The last train of the night slid into Ponyville Station in a cloud of steam that shone in the darkness. From a carriage burst one of the last officers to leave Camp Demob. His hat askew, his kit bag slung sloppily over one shoulder, terror on his face, Cherry Fizzy galloped across the platform and through Ponyville’s deserted streets.
He had heard terrible things on the train, from hearsay, from snatched glimpse of newspaper pages, from tabloids left behind by other passengers. All of them were garbled or inaccurate, but the same story was there: Fancypants’ business had collapsed, and with it the farm investment programme. Thousands of farms were going to fail, among them his own.
The clop of his hooves became a gentle beating as the paved streets gave way to the dirt tracks that surrounded Ponyville. Hedges and farmhouses that were lit by golden light in the night flashed past, until he reached a junction in the road. Cherry Fizzy turned left and galloped down a long driveway to the thatched-roof cottage beyond. As he neared, the front door opened, and a tiny figure emerged, bathed in golden light.
“DADDY!” cried Berry Pinch. The tiny foal galloped down the path.
Cherry Fizzy sank to his knees and threw his forelegs around his daughter. A tear ran down his muzzle and fell into her mane. “I’ve missed you, Pinchy.”
Berry Pinch looked up at him, her lip trembling and her eyes wide and shining with tears. “Daddy, daddy, mummy’s not well. She saw something in the paper today and... and...”
Cherry’s breath caught in his throat. He gently released Pinchy and stood up. Slowly, trembling, he walked forward and crossed the threshold into his home.
Curled against the kitchen dresser on the cold stone floor, her eyes red from crying, her mane bedraggled, was the wife he hadn’t seen in three months. Above her the dresser drawer was open, and lying next to Berry Punch was a bottle, that morning full, now drained to the dregs. The stink of cider surrounded her.
Cherry Fizzy fell to his knees next to Berry Punch and gently wrapped his forelegs around his sobbing wife. Tears flowed unbidden from his eyes as they crouched there, Pinchy weeping quietly at the door.
In that moment Cherry had no idea what to do. The three of them stayed there, even as the sky lightened and the sun slowly rose over the crops ripening in the fields.
***
Captain Summer Set stood at attention outside the Guards office in Canterlot Castle. The Guards passing to and fro and going in and out of the office had long since stopped trying to talk to him. Most of the old salts hadn’t even bothered: the pre-war cadre of the Royal Guard was well aware of Summer Set’s psychotic devotion to duty. He would remain standing there as long as Princess Twilight remained in her meeting, even to the point of dehydration.
Robotic though he may have appeared, Summer Set disliked the less-pleasant parts of his duties as much as any soldier. His knees were aching abominably and he desperately needed to scratch his nose. He tried to distract himself by making notes on the turnout and bearing of the other Guards: so far he had identified twenty-nine different deficiencies in uniform and drill. He intended to address every single one of them in his next report to his commanding officer.
Gritting his teeth to stifle a yawn, he flicked his eyes to look through the paned glass doors leading out into the drill square. The sky was lightening, he noticed with relief. A crowd of civilians – smaller than usual, he noted – was gathering in the square below the balcony. In half an hour the night guard would be relieved, and Princess Celestia would emerge onto the balcony to raise Sunday’s sun.
The door of the Guard office suddenly swung open and the Corporal waiting to relieve the night guard marched out. Confusion covered his face and he was checking his watch as he stared out into the quickly-lightening square. “What the...?”
The thirtieth lapse of the night was almost too much for Summer Set. He was ready to curse and belittle the soldier as a disgrace to his Corporal’s stripes, to his uniform, and to the Royal Guard. Then he caught a glimpse of the time on the Corporal’s watch: 06:28.
Half an hour too early for the sun to be rising...
Summer cursed himself for his own lack of professionalism. He had memorised the timings of the changing of the guards! He had done it himself for years! How had he forgotten?!
This suddenly became a distant concern to him as the sun broke over the roofs of Canterlot and bathed the drill square in morning light. The civilians in the square stared up at it in confusion, then up at the balcony, where their princess was nowhere to be seen. The Corporal looked in disbelief at his watch, then at the balcony, then at the sun, then at his watch again as he tried to make sense of it. Slowly, he turned to face Summer Set. “Sir? What’s... what’s happening?”
Words caught in Summer Set’s throat. As the sun slowly rose, unbidden, over Equestria, he felt himself begin to tremble in fear, confusion, worry, incomprehension, as on the square ponies began to scream.
***
Major General Neigh sat uneasily in his office in Trottingham Barracks. He had heard the story in the mess that morning. By now everypony had. It had spread feverishly from Canterlot, faster by word of mouth than by radio reports or by rapidly-printed extra editions of newspapers. He didn’t know what to believe, but he had heard it too many times for it to be untrue: that morning the moon had fallen and the sun had risen without Princess Luna and Princess Celestia’s magic.
After he’d heard it, he’d done what most ponies had tried to do: keep calm and carry on. But it nagged at him. Something had gone terribly wrong, whether with the Princesses or with magic he did not know. He had to find out more.
He pushed away the remains of his lunch, stood up from his desk and crossed the office to his radio. He twiddled the knobs for a few moments until he found a station.
“...to EBC Radio 5, I’m Auto Cue,” said the announcer. “The time is twelve PM. Well with me here this lunchtime are Chief Secretary to the Treasury Penny Bag and spokespony for the Parliamentarian movement, Ponyatowski. We’re going to discuss the government’s response to the crisis surrounding Toffeenose Mining, but as you probably know by now, events have overtaken us. So before we begin, Chief Secretary, does the government have anything to say to these rumours that Princess Celestia did not raise the sun this morning?”
“Uh... this is an issue I can’t comment on, Auto,” said Penny Bag. Her voice sounded halting and flustered. “I’d really rather we just moved on to...”
“Now hold on, Chief Secretary!” interrupted Ponyatowski sharply. “This is serious! If these rumours are true, then the sun rose without any control! Whatever explanation there is for this, and there are many, they should all give us worry! It’s been five hours and your government has made no statement on the issue!”
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Ponyatowski, Penny,” said Auto Cue. “The only statement we’ve had from Canterlot Castle today is that Princess Luna is visiting Manehattan to award medals, and that visit has been planned weeks in advance. Surely the public deserves to know what’s going on? There were ponies crying in the streets this morning!”
“As I said, Auto,” stammered Penny Bag. “This isn’t an issue I can comment on. I’m sure a statement will be...”
“Just a minute, Penny,” interrupted Ponyatowski again. “Are you saying you don’t know what’s behind all this?”
“I’m... Ponyatowski, I’m sure that our Princesses...”
“The Princesses haven’t told you, you mean to say?”
“I must say this is rather unusual, Penny,” said Auto Cue. “Has there not been a Privy Council meeting to discuss this?”
“Well, we... that is to say I... uh, we will...”
“The Privy Council hasn’t been recalled?” demanded Ponyatowski. Neigh could hear the relish in his voice. “Penny, this is a national crisis! There could be something wrong with the sun, something wrong with Celestia, or even something wrong with magic itself and the Privy Council, Parliament and the public are all being kept in the dark!”
There was silence for a moment before Auto Cue said; “All right, let’s move on.” Before he switched his radio off, Neigh could hear Penny Bag’s sigh of relief.
He’d learned nothing more, but in truth that wasn’t the issue he was most concerned about. No, what worried him most was the thing everypony else seemed to have forgotten about: that Equestria’s economy had just tanked and that thousands of ex-soldiers, his soldiers, were now unemployed. He didn’t want to hear some politician’s excuses for it: they were dumping his ponies on welfare and had no plan for how to get them off.
Fuming, he sat back down at his desk, cursing the Treasury, cursing the Princesses, and cursing that criminal Fancypants. Rumour had it the bastard had slunk off to the Braytish coast somewhere.
There was a tap at his door and his adjutant walked in. When he saw Neigh’s expression he averted his eyes. “Some messages for you, sir.”
He laid two documents down in Neigh’s in-tray, one a slim envelope, the other an immensely-thick book so heavy it crushed the rest of the files in the tray until it was lying almost at the bottom. Neigh picked it up with a grunt and read the title: Principles of Military Movement. “And what is this?”
“Guide to the Royal Army’s new doctrine. Prince Shining Armor wants every officer to read it.”
Neigh flipped to the back of the book: it was seven hundred and sixty four pages in length, excluding the bibliography and index. He had a thought and flipped to the front, scanning the acknowledgements page. He found the name he’d feared he would: Princess Twilight Sparkle.
What business does that schoolfilly have writing about war, much less ruling!
He dismissed his adjutant with a nod, sighed and turned to a random page and began to read.
We therefore face a choice between basing our army around the principle of fire or the principle of mass, a chapter concluded. As was shown in the war, exceptionally well-drilled infantry are able to see off enemy attacks through the speed and accuracy of their fire alone. However, this requires great effort invested in the training of a single soldier, and thus implies a small, professional army. Alternatively, we may rely on mass, using the speed, energy and impact of a large, dense formation of troops to scatter the enemy. This allows for mass armies raised and trained cheaply and quickly, though this may well be outweighed by the inevitable casualties such formations will suffer.
Neigh groaned and leaned back in his chair. Spirits, did Shining Armor expect him to read nearly eight hundred pages of this?!
His eyes fell on the envelope in the in-tray. Reading the letter seemed as good an excuse to put off reading the book as any. The envelope was of creamy parchment, and when he opened it, a letter on similar paper written in a Unicorn’s immaculate calligraphy slid out.
Dear Major General Neigh,
I have recently been told that you have returned from the south with the conclusion of the war. As you may be aware, in light of the tragic economic crisis that has so suddenly hit us, the Parliamentarian movement is looking into ways we may improve the lot of those ponies who have been badly-affected, in particular, recently demobilised soldiers.
Your bravery and leadership during the war were much remarked on here in Canterlot, and I can think of no better stallion than you to help us formulate policy to assist Equestria’s soldiers in their time of need. I hope you will be able to join me for a drink at my mansion in Canterlot tomorrow evening so that we may discuss the true essentials of what is really needed before we get into the real business of policy-making.
I would be honoured if you are able to attend.
Yours sincerely,
Blueblood
Neigh lowered the letter, staring at it in disbelief. Blueblood? One of the most influential stallions in Equestria wanted to talk to him? It seemed absurd.
But, he reasoned, there was an election coming up at the end of next year, and given how everything had changed that morning, Blueblood’s party was definitely going to make gains. Whatever chance he had to help his soldiers, he would take it.
***
“I left him in the drawing room, sir,” said Cordwainer. “With the whisky, as you instructed.”
“Excellent.” Walking across the landing, not for the first time that evening Blueblood felt uncomfortable without his usual suit. Ponies might not normally wear clothes, but to a stallion of his means, they were an expression of wealth and power, and he hated being without them. “Don’t know why I suggested an informal drink.”
“If I might make so bold, sir, I doubt Mr Neigh owns a set of white tie.” The butler was of course wearing his own as usual.
“Mmm.” Blueblood crossed to the top of the stairs. “I intend to be up with him until late: have one of the hoofstallions prepare a room. I’ll make sure he needs it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Blueblood turned to descend the stairs, but at that moment the door to the first-floor bathroom opened and a servant carrying a bucket and mop issued on to the landing. When she saw Blueblood she froze in terror.
“Daisy!” hissed Cordwainer. He turned to Blueblood. “I’m sorry sir, I had no idea she wouldn’t be finished up here but you know how it can be with new...”
“What’s your name?” interrupted Blueblood, staring intently at his new scullery maid.
“Daisy. Daisy Chain, sir,” she squeaked. Underneath an apron the Earth Pony had a coat that was a grey so pale it was almost white. Beneath a servant’s cap she had tied up a violet mane.
Blueblood nodded slowly. “I’m sure you’re going to enjoy working here.”
Cordwainer stared at his employer dumbfounded for a few moments, before sharply jerking his head at Daisy Chain. She hastily gathered up the mop and bucket and disappeared to the servants’ stairs.
Blueblood nodded at his butler. “As we discussed.” Then he descended the stairs, marched across the entrance hall, and entered the drawing room.
The red-coated Earth Pony sat uneasily on one of the leather sofas. He leapt up as Blueblood entered. He noted with satisfaction that the glass on the table next to him was three-quarters empty. “Mr Blueblood!”
“Major General Neigh, welcome.” Blueblood tightly clasped and shook his hoof. “Shall I top you up?”
He did not wait for an answer. He unstopped the whisky decanter and filled Neigh’s glass almost to the brim.
“Thank you.” Neigh took a hearty swig of the golden liquid.
Blueblood smiled. He had been preparing for this meeting for months. As Heir to the Throne, he had cultivated friends and contacts in the Royal Guard, friends and contacts that had risen to high positions in the new Royal Army, helped along of course by his wealth paying for their new commissions. They had told him things: of an officer passed over promotion multiple times despite his obvious ability; of that officer suddenly raised to high position yet still distrusted by Shining Armor as too revolutionary in his thinking; of that officer nearly losing the Battle of Valneigh for the Royal Army; of that officer being convinced that he had been denied recognition for a great victory; of that officer seeing his regiments shot to pieces in front of him at the Battle of Silvestris; of that officer banished to a distant flank at the Battle of the Kelpie Creek and left away from the decisive moment.
This was Major General Neigh: he was determined and aggressive almost to a fault. He was tactically brilliant, operationally inept, and strategically vacuous. He demanded recognition and reward for both himself and his soldiers, and tied the success of one with that of the other. And outside the narrow field of sending one block of troops to efficiently kill another block of troops, he was a complete naïf.
To summarise, he was the perfect military commander for Blueblood.
Blueblood took a seat next to him, nursing his own glass of whisky, which he made sure to only sip. “They tell me you’re critical of the Ministry of War’s policies, Major General.”
Neigh nodded grimly. “They’ve cast my ponies out on to welfare. After everything we did for Equestria. No jobs, no money, no hope. They’re not even releasing the pensions.”
“And what would you do instead?”
Neigh took another gulp of whisky, half-draining his glass. “Fancypants and Filthy Rich had the right idea, before the bastard crashed his company and made us pay for it. I suppose it all comes down to money, and there’s none of that left now, is there?”
Blueblood nodded slowly. “There are those within the Parliamentarian movement who believe that this coming election will be our chance to make truly radical changes to Equestria. The events surrounding yesterday’s sunrise have only entrenched that opinion.”
“And you disagree, Blueblood?”
“Everypony’s heard that train-crash interview Penny Bag did yesterday, Neigh. Nopony in the government knows what’s going on. Celestia hasn’t told them why the sun rose without magic. I regret to put it in such terms, but she is treating her ministers and Parliament with contempt. Even if the Parliamentarians form a government after the next election, frankly I cannot imagine her accepting us, least of all a stallion like me.”
Neigh took another gulp of whisky. “Mmm. What are your options then?”
“You’re a soldier, Neigh. You know that when the crisis appears you need to seize opportunities or be defeated, even if that means acting rashly. The same is true in politics now. We must act, in this case rashly.”
Neigh nodded in understanding. “And what kind of rash action did you have in mind?”
Blueblood was outwardly calm. Inside he was a knot of tension. He was gambling everything he had on a single throw. If Neigh was truly the stallion Blueblood thought he was, then victory was his. But if Neigh was not as disillusioned as he had come to believe, then all his plans were dust. At the very best, Neigh would withdraw and that would expose him as a failure to Radical Road, who could sideline him. At the very worst, Neigh might report him for conspiracy to overthrow the government.
“That would be a question for the Commander-in-Chief of the Forces,” Blueblood said slowly.
“The Commander-in-Chief?” said Neigh thoughtfully.
Blueblood nodded. “Second, in military matters, only to the head of state.”
Neigh nodded slowly and drained his glass. “If I were that stallion, my ponies would be being treated very differently.”
Blueblood smiled. He could feel the portraits of the Bluebloods that lined the drawing room’s walls beaming down at him in approval. “We were thinking the same thing.”