been interesting to see what caught Dale's eye, and he'd been friendly to all the ponies they'd met on the street. Luckily, they had remembered what Twilight and Fancy Pants had said at the meeting, and hadn't panicked when they saw him. She glanced over at him for a moment. He was just looking around the market, trying to take it all in. It was almost as if he'd never seen a market before. But he'd had all sorts of stuff at his camp; if he hadn't gotten it at a market, where had it come from? Perhaps humans favored indoor stores. In her opinion, that was all right for some things—it wouldn't be practical for Shoeshine or Davenport to set up a stall at the market, for example—but food was far too important to buy without talking to the farm mare who grew it. Any sensible pony knew that. She was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder, and looked up at Dale. “Do I have any . . . can I get anything?” Lyra's eyes narrowed and her ears dropped slightly. She didn't know. In all the discussions with Twilight, the subject of spending money had never come up. She knew that normally, the guest nation paid all expenses for its ambassadors, but of course that wasn't a possibility here, and the Crown had covered all expenses incurred thus far. Twilight had assured her that going forward, 'reasonable expenses' would be covered, along with food and shelter—but would purchases at the market be considered 'reasonable expenses?' “We can just look,” Dale decided. “If you see food you like,” Lyra said, “tell me, and I can make sure that Starlight buys it at the next market day. Otherwise, I don't know what financial arrangements are going to be made. I'm sorry.” “It's okay.” Dale lightly rested his hand on her shoulder. “We can have that . . . we can speak about it later.” Lyra looked over to Bon Bon's booth. “I'll get us a treat.” “Treat?” “A . . . nice food.” She pointed a hoof. “Over there. Bon Bon. You like chocolates. You had chocolate biscuits—Oreos—on the beach.” “Yes, I would like that. Thank you.” They only made it to the first stall before Dale got accosted by Roma. Lyra stepped back slightly to let him take the lead, but she was ready to step in if he made a hash of things. She knew that the market ponies would prioritize selling their wares over fleeing or being overly judgmental, which was one of the reasons she'd chosen the market in the first place. “They do look good,” Dale said, leaning close to the table. Roma watched him closely, but made no attempt to shoo him away. “How much is a tomato?” She narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “One bit.” Lyra glared at her, but Roma didn't notice. Even this early in the spring, one bit per tomato was greedy. “I do not have any money,” Dale said, holding out his empty hands. “But I do like tomatoes. If Starlight would come and buy a bag of tomatoes for the embassy, how much would that cost?” Lyra snickered at Roma's wince. Serves you right. “Three bits,” she said finally. “How many tomatoes are in a bag?” Roma looked between Dale and Lyra, and her ears drooped. “A dozen and a half.” Well, that's fair at least. She won't have any room to haggle on that price. Poor Roma. Lyra guessed she'd gone lower than she would have otherwise, probably figuring that since Starlight was now employed by the Crown, it might be unwise to factor in haggling. “But that's only for these tomatoes,” Roma said, giving herself an out. “Thank you.” Dale stuck out his fist, and Roma reluctantly bumped it, before turning her attention towards Flitter, who had landed behind Dale. Does he bite? Flitter mouthed around her shopping bag. Lyra shook her head, but Flitter took a precautionary step backwards anyway as Dale walked to the next stall. Dale's technique with Roma had worked unintentionally well. The mare next to her had heard the whole conversation, and made no attempt to try and sell Dale anything, although she gave him a big smile as he examined her asparagus. “Do you like asparagus?” she asked hopefully. “It's good for you. Lots of ponies like it.” He nodded. “I'll ask Starlight. What's your name?” “Tiessen,” she said. “Tissy to my friends.” “I'll tell her to see you.” “Okay.” She smiled cheerfully, before turning and waving a hoof at Flitter. When Dale looked towards the next stall, Lyra intervened, bumping him in the hip. “Let's go get the treat,” she suggested, pointing a hoof towards Bon Bon's stall. “Before she sells all the good stuff.” Dale nodded and began walking in that direction. Lyra stayed close to his right side, gently herding him closer to the center of the thoroughfare. She didn't want to disrupt the market overly much, especially for Dale's first time out. He'd handled himself well enough at the two vegetable stalls, but if he went from stall-to-stall all morning and took up a lot of time without buying anything, word would get around, and ponies would start to get resentful, and that might ultimately hurt her, Starlight, or Bon Bon. Just the same, their path to Bon Bon's stall was interrupted by shoppers wanting to meet Dale, or give Lyra words of encouragement, or both. Lyra tried to keep Dale moving forward as much as she could without being rude. That was the drawback to her idea to go to market, one she should have foreseen. Almost everypony was curious about Dale, and they hadn't seen him since the town announcement. Eventually, though, they finally reached the booth. Lyra shrugged her shoulders lightly at the look of vague amusement on Bon Bon's face. “I wasn't expecting to see you here,” Bon Bon whispered, after glancing over to make sure that Dale was occupied. “I wasn't expecting to be. Dale wanted to go out, and what better place for us to go and meet ponies?” “You just want some free candy, don't you?” Lyra nodded eagerly. “Please?” Bon Bon picked up her candy scoop. She leaned under the counter and opened the lid to her portable ice chest, and picked up the two biggest mint-fudge bonbons she had, a small smile on her face. She set them on the counter, where they were immediately enveloped in Lyra's golden aura. “Thanks, Bonnie. You're the best.” Lyra leaned in and nuzzled her, then recklessly kissed her cheek. Bon Bon looked at her shrewdly. “Do you think Dale would mind hanging out at my booth for a while?” “I don't think he'd mind.” Lyra looked back to where Dale was, surrounded by curious mares. “Maybe we should get a barrel for him to sit on. Let me give him his candy, and I'll ask him.” She waited until there was a break in the crowd, and then gave him his candy. “Would you like to sit down for a while? I can get something for you to sit on.” “I not mind standing,” he told her. “I have been sitting too much.” He looked at the candy then bit off an end. “This is good. Did she make it?” Lyra nodded. “Bon Bon makes all sorts of confections.” “Bon Bon,” he repeated, thoughtfully. “I . . . I have seen her before.” He popped the rest of the candy in his mouth and chewed it before continuing. “She was with you at the embassy.” “Yes.” Lyra tilted her head towards the booth. "She is my marefriend."