//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: From Canterlot with Love // by Sagebrush //------------------------------// Few ducks are as discerning of taste as those to be found in Canterlot’s streams and ponds.  Fewer ducks still are as out of shape, though ‘out of shape’ might not be the appropriate phrasing, for they certainly had plenty.  In an environment where survival and scavenging were no more than genetic memory, the birds had become gourmets and gourmands of the day-old sweet pastries of the surrounding pâtisseries.  In one particular park, on this particular afternoon, they were currently ignoring the offerings of a pair of white ponies lying couchant on a picnic blanket at the water’s edge. Nomde Plume frowned.  “Hmph.  They’re only doing themselves a disservice.” She levitated a piece of whole-grain bread in front of an enormous, unimpressed drake.  The bird narrowed his eyes at the roll, quacked in disdain at the nutritional value, and made like an ocean liner for a cruller bobbing in the water across from a mare and her corgi. “I doubt ducks worry too much about their waistlines,” Storm Stunner remarked.  “If anything, a bit of extra padding probably helps them stay afloat.”  He helped himself to a piece of Nomde’s bread, thinking it a shame to let it go to a watery grave. “Maybe in the water, but not in the air.  I doubt these birds could fly across this pond, let alone south for the winter,” Nomde grumbled, willing the spurned roll to her lips and taking a bite. “Well, with the added insulation, it’s not likely they’d have to worry about the cold.  Hm…” Across the pond, Storm watched as a paddling of younger birds took their picks from a selection of waterlogged shortbreads.  Other ducks in their proximity took notice of the meal and came to join them, and they were allowed in without second thought.  It was the sort of scene one could only find in the city.  There was no urgency, no competition; these ducks had it made, with more than enough (or more accurately too much) of anything they could want for.  Even in colder weather, would they be willing to give up such a niche? Storm felt a warmth lean up against him.  He looked down to see Nomde’s face close to his, a corner of her mouth bent upwards and an eyebrow arched. “‘Hm…,’ you say.  Often one can find a lot buried beneath a ‘Hm…’  Something on your mind?” Storm pursed his lips in thought for a moment and then decided he might as well throw the idea out there.  “Actually, yeah.  Yeah, there is.” “Oh?”  Nomde tilted her head.  “Care to share?” “You know Princess Luna?” “The name rings a bell.”  Nomde smirked.  “How is Her Royal Highness?” “She’s doing very well.  Aaand it looks like she has a mission of some sort lined up for me and the guys.” “Mm, a mission?  Sounds important.” As Nomde said it, Storm resisted the urge to preen; he knew her just a bit too well. “Think it will get another stock photo of one of your coworkers into Equestria Weekly, ‘Mr. Stagger’?” “Ha!  Hopefully one that isn’t mid-sneeze.  But no, what she has lined up sounds pretty low-key, actually.” “And what exactly would it be?” “Well, apparently she wants us to do some travelling, sightseeing, one might call it, and to report back on our findings.” “Sightseeing?  Hm, sounds more like a vacation.  Do you know where?” “I’m not sure, to be honest; we haven’t gotten any details, yet.” “Uh-huh… interesting.  And do you know what kind of findings you’re expected to report on?” “Um, she didn’t really get all that specific.  I’m under the impression she wants to know the state of things out there, outside of the city.  I guess, you know, whatever stands out to us?” Storm finished lamely. “Mm-hmm.”  Nomde rested a cheek on a hoof.  “Well, as long as you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Storm rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah.  Anyways, what I wanted to know was how you’d feel about it.” “Me?” Nomde asked. “Of course.  If I decide to go on this venture, I may be away for a while.  Are you okay with that?” Nomde laughed.  It was pleasant, but unexpected, and it made Storm cock his head.  “Storm, that is incredibly thoughtful of you, really it is, but you know I’m not going to stand between you and your job.  You don’t need to ask for my permission.” Storm placed a hoof under his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully for effect as he considered Nomde from the corner of his eye. “…Ohh, I don’t know if I entirely believe that.” A bread roll bopped him on the top of his head. “Moving on, you said ‘if’ you go.”  Nomde lowered the bread between them.  “Were you given a choice in the matter?” “Yeah, Luna gave us this weekend to think about it.” “And have you?” “I suppose so, but it’s a tough decision.  On one hoof, it’d be nice to see some more of the world outside of a map.  Still…” Storm extended a wing and draped it softly over Nomde. “I’ve come to like it here, and that might be worth the other three.” “Ugh, you’re so sappy,” Nomde groaned, but it didn’t escape Storm’s notice that her cheeks had taken on the subtlest shade of pink. With that, the two just lay there wordlessly by the water and let nature fill in the silence with its rustles, burbles, and the occasional quack.  It was one of those rarer moments in life where all that mattered was the one you spent it with, and everything else was just background noise.  It was a little cheesy, it was a lot saccharine, and it was just to Storm’s tastes; he wouldn’t have had it any other way.  A moment like that could take forever to pass, and you would still feel shortchanged when it did. After some time, and with a bit of reluctance, Nomde spoke. “…‘Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind,’ it has been said.  I think you have a great opportunity before you, if I were to be honest; a bit of adventure is important in one’s life.” Storm gave this thought the consideration it was due. “…Yeah, you’re right, I know.  Heck, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve left familiar territory, and it’s worked out so far.  But are you sure you’ll be alright during those long weeks and lonely nights without your bold, daring, and might I add dashing member of Equestria’s Royal Guard?” This time, Nomde’s laugh was fully expected, and he grinned widely as he pulled her in tighter with his wing. “I think I’ll manage somehow.”  Nomde nestled against him.  “At any rate, if I’m not mistaken, those long weeks lie on the other side of a weekend.  Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” The two stood and gathered their items, but left the rest of the bread at the edge of the pond, just in case one of the ducks decided to be a bit adventurous as well.  As they left, they fell into light conversation about how to spend the rest of the day.  There was plenty of it left, and it would have been a shame to waste it. --- In an older part of the city, a part tucked away behind gilded gates on the rolls of well-manicured hills, Check Mate wound his way up a road’s gentle slope.  The cobblestones, freshly paved, felt cool and smooth against the bottoms of his hooves.  In this neighborhood, the thoroughfares were kept in a permanent state of renewal against the infrequent wear of traffic over them.  Pristine roads were a point of pride; however, change ceased at their edges.  Beyond them, a stasis persisted, around which time flowed like a river around a bend.  Far off at the end of private drives, venerable manors stood invariant across the years, younger only than the families that dwelt in them. As Check Mate walked, studying the ancient residences, he pondered on them.  They imparted a feeling of isolation, he decided.  Unsatisfied with being bubbled only from the rest of the city, the properties were further cocooned, separated into singularities via stone walls, thick topiary, and distances that made each home an island, afloat on verdant seas.  ‘Good fences make good neighbors,’ he had once read in a verse; like its author, he was uncertain if he agreed. Check Mate paused as the texture beneath his hooves abruptly transitioned into a familiar flatness, the cobbles yielding to tumbled marble at the base of a long, steep stairway.  Eyes fixed upward, he began the climb, slowly counting down the steps.  As he neared the top, his destination began to come into view, slowly rising above the crest of the hill like a sunken continent. A sober roof shingled in slate breached his vision first, sloping down into pale masonry matching the stairs leading up.  Round top windows of various sizes followed, all transparency lost against the strong daylight.  Then, in varnished oak and bright as a beacon against the backdrop of the chateau, stood the door.  Check Mate adjusted his posture, took a deep breath, and closed the distance with an even cadence.  Taking the bronze knocker in his magic, he rapped twice against the door. Muted by the wood, the slow sound of hoofsteps grew before abruptly falling silent.  The door opened noiselessly on well-oiled hinges, and behind it stood a spotted unicorn of august appearance.  His head was held high, and his eyes were so lidded from years of practiced scrutiny that the whites could not be seen.  An immaculately groomed moustache draped down his snout like a curtain of shadow; it rustled, lips presumably moving somewhere underneath. “Hmmm, yes…  May I help you, sir?” he spoke in the coldly cordial and definitively daunting tones one would use to address a solicitor and hint that they should try another address. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pennyworth,” Check Mate said warmly.  “If it is no inconvenience, I would like to come in.” At the sound of his name on that voice, a thin fissure of white and violet cracked beneath Pennyworth’s eyelids. “…Sir?”  Risking impropriety, he hazarded a glance at one of the visitor’s haunches.  Even with the gray pelt, there was no mistaking the chess piece.  “Master Check Mate, is that you?” Check Mate bowed his head in a small nod.  “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Pennyworth.” Pennyworth’s tone quickly went from adverse to avuncular, and his moustache bristled into a smile.  “My word, welcome back, sir!  Goodness, you’ve certainly filled out in your absence, haven’t you?  Ah, where are my manners?  Come in, come in!”  Pennyworth opened the door fully, ushering Check Mate inside.  “And your coat, sir; I daresay you look like a whole new pony!” “In some ways I am, Mr. Pennyworth,” Check Mate laughed.  “Are my mother and father home?”  He walked with Pennyworth through the entranceway, a narrow hall decorated on either side by paintings of unicorns in dress of increasingly modern vogue, with expressions cut out of stone.  Two portraits, one of a bespectacled, chestnut stallion, and another of a black, silver-maned mare, ended the series, before the hall terminated at the entrance to a sitting room. “Sir Magnus and Lady Marequessa have been out since this morning attending a recital, though I imagine they shall return soon.  In the interim, you must be hungry, sir.  May I prepare some sort of collation; perhaps some asparagus, or…,” and here Pennyworth might have winked, though it’d be impossible to tell, “…maybe a wedge or two of mandarin?  I do believe it to be a certain young master’s favorite.” “Only if you’ll have some as well, Mr. Pennyworth; I would appreciate the conversation.  Thank you for your trouble.” “It is no trouble at all, sir.” As Pennyworth withdrew through the other end of the sitting room, Check Mate remained at its entrance, caught in reminiscence.  The pungent sweetness of cassia hung in the air as it always had, wafting from a bowl of potpourri placed by his mother near the door leading in.  From the far left corner, his father’s antique, brass gramophone sighted inwards like a blunderbuss.  Lacquered urns, marble works, and other antique show conquests filled in the empty spaces across the room. And then there were the books… Sources of Check Mate’s entertainment and edification, shelves of gold leaf hardcovers lined the right wall, convenient to a square of velvet sofas arranged around a low, wooden tea table.  Magical things they must have been: they had somehow painted colorful worlds for him, using only lines of black and white.  The unicorn briefly considered taking one down but decided against it, choosing instead to have a seat and wait for Pennyworth’s return.  He didn’t have to wait long. Pennyworth entered the room with a tea service and dishes of food balanced effortlessly in his magic, and arranged them neatly about the table.  After a moment of inspection, he tutted in disapproval before turning the tray of asparagus a couple of degrees clockwise. “There we go, yes; shall we, sir?” Pennyworth took a seat across from Check Mate and the two began their meal.  The former took bites of asparagus in measured decorum, and this decorum would have to be measured with a magnifying glass.  Pennyworth was a pony that thrived on formality and would have starved if he didn’t.  He took an imperceptible sip of tea and carefully dabbed from his lips whatever moisture may have actually escaped the cup. “Tell me, sir: how has military life been treating you so far?” he asked. Check Mate leaned his head back into his seat and considered his answer.  “Well, it has been a procession of interesting experiences.  It was difficult at the onset, as I’m sure you would suspect.  There were times that our exertions on the training field either left me insensible, or wishing that I was.” “Be that as it may, it has had an incontestable effect, sir,” Pennyworth commented.  “I’d wager that you’d make for quite the scrapper.  Hm, speaking of which, it didn’t come to that during the bedlam earlier this year, did it?” “Ah… you know about all of that, then?” “It was rather hard to miss, sir,” said Pennyworth matter-of-factly.  “If one managed not to look to the sky that day, they needed only to look to the paper the next.  I shan’t forget the headline I read: ‘Storm Stagger, Check Mate, and Crack Shot — The Guard Does Something Right!’” Check Mate laughed.  “It was serendipity, nothing more.  I merely had a firsthoof view of the events as they transpired.” “If you say so, sir.  Those fellows that were with you, then.  Good lads?” Check Mate nodded.  “My closest friends.” “Ah, agapai; it is invaluable, sir.” The conversation was interrupted by a pair of voices coming from the entranceway.  Check Mate took a second deep breath. “…was a stellar performance on the part of the players, but it just wasn’t the proper venue.  So much space and not enough sound to fill it.  Say, Pennyworth old friend, are you around?” Pennyworth and Check Mate stood to greet the approaching voices.  “Indeed, sir!  And we have a guest!” “Oh?  A guest?” came a female voice, followed by its owner, a unicorn mare wrapped in a gossamer gown.  Her mane was tressed into silver ringlets that bounced like springs as she walked into the room.  She paused for only a second to take in the visitor, before her eyes widened in recognition.  A mother always knows. “Oh!  Check Mate, darling!”  Marequessa rushed toward her son. “Check Mate?” the male voice, Magnus, inquired.  The stallion gazed disbelievingly at the pony in question through a pair of round-rimmed spectacles.  Plucking a handkerchief from a jacket pocket in a violet glow, he wiped his lenses and looked again.  “That’s our Check Mate?” “Hello, father, hello, er, mother—”  Check Mate fidgeted awkwardly as his mother’s head craned this way and that, checking him over.  She gasped, lifting a hoof of his with her own, and he bit his lip.  An inch or two long and well hidden beneath his fur, a pink score the width of a pencil stroke ran down the side of his foreleg. “Oh, Checky, what have they done to you?!” Check Mate shook his head. “Now, mother, it is just a cut, an excoriation, the end result of a simple slip of a spear.  Nothing to fret over,” he said, attempting pacification and grimly aware of the futility in doing so. “Speared, you say!  You never wrote to us about this!  Well, whoever did this owes both an explanation and an expiation; is that the sort of peril you face in this line of work you’ve chosen?!  Magnus, do take a look at this!” “I assure you, mother, this peril you imagine really isn’t—” “Honestly, to be out there accumulating scars: couldn’t your mind be put to better use?” Check Mate went silent.  In less than a few minutes it had already begun. “Oh, there are so many other options!” she went on.  ”You could have chosen politics, business, medicine—” “—But I chose the Guard.”  It came out just a bit too sharply.  Check Mate rubbed his face, shutting his eyes and himself away from his mother’s wounded stare.  “I do appreciate your concern, mother, I do.  But, again, I have no regrets about the life I’ve chosen.  It’s one that—” “Goodness, that wound is deep, isn’t it?” Check Mate’s eyes snapped open, catching his father staring intently at the mark on his leg. “Oh, not you, too!  The blade didn’t even damage the dermis; this ‘wound’ will not even exist in a day or two!”  Unfortunately for the guardspony, the reunion with his parents wasn’t going at all as he had hoped, and precisely as he had expected. “Perhaps,” Pennyworth interjected, “the lord and lady would be more at ease if I were to fetch some dressings to treat the young master’s, er-hem, injury?” “Ah, yes, of course; if you would.  Thank you, Pennyworth,” said Magnus. Check Mate, grateful for the intervention, gave his thanks as well, and Pennyworth bowed his head just slightly before leaving the room. “Still, Check Mate,” Magnus continued, “could you not consider your mother’s words?  Both she and I do worry; perhaps gallivanting off as you did was a bit hasty?  ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss,’ they say.  We only want what’s best for you.” And the problem was that he was being completely honest.  Neither of Check Mate’s parents had come from families in which leaving the nest was given serious thought.  That wasn’t how it was done.  You kept the nest primmed and padded, you married and consolidated nests, and you then passed the nest down to the next generation so they could repeat the process. “I know that the both of you do, and I’m indebted to you for the attention and care that you’ve given me,” Check Mate responded.  “But know that I want what’s best for me, too.” There was nothing to be said to that, and a leaden silence followed.  It was a match point to a bout that Check Mate hadn’t wished for, and it weighed on his parents, their heads hanging low. “…Mr. Pennyworth informed me that you were attending a recital,” Check Mate said, hoping to lift the mood.  “How did you find it?” Magnus blinked.  “Oh, erm, excellent.  Yes, it was an excellent performance, acoustics notwithstanding.  It was one of Beethoofen’s trios; the performers were meticulous about each note and nuance, yet unafraid to add this unique vivacity to it.” “You would have enjoyed it,” his mother added. “I am sure that I would have,” Check Mate said sincerely. “You do still have the opportunity to listen to the classics, don’t you, dear?” Marequessa asked.  “Your colleagues haven’t had you listening to that, that, oh what is it?  You know what I’m speaking of, don’t you, Magnus?  That raffish new jangle.” “Ah, yes.”  Magnus wrinkled his nose in distaste.  “Rocking roll.” “I doubt that any of the others are even familiar with the genre,” Check Mate answered evenly. The two older ponies sighed in relief. At that moment, Pennyworth returned, orbited by gauze, linen bandages, and antiseptics.  “Alright then, let us see that hoof.”  He lifted Check Mate’s foreleg and stared at it for a moment.  Apparently one moment wasn’t enough, and he opted for another. “About three inches up from the coronary band, towards the outside,” Check Mate whispered. “Right, sir.” Pennyworth dabbed the gauze with antiseptic, placed it over Check Mate’s cut, and tightly wrapped the foreleg with enough linen to be convincing. “There we go, right as rain, sir.” “Much appreciated, Mr. Pennyworth.  See?  Good as—” Check Mate flexed the hoof and stifled a wince at the constriction. “—new.  Now, returning to our earlier topic, I would like to allay these concerns of yours about my contemporaries, because they are also my companions.” He paused, allowing this to settle in. “Each comes from a different background, and accordingly each has their own predilections and proclivities, but they’re all in the Guard for a reason: to protect and to serve.” “If you say so, dear, I suppose we’ve no choice but to defer to your judgment…” Marequessa relented.  “But let us set that aside for now.  Now that you’re home, a celebration is in order, is it not?  How would you feel about dining out tonight?  Perhaps at La tour de l'excès? Their cocarde au sirop is marvelous.  …You won’t be leaving before this evening, will you?”  There was a brittle hopefulness in her voice. Check Mate bit his lower lip.  “…No, not before then; I shall be available.  That sounds like a wonderful suggestion.” “We may have to find some formal attire more in your size, though,” his father noted.  “I wonder how long it would take to get something fitted.  Do you know if we have anything larger in one of the guest rooms, Pennyworth?” “That I shall ascertain, sir.”  Pennyworth removed himself from the room once more. “How long will you be home for, Checky?” Marequessa asked. “If it’s no trouble, I would like to spend the weekend here.” “Trouble?”  Marequessa’s laughter chimed.  “Never would we consider your presence trouble.  I know your days must be busy and that your… your friends likely desire your presence during holidays to, err, jive to bebop or whatever it is they do, but it would be nice to see more of you.  If it’s not too much to ask.” Check Mate shook his head.  “Of course it isn’t.” “Lovely!  In fact, if I recall correctly, your father and I were invited to a dinner party next weekend.  Would you be able to fit it into your schedule?” Check Mate hesitated.  “Perhaps we could discuss this at dinner.” --- Castle Canterlot is a living thing.  It has a central nervous system, the Princesses; an immune system, the Guard; and it reacts to the world around it, as it acts on the world around it through, for example, the entertaining of petitions and the enactment of policies. Presently, word was spreading about the three guardsponies’ upcoming journey, moving like a bolus through the castle’s arteries; Crack Shot was making sure of that.  Continuing with the analogy, it had just made its way to the stomach. Small groups of guardsponies on their lunch breaks filtered into the cafeteria, replacing others as they left to resume their patrols.  The low drone of multiple conversations filled the room as Rosetta and Crack Shot waited in line for a shot at the fruit trays, the two of them contributing to the din. “Wow, a special mission from Princess Luna?  What exactly will you be doing?” “Just travellin’ to different places, I guess.  Sounds kinda like we’ll be makin’ a ‘while you were gone’ retrospective for the past thousand years.” Rosetta paused midstep.  “Huh,” she said.  She thought on it, tried again, and still it came out, “Huh.”  She shrugged and, taking her turn at the buffet, loaded a tray with a mix of berries and celery and balanced it on her wing.  “Where will you guys be going?” “Heh, no clue actually.  Sounds like Luna wants us to take a walking tour of Equestria.  Hopefully somewhere happenin’.” Crack Shot plucked a pair of apples from a bowl by their stems, flipped them into the air, and made a game of keeping them airborne by juggling them between his wings and the bridge of his nose as he followed Rosetta to a table. “Wow…”  Rosetta stared up dreamily.  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy you a bit.  To see new places, maybe to even hear new languages… that’s quite the opportunity!” “Huh, I suppose it is.”  Crack Shot took a seat, catching the apples by their stems and setting them on the table.  “You’ll get the chance, I’m sure; it’s a big world, I doubt the three of us could cover it.  Heck, I could bring back a souvenir if you’d like.” Rosetta’s expression could have lit a darkened room.  “Really?  That’d be awesome!  Promise it won’t be something tacky like a T-shirt or a saddlebag?” “Picky, picky.” Rosetta leaned sideways and waved.  “Oh, heya!  Have a seat!” “Eh?  I kinda already—gah!”  Crack Shot had followed Rosetta’s gaze and nearly fallen over.  Behind him stood a pegasus, one side of his mouth beginning to bend into a scowl.  “Geez, dude, somepony should put a bell on you!” Featherstep rolled his eyes as he took a seat at the table next to Crack Shot.  “Don’t you have the day off?  Why are you still hanging out here?” Crack Shot took a bite from one of his apples.  “Food’s cheaper.  Speakin’ of which, aren’t you gonna eat anything?  My folks always said to never keep a gift course from your mouth.” “Don’t worry about me, Sender and Ikebana are picking something out; I’m just grabbing us some seats.” As he finished speaking, and with impeccable literary timing, three trays appeared on the table in a burst of green light, complete with salads, fruit bowls, and glasses of water.  After a second or two, long enough for an afterthought, three smaller flashes followed, and a trio of lemon wedges dropped into the beverages.  Soon afterwards, the unicorns Ikebana and Sender approached the table.  Featherstep waved a wing. “Compliments to the chefs!” “I’m just the server.”  Sender gestured with a tilt of his head towards Ikebana.  “Direct all praise to this one here; he picked out the good stuff.” Ikebana shrugged.  “It’s an old family recipe.  Take three parts tray and add cafeteria fare to taste.”  He took a seat across from Sender and nodded towards the two other guardsponies.  “Hey Rosetta, Crack Shot.  How’s it going?” “Pretty interesting, actually,” Rosetta said.  “The Sergeant here is going away on a special assignment with Sergeants Storm Stunner and Check Mate, by order of Her Royal Highness, Princess Luna.  He promised me a souvenir,” she added. “Oh?  Is that right?”  Featherstep looked sidelong at Crack Shot, and an eyebrow slowly rose and disappeared beneath his champron.  “What kind?” “Uh, the assignment or souvenir?”  Crack Shot was acutely aware of, if not knowing eyes, then assuming ones upon him, and of the fact that, in the absence of certain female company, half of them would be winking.  So this was what it was like to be on the other side of it. “I think he meant the latter, but do feel free to elaborate on the former.”  Sender’s smile corrupted into a grin. “If you’d like, I could even help you pick something out.  I’ve an eye for this kind of thing,” Ikebana added evilly. “You know, I could probably make you do laps or something,” Crack Shot said. “But you probably won’t,” Featherstep countered. “And what exactly are you three insinuating?”  Rosetta smiled sweetly.  Her voice was calm and promised a storm if they kept it up; she didn’t need to be multilingual to read the body language, or the footnotes between the lines. ‘Nothing!’ and its variants quickly issued from Sender, Ikebana, and Featherstep. “Anyways, about this assignment,” Featherstep continued.  “You say you’re getting sent away; is there something going on outside of Canterlot?  Some kind of trouble?” Crack Shot shrugged.  “There’s something goin’ on anywhere, and same goes for trouble, but nothing like what you’re thinking, at least as far as I’ve heard.  We’re just gonna be travellin’, takin’ notes, and showin’ Luna the world of today.” Sender was aghast.  “And you’re getting paid for this?” “Pretty sweet deal, huh?” “Now, I don’t mean any disrespect, but if she was interested in the ‘world of today’, wouldn’t it be easier if Her Royal Highness, say, got a newspaper?  Or a magazine?  Or a history book?” “Eh, maybe they leave something out?  I’m sure she’s got her reasons.” --- That evening at La tour de l'excès, small groups of smartly dressed ponies clustered just inside its beveled doors, waiting for their parties to be called in for slightly fuller stomachs and markedly lighter wallets.  The restaurant boasted an appeal to the connoisseur and so charged accordingly; the speed at which a diner could eat through their riches at La tour would make a dragon question his appetite.  Marequessa and Magnus, tailed by Check Mate in a tightly fitting jacket that had seen better days (and probably better decades), moved between the minor crowds towards the maître d’ to see about getting a table.  Check Mate’s parents had managed to get a short notice reservation by pulling a few silken strings. The maître d’ looked up from his podium and sized up the approaching ponies; he found himself somewhat impressed.  For a start, these ponies weren’t afraid of him.  Most guests approached him timorously, afraid they’d commit some unwitting faux pas, and that in retaliation he’d strike their names from the reservation list, or, perhaps if they were the ones to be saddled with the bill, move them up on it.  Not these ponies.  The couple in the lead strode forward as if they owned the place, or, if not, like they could do so after a quick stop at the bank.  He put on his warmest smile. “Bonsoir et bienvenue a La tour de l'excès,” he greeted, expending most of his knowledge of the language.  “Your party name, s'il vous plait,” he finished, exhausting the rest. “It would be under my wife’s name: Marequessa.” “Marequessa…”  The maitre d’ looked down his list.  “Ah, yes.  Marequessa, party of three.  Follow me, s'il vous plait.” The maître d’ took some menus from his podium and led the three away to the chorus of slighted murmuring from the other patrons, many of whom who had spent the evening waiting to be seated, towards a helical staircase cut with floral motifs in its alabaster guards.  As they climbed, he went over the evening’s specials, while with every turn upwards Check Mate caught each inimical glare below as they disappeared beneath the railing. “Now tonight I would personally recommend the pumpkin bisque to begin with.  It is made with only the highest quality of cream, and the head chef can avouch for that, the cows that produce it being personal friends of hers…” Check Mate stopped paying attention.  Instead, he turned his attention to the steps of his hooves, and to the bandage peeking out from beneath an ancient cufflink. ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss,’ his father had said.  Check Mate frowned at the remembrance.  Moss.  Clout, influence, power, puissance, call it what you will.  In trying to amass it you could find yourself buried by it, in thrall to it.  What was wrong with rolling, as his father had put it?  What was wrong with tumbling over and down life’s hills and valleys, being buffeted by the storms it threw at you, and facing the wear?  What was wrong with accumulating the chips, the cracks, and, of course, the scratches?  You might not have the moss at the end, but you’d have had the journey, and, after all of the polish, might you not find yourself, clarified and glinting in the detritus?  Check Mate had missed home of course, but now he found himself missing his barracks, and he realized with some disconcertion that they had somewhere along the line taken the title of ‘home’ in his heart.  He felt a twinge of filial guilt. At some point the steps ceased appearing beneath him.  He paused his introspection to look around. Ponies dressed similarly to his parents sat around covered tables topped with candelabra and floral centerpieces, engaged in quiet conversations.  Forming the walls behind velvet curtains, great panes of glass extended to the ceiling, turned into mirrors by the night behind them.  Savory aromas tempted the appetite and menaced the purse.  Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings simply because they had to; the rest of the décor demanded chandeliers. The group came to a stop at a table nestled in a corner of the restaurant; it was a spot clearly chosen for its intimacy.  The maître d’ drew the seats for Check Mate and his parents and carefully placed their menus before them. “Your waiter shall be out shortly.  I hope that your dining experience at La tour is a pleasant and memorable one, s'il vous plait.”  The maître d’ bowed and then took his leave. “What will you be having, Magnus?” Magnus adjusted his frames and studied the menu.  “Hmm, well, the white truffle au gratin is tempting; I think it would be a fine accompaniment to that pumpkin bisque.  How about you, dear?” “I’ll be having the cocarde, of course.  How about you, Checky?” “Hm?  Oh—”  Check Mate gave the menu a passing look.  “The white bean soup seems appealing.” “Will that be enough?”  Worry carried in his mother’s voice. Check Mate thought quickly.  “Ah—the repast Mr. Pennyworth prepared this afternoon didn’t leave me with much of an appetite, I’m afraid.” Marequessa looked unconvinced.  “Well… if you change your mind, don’t hesitate to order something else.  And I’ll be happy to share some of my dish, if you’d like.” “…Thank you, mother.” “Ah!  Returning to this afternoon’s conversation,” Magnus spoke up.  “Do you think you will be able to attend the dinner party at Bijou’s with your mother and me next weekend?” Check Mate took a breath in and held it for a moment.  It came out as a sigh.  “I am sorry to say no.  I’m… going to be away, on royal business.” “Oh…” his mother whispered.  Then she registered the second sentence.  “Away?” “Yes… and likely for quite some time.  I’m afraid that any future visitations will have to wait until my return.” And so began the moment that Check Mate had been dreading; he could see the question forming on his mother’s lips as she measured his words and his lassitude.  It had been there since the day he had left, and, stagnant, it must’ve eaten at her like rot.  It wasn’t coaxing, censure, or rebuke that he had feared upon delivery of the news of his upcoming travels— “Have we… have I… driven you away?” —It was breaking his mother’s heart. “No, never!”  Check Mate shook his head.  “As parents you’ve both been irreproachable, and it is my fortune to call you mine.  Never doubt that.” “But you’re leaving, disappearing again!”  His mother’s eyes misted.  “We must’ve been lacking… what was it that we failed to give you?” “Nothing at all.” Then, because sometimes words just aren’t enough no matter how big your vocabulary, he stood from his seat, walked around the table, and pulled his mother tightly into a hug. “You’ve provided me with shelter and education, love and affection.  You’ve helped shape me into the pony I am today, and it is one that I am proud to be.” His mother sniffed.  “But, but we could be overbearing, I’m certain.” “Perhaps… and perhaps I could be distant.  But I would never begrudge you your idiosyncrasies, nor, I hope, would you begrudge me mine.” “Would you… promise to write more often?  Real letters, filled with the good and the bad?” “I promise.” Marequessa sniffed once more and pulled out of her son’s embrace.  Her eyes were red and wet and raw, but below it all and however small, there was a smile. Then there was a blush as her eyes flitted to the waiter standing sheepishly away from the table, shifting his weight from side to side and sneaking the occasional glance to see if the scene had ended.  She hastily levitated a napkin from the table to dab her face with.  The waiter waited for the two ponies to take their seats before approaching and taking their orders.  After he had left, conversation resumed. “Do you know where you’ll be going?” Marequessa asked. “As of this moment, no; however, I presume that we will be informed of those details upon our return to duty next week.” “‘We’?  A number of you will be going?”  Magnus lowered his glasses below the level of his eyes.  Naturally, it did nothing for his vision, but he found it did a fine job of imparting a sense of inquiry. “Just two others: Storm Stunner and Crack Shot.”  Check Mate waited for his parents to turn this information over in their heads. Finally, his father said, “Those would be the two pegasi that were with you during this year’s earlier hullabaloo, right?  One of the papers said they weren’t from Canterlot originally.” “That is correct, they aren’t,” Check Mate affirmed.  “Nor did they receive private educations or come from prominent families.  But they’re honest, kindhearted, and clever.” Marequessa nodded, keeping that little smile on her son.  “We shall look forward to learning all about them, then.” --- Nomde’s horn shone as she began to release the spell keeping her bookstore sealed.  The faint hint of runes, morphemes of an ancient script, shimmered and pulsed about the door; threads of light limned the grain of the wood in the shapes of frozen ripples; and a low hum began to resonate from its surface.  The runes soon resolved into distinct shapes, into cryptic prose that burned just brighter than the door itself.  Magic erupted and danced and flared into the air as the wood came alive with light and an ethereal heat.  Then there was a dull click and the door swung open.  Nomde reasoned that all of this was a more convenient alternative to remembering a key. As Storm and Nomde stepped into the darkened interior, a dim glow began to build along the walls, as one by one the fireflies stirred awake in their lanterns, curious about the intrusion.  Upon recognizing their owner, those nearest the front began to shimmer more energetically, and the excitement spread through the rest of the shop, filling it with light. “Wow,” Storm said, looking about the empty shop, “it’s weird to see this place so busy.” To his disappointment, Nomde didn’t rise to it. “What did you need to pick up here?” he asked. “Well, I was thinking of giving you a gift to take on your journey.”  Nomde removed a jar of nectar from beneath her counter and began to distribute it among the lanterns.  “Although, I might be thinking better of it after that little quip.”  Storm grinned inwardly and silently applauded himself: success after all. “A gift?” he said out loud. “Mm-hmm.  Just wait right there while I go fetch it.”  She disappeared towards the back of the store. While he waited, Storm decided to browse the new releases on the front tables.  Stacked on one was the latest installment in a popular series: Daring Do and the Deus Ex Machina.  It looked a bit thinner than some of the earlier books, and there were quite a number of those.  He found it odd that he had only heard of the series just recently, for how popular it seemed to be. Nomde came back down the aisle of shelves with a book floating just ahead of her.  As she set it before Storm, he noticed there wasn’t a title on it. “I thought an atlas or a travel guide might make you look too much like a tourist, although I seem to recall a certain somepony having trouble with directions when we first met,” she said teasingly.  “Also, I think this book will prove much more interesting in the long run.” Curious, Storm turned to the first page.  Then to the second.  Then he flipped all the way to the middle. “Huh.  There’s not a word in it.”  He traced a hoof along the book’s empty pages. “Very astute of you, Storm.”  Nomde moved alongside him and placed her hoof against his.  “You’ll be the one to add them.” “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever kept a journal before, but thank you.”  He kissed Nomde on her brow.  “I’ll try to fill this one up.” “I’m glad to hear that; I think you’ll have many worthwhile things to say.” “Now there’s a bold claim.”  Storm chuckled.  “Anyways, the stars are out, and I believe Princess Luna has a new constellation somewhere among them.  What do you say we go out and add the first page?” --- During his flight back to Canterlot Castle the evening before the start of the new week, Storm noticed a familiar gray figure walking the hilly road below him.  With a slow, circuitous descent, he landed in a trot beside him. “Good evening, Storm,” Check Mate greeted. “Hey, Check, how’d your weekend go?  Parents doing alright?” “They’re doing well.  It… was a worthwhile visit.  And your weekend with Miss Nomde?” Storm noted the pause, but let it pass.  “It was nice.  We tried unsuccessfully to feed the ducks. They didn't much care for our bread.” Check Mate laughed.  “Yes, it seems this city is full of epicures in every form.  Did you come to a decision about Princess Luna’s proposition?” “Yeah, I’m gonna go for it.  Nomde talked me into it.” “I’m glad to hear that; it wouldn’t be the same without you.” By the time the two arrived at the castle, night had fallen and the moon was well overhead.  Two unicorns in ebon armor saluted them from the towers and vanished from sight to lower the drawbridge.  When Storm and Check had crossed, they were greeted by the pair. “Evening, Sergeants, and welcome back,” the guard on the left spoke.  “Are you prepared for your journey tomorrow?” Storm hadn’t expected that.  “Not yet.  But if I may ask, how did you hear about it?” “It’s the talk of the castle among the Guard; Sergeant Crack Shot has been quite vocal on the matter, sir.  He said the three of you would participate in a task to go ‘Luna knows where’ to do ‘Luna knows what’.”  After a moment he added, “His words, sir.” Storm rubbed his forehead.  “Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but I suppose it’s true enough.  You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?” “Last I had seen, the Sergeant was waiting for your return in the castle antechamber.  I believe you may find him there.” “Ah, thanks then.  Shall we, Check?” Storm and Check Mate entered into the dimly lit halls of the castle and proceeded to look for Crack Shot.  Counter to the buzz of the day, silence as thick as soup suffused the corridors of Castle Canterlot.  The only sounds to be heard were the muted rumble of snores from the servants’ quarters and, of course, the occasional hoofsteps of a patrol: the Guard never slept.  Moving into the antechamber, they found Crack Shot providing counterevidence to this claim.  Check Mate gently nudged the pegasus awake, who in turn greeted his friends with a groggy yawn as he stood up. “’Bout time you guys got back.” “What’s the matter, get tired of waiting?”  Storm grinned. “Ugh, dude.” “Why were you waiting here, anyways?” Storm asked.  “If you were sleepy, you could’ve just made for the barracks.” “Nah, that wouldn’t do.  The both of you are down to do this whole Luna deal, I’m guessing?” Storm and Check Mate nodded. “Yeah, so I figured we might as well let her know that while she’s probably up,” Crack Shot said as he popped his neck. “Hm, I must say, that’s very provident of you, Crack Shot,” said Check Mate. “Heh, thanks.  I think.  Anyways, wanna go track her down?  She’s gotta be lurking around here somewhere, right?” Check Mate frowned slightly.  “I would not say that one of the Princesses ‘lurks.’” “Yeah, not enough syllables, I’m guessing,” Crack Shot teased, bumping Check Mate on the shoulder.  “Come on, we don’t got all night.” The trio left the antechamber to begin the search for Princess Luna, which turned out to take longer than expected.  She was not to be found in her throne room, her bower, the libraries, or anywhere inside of the castle.  It was on one of the tower balconies that they finally discovered her, entirely by chance.  She would have been unnoticeable, enveloped seamlessly into the endless scatter of stars, if not for the subtle ripple of her mane.  She looked back towards the three and graced them with a small smile, before turning once more towards the world below her; she spoke in a reverent whisper after a moment, as if not to disturb it. “It is a different world that I’ve returned to, you know.  Looking at this city, it isn’t difficult in the least to see how it stirs: it beats steadily like a heart.  There was a time when these moonlit hours seemed to me as nothing more than a period of transition, an intermission between wakefulness, activity, and gaiety.  To consider them thusly used to make me so jealous…” The three guardsponies said nothing, waiting for her to continue. “But… that was never really true, I’ve come to understand.  Then, as is now, those that close their eyes to consciousness engage in a special enterprise, and they use my night as a stage.  It is that they dream, and it is in this dreaming that they breathe life into myriad new worlds, beautiful, terrible, treacherous, treasurable, each a reflection of a sum of experiences, and each as fragile as a soap bubble. “When they awake, these phantom lands that they’ve constructed from the mortar of their imaginations, populated as richly as they are by familiar faces and passing strangers, rocky foundations and kingdoms of cloud, all of them they’ll leave behind for the waking world.  That my night is fecund ground for such creation… it really is an honor, isn’t it?” Luna turned to face the guardsponies, the small smile still on her lips. “But I go on.  Have the three of you had ample opportunity to consider the task I’ve set before you?” Crack Shot, Check Mate, and Storm Stunner exchanged nods. “We have, Luna; all of us accept,” said Storm. Luna’s smile grew.  “Wonderful.  In that case, let me give you this.” A stream of shadow wisped about her horn, and a folded slip of paper floated out from beneath her chest piece, enveloped in umbra.  It trailed towards Check Mate, who took it in his own magic, unfolded it, and looked at its contents: it was a map.  In it were the areas north of Canterlot with certain landmarks circled, but there was no further instruction written upon it. “Those are areas that I would like you to visit,” Luna said, as Check Mate’s eyes traced across the paper.  “Wherever else you would go is up to your discretion, as is your method of doing so.  However…”  Luna smirked.  “I would recommend you visit the farrier first: there will be a fair amount of walking.  For now though, you should get some rest; you’ll wish to be refreshed when departing on the morrow.” Bidding farewell to the Princess, the guardsponies descended into the castle towards their quarters. “Phew, Luna must have a lot goin’ on up top, huh?” Crack Shot mused.  “I guess when you’ve lived as long as the Princesses, you get a lot of time to think about things; it’s kinda cool that they can see so much come and go, on and on, and still think so much about keepin’ it goin’.” Storm and Check Mate hummed in agreement. That night, after penning another entry in his journal, Storm slept deeply, and in his sleep he dreamed.  He dreamed of flickering stars and of grassy hills, of unpaved roads and of bright white unicorns.  He saw himself, younger, bright-eyed, and ruddy, flapping about unsteadily with a tree branch clenched firmly between his teeth against a childhood villain made real and vicious in the world hidden behind his eyelids. When he awoke the next morning, he recalled nothing of the dream, the remnants of his phantasmagoria swept away by a blink, along with the sand. --- At the castle armory, the guardsponies were outfitted with new shoes to carry them on their journey.  Although gilded and ornate in the style of the Guard, there was no doubt about their sturdiness.  Calked, resilient, and lightweight, they were made to go not only the distance, but the return trip afterwards.  The three chose to keep their original armor, however: a pony got attached.  Leaving the smithy, they were met by a cherry unicorn with an impatient air about him.  The impatient air had a brothy ripeness to it.  He looked them over and scoffed. “It’s about time you three got out of there.  Don’t tell me you had trouble picking outfits,” said Febre, indentured assistant to the castle’s newest (and potentially oldest) relic and wizard, Gray Mane. “You were waiting for us?” Storm asked. “Yeah, the old buzzard caught wind of your little trip and wanted your help in testing something.” “What kinda something?”  Crack Shot’s eyes narrowed.  Gray Mane’s experimental spells always worked one way or another, and often one way other than intended. “One that should leave fur where it’s supposed to be and none where it shouldn’t, I promise.”  Febre considered his wording.  “I honestly believe,” he amended.  “At least hear him out, won’t you?  Otherwise, he might make me clean out the lab.” That was all he had to say to get their consent; cleaning out Gray Mane’s laboratory was a punishment nopony should ever have to suffer: it would be a lifetime sentence. The corridor leading to Gray Mane’s laboratory wasn’t regularly frequented by members of the Royal Guard.  There simply was no need to do so.  Over time it had evolved a natural defense against intrusion in the form of a miasma that could bring tears, show said tears a thing or two about saltiness, and corrode metal.  The gold plating may have protected the Guard’s armor, but it did nothing for their noses.  The three guardsponies bade fond farewells to fresh air and followed Febre into the funk with shallow breaths. As for Gray Mane’s laboratory itself, it would be more aptly called a lair, and it most certainly had layers; to enter into it, one would have to step up.  Countless compacted noodle cups formed a polystyrene shelf, and if one were to chisel through the strata they’d find a history of brands, flavors, and, only if they went down far enough, the floor.  Arranged on stations about the lab, odd chemicals in flasks and beakers bubbled, often over, and multiple experiments lay in various states of completion; in a corner an athanor was steaming, though a few dry noodles stuck around its base betrayed its purpose. Then, in the center of the maelstrom, stood the master of it all, muttering to himself as flashes of magic outlined him in bright green.  Gray Mane was dressed in a manner that would leave no uncertainty about his profession, though plenty about his fashion sense: there was the tall, pointed, bell-tipped hat stitched with all the necessary ringed planets and stars; a similarly styled robe with all the unnecessary soy sauce stains and encrusted noodle bits; and a number of baubles and pendants to finish the look, with maybe a phylactery thrown in for good measure. “Hey, old timer; I brought guests!” Febre called out.  The flashes ceased and Gray Mane turned towards the disturbance.  When he saw his visitors, he grinned with teeth too straight to be his own. “Ach, the gold backs!  Good work, lad,” he brayed from beneath his pointed hat. “Is, uh, there something we can help you with, Gray Mane?” Storm asked, dreading an affirmative. “Aye, that there is.  Word about is that yer goin’ off aways, puttin’ ye in a good spot to test out a creation o’ mine.  A brand-new means o’ long range communication, you’ll see.” Crack Shot’s eyes flicked once between the wizened wizard and the mess around his hooves.  “If it’s two cups and a string, I think the idea’s a little dated.  Though, I suppose you’ve been around long enough to have snatched the patent, eh?” “Pah!” Gray Mane would’ve spat if there were any moisture in him.  “If yer gonna make smart remarks—and I’m surprised to hear one comin’ from you, mind ye, ye scunner—I’ll just let Febre here do the field testin’.  Whad’ye say to that, lad?!” “Is travel recompensed?” “Pah!  It’d do ye good to show more enthusiasm for our mystic endeavors, I’ll mind ye, lad.  Ye oughta work hard, for when I’m gone, all of this will be yers!” “Is that a threat?” “Anyways, what ye boys will be doin’ is simple enough; I’ll show ye how it works, so watch carefully!” Gray Mane returned to his work station and levitated two innocuous stone tablets, each divided by an etching into a pair of panels, and an emerald-tipped quill in front him.  As the guardsponies watched, he began to scribble across the lower panel of one of the tablets in an illegible scrawl; wherever the quill ran, a thin line of green luminesced from its trail.  Once he was satisfied with what he had written, he took as deep a breath as he could muster and blew across the stone.  His words evaporated in wisps of glittering smoke into the air and rippled towards the other slate, where they reformed on its top panel.  Gray Mane noticed the looks he was getting and the question behind them. “Frozen dragon fire,” he said, believing this an answer. “How in Equestria do you freeze fire?!” Storm asked. “Well, ‘tisn’t easy.  It helps if the dragon has a cold.” It wasn’t an explanation, but Storm knew it was all he was going to get. “If you are looking for our assistance in particular, you must be looking to characterize this device’s function over distance, correct?” Check Mate said. “Right ye are.  It oughta be a win-win fer the both of us.  I get to test the range on my smart stones, ye three get an easy means to write back home, assumin’ all three of ye can write.”  Gray Mane narrowed his eyes at Crack Shot, before turning back towards Check Mate.  “And I know with a dandy like you in the group, I won’t have to worry about it bein’ mistreated.” Check Mate frowned. “Such shining approbation.” “Hold up a sec,” said Crack Shot.  “Those things only go back and forth, right?  If we’re writin’ to anypony else, how are they supposed to get it?  Are you gonna be doin’ delivery?” “Don’t be ridiculous!”  Gray Mane laughed with a sound like a rock tumbler.  “Febre will.” --- After a stop at the treasury, it was close to noon by the time Storm, Check, and Crack Shot were about ready to take their leave.  With sturdy shoes on their hooves and bits in their bags, they needed only to plot their course of action.  The three gathered at a quiet table tucked into one of the castle libraries, and Check Mate removed Luna’s map from his bag to open it for the three to review. “As you can see, it would seem that Luna has charted a northbound course for us to travel,” Check Mate explained. “Cool, cool…” Crack Shot said.  “So what’s north?  Any big cities on the way?” Check Mate scanned over the circles on the page.  “Not where we’ll be going, it appears, though there are quite a number of farming communities.  Interesting.” Crack Shot’s face screwed up.  “Farms?  Really?  Farms.  There’s gotta be, like…  Farms?” “Yes, but that’s not what catches my interest.  If you notice some of these areas farther up the way…” Storm took a closer look.  “Hm, some woods, mountains…  They don’t really look like centers of society, do they?” “My thoughts as well.” “So is this gonna turn into a camping trip, then?  I was kinda hopin’ we’d get, like, you know, hotel rooms or something.  Ugh, this is starting to sound like work.” The other two ignored that. “I think it’s too early to say what it will turn into,” Storm said.  “Let’s just take things as they come, one hoofstep at a time.” “Or perhaps by locomotive, at least to start?  We may be able to save ourselves the initial peregrination; the EqueRail no doubt ferries passengers that way,” suggested Check Mate. “I’d be down for a train ride; that’s somethin’ ponies do on vacation.  We’re not gonna have to pull it, are we?” asked Crack Shot. “This one will have an engine for that purpose.” “Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Storm. “Hey, are you guys getting ready to leave?” a voice called. The guardsponies looked up from the map to see a unicorn guard approaching their table: Ikebana. “I think we’re just about set; now it’s only a matter of stepping out the door,” said Storm. “Hm, I’m glad I managed to catch you, then.  Perfect location, too, really.  Before you take off, let me grab something real fast.” Ikebana disappeared into the stacks and returned shortly with wood-covered book.  Its pages were thick and bound in stitches rather than glue; it was a book that was made to go anywhere, an all-terrain text. “This is Mare Grylls’s Pandect of Plant Life Pabulums and Panaceas; it is the bible on anything fungal or floral.  I doubt you’ll need it, but it might be interesting reading material.”  He set the book before Check Mate. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Ikebana; it may yet prove useful.  Thank you.” “Ha, don’t sweat it.  Consider it thanks for the vote of confidence the other day.  Enjoy yourselves on your trip, best wishes wherever you end up, and good luck if you need it.  Now, if you’ll pardon me, duty calls.” Ikebana tipped his helmet at the three and left to return to his duties. “That was nice of him,” Storm said.  “Looks like you left an impression with that pep talk you gave him, Check.” “…Really, now?  All I did was state the truth…” --- At the gates of Canterlot Castle, Storm Stunner, Check Mate, and Crack Shot waved to the guards in the towers as they set off towards the city and what lay beyond it.  Storm carried the journal that Nomde had given him in the pocket of saddlebags she had insisted he buy months ago; they were well-sewn with a sensible, inconspicuous burlap, though he felt they lacked the kitschy charm of the souvenir bags he had first arrived at the castle with so long ago.  Besides Luna’s map, Check Mate carried Gray Mane’s smart stone and stylus, the book Ikebana had suggested, and his trumpet strapped to his armor.  However, Crack Shot travelled light, and his bags were mostly empty, save for the bits; he planned on bringing them back full with souvenirs. “So, have you ridden this line we’ll be taking before, Check Mate?” “I have not; my family was never really one that travelled.  Nevertheless, EqueRail has an exemplary reputation; some claim one could set a timepiece to their schedule.” Crack Shot shrugged.  “Hey, as long as the seats are soft and the food is good, they can take as long as they’d like.” Storm Stunner glanced upwards.  It was a beautiful day and the blue went on forever; it was as good a day to start a trip as any.  He nodded towards Check Mate and Crack Shot. “Well then.  Shall we get going?”