//------------------------------// // 1. Beauty is difficult to judge. // Story: Beauty Will Tear Us Apart // by Meta Four //------------------------------// A year ago ... “No, don’t think of it as forgery, think of it as performance art!” “That’s even worse. I’m a neo-modernist.” “... Aaaand?” “Among many other things, I’m morally opposed to so-called ‘performance art.’” “Okay, scratch that. Don’t think of it as forgery, think of it as art preservation.” “Alright, I’m listening.” Today ... Ditzy Doo glanced at the mirror in her hoof, confirming the street behind her was still empty. She resumed reading her newspaper. She was outside a Canterlot cafe, seated at the patio table nearest the restaurant’s entrance. She faced the wall. It was quite lovely, for a wall. Though it lacked the blue and gold trim of the royal palace—or the countless city blocks catering to the tourists—the absence made it easier to appreciate the artistry of the unadorned white stones. The mason who set them clearly cared about her job, as did whoever had last scrubbed them. The stones were so clean, the sunlight cast a slight iridescent glitter wherever it struck. Few outsiders would see these walls, and certainly no tourists would; it was for the sake of Canterlot’s natives that these workers kept walls like this one beautiful. The other pony—the one Ditzy was waiting for—had been born and raised in Canterlot. She had suggested this particular cafe as a meeting place, allegedly because of the small crowd this time of week. However, Ditzy suspected this cafe’s fried mushroom sandwiches, reputedly the best in the city, also influenced the decision. Ditzy read her newspaper to distract herself from worries about where the other pony was. An article about a rash of vandalism at the Goggle Heights Art Museum caught her eye, but it wasn’t quite enough to keep her mind occupied. So, as she read about the renowned works of modern art that some unknown criminals had irreparably damaged, Ditzy thought, I need to remember that she runs on O.C.D. Time, not Guard Time. When she says to meet somewhere at six o’clock, she means exactly six, not quarter-till. In the distance, a clock tower rang. Ditzy raised her mirror again, but nopony was approaching. Her dinner date was late. When she set the mirror down, Twilight Sparkle was across the table from her—not late after all. “Hi, Ditzy!” “Bah!” Ditzy jumped back, causing her chair to lean precariously. She wildly flapped her wings to regain balance, and held her hooves over her eyes. “Where did you come from?” “There’s another entrance from the other side of the cafe. So ... notice anything different about me?” Ditzy snuck a glance from behind her hooves. Then she dropped her hooves to the table and gaped. Twilight looked like an ordinary purple unicorn. Her entire body didn’t glow, and her horn certainly didn’t shine with the light of a miniature sun. “Your aura,” Ditzy said. “Where’s your aura?” “Haha, it worked!” Twilight beamed—figuratively, not literally, for a change. “What worked? Did you do something to your ley lines?” “Not quite. It’s a modified version of an old spell by Resonius the Fourth. He thought that all the magic flowing out of a pony’s body—what you see as auras—was terribly inefficient. His theory was that unicorns could cast more powerful magic if they’d just stop all that leaking first.” Twilight reached across the table to pick up Ditzy’s hoof-mirror. “It never worked, at least not for the purpose he wanted. His spell did a pretty good job blocking the ambient magic loss, but that had no effect on his spellcasting power. But ...” She set the mirror down. “When I learned about your, um, unique ability, I remembered that old spell. Just a few tweaks, and now you can actually look at me, instead of my reflection!” “That’s pretty cool,” Ditzy said. “But is it safe to play around with your own body’s magic like that?” “It’s only a temporary spell. Besides, would I cast it on myself if it wasn’t safe?” Ditzy shifted her eyes, then picked up her glass and took a long drink. “Yeah ...” Twilight said. “I probably would. Oh, and while we’re on the subject ...” She poked her snout into her saddlebag and pulled out a magazine. She fumbled it in her hooves for a few seconds before sliding it across the table, to Ditzy. Like so many other peer-reviewed scientific journals, Medical Magic’s cover was violently boring. If the solid maroon and plain text of the cover didn’t scare away the laypony readers, the article titles certainly would. “Look at the third article,” Twilight said. Ditzy read, “Mutation of the visual cortex as a potential origin of ley line malformation and thaumaturgical synesthesia: the first pegasus case study. By T. Sparkle and D. R. Morningdew.” She looked back up at Twilight. “Kind of burying your lede, don’t you think?” Twilight shrugged. “That’s scientific writing for you.” Her eye twitched. “So …” Ditzy said, “any progress on tracking our architect?” “Oh, yes! In fact, I hit the mother lode.” Twilight pulled her saddlebags off. Awkwardly, with her hooves, she turned over the bag, dumping a three-ring binder on the table. Her left ear flopped a few times as she opened it. Twilight continued, “You know why I had so much trouble finding the blueprints in the libraries? Because a collector in Los Pegasus is buying them all! She’s convinced that Mr. Buttress is the most important architect of our time, so she’s trying to build a museum in his honor. I said I was researching to write a book about him, and she couldn’t wait to give me copies of every blueprint she had.” “Really? The guy who …” Ditzy paused and considered her words. She could not refer to Flying Buttress as the guy who designed a building to summon a monster from outside time and space in public; the entire incident was classified Top Secret. Besides, he might not have done it intentionally. She continued, “The guy who designed Ponyville Town Hall is some kind of big name in architecture?” “Ponyville nabbed him before he became famous. Just look what else he designed …” Twilight flipped open pages at random. “L’Arc de l’Alliance. The Maretropolitan Museum of Art. Sydneigh Opera House of Pancakes.” “Wow.” Ditzy shifted in her chair. “Sorry I couldn’t help you with looking this up, Twilight. It’s just …” “I know, I know.” Twilight twitched. “Those courses full of top secret information you can’t share with anypony, not even me.” “Sorry. If it’s any consolation, most of it’s really boring. So many lectures about how to fill out paperwork—” “What?” Twilight twitched again, harder, and both of her ears flopped. “You mean you get to do paperwork, too? Aaaargh!” She fell forward, dropping her face onto the binder’s pages. Her withers and back muscles twitched. “Twilight, are you okay?” She looked up at Ditzy without raising her head. “Just a bit frustrated, but not with you. It’s not your fault.” “No, I mean, you keep twitching like you’re having a seizure.” “Twitching? I’m not twitching.” “You just did it again.” “Whatever.” Twilight sat back up. “Anyway, I looked through half of these blueprints last night. I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, but maybe you’ll find something I missed.” “Sure, I can double-check those.” Twilight fumbled with the tabs to open the binder’s rings. Ditzy reached across and pulled the binder to herself. “Why don’t I do this?” she said. Ditzy was not particularly more dextrous with her hooves than Twilight was, but at least she did not have to deal with twitching and spasming. Within two minutes, the binder was open. She pushed a stack of pages back to Twilight, then examined the first blueprint in her own stack. A few minutes later, movement caught Ditzy’s attention. “Did you need something, Twilight?” “What?” Both of Twilight’s ears kept flopping in no particular pattern, and her eyes glowed faintly purple. “I thought you were ... Never mind.” Ditzy turned to the side, so Twilight’s movement would not distract her, and resumed examining the blueprints. A few minutes passed this way. The table started vibrating. “O-o-o-h, no-o-o!” Twilight said. “E-e-ear-r-th-th-qua-a-ake!” Ditzy’s gaze darted around the patio and down the street. All the other scenery was completely still. The sole other pony visible—a unicorn seated at the far end of the patio—was completely calm. Only Twilight and the table in front of her shook—and as soon as Twilight lifted her hoof from it, the table went still. Twilight was now vibrating like a box full of angry rodents. Her eyes glowed brightly. “Di-i-i-it-zy-y-y, w-we-e-e-e n-nee-ee-eed—” “Twilight! Are you sure that spell you cast on yourself was safe?” Twilight opened her mouth, but no words came out—only a light as bright as the one from her eyes. She bolted from the table and ducked into the nearest alley. Ditzy turned her gaze downward, just in time. A bolt of concentrated magic blasted out of the alley, straight into the sky. Half the ponies in Canterlot felt its passing, but the sole pegasus who could have seen it was looking elsewhere at that second. “Hmm?” Ditzy said. Three pages from Twilight’s stack had fluttered free during her abrupt departure, then landed near Ditzy. She picked one of them up. She looked up as Twilight returned to the table. “Are you okay?” “I’m fiiiiiiiine ...” Twilight’s mane and tail were frazzled, and every hair of her coat stood on end. She leaned back and forth slightly, but she smiled. “I feel great! ... So, where were we?” “Does this look familiar?” Ditzy slid the page across the table, to Twilight. “Hmm ... a spiral, almost but not completely unlike a nautilus shell ...” Twilight squinted at the page. “Wait, is this the Goggle Heights? It is! Don’t tell me there’s something wrong with the Goggle Heights!” “Maybe. Doesn’t the wall arrangement look like the ... umm, that echo maze? I forget the name ...” Twilight slumped back in her chair. “Darn it, you’re right. It really does. Except ...” She leaned forward and jabbed her hoof at the page. “The Hyperborean Echo Labyrinth had another wall, right here! The Goggle Heights has a gap there, one that completely compromises the autoacoustic feedback loop. Ha!” “Yeah ...” Ditzy said, as she looked at the page one last time. “Crisis averted, I guess.” “Great! I’d hate to have to blow up my favorite art museum.” “You have a favorite museum? Wait, of course you would ...” Twilight looked into the distance. “The Goggle Heights is just such an elegant solution to the ‘how to see every exhibit without backtracking’ problem ...” “I’d never really thought about that ... Oh! I forgot!” Ditzy rummaged in her saddlebag and pulled out an object in bright wrapping paper. “Happy early Birthday! Since I’ll be stuck here in Canterlot on the day of ...” “Thank you!” Twilight took the gift and held it up, judging its weight. “Is this ...” She fumbled with the wrapping in her hooves for nearly a minute. Eventually, she grabbed a corner with her teeth and tore the paper off. “It is! Transcriptions of Dusty Old Tomes from the Terrelicorno Library, Volume 37! Thank you, Ditzy!” Twilight stepped around the table and hugged Ditzy. Then she twitched. “Um ...” Ditzy said, “I really appreciate that you went to all the trouble of making that spell so your ambient magic wouldn’t bother me. But, could you never cast it again? The side effects are kinda creeping me out.” Two hours later, Ditzy was alone again at the table. She and Twilight had reviewed the blueprints and eaten dinner—the fried mushroom sandwich definitely lived up to its reputation. Then Twilight had to catch her train back to Ponyville, leaving Ditzy to clean up the debris of the research session. The blueprints went back into the binder, which went into Ditzy’s saddlebag. Then Ditzy grabbed the newspaper and paused. Once more, she read the article about the unsolved vandalism cases at the Goggle Heights. Coincidence? she thought.   When she returned to her hotel room, she immediately wrote a letter. Ditzy was examining a painting when Dr. Time Turner Hooves arrived. One second, she was alone in the stark white, curved corridor of Twilight’s favorite art museum; the next, the stallion was behind her. “What’s that a painting of?” he said. “Not sure,” Ditzy said, continuing to squint at the painting. “The title is Shaved Pony Descending a Staircase, No. 2 ... but I don’t see any pony, shaved or otherwise.” Time Turner stepped up to her side. “Interesting. Well, I got your letter, so here I am. But you didn’t just call me here to look at paintings, right?” “I wish.” “So ... Why are you wearing a paper bag on your head?” Ditzy flicked her ears, crinkling her headgear slightly, and spun to face Time Turner. “To match the ones on my hooves, of course.” Smiling, she lifted one foreleg to show off her hoofwear. “Oh, yes, of course.” Time Turner rolled his eyes. “Now, forgive my ignorance, but why are you wearing bags on your hooves?” “To act as sound channeling foci.” “... Do I want to know?” Ditzy snorted. “I need to muffle my hoofsteps, and I left my sneakers back in Ponyville, and all the shops I could find here only sell ‘designer sneakers’ that cost a wing and a leg, and you can’t even run in them!” “Yes, but won’t the bags make just as much noise?” Ditzy pranced in place, then jumped into the air and landed—all without making a single sound. “I’m deflecting the sound waves into the eight dimension. Pretty cool, huh?” Time Turner’s eyes widened. “You learn something every day.” Leaning forward, he smiled. “I almost thought the bags were some baffling new fashion trend.” “Oh, you know me. Always on the cutting edge.” “Of course, of course.” Time Turner raised one of his hooves. “I hope my own sneakers aren’t too embarrassing for a fashion-forward mare like you?” “Ugh ...” Ditzy twisted her face into an exaggerated sneer, but her eyes were smiling. “That shade of green is so last week. I shouldn’t be seen within ten feet of a faux pas like that. But for you, I’ll make an exception.” “You’re so gracious.” Time Turner furrowed his brow as he looked at Ditzy. “Hmm ... Can you wait one second?” Ditzy nodded. There was a green burst of time travel magic, and Ditzy was once again alone. Exactly one second later, another green burst brought Time Turner back. “Here, this is for you.” He pushed a box over to Ditzy. Inside it was a pearl necklace. “Whaaa ...” “Hurry, put it on.” Ditzy complied. “But why ...” A group of ponies came around the bend. From a single glance, it was clear the white unicorn in front was the leader, and the rest were her entourage. It took another glance for Ditzy to recognize that white unicorn. Rarity looked like a completely different pony in her ensemble: a black turtleneck sweater, a maroon beret, and her mane much less curly than usual. Rarity met Ditzy’s eyes. A look of confusion passed over her face as she took in Ditzy’s paper bag ensemble. However, she gave Ditzy a smile as she walked past. Her entourage also smiled—most of them significantly less sincerely than Rarity. The mass of ponies stopped to examine Shaved Pony Descending a Staircase, No. 2. Ditzy trotted up the hall, the direction the other ponies came from, and motioned for Time Turner to follow. They stopped in front of a large ceramic urn, decorated with an ornate floral design. “I’m surprised,” Time Turner said. “I thought modern art was all abstract and conceptual pieces. But that is a very nice vase.” Ditzy read the plaque to the side. “Odd. It says the art isn’t the urn, it’s what’s inside the urn.” “Oh. Well then, dare I ask what’s inside?” “Ashes. Allegedly from bank notes.” “What.” “Worth a million bits, before they were burned.” Time Turner squinted at the urn. “Modern art is stupid.” “Yeah, that’s what Wild Drummer and Vinyl Scratch thought, too.” “Who?” “They’re the ones who burned a million bits. Because they were trying to say ‘Modern art is stupid.’” “What ... But ... I ... That ... What?” Down the hall, Rarity and her entourage moved on. They passed around the bend of the hallway. “As I was trying to say...” Ditzy faced Time Turner and found him still staring, numbly, at the urn. She waved her hoof in his face. “Hey, Earth to Time Turner!” He shook his head and looked at Ditzy. “Sorry. You were saying?” Ditzy pointed at the pearls on her neck. “This is way too expensive for you to give me for no reason. What’s the deal?” “Oh! It’s a matter of blending in. An outfit can say a lot about a pony, Ditzy. A mare in a bunch of paper bags says, ‘I might bite your ear off if you look at me wrong.’ But give that mare a pearl necklace, and suddenly her ensemble says, ‘These bags cost more than most ponies make in a year.’” “But they didn’t,” Ditzy said, raising one hoof. “I bought, like, fifty of these for two bits.” “Great, because I didn’t pay very much for the necklace. Pearls may be expensive, but live oysters are cheap.” “Oh. Okay.” Ditzy and Time Turner sat on a wooden museum bench, with several pages spread between them. Time Turner glanced between the Goggle Heights visitor’s pamphlet and the blueprint. “I was never very good at those ‘spot the difference’ puzzles ...” he said. Ditzy tried to point at the pamphlet. With the bag on her hoof, she just covered half the map. Instead, she indicated the correct spot with her nose, then said, “This spot right here. This wall. The original design has a large gap there.” “And you think the change is connected to ...” “Well, I’d much rather be proven wrong.” A new voice cut in: “Ahem.” The speaker’s shadow fell over the papers on the bench. She held her head high, glaring down at Ditzy and Time Turner. Even in the ill-fitting, black uniform of a museum guard, this light blue unicorn was unmistakable. “Do not sit on the Art,” she said. Ditzy boggled. “What are you doing here?” The guard flipped her hair. “The Great and Powerful Trrrrrrixie is stopping patrons from leaving butt-prints on a priceless piece of Contemporary Art!” Time Turner shifted and glanced under his torso. “Priceless art? The only thing we’re sitting on is a bench.” “Wrong!” Trixie pointed to an informative plaque mounted to the right of the bench. “You’re sitting on Whitemane’s Opus sixty-seven: Wooden museum patron’s bench. So it’s Art. That, over there,”— she pointed at another bench, completely identical to the one they sat on, directly facing them—“is just a bench. You’re allowed to sit on it.” Ditzy’s eyes went wide. “Oh.” “Trixie must warn you ...” She pulled a billy club out of her uniform. “... that she is authorized to use force in the defense of Art.” By the time she finished speaking, Ditzy and Time Turner had already relocated to the other bench. With their ears folded back, they both gave Trixie sheepish grins. “Very good.” Smirking, she returned the club to her uniform. Then she rushed over and threw her forelegs around Ditzy. “Trixie is so happy to see you again, Dizzy!” Ditzy paused, then returned the embrace. Time Turner smirked. “‘Dizzy’?” “It’s kind of a long story,” Ditzy said. “Dizzy and Trixie met while traveling a few years ago. She made the road to Baltimare a great deal less boring!” “Okay, not that long a story.” Trixie stepped back. “So, what brings you to Canterlot, besides this glorious Art?” She glanced at Time Turner, then back to Ditzy. “Are you two ... together?” “Umm ...” Ditzy said. “Well,” Time Turner said, “we’re just—” Ditzy’s hoof covered his mouth, cutting him off. “Yep! Time Turner here is totally my boyfriend!” Time Turner shot Ditzy a quizzical look from behind her hoof. Ditzy leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I’ll explain later.” She pulled her hoof back and said aloud, to Trixie, “He’s a doctor! And you know what they say about doctors ...” “Yes ...” Trixie looked back and forth. “Trixie knows exactly what they say about doctors, of course. And Trixie, likewise, has found somepony else.” “How nice!” “But you can’t meet her now, because she’s getting a degree in Vanhoofer.” “Of course, of course.” “Anyway! No doubt you’re wondering how Trixie wound up working here. Well, there was an unfortunate incident involving a bear in some backwater town. Ponyville. You’ve probably never heard of it.” Time Turner and Ditzy exchanged glances as they both bit back laughs. Trixie didn’t notice. “But it became clear to Trixie that Equestria just isn’t ready for her stage show yet. So she’s been working odd jobs. Saving up money, gathering information ... waiting for the right time to show that stupid lavender unicorn who’s really the greatest magician in Equestria ...” “‘Lavender unicorn’?” Time Turner said. “You don’t mean Twilight Sparkle, do you? Because she’s really more purple.” Trixie spun and planted her forehooves on Time Turner’s shoulders. “You know Twilight Sparkle?” “Not really,” Ditzy said. “I mean, we just live in the same town as her, but that doesn’t—” “By the way,” Time Turner cut in, smirking, “how did she like that birthday present you got for her?” Ditzy clapped one hoof to her forehead and groaned. “Not helping ...” Trixie drew near to Ditzy. “So you’re close to Twilight! Wonderful! You can tell Trixie how to destroy her!” “What.” “How much does she know about Trixie? What does she say about Trixie?” “She doesn’t talk about you. As far I can tell, all of Ponyville just collectively forgot about you as soon as they fixed the bear damage.” “That’s terrible! No, wait, that’s great!” Trixie stepped back, spinning and gesticulating as she declared. “Twilight will be caught completely off-guard by Trixie’s triumphant return!” Ditzy sighed. “Look, I don’t want anything to do with your weird, one-sided rivalry. I’m just here for business.” “Oh, maybe Trixie can help you with that, Dizzy. In fact, she can definitely help! Trixie is the best at helping!” “I don’t know if you can—” “She could give us some inside information about the museum,” Time Turner interrupted. “But not for free!” Trixie declared. “For every question Trixie answers, you must answer one of hers.” “Deal.” Time Turner extended a hoof. Trixie bumped it. Ditzy looked back and forth between the two. “What is happening?” “Trixie goes first!” Trixie raised a hoof dramatically. “What ... is Twilight Sparkle’s favorite food?” “Nachos, of course,” Time Turner said. “Excuse us!” Ditzy grabbed Time Turner’s ear and dragged him off the bench. “Ouch ouch ouch, alright I’m coming!” He trotted after Ditzy. They walked until the curve of the hallway hid Trixie from them. “Alright, what is your problem?” “My problem?! What is your problem? Why are you suddenly selling out Twilight Sparkle?” “Is that it? No, I’m not selling Twilight out. I’m giving useless information, like ‘favorite food’, to a showmare with an inflated ego. You don’t seriously think Trixie could actually pose a threat to Twilight, do you?” “I don’t know! I don’t get Trixie, not anymore. So I have no idea what she’s capable of.” “In that case, I’m invoking my rank. And I say we’re going to play Trixie’s little game to get the information we need.” “You can’t pull rank! I asked for your help, but this is still my case.” “But you haven’t finished your R.S.S. classes yet. You can’t officially take any cases yet.” Ditzy smirked. Leaning back, she threw a hoof to her forehead and said in a wavery voice, “Oh dear, however will I handle a case without my official R.S.S. certification? It’s not like I’ve been doing this sort of thing all by myself for years, or anything!” Time Turner glared at her. Ditzy forced her eyes to align and glared back. Time Turner furrowed his brow and leaned closer. Ditzy furrowed her brow, and her left eye snapped to the upper right. Time Turner stepped back. “What if I give you veto rights? Any question that you think might legitimately give Trixie an edge against Twilight, you say the word and we won’t answer it. Deal?” “Only if I retain the right to throw you under the bus if this comes back to bite us in the rump.” “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” “Then let’s go.” When they walked back, they found Trixie keeping herself busy. She swung her billy club back and forth, simultaneously ducking and twirling to dodge imaginary counterattacks. “Whoosh!” she said under her breath with each swing. “Whoosh!” For every imaginary wrongdoer she bludgeoned into submission, she paused and posed dramatically. “Whoosh! Whoosh!” Then, noticing Ditzy and Time Turner’s return, she snapped to attention and hid the club. “So,” she said, “what pressing business did you two have?” “We had a vigorous disagreement about what Twilight’s actual favorite food is,” Time Turner said. “But after much debate, we’ve decided to stick with our initial answer.” “Yes,” Ditzy said. “Tacos.” “Nachos.” “What he said. Anyway, time for our question.” Ditzy pointed her hoof. “That modular wall over there. When did it get set up, and why?” “That’s two questions!” Trixie smirked. “But as for your first question, it went up about three weeks ago. Now! What is Twilight Sparkle’s favorite color?” Ditzy looked at Time Turner. “Purple?” “Yeah,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it’s purple.” Trixie produced a notepad and wrote in it at a furious speed. Ditzy said, “Alright—” “They added that wall,” Trixie said without looking up from her writing, “because they needed more space to hang paintings. That new Zebrican Art collection completely exhausted the available space. So ...” Trixie looked up from the notepad. “What is Twilight Sparkle’s preferred branch of magic and/or special talent?” Ditzy gave Time Turner a nod. He smiled and said, “Magic.” Trixie sighed. “Don’t play stupid, doctor. You know what magic is.” “I wasn’t asking for clarification. I was answering you. Twilight doesn’t have a preferred branch because magic itself is her special talent.” Trixie boggled. Ditzy cut in, “When did the art vandalism start?” Shaking her head, Trixie regained her voice. As she returned to writing in her notepad, she said, “The unknown vandal or vandals first struck about three weeks ago. Come to think of it ...” She stopped writing. “That was right after the new Zebrican Art exhibit opened up! Are you implying the two are connected?” “It’s a hypothesis we’re considering. So, on the nights that the vandals struck—” “Hold it! Trixie hasn’t asked her question yet.” “No, you did. You said, ‘Are you implying the two are connected?’ which is definitely a question.” Trixie ground her teeth but said nothing. “So, assuming you were on duty the nights the vandals struck, did you ever hear them?” “Yes. In fact, Trixie came closer than any other guard to catching them in the act! It was a dark and stormy night, last week. Trixie was halfway through her circuit of the museum exterior. Suddenly, she heard the ghastly scraping sound of metal against the marble floor. Trixie rushed inside! In a commanding voice, she shouted, ‘Halt, enemies of Art, or face the wrath of Trixie!’” “Very intimidating,” Time Turner said. “Of course! Those interlopers certainly thought so, too. When Trixie reached the source of the scraping sound—which was right here, in fact—the craven criminals were nowhere to be seen! Trixie searched the entire museum and found no more traces of them. They didn’t even trip Trixie’s alarm spell.” Ditzy quirked an eyebrow. Trixie noticed. “Don’t give Trixie that look! She found Whitemane’s Wooden museum bench had been unscrewed from the floor! The Art desecrators were here, and they doubtless would have done unspeakable things to it, if not for Trixie’s timely intervention!” Ditzy furrowed her brow. “Hmm. Very interesting. Maybe we really aren’t dealing with—” “Ahem! Trixie’s turn! What is the secret behind Twilight’s seemingly endless knowledge?” “She just reads a lot,” Time Turner answered. “Bah! Trixie also reads.” Scratch, scratch, scratch, went the quill in Trixie’s notepad. “She reads for fun,” Ditzy added. “She lives in a library and thinks it’s the best home in the world. Her last birthday wish list was organized by Dewey Decimal Numbers. She reads a lot.” “Bah! Trixie has a life.” “Anyway,” Ditzy said, “on the nights the vandals were successful, did any guards see anything?” “No, nothing. It was the same story each time: The guard completed the interior circuit and saw nothing out of place. The guard completed the exterior circuit and again found nothing unusual. The guard began another interior circuit, only to discover the horrifying act of sacrilege that happened in the interim.” “Hmmm ...” Ditzy placed a hoof to her chin. Trixie closed her eyes. “Now for Trixie’s next question—” “Nope! No more questions.” “—how did Twilight ...” Trixie’s eyes snapped back open. “What?” “I don’t have any more questions to ask you, so I’m not answering any more. Thank you, Trixie, you’ve been informative. But we’re done here.” Ditzy trotted away, and Time Turner went with her. Trixie threw her quill and notebook in the air and rushed after Ditzy. “But, but ... there’s so much more Trixie needs to know! Such as, where did Twilight get her dragon familiar? How often does she wear socks? When did—” “Trixie!” Ditzy spoke over her shoulder and continued walking. “I must have been sending mixed signals again, so let me make it very plain: Twilight Sparkle is my friend. I am not going to help you destroy my friend.” “And why not?” “You’re hopeless.” “Please!” Trixie threw herself on the ground in front of Ditzy. “Trixie will do anything you ask, anything! She just needs some more—” “Can you get us into the museum after hours?” Time Turner interrupted. “Don’t encourage her!” Ditzy said. “Yes!” Then Trixie folded her ears back. “I mean, no. That would get Trixie fired, and she needs this job. You’ll have to talk it over with the head of security.” “Head of security, huh?” Time Turner turned to Ditzy. “When I get written permission from the security guy, where should I leave it to find?” “What?” Ditzy cocked her head, then smiled. “Oh! Right, um ... over here!” A ceremonial Zebrican mask was on display to the side. Ditzy stuck her head behind its pedestal and emerged with a slip of paper in her mouth. Time Turner grabbed the paper and brandished it at Trixie. “What do you say to this? Haha!” Trixie stood up. She glanced at the paper, then back at Time Turner, confused. “That’s just some nonsense. What do you expect Trixie to say to that?” “What do you mean ...” Time Turner read the page: No dice. Head of security is too recalcitrant. —TT “‘Too recalcitrant’?!” Time Turner flung the paper to the ground and stomped on it. “You ne’er-do-well negotiator! Don’t blame the other party for your incompetence, mud-for-brains!” “Hey, hey.” Ditzy placed a hoof on Time Turner’s shoulder. “It’s not that big a deal. Calm down.” “Yes.” He sighed. “You’re right.” Trixie looked at them, incredulity written across her face. “You said you’re here on ‘business.’ Trixie really should have asked sooner, but what exactly is your business?” Time Turner looked at Ditzy. She said, “Umm ... Well, when we met before, do you remember the last thing you said to me before we went our own ways?” “Yes. Something along the lines of ‘That was your cue to leave, dummy!’” “No, no. Right before that.” Trixie glanced at Time Turner, then smirked at Ditzy. “Are you sure you want to talk about that right in front of your boyfriend?” Ditzy boggled for a second, then facehoofed. “Not that, darn it! You said I should find a place where I can pursue my calling without other ponies thinking I’m crazy. Well, I did it. And that brought me here.”   Trixie raised a hoof to her chin. “So, you got society to stop questioning your sanity ... by hanging out with ponies even crazier than you?” Ditzy facehoofed again, this time with both her fore hooves. Time Turner laughed. Ditzy returned her hooves to the ground and said, “You got it in one, Trixie.” She smirked and resumed trotting away, speaking as she went. “These days, I only hang out with ponies who remind me of you.” Trixie smiled. “And it's working out so well for ... Hey!”