“The map shows our new school two blocks down.”
A large map of Tall Tale floated in the blue glow of Pumpkin Cake’s telekinesis.
“As long as this one’s ours, and not one of the zillion other high schools in town,” said Pound Cake.
The twins’ hoofsteps clacked on the concrete sidewalk, a hollow sound on a terrain so alien compared to the dirt roads of Ponyville. Motorcars sputtered along the asphalt, spewing smelly fumes and honking their horns. Ponies wearing coats, flannel jackets, and other clothing passed by. The sides of the towering buildings were covered in graffiti. Discarded newspapers and cans littered the gutters. Homeless ponies begged for change. Off in the distance, there was a loud bang, and somepony screamed.
Pound shook his head. “I’ll just be glad to get inside the school. There’s too much sketchy stuff out here.”
“Yeah, because crime never happens at school,” Pumpkin quipped.
Pound chuckled as they rounded another corner. “Try to be optimistic, Pumpkin. Why don’t you just give, um… Something Something High School a chance?”
“Chancellor Puddinghead High School?” Pumpkin pointed to the sign, her mouth opening in disbelief.
Pound glanced at it, blinked a few times, and then laughed.
“Wow,” he said.
“They named our new school after one of the worst leaders ever,” Pumpkin sighed. “Way to set the bar.”
“Well hey, sis,” Pound guffawed. "At least they didn't name it King Sombra High School!”
Pumpkin rolled her eyes. “Or Lord Tirek High School.”
The walls were covered in graffiti, the jagged and colorful letters a stark contrast to the faded red brick. Bars covered the windows, and stray cats sat outside, yowling. Outside, young ponies stood, wearing backwards baseball caps and smoking cigarettes that smelled like melted cough drops.
The twins walked in the door. A line of students snaked for many yards through the lobby. At the front of the line stood an obese, tan earth security stallion. He chewed gum obnoxiously loud and wore a blue polo with the nametag ‘Finder Frank.’
Finder Frank would wave a stick over students’ bodies, which made a beeping sound. Then he’d pat them down, search their backpacks, and send them along. Finally, he'd holler “Next!”, repeating the process.
“There was less security when Princess Celestia visited Ponyville,” Pumpkin observed.
“Wow, how many criminals go to this school, anyway?” asked Pound.
"A lot," said a bright-red unicorn standing in front of Pound in line.
The line moved along, the guard’s intermittent cries of “Next!” breaking the otherwise monotonous wait, until finally it was the twins’ turn.
“Next!” he practically screamed right in their ears. Pumpkin rubbed her temples, getting a headache from his repeated cries.
“Hey, we’re right here, why you gotta shout?” asked Pound.
“And we’ve been waiting in line for ten minutes. I think we’d know when it was finally our turn,” said Pumpkin. “We’re high schoolers; we all know how lines work by now.”
Ignoring the twins’ criticisms, Finder Frank simply waved the detection wand over them, his reeking body odor wafting around, his rolls of flab jiggling like gelatin.
“Now just step through this archway and head to class,” Frank said. He pointed to a grey arch labeled Temporary Unicorn Horn Disabler 6000.
“Wait, I can’t use magic here?” Pumpkin asked.
“That’d be like taking my wings,” said Pound. “It’s not right.”
“Security concern,” said the guard. “We can’t have unicorns using magic on campus. They might cast addictive spells like want-it need-it, or they might murder somepony.”
Pumpkin raised her eyebrows. “How would you kill a pony with magic?”
The guard narrowed his eyes. “Let’s see here. You could… snap their neck with telekinesis, turn them into a newt and step on them, hypnotize them into shooting themselves, teleport them off a rooftop, turn invisible and stab them, set them on fire, freeze them, electrocute them, travel back in time and stop their parents from ever meeting, make their head spontaneously—”
“Okay, I get it,” Pumpkin grumbled. “Take my magic, huh? Maybe this really is Tirek High School.”
“Don’t worry. When you leave today, you’ll get your magic back, and you can do all the WINI and drive-by zappings you want,” said Frank. Then, he turned to a student who’d dozed off during the long wait.
“NEXT!”
The student’s head jolted up, and the guard wanded him.
“Oh, so that’s why he shouts!” Pound exclaimed.
Pound and Pumpkin Cake walked the halls, looking for their homeroom. They at least had that ‘class’ together, though their schedules differed otherwise. Pumpkin was smarter than Pound, so she was in the gifted classes, while Pound was an average student, but more athletic, so he was in electives like gym and woodshop.
The hallways were vast and intimidating. The vinyl floor was covered in spills that the janitor—if they even had one—had yet to clean up. Half of the lockers were covered in graffiti. And in just five minutes, Pound and Pumpkin had already seen more ponies in the hallways than had lived in the entire town of Ponyville. The other students only gave the twins two types of stares: leers like cockatrices, or thousand-yard stares. Pound wondered, could they smell fear? Probably.
“Pumpkin, I think we passed our homeroom like, two hallways ago,” Pound said. “Are you sure we have the right number?”
“Yes, I checked it before. I have the class schedule right here, and I’m positive it said room 183. Hold on—”
She tried to unzip her backpack with her teeth, but the zipper kept falling from her mouth.
“Stupid no magic rule,” she muttered, trying to grab the zipper with her hooves now, with no luck.
Pound simply stood by, laughing.
“You look so silly!” he said.
She sighed. “Can’t believe I have to fumble around without magic like some kind of…”
“Zebra?” asked Pound.
Pumpkin glanced up at him. “I would’ve said earth pony, but didn’t want to sound raci—”
She caught his gaze. Down the hallway, a group of twenty zebra students stood around chatting by some lockers. Their stripes blended together, and they looked like a black-and-white wall.
“Never realized how many zebras lived in Tall Tale,” said Pumpkin.
“There must be a Zebratown here,” said Pound.
A young, smiling zebra approached the twins. He wore a set of glasses and had a bowl-cut, solid black mane.
“Hi, you two. You look new,” he said.
They both nodded.
“Hello, I’m Pumpkin Cake.”
“Sup. I’m Pound, her twin brother. We’re sophomores.”
“My name is Zeke,” said the zebra, reaching out for a hoofshake.
A few moments passed. His hoof dangled in the air unmet, like an incomplete suspension bridge.
“...And?” asked Pound.
Zeke raised his eyebrows. “‘And’ what? I don’t get it.”
Pumpkin clarified, “You said ‘my name is Zeke,’ so now you’re supposed to say a phrase rhyming with Zeke. Like, ‘My name is Zeke, and I am meek,’ or something.”
Zeke laughed. “Well, the meek part is true: I am only thirteen, but I skipped a few grades and now I’m a sophomore. But my first two sentences only rhymed by coincidence. What, did you think that I rhyme everything?”
The twins nodded.
“Where did you two get such a silly idea?”
“We’ve only met one other zebra: our friend Zecora from Ponyville. She rhymes whenever she talks,” said Pumpkin.
“So we just figured, that...” Pound started, trailing off. “Ya know, that… because…”
Zeke frowned. “So just because you met one zebra who rhymes when she talks, means that we all do? That’s a tad stereotypical, hmm?”
Pound and Pumpkin Cake both blushed beet red.
“In return for that, you both have to be my best friends,” said Zeke, smiling. “And talk to me every day in the hallway, and sit with me at lunch, and stand out here with me so that—”
“Zeke the geek!”
A passing pony grabbed Zeke’s backpack and dumped the contents out, laughing as he scrambled to pick them up. Pumpkin cursed her lack of magic, or she’d try to be helpful. She was quite efficient at levitating messes off the floor, after years of both living at a bakery and sharing a room with Pound. Thank goodness she didn’t have to physically touch his messes.
“Don’t worry, Zeke; I always protected my sister from bullies back in Ponyville,” said Pound. “Nopony will mess with you while I’m around.”
“Did the Ponyville bullies have knives and guns?” asked Zeke. “Were they in gangs?”
Pound blinked. “Uh, sorry… what?”
“Ponyville is a small farm town with zero crime and not even a thousand residents. There were only forty kids at our old high school. The only knives in Ponyville are butter knives, and the only guns are shotguns to scare away manticores,” said Pumpkin.
“And the only gang is the barbershop quartet that Big Macintosh was in,” said Pound.
Zeke shook his head. “The bullies at Puddinghead High are different. They’re all in gangs. I try to steer clear of them, but they target me for being nerdy. They’ve even threatened my life.”
Pound and Pumpkin Cake shook their heads.
“That’s terrible,” said Pumpkin.
“Yeah,” said Pound.
A few seconds of awkward silence passed. Then the bell rang.
“Oh no, don’t wanna be late, bye Zeke!” Pound shouted, picking up his sister by the front hooves and flying down the hall.
“...And for my current events report, I’ll just do what everyone else did. The fall of the Equal Empire is like, the biggest historical event since Luna’s return. I’m just so happy that those millions of ponies can enjoy their special talents again, instead of living under Starlight Glimmer’s planned economy. Best of all, Equestria can finally stop its arms race with the Equals, and we’ll all be friends again! This decade is gonna rule! So… uh, yeah, that’s my report.”
The class lightly applauded the student.
“Thanks, Sunflower,” said the history teacher, Miss Era, groaning at the spate of twenty nearly-identical reports. The monotony had only been broken once, by Zeke, who’d reported on the WINI epidemic ravaging Equestria’s inner cities, including Tall Tale. He had gotten extra credit for originality. As Pumpkin Cake was new, she was excused from giving a current event report, and instead was asked to briefly introduce herself to the class.
“After all, everyone is part of history, even you,” Miss Era had said. Pumpkin nearly gagged at the corniness.
By now, Pumpkin was a novice at using opening her backpack and writing notes without magic, though the notes were hardly legible. Hoofwriting would take much getting used to, but she would never get used to the learning environment. This was allegedly a gifted history class, but the textbooks were outdated, the teacher seemed lackadaisical, and the students were disrespectful. She couldn't imagine what Pound was going through in his classes.
Pound Cake sat in a math class, staring out the window, wishing he could fly away.
“Taking X-squared gives the result.”
Normally, his sister had been the smart one, but either Ponyville High did a great job of teaching him, or Puddinghead High just sucked that bad, because Pound already knew the material.
“Now, who can tell me how much X is? How about you, Bounding Prairie? How much is X?”
The red unicorn glanced up from his desk.
“A lot,” he said.
The teacher shook her head. “No, the answer is sixty-four.”
“But sixty-four is a lot,” said a young mare. The other students nodded.
“Equations only have one correct answer,” said the teacher.
“I got confused in math once we started adding the letters,” said another student.
Pound had to hold in his laughter.
The twins and Zeke sat at a round table during lunch. On the menu was apples and bananas. The bananas were as black as darkest night, while the apples had scrapes on them. The Cakes couldn't stomach them.
“This day just needs to end,” said Pound. “I’m so bored, I’ve fallen asleep in class.”
“But you fell asleep in class back in Ponyville High, too,” said Pumpkin.
“That wasn’t a deep sleep, though. I’m talking REM sleep, sis. I’ve had dreams today.”
“Did you dream about a better school?” she asked.
“That and flying, yeah.”
“I’ve always wondered what it’s like to fly,” said Zeke. “But it’s not what zebras do.”
“What do zebras do, anyway? I mean, Zecora mostly just stayed in the woods,” said Pumpkin.
“In the home country, we drink from the lake, eat grass from the field… and then run for our lives so that a griffon doesn’t eat us,” said Zeke.
Pound and Pumpkin Cake both blinked.
Zeke shrugged. “Eh, it’s not that bad. You just have to be faster than the slowest zebra to survive. That, or emigrate to Equestria like my folks did!”
The twins chuckled.
“I’m just looking forward to the day being over,” said Pumpkin. “I want to go unpack my belongings. We only arrived in Tall Tale last night.”
“Won't you sign up for any extracurriculars?” asked Zeke.
Pound raised his eyebrow. “Like what?”
Zeke smiled. “They’re having signups in here after school. You should come! I’ll have my own table!”
After school, Pumpkin Cake walked through the cafeteria from table to table. Most of the clubs didn’t interest her. The mock trial club was full of students who wanted to represent themselves in actual court for actual crimes, defeating the whole ‘mock’ aspect. The students at the debate team table were having ferocious arguments over whether the West Side Slayers or the Zebra Zaruki had claim to the territory south of twenty-fifth street, and they always talked about settling these debates “outside.”
Unfortunately, Puddinghead High didn’t have a magic club like Ponyville High did, or Pumpkin would’ve joined. Her special talent was intangibility magic, which let her phase solid objects through each other. She could walk through walls, turn ponies intangible like ghosts, and make some unique food items. At Sugarcube Corner, she’d made seedless apples, and she’d hollowed out pumpkins, phasing out the mush and putting cakes inside. This was a funny surprise to jack-o-lantern carvers, who’d cut into a pumpkin but find cake instead of orange goop. Seedless apples and pumpkin cakes were best-sellers.
Of course, Pumpkin didn’t tell anypony at the school about her special talent, and in history class had lied about what her cutie mark represented. After all, given the security personnel's attitude towards magic, she might as well have admitted that her talent was ripping ponies’ hearts from their chests like some Daring Do villain. She might as well have worn a T-shirt that said ‘psycho thug killer’ on it. While some kids at Puddinghead High actually did wear shirts like that, that was beside the point.
Zeke was seated by himself at a corner table. “Hi, Pumpkin Cake. Where’s Pound?” he asked.
“He’s outside, checking out sports teams. How about you? What’s this table?”
“Chess club!” Zeke exclaimed, pointing to a chessboard on the table.
Pumpkin smiled. The game of chess had been the same everywhere for centuries. Not even Puddinghead High could screw that one up!
“Okay, that sounds fun. I’d like to sign up, please.”
Zeke’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? That’s awesome! Here’s our sign-up sheet!”
He pushed a clipboard and attached pencil across the table. Pumpkin opened her mouth to grab the pencil, but then hesitated as she realized how gross that was. How many other ponies had put their slobbery mouths on it? But then her heart sank as she realized that she need not worry. The sign-up sheet had but one name on it: Zeke’s.
“I’ve been sitting here for two hours and you’re my first signup. I’d love to play hundreds of rousing games of chess with you, Pumpkin. Huzzah!” Zeke proclaimed.
Pumpkin blushed. “Uh… that’s okay. I’m not that good at chess, anyway.”
Pound Cake soared through the courtyard at the school, which rather resembled one at a prison due to the window bars. Just like in the cafeteria, many different teams stood around. Unfortunately, they all sucked.
The wrestling team lacked the funds to afford mats, so they had to wrestle atop crushed cardboard boxes. The hoofball team couldn’t afford uniforms, so they played without padding. The basketball team was fully equipped, since that just required a ball and a net. But the team didn’t allow flying, as that would provide pegasi an unfair advantage in getting slam dunks. Pound wasn’t interested in a sport that frowned upon his special talent.
At Sugarcube Corner in Ponyville, Pound had been the delivery colt, and could fly through the air carrying many pounds of cakes, eggs, and flour. He could even carry ponies like his sister or parents for hours over many miles. His combination of flight and strength made him a valuable asset to the family business.
He came across a group of six young stallions holding nine irons, all wearing fancy jet black suits. Golf wasn’t his favorite sport, but at least it was something, and this club actually looked like it had money.
Pound asked, “Is this Golf Club?”
“Yeah, we got our golf clubs right here. What are you, retarded or somethin’?” one of the stallions jeered. They all held their nine irons up high.
“I’m Thin Horsey, and I’m the leader of this crew,” said a lanky, dark red earth stallion in a gruff, hoarse voice.
Pound smiled. “Great, how can I join? I wanna whack some golf balls!”
“Well, I dunno about golf, but I do know that somepony’s gettin’ whacked!” one of the stallions said.
Another stallion said, “Yeah, and if he strays too far outta line, he’ll be swimmin’ with the fishies and lost balls in the water hazard!”
“Hey, fair warnin’, kid. Once you join this little gentlestallion’s club of ours… you’re in for life. This is serious business,” said Thin Horsey.
Pound raised an eyebrow. “I thought that it’s just a game.”
“This is a game to you?” a lanky stallion in the back shouted.
“You gotta look at the bigger picture here, kid. A lifetime. A commitment. A lifestyle,” said Horsey.
Pound backed off. “Sorry for bothering you.”
He left to search for another sports club, hopefully one that involved flying. But after searching to no avail, he just asked a coach.
“Hey, coach, does this school have a flight racing team?”
The coach shook his head. “Sorry, kid. School’s too broke to afford a track.”
Pound’s jaw dropped. “But you’re flying in the air. We could fly over the school, or down the street.”
“Can’t afford it,” the coach said.
Pound protested. “But the air is free, for cryin’ out loud! How much could it possibly cost to have a sky track team?”
“A lot,” said Bounding Prairies, who just happened to be walking by.
Pound groaned. “And how often do you have to repeat that stupid joke?”
“A lot.”
Pound sighed, flew up out of the courtyard and over towards the front of the school, where Pumpkin had just left the building and was walking on air. Literally, she was wrapped in a field of blue, levitating herself a few feet off the ground like a butterfly.
“Somepony’s sure happy about getting her magic back,” Pound chuckled, flying down to meet her. “Find a club to join?”
Pumpkin floated back down to the sidewalk. “Nope,” she said. “Unless you count Zeke, and he’s not a club: he’s one student.”
“Aw, rats. Well, I didn’t find a club either. All I found were sports teams with no money, and some guys in suits who were just jerks. I think they were gay or something… I mean, not like that’s bad or anything; I’m just saying ‘cause of how they dressed and talked. Really dapper, talking about gentlestallions’ lifestyles and stuff.”
Pumpkin sighed. “Let’s just go home. You should fly us.”
Pound nodded and picked up his sister, flying them both back home as they hung their heads low. About halfway there, they soon discovered why ponies in Tall Tale wore raincoats. The steely grey clouds that had hung in the sky all day started drizzling rain on them. Apparently, Tall Tale was having a city budget crisis, so they weren’t paying their weather team. Instead, they’d just let nature take over like in the Everfree Forest, so it rained whenever it felt like it. By the time that they got home, they were both very damp, cold, and miserable.
Pound and Pumpkin Cake walked sopping wet through the door of their new home, a street corner two-level shop a few miles from downtown. The bell above the door rang, and Mr. and Mrs. Cake rushed to greet them.
“Hello, dearies!” Mrs. Cup Cake exclaimed, giving them a giant bear hug.
“How was your new school?” asked Mr. Carrot Cake.
“Awful,” said Pound. “It’s full of gangs, the classes are bogus, and the sports teams are all broke!”
“They disabled my magic like I was a criminal. The textbooks are really bad, too,” said Pumpkin. A ratty, coffee-stained history book floated out of her backpack. She opened it to a random page. “Listen to this: ‘Someday, the dreaded Nightmare Moon may return from her lunar imprisonment and doom Equestria to eternal night.’ These books are older than me!”
Cup Cake shook her head. “I was afraid of that. I tried to get you kids into a better school, but there’s lots of busing, and no school choice in Tall Tale. Don’t worry, we’ll send you to a private school as soon as this store starts making money. I estimate that we’ll be very profitable, once the Hearths’ Warming Season comes and customers start buying hot chocolate and gingerbread.”
It had always been Mr. and Mrs. Cakes’ dream to franchise Sugarcube Corner. They had sold the old store in Ponyville to Pinkie Pie, who’d promised to give the Cakes 10% of the profits. They resolved to start a new store in a major city, then sell that one, rinse, and repeat. They picked Tall Tale, as it had a burgeoning café scene and promising economy. This particular location was close to the headquarters of a growing new tech company.
But the store needed much renovation. The moldy floorboards needed replacing. All of the new baking equipment and coffee machines needed unpacking. The tables needed dusting and cleaning. The former owners had taken their oven with them, so the Cakes had bought a new, state-of-the-art one. The store exterior needed to be repainted, and the Sugarcube Corner sign wasn’t even hanging up yet. They didn’t plan on opening for another month.
“Someday, ponies across Equestria will be swimming in cookies, cakes, and coffee,” said Carrot. “You twins will be millionaires, and there’ll be Suggy C’s in every city!”
“Suggy C’s?” asked Pound.
“That’s what ponies will call Sugarcube Corner for short,” said Cup.
“And in Oatstralia, they’ll call us Suggas,” said Carrot. “We’ll have radio and TV ads all across the world. I can hear the jingle now! Bah-da-ba-ba—”
Pumpkin groaned. “I’m glad that you two have that all figured out. Best to dream big, and then focus on little things like, oh, I don’t know, where to send your own kids to school where we won’t get shot.”
“Oh, quit being a grouch, Pumpkin,” said Pound. “Mom and Dad are doing their best.”
“Great,” Pumpkin sighed.
“I did plenty of market research beforehoof. This store will be very profitable, I promise you, Pumpkin,” said Mrs. Cake, patting her daughter on the head. “Just hang in there; it’s a brief transition for now.”
Pumpkin smiled. “Okay.”
There was a knock on the door. Mr. Cake’s ears shot up.
“A customer!” he exclaimed, practically tripping over his own hooves as he zipped through the boxes to open it up.
“But we aren’t open yet,” said Mrs. Cake.
Carrot turned back. “I’ll just give them a business card and tell them to come back soon.”
He opened the door, and there stood the six suited stallions with golf clubs.
“Hello, gentlecolts, what can I do for you, today?” Carrot asked.
Thin Horsey spoke. “Well, we heard you was openin’ a new business.”
The other five stallions lightly tapped their hooves with their golf clubs, showing that they meant business.
“It’s a nice place you got. It would be unfoitunate…” Horsey started, walking in past Carrot, motioning with his hoof around the room. “...if somethin’ were to happen to it. But with a little money, you’ll be in good hooves.”
Carrot smiled. “I know. That’s why we have the best insurance that money can buy!”
Horsey chuckled, along with his five comrades. Mrs. Cake took her husband aside and whispered into his ear. His eyes widened upon hearing what she said. Carrot turned back to Horsey and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, but we’re not interested,” he said, frowning. “Please leave, or we’ll call the police.”
“The coppers ain’t gonna protect you,” said Horsey, walking towards the door and shaking his golf club at them. “We are the law in this town. You two just watch ya back. Your kids, too. That pegasus of yours has a big mouth on him.”
Pound’s head jolted as the stallion walked out the door.
That night, Pound and Pumpkin sat in their new room, unable to sleep. Their two beds were set up side by side. Boxes were still piled on Pound’s side of the bedroom, and all sorts of junk covered his bed. Pumpkin was busy levitating all of her belongings into place on her shelves.
Pumpkin said, “You were wrong, Pound. That’s not some gay golf group. They’re the mafia.”
Pound shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong, though. Maybe they’re the gay mafia I keep hearing about?”
“They’re not gay!” she snapped. “...I mean, it’d be okay if they were, but they’re not.”
He scoffed. “Well how do you know?”
“Because there’s six of them, and gays are five percent of the population. Do the math. Statistically speaking—”
Pound chuckled. “Even though I fell asleep in math class, I’m still pretty sure math teaches fractions, not sweeping generalizations.”
Pumpkin sighed. “This is the stupidest argument I’ve ever had in my life. I’m telling you, Pound. Mom and Dad didn’t make a wise call. Those mob enforcers will shake down our business until we pay protection money. Bad things could happen.”
Pound shook his head. “Giving money to the mob is wrong, though. That’s helping them out. I think our folks did the right thing.”
“If by ‘right thing,’ you mean putting our lives in danger, then sure. Haven’t you ever read the Detective Cold Case novels? The mob will burn down your house if you don’t pay them.”
Pound chuckled. “You know I don’t read books, sis. I just wait for the movie. Yeah, there’s a risk, and I’ve seen plenty of gangster movies. But we’ll handle the risk as a family.”
“Unless we get whacked,” Pumpkin scoffed. She had finished putting everything into place, and got into her bed, as Pound got into his bed.
Pound started, “You know that—”
“Let’s just talk tomorrow,” said Pumpkin, turning off the light.
“Wanna be rested for school, huh?” asked Pound.
Pumpkin sighed. “Not really. I’ve just had enough of this day.”
As they drifted off to sleep, however, a loud crash awoke them. Pound jolted out of bed, his ears perking up as a thumping sound followed.
“Pumpkin!” he whispered urgently. “Wake up! Something’s going on.”
Pumpkin merely grunted and shifted to the other side of her bed.
Pound sighed, left his sister to sleep, and rushed into the hall. The noise was coming from downstairs. He silently hovered in the air, making his way down the stairs. If it was a burglar, he didn’t want to make his presence known. He peered out.
The shop’s front windows were shattered, the glass shards on the floor glinting in the moonlight. Two earth stallions clamored into the kitchen. Pound’s heart raced as the stallions heaved the brand new, expensive oven onto their backs.
Pound flew over to them, knocking one stallion in the jaw with his hoof. He grunted. But then, a third stallion jumped through the window, ran over to Pound, and swung a golf club towards his face. Pound ducked, and the club instead stuck in some drywall. While the attacker tried to pull out his club, Pound punched him in the stomach, and he doubled over.
By this point, the two earth stallions were heaving the oven out through the window. Pound zipped over, trying to stop them, but a loud, high-pitched noise erupted. A unicorn fired a purple beam through an opposite window at Pound. He fell to the floor in a flash of pain, his mane singed, as he lost consciousness.
“Son? Are you okay?” said Carrot Cake.
Pound’s eyes creaked opened. He jolted up. The bakery’s lights were on, and he surveyed the damage.
All of the shop’s front windows were busted out, and Pumpkin was busy floating cookie sheets to cover them as the cold rain blew in. One of the tables had been smashed in half. Worst of all, their oven was missing.
“The oven!” Pound shouted.
“It’s terrible,” said Cup, her eyes misty.
“I don’t know how we’ll buy a new one,” said Carrot. “That oven cost thousands of bits, and we have little cash right now.”
“We could take out another loan, maybe?” Cup suggested. “I don’t know if the bank will—”
There was a knock at the door. Pumpkin opened it.
There stood two Tall Tale police officers, one pegasus mare and one unicorn stallion, wearing thick black trenchcoats.
“Finally! It’s been an hour,” said Carrot.
“Took you long enough,” Cup grumbled.
“Officers,” said Pound, rushing over to them. “I know exactly who did this. They—”
“Woah, take it easy, champ,” said the policemare. She retrieved a notepad and jotted down a few things, then spoke some lingo into her radio.
“Okay,” she said. “Now tell us who.”
“They came here earlier demanding we pay them. They wear black suits and carry golf clubs, and they go to Chancellor Puddinghead High School,” said Pound.
“Black suits and golf cubs? Sounds like the Tall Tale Mafia,” said the policestallion. He shook his head. “We’ve been trying to get those guys for years, but they’re too slick. Their lawyers can get them out of anything. A few busted windows is kinda low priority. Honestly, we don’t investigate their crimes unless someone got shot, or something really valuable got stolen.”
“Valuable? They stole our two-thousand-bit oven!” Carrot exclaimed.
“An oven’s not worth two thousand bits,” said the policemare. “Sorry. If you paid that for it, you got ripped off. I bet it wouldn’t even fetch five hundred at a pawn shop.”
Cup shook her head. “It was a premium oven with three racks, which could each be set at different temperatures, and was low-energy—”
“It’s an oven, ma’am. You got ripped off,” the policemare repeated.
“Yes, we did get ripped off, when the mob stole our oven!” Carrot shouted. “And you guys won’t even investi—”
“Calm down, sir,” said the policestallion, zipping Mr. Cake’s lips closed with magic. “Like I was saying, we don’t investigate mafia crimes with low-value items stolen. Especially if we only have a single witness who thinks he saw them.”
“Think I saw them? He swung his golf club right at me,” said Pound Cake, pointing to the drywall hole.
“Again, without evidence, their attorneys can get them off,” said the policemare.
“Of course…” said the policestallion, smiling. “We can always do more investigation if we’re appropriately compensated. After all, the mafia is dangerous to go after, and we have plenty more serious calls we’re working on tonight. So how about a little service fee. Say… a quarter of the oven’s claimed value? That’s five hundred bits.”
He held out his hoof expectantly.
Carrot unzipped his mouth. “That’s ridiculous.”
Cup gasped. “We’d never pay a bribe, sir.”
“You say, ‘give us money or else.’ Hmm, where have I heard that one before?” asked Pumpkin.
The policestallion drew back. “Young lady, the TTPD is a respectable organization, entirely unlike the mafia. It’s unfortunate that your parents refuse to deal with us.”
He and the policemare turned to leave.
“Good luck with your new business,” said the policemare.
They closed the door behind them.
“...and mom and dad said that we might not even be able to open for business. If they have to buy a new oven, we’ll run out of cash. They’re trying to get a new bank loan, but—”
“It sucks!” Pound shouted, interrupting his sister. Zeke jolted in his seat, his cheese and broccoli soup sloshing onto the table, where it congealed into something resembling vomit. That couldn’t be safe to eat.
“My condolences,” said Zeke. “I’ve suffered burglaries before, though never from…”
He glanced across the cafeteria, where the suit-wearing ponies all sat at a single table, laughing and chatting.
“...the mob,” he finished. “You might as well write off whatever they’ve stolen from you.”
Pumpkin sighed. “That’s what the cops said. They said that they wouldn’t investigate, because the oven wouldn’t even fetch five hundred bits at a pawn shop.”
“Wait a minute,” said Pound. Then, he grinned. “That’s it! Pumpkin, we should check all the pawn shops around town!”
Pumpkin put her hoof over her mouth in a “shh” motion, then glanced over at the mob enforcers’ table, but they didn’t seem to have heard Pound. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s a good idea,” said Zeke. “I’d wait a few weeks, though. I doubt the mob would offload stolen goods immediately after stealing them. It would draw unnecessary suspicion.”
Pumpkin nodded. “We’ll wait, then.”
Pound flew through the air, the rain splashing on his black raincoat, as his sister tried to hold onto his slippery hooves for dear life.
“You sure we couldn’t just take the bus?” she asked, gazing through blurry eyes down at the buildings far below. She’d rode with Pound in rain before, but nothing like this. A lightning bolt zapped the rod on a tall tower just a dozen yards away from them, and the thunder was deafening. Pumpkin’s hair stood on end from the static.
“The bus? And sit next to homeless ponies who could stab us, and have to wait through a zillion stops to get there? I think I’ll take my chances flying, and arrive in ten minutes. Besides, you can self-levitate. If you slip from my hooves, just float on, okay?”
Pumpkin nodded. “Yeah, I guess I could do that, if I can react in time.”
“You worry too much, you know?” he asked, chuckling.
She sighed. “And you don’t worry enough.”
“Look, we’re here,” said Pound, and they descended to the front door of the Delta Pawn Shop.
“This had better be it. I’m sick of visiting all these pawn shops,” said Pumpkin.
Pound smiled. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”
They walked inside, water dripping from their raincoats and manes. Pound pointed towards the exact oven that the mob had stolen from the bakery, sitting in the back.
Pumpkin chuckled. “You phoned here ahead of time, didn’t you?”
Pound blushed. “Uh… maybe.”
The twins walked up to the counter, where a white bearded, cigar-smoking Saddle Arabian horse stood.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
Pumpkin started, “Well, sir, it looks—
“That’s our oven, and we want it back,” said Pound.
“No refunds!” the horse shouted. He pointed at the sign by the counter, which also said, “No refunds!”
“It’s stolen property,” said Pumpkin.
“You say that, but how I know you tell truth? Why you think that sign is posted? You want oven back, you buy back.” He frowned, smoke pouring from his nostrils.
Pound shouted, “This is ridiculous! You’re running a scam here, you—”
“How much?” asked Pumpkin.
“One thousand bits. You come back with money, then I sell oven no hassle. If you have no money, then scram!”
He neighed in his native language, pointing towards the door. The twins walked out into the rain as the downpour started to ease slightly.
“How will we get the money?” asked Pumpkin.
Pound said, “We don’t need to; we’ll just take the oven. We’ll come back tonight when the shop closes. You’ll get us in, and I’ll fly the oven out. Nopony will know.”
Pumpkin sighed. “The pawnbroker paid for that oven, though. Sure, it wasn’t the mob’s to sell, but maybe he didn’t know that. If we take it back now, we’d be ripping him off.”
“He’s a fence! How could he not know a bunch of guys in suits with golf clubs are the mob?”
Pumpkin scoffed. “The same way that you didn’t know. He’s not from this city… or even this country. They might not even have a mob in Saddle Arabia.”
“What about those, uh, Oil Petroleum Exporter whatever guys you told me about from history class?”
“That’s a bit different. He may be a fence, but we don’t know for sure. I’d prefer not stealing from an innocent shopkeeper.”
Pound shrugged. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. We won’t take the oven from the shop. We’ll just take the money from the mob.”
Pumpkin’s head jolted. “That’s not ‘my way!’ My way is that we, I don’t know, get part time jobs or something less risky.”
Pound sighed. “Come on, how risky could it be? After school, we stay at a safe distance and follow those golf club creeps to their base. We wait outside, then when the coast is clear, you phase us through the wall, and we find either a thousand bits stashed somewhere, or some jewelry to trade for our oven. Remember back when we would go exploring in the Everfree Forest?”
Pumpkin laughed. “Yeah, and I was uncomfortable with that, too.”
“But you went, and nothing happened then. Nothing will happen now, because guess what? This mission is less dangerous than that! The mob isn’t a manticore. Clubs aren’t cockatrices.”
Pumpkin grinned. “...Alright. We’ll do it, but we’ll be very careful.”
Pound smiled widely. “That’s my sis!”
After school, the six golf club-wielding stallions strutted down the streets like they owned them. Pound held his sister in his hooves, hovering so high that they’d appear as little more than specks to ponies on the ground. Pumpkin levitated a pair of binoculars over her eyes.
“Alright, they’ve just gone down Ivy… now they’re turning onto seventh…”
Pound groaned. “It’s been an hour. What, is this their grocery day or something?”
“No, it’s just a really sunny day. Gorgeous day to do shakedowns,” said Pumpkin.
One of the few benefits to the twins’ pawn shop-checking expedition was that they’d gotten to know the city’s layout fairly well. Hours passed, and the sun began to set. Even Pound’s sturdy wings were aching from hours of flapping to support his and Pumpkin’s combined weight, but finally she gave him some good news.
“Outside that coffee shop, they’ve handed off a briefcase to another stallion… probably a capo.”
After observing the caporegime for a while, Pumpkin said, “Okay, he’s headed to a mansion over in the eastern hills. Wow, that’s a nice place. I’ll bet that’s where the don himself lives.”
Pound grinned. “Let’s go!”
With a new-found vigor, he raced over to the mansion with Pumpkin. By this time, it was completely dark outside. At the mansion, the rushing waters of a marble fountain babbled. The hedges were all neatly trimmed. Lights shone through several of the windows.
“I think that we should phase through the roof, into the attic,” said Pumpkin. “Then, we can look around. But we should wait on the roof until they’ve gone to sleep.”
Pound nodded. After seeing nopony standing outside the mansion, he zipped over to the roof, his wings aching as he gently fluttered down, so as not to make a sound. He sighed in relief once he was standing atop the shingles, on his hooves again.
Hours later, all of the mansion’s lights were off. Thankfully, the twins had told their parents they’d be studying at Zeke’s, so they wouldn’t worry.
“Here goes,” said Pumpkin.
Her horn glowed a dim blue, causing an intangible opening to appear in the roof. Pound lowered her down through the hole. Once she and Pound were standing on the attic floorboards, Pumpkin cast an illumination spell. Inside the giant attic were many old paintings, furniture, and boxes. The musty smell assaulted their nostrils, and cobwebs covered every corner. Pumpkin jolted slightly at a bristle on her back that she thought was a spider, but was really Pound Cake’s hoof.
He chortled. “Gotcha, sis.”
“Now’s no time for practical jokes,” she scolded. “Let’s find their valuables, take them, and get out.”
The twins searched the attic, treading on the floorboards carefully so they wouldn’t creak. Unfortunately, they couldn’t find anything valuable.
Pumpkin sighed. “I guess we have to try all the rooms on the top floor, instead. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a safe or vault or something. I’ll take a peek, starting in the corner.”
Pound nodded. “Wish I could help you with this part. Good luck.”
Pumpkin’s horn glowed on a portion of floorboards. Unfortunately, intangibility couldn’t make objects transparent, so she still had to stick her head down through the floorboards to see what was below.
The corner room was a large master bedroom where an obese earth stallion snoozed in bed, snoring loudly. Pumpkin figured that he must’ve been the don, given the room’s size and its nice furniture. She trepidatiously cast a weak light spell to get a better glimpse of the room. There was a wardrobe, a large television, and three doors leading to other parts of the mansion… but no safe. Thankfully, the don’s snoring kept going even with the light, so she hadn’t woken him up.
She stuck her head back up through the floorboards and turned to her brother.
“That’s the don’s room. No safe in there,” she whispered.
“Okay. Maybe his office is nearby. I’ll bet it has a safe,” said Pound.
She walked over to another area of floorboards, repeating the process. As soon as she illuminated her horn, she smiled.
This room was an office, with several chairs, a mahogany desk with a nameplate that said “Don Portlypony”… and a wall safe behind the desk.
“Jackpot,” said Pumpkin.
“Okay, I’ll lower us down,” said Pound.
He grabbed her, and lowered her down into the room. They tip-hoofed over to the safe. Pumpkin phased her hoof through the safe door, and felt around inside.
“Here’s a stack of bills,” she whispered. The stack was so thick that she could barely wrap her hoof around the whole thing. She removed the bills. They were all hundreds, with Princess Celestia’s smiling face on them.
“...That’s one thousand bits for the oven, five hundred for the window damage, five hundred for pain and suffering, and another thousand to pay their protection so they won’t bother us again… three thousand bits. Should we take more, Pound? I think that covers everything.”
Pound nodded. “Yeah, that seems fair. Any more than that, and he might notice the stack’s thinner. Put the rest back and let’s get out of here.”
Of course, Pound realized that the Don had probably counted the money before, and if he counted it again, it wouldn’t matter how much the twins took, because he’d know anyway. Pumpkin assumed that he’d discover his money was missing, but since nopony in this town knew her special talent was intangibility, the don wouldn’t suspect the twins. Instead, he’d probably assume his consigliere embezzled it. If the Cakes were lucky, maybe this would cause a rift within the mob, taking their attention off of Sugarcube Corner. Maybe.
Their thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Don Portlypony groaned in his adjoining bedroom, rising to answer it. Pumpkin shoved the remaining money back into the safe, jumped in Pound’s arms with the 3,000 bits, and he flew them back up through the ceiling just as the don walked in and flicked on the lightswitch. The twins quietly landed on the attic floorboards above.
Pound whispered, “Pumpkin, I wonder who’s calling the don in the middle of the night. It must be important. Should we eavesdrop?”
Though Pumpkin wanted to get back home as soon as possible, Pound did have a point. If the don was planning yet another burglary at the cafe, she wanted to know.
She turned part of the don’s office ceiling intangible, which he wouldn’t be able to see, but would allow sound to pass through. The ringing infiltrated the attic, soon ceasing.
“This is Portlypony speaking,” the don wheezed. The voice on the other end spoke, inaudible to the twins.
The don said, "...Yes, Neigh Krieg is ours. The Terns fans really love him. He’s signing autographs, and the drones are diggin' like earth ponies on WINI..."
He paused a few moments as the caller spoke back to him.
"...No, the fans won't suspect we kidnapped the quarterback; they'll just think the dummy’s having a bad hoofball season or somethin’. Even if he gets sacked every play, they’ll probably still love him. These ponies are so gullible; they think they have nothing to worry about. The Equal Empire’s fall has lured Equestria into a false sense of security… Oh, you oughta hear them talking about this 'new decade of love'. Yeah, it'll be a new decade of love, alright…"
He laughed. The other voice said something.
"...Yeah, the mob has its ransom money. The enforcers who kidnapped the quarterback were paid their share. Wouldn't want anyone getting suspicious of what we did… alright, I’ll keep in touch. Goodbye."
He hung up the phone. The twins turned to each other. What in Equestria had they just heard?