"The Operations branch is the meat and muscle of the Service. These are the ponies who make strikes at the heart of enemy activity, disrupting the threats. Operating either in small scouting teams or large tactical squads, these ponies form versatile companies capable of adapting to whatever situations they may face.
"As a secondary role, Operations ensures adequate supplies are obtained and delivered to forward operating teams as well as maintaining our guarded supply routes. Though this role may be less glamorous within our halls, it is equally, if not more, important. Indeed, were our supply lines to fail, then the whole Service would wither and die..."

Spotter stood in front of his mirror, quietly regarding his reflection. He wore his best suit, tailored to fit like a glove and cover his mark, and his fake handlebar moustache was coloured black to match his dyed mane and tail. He frowned—his bowtie was lopsided. He tugged at the left loop, then adjusted the knot so the whole thing sat centre again. Satisfied, his hoof dropped to the floor and the future played out in his head. Today, he was Maître D', and he was a waiter at the Grand Galloping Gala.

Assuming, of course, that Autumn upheld his side of things. He shook the thought away; he'd gotten a good read on the colt—there was no reason to have any doubt. Autumn would have contacted the princess and everything else would follow, like ducks in a line.

He hoped, anyway. He'd never met Luna face-to-face, so he'd had to build his picture of her from what Autumn had said, and Autumn was not the most observant of ponies. Still, the impression he got was that Luna was a true patriot and, as founder of the Service, Spotter hoped she'd care enough to get things done. Well, he thought, tonight we'll see.

He turned from the mirror and check the clock; it was almost sunup. In about twelve hours the Gala would start and then... Well, then we should find some answers. In the meantime, he still had a role to play.

He left the hotel and hailed a taxi. As the cab made its way to the palace, he closed his eyes and faced the warm glow of the rising sun. Enjoy this while it's here, he thought, for tomorrow may never come.

The guard glared at him over his clipboard. Maître D' returned an impatient glare of his own. The guard had clearly seen his name on the roster and was trying to intimidate, but Maître D' wasn't going to let that fly. "Well?" he demanded.

"Blame the taxi," he replied. "Now are you going to delay me further, or let me do my job?" The guard stood still a moment, trying to decide if it was a point worth arguing. Finally he just stepped aside, and Maître D' marched past in a huff.

Inside, he adopted a much quieter demeanour. Getting inside was one thing, but afterward he had to go unnoticed—just another little worker bee in the hive. He slipped in line with the others, rolling out the tables, covering them with their cloths, and watching—always watching. He stayed away from angry managers needing somepony to yell at, steered clear of gossipers and whisperers, and slid in with the ponies sent to cordon off the closed sections of the palace. Grabbing a few lines of rope, some stanchions, and a clipboard, he followed them for a moment before taking a left turn and vanishing.

The line and stanchions he used to secure the hallway; the clipboard he carried with him as he made his way down it. He observed his surroundings carefully, looking for shadows or the sound of hoofsteps to alert him of any approaching pony, but his way remained clear—all the guards were more concerned about the Gala, perhaps. He considered bringing up the security oversight to the guard captain, but for now it was making his job easier. Before long, he came upon the room of Princess Luna.

The Nightguards stood by the door, ever vigilant and unmoving. Some ponies found their appearance unsettling; to Spotter it was how they never betrayed any sign of thought or feeling. Their faces may as well have been carved from stone. Golden Lock hid his real intentions behind false ones, but at least he showed some. He could only hope that they were expecting him as he approached.

"Good morning," he said, hoisting his clipboard. "I am here to take the Princess's order for the Gala. I understand that she might prefer the red herring."

The Nightguards didn't move. The one on the left spoke, his voice flat as still water. "Her Majesty is not attending."

"Then I shall have it delivered." There followed an agonizing moment of stillness, wherein the conversation ran through Spotter's head—all the words were correct, but the Nightguards gave no reaction. He was beginning to worry when the left nightguard opened the door and ushered him inside.

The room was dark. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from a few candles, fireflies, and—oddly—the night sky. That can't be right, he thought, squinting—the edges of the sky were moving, flowing.

The door behind him clicked shut and the sound of hoofsteps told him the nightguard had followed him in. "Majesty," the nightguard said, "you have a guest."

Spotter bowed low and waited. The gentle thump of a closing book preceded the quiet rustle of cushions and the soft tap of hooves—the princess was now watching him. He remained still, refusing to move until she spoke.

"I am, Princess," he said, reaching back to uncover his flank. "It is an honour to serve you."

"Of course," the nightguard said. "However, Spotter is currently assigned to the borders of the Dragon Kings. With several Kings threatening conflict, I find it surprizing that he would choose to be here, instead. The nightguard's hoof set down beside Spotter's head. "Are we to believe that he forsake his sworn duty?"

"My duty is to protect Equestria," Spotter replied. "To that end, I am needed here."

The nightguard circled him. "And you would ignore the danger posed by the dragons? Sounds less like protecting Equestria and closer to abandoning her."

Spotter ground his teeth; he should've expected some form of interrogation. Briefly, he wondered how much of his tale they'd believe. "The Dragon Kings pose no threat right now," he began. "That mission was a distraction, an excuse designed to remove Last Leaf and me from Canterlot because we could be voices against Autumn's accusation. Once I'd learnt that, I knew where I was most needed. Last Leaf remained behind to keep watch over Sunflare and to maintain the illusion that the mission is proceeding as normal."

"Sunflare was the leader of your team. Why did you have need to watch over him?"

"He refused to re-evaluate the mission when we met the local Hunter, and practically forbade us from contacting Canterlot directly. It wasn't hard to see whose team he's playing on."

"We can do this back-and-forth all day," Spotter interrupted, "but all it accomplishes is wasted time. Believe me when I say that I know ponies very well and I can see through all forms of deception. Sunflare's intentions were clearly his own—Equestria was a wayward thought, if anything. The Hunter we met had spent his entire life near the dragons, and he knew them at least as well as I know ponies. The dragons are no threat; Golden Lock is."

Silence. Spotter's back was beginning to hurt, but he maintained his bow. He knew speaking like that could be risky, and he hated doing it without being able to read the nightguard, but some gambles had to be taken. The moment stretched, then Luna's hoof appeared in front of him—fortunately, Autumn had told him about this. He leaned forward slightly and kissed the back. "Rise," the princess commanded. "We have much to discuss."

Spotter rose and got his first good look at the princess. She stood almost as tall as her sister, her wings spread in regal fashion as her mane—twinkling like the night sky—undulated in an incorporeal breeze. Where Celestia expressed warmth and love, Luna radiated power and respect. She was imposing, and Spotter found himself glad that she was finally opening her door.

For now, however, there were matters to discuss. "Well then, Princess; where shall we begin?"

Spotter frowned. "Didn't, really—Autumn told me about it yesterday. Before that, I didn't really know what was going on. I had initially thought that Golden Lock was after petty revenge or somesuch, but that's really ridiculous if you think about it."

Spotter shook his head. "It's too well planned—too much work for something so small. The evidence looks like it could fit anypony—just a few changes and it's done. Very 'one size fits all.'" He paused a moment. "It was set up for a scapegoat—for what, I couldn't say—and Autumn got caught in the middle."

"You do not believe that he was the intended recipient?" the nightguard asked him.

Spotter glanced between him and the princess, but she didn't seem to mind the interruption. "No," he answered. "The evidence is too generic, and after what Autumn told me I believe they threw it at him in a panic."

"Anyway," he said, returning to the princess, "while I figured that the vice-commissar had gotten a little big for his horseshoes, I didn't know there was actual treason until yesterday. But, then, that's why I'm here now—today. I hope to find its roots and see how deep they go."

He shrugged. "By Autumn's testimony, it's a place to start. So, uh..." He glanced around. "Did you get my request?"

The nightguard—evidently named 'Smiles'—nodded once and trotted to the far side of the room; he returned with a stack of papers which he promptly set before Spotter. "Here you are," he said. "Council logs for the last thirty years."

Spotter's smile was wry as he looked over the pile. "Well, that'll keep me busy until Autumn arrives. Talking of, when should we be expecting him?"

"The afternoon," Smiles responded. "The musicians are scheduled to arrive then. Meadowlark will be able to get him in."

"Is that a good idea?" he asked. "One of you nightguards vouching for an unexpected guest? Surely that'll get noticed."

"He will be under glamour as a member of the guard. The standing guard will be called away, and he shall relieve him. During that time, Autumn will be let in."

Spotter nodded, turning his attention back to the pile. "Well, I'd best get started. If you'll pardon me..." He sat down before the papers and grabbed the top sheet.

Spotter shook his head. "I appreciate the thought, but I don't think it's practical. It's a large haystack, and I don't know which needle I'm looking for."

Spotter raised an eyebrow, but Smiles remained as stoic as ever. "How much do you know about recent Service history?" he asked. His own knowledge was a little rusty, and it couldn't hurt to get a complementary perspective.

For a moment, Smiles' eyes flicked downward. "Little enough," he said. "Reading the past has been difficult while watching the present."

Spotter nodded understandingly. "Of course, but you understand my hesitation, then. There will be patterns that follow historical events, and we don't have the time to be side tracked by things that can be ignored."

"If those events were orchestrated in order to further other goals, they would be worth looking into," countered Smiles.

Oh, he's good, thought Spotter, smiling. After a moment he split the stack and slid one half over.

Hours passed in silence broken only by the shuffling of papers. Luna was content to leave the logs to the ponies, spending her time reading and practicing the occasional spell. Smiles plod through the papers at a steady pace, his expression never changing. Spotter was fighting a headache. Council logs were a dry read at best and a slow death at worst. Under ideal circumstances he'd read them over a few days—give himself time to process everything at leisure—but right now he didn't have that luxury. He didn't know when his return might be discovered, and he had to get as much done as he could before that happened.

Once he and Smiles had finished their stacks, they swapped them and kept reading. This time, the shuffling of paper was accompanied by the occasional piece of conversation as they began to compare notes. Spotter quickly realized that, despite Smiles' lack of imagination, he was incredibly observant. Spotter found it oddly gratifying—it was always hard to find ponies who could keep up.

They were partway through when Autumn entered, ushered by the other nightguard. Spotter smiled his way. "Well, it's about time you got here. It's..." He paused and looked out the covered window. "...Dark?"

Autumn smiled sheepishly, his hoof coming up behind his head. "I... could not leave Tavi before she set up," he said. "Then she introduced me to the other musicians, and we had a talk over tea, and... this is the first chance I had."

"Enough," came Luna's voice. Her magic still held a book before her and she didn't bother to stand. "There is still a task before thee, Spotter, and we are unable to proceed until the Gala hath begun." To Autumn, she said, "Come, rest; we have some moments yet."

Autumn bowed, thanked her, and found a seat near Spotter. After a moment, he ventured a question. "Have... have you found anything?"

"Yes," Spotter replied, "but little of value yet. Keep your chin up, though; we're far from finished."

Autumn gave a small sigh and settled down as Spotter and Smiles fell back into their routine. He kept one ear staunchly pointed toward them, but did little aside from listen in. He remained still, but Spotter could see he was restless—irregular breathing, eyes shifting, small hoof movements scratching at the floor. Worrying about Dew, Spotter guessed. He hoped they'd find something worthwhile; after all, the sooner they could end this, the sooner they could free her.

Time passed, the sun set, and the stacks shrank slowly. Outside, Spotter could hear the carriages arriving and the noisy chatter of guests. He was running out of time; the Gala would start soon, and he needed something substantial before any physical investigation could begin. Damnit, he thought, stomping on the floor. Smiles glanced up at him, but he paid it no mind. Staring at a problem too long could blind you to the answer, so he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let his mind wander, even if just for a moment...

His eyes snapped open as fireworks began bursting outside. "Can't be," he whispered, then dug frantically through the logs. A few minutes later he had several pages scattered out before him. The other ponies watched him intently and curiously; even Luna had set her book aside. Spotter reread the logs, tracing out lines with his hoof and making connections. Finally, he let out a breath and sat back. "He owns the council."

"Lock," Spotter replied. He leaned forward and began pointing to the pages before him. "See? When he was on the council he made a few suggestions for replacements when positions were open; only one made it, but the others all took seats while Lock was Vice-Commissar. And look: as time goes on, there's less and less council conflict." He tapped a page. "Look: see this? Old King Craighorn. The council decided that he wasn't worth chasing after the dragons brokered a tenuous peace, but here"—he pointed to another page—"they authorize complete dismantlement of his army. Just two days later. Prompted by another councilmare using the existing documents—no new information to consider." He shook his head and pointed again. "These internal 'corrections' stop here."

"He doesn't need to replace someone if he can convert them," he replied, "but here's what's troubling." He gestured to the papers on his right. "External 'corrections' also drop sharply."

Spotter nodded, and Smiles spoke up. "Complaints brought from outside the council." He glanced over at Spotter. "I assume you're inferring that he's converting the bulk of the common ponies."

Spotter nodded. "With more ponies under his influence, it gets harder for his plans to be questioned."

"But with more ponies, it also gets harder to keep the secret," countered Smiles.

"True—that's how Autumn stumbled upon this—but Golden Lock's talent is keeping secrets. If anyone's able to keep something this big quiet, it'd be him. Here, look at these." He pulled up the most recent pages of logs. "These are the council meetings surrounding Autumn; look at the voting patterns."

Smiles examined what Spotter had pointed out, but after a few minutes he shook his head. "There is no pattern."

For the first time that Spotter could remember, Smiles' expression changed. It was small—a slight upturn of one corner of his mouth coupled with a gleam in his eyes—but it was something different. "I see."

"It's a way to hide evidence," Smiles explained, never taking his eyes off Spotter. "Patterns can be followed and exploited, such as using the public train schedule to determine where the ghost trains are. However, the fact that he does such suggests his hold over the council isn't complete."

"That his hold on the Service isn't complete," corrected Spotter. "These logs aren't heavily classified, so he needs to make sure that no-one who reads them will catch on. He and the Commissar still butt heads, so it's likely she isn't with him—plus, there's still the princess. He can't afford to be completely overt yet."

There followed a moment of silence before Autumn spoke up. "If... if he controls the council, why does he not fake the logs?"

Spotter fought back the urge to laugh—that answer was taught during indoctrination. "The council doesn't control the logs, Autumn—Intelligence does. They have ponies who sit witness to the meetings, and they make the record."

Autumn looked away, abashed, but Smiles's brow furrowed. "But this treason has found its way into the commons. If the witnesses are corrupted..."

Spotter forgot to draw breath. The implications of that statement ran rings around his head as he looked back to the logs strewn about. "They... they operate on a cyclic schedule," he reasoned, "so not all of them might be—it would depend on who's..." A cold wind washed over him—if the pony who wrote the schedule was turned... "These logs might be worthless."

There was a pause, during which Spotter's optimism began crumbling. If we can't trust the logs—

"Only superficially," Smiles said, interrupting Spotter's descent. "The end results of each session must remain true, and if they are truly false then it proves that the entire council is a part of it. If not, then their contents prove the same thing."

Spotter looked over the logs, and that little spark reignited inside him. "Heh. That's true."

With Lock, this might be all we get. Spotter kept the thought to himself; instead, he gave a sly grin. "Well, that's what we're here for, isn't it?" He tapped the logs. "Now we have a place to start."

That, at least, everyone agreed with. The Gala had started; the Guard and Service security would primarily be focused there—the small window of opportunity was open. Luna stacked her books as Spotter and Smiles cleared away the logs. Autumn knocked twice on the door, signalling Meadowlark to enter. Once they were all present, they made their plans.

"It appears evident that Lock is at the head of this, or at least near the top," began Spotter. "I doubt a search of his quarters or office would reveal much, but we shouldn't overlook them."

"The chambers of the councilmares may prove more useful," said Smiles. "Meadowlark and I shall begin there."

Spotter nodded. "Sounds good. I'll start with Lock's office, just in case. Princess, I would request your company—Lock may have some things hidden behind spells."

Spotter blinked. "She's... no, we can't afford to be distracted. If we break her out our involvement is discovered, and the sooner we blow this open the sooner she'll be freed."

"It isn't a bad idea," Meadowlark said. "Letting her know that we are working to correct her injustice may prove beneficial. If she has hope, she can more strongly resist any questioning they give her."

Or it could give her information to spill, Spotter thought, but he kept silent—he saw the look in Autumn's eyes and knew he wouldn't be deterred, especially not after that comment. He sighed. "Fine, fine. She'll be under lockdown, guards outside her quarters. I don't suppose that bothers you."

Autumn shook his head, but so did Meadowlark. "She's not under lockdown," he said. "The guards are there, but she isn't. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find any trails leading to her whereabouts." The look he gave Spotter almost betrayed disappointment. "I had hoped you'd know where they were keeping her."

Spotter shook his head. "We've only ever used house arrest for those who needed questioning—the cases are rare enough that we don't really have holding facilities."

This time, it was Autumn and Spotter who shared a look. "I... don't know of any dungeons, princess."

Meadowlark turned his gaze to the window while Smiles spoke. "Under the palace, deeper than the Service's halls. They saw much use during our warring periods."

"If they're being kept a secret," mused Meadowlark, "it would make sense there wouldn't be a visible trail. Isn't much, but it may be the place to start."

"How do I get there?" Autumn's voice and gaze were hard; Spotter couldn't help but smile as Meadowlark gave him directions. Keeping a secret dungeon, hm? Lock, you sly dog. Well, this could certainly prove interesting...

Dew lay curled in her cell, weak and hungry. A full plate of food sat against the far wall, but she pointedly ignored it. The food wasn't for her, anyway—not really.

Six times. Six nightmare-damned times he'd taken her before he was certain she was with foal. His magic was strong, too strong—it had left bruises where she'd struggled against it. The feeling of helplessness he'd forced upon her had left deep marks within her, and those gashes—more than anything else—had fuelled her tear-stained nights. He'd whispered in her ear, telling her that she should be grateful for becoming part of something so much greater than herself, for being the mother of a new age. His words, perhaps, stirred in her an anger beyond the act itself, but it wasn't until she saw the Shaman that she knew what he meant.

She tried to fill her gashes with rage. She might be helpless, but she wasn't going to simply give up. The Shaman brought food, and she threw it out. She threw insults at him and his species, baring her teeth to make sure he understood. The Shaman was furious at her, but she bit back just as hard. So long as she had strength to resist she would not be a pawn in this sick game. Eventually, weak from hunger, she couldn't resist enough when the Shaman forced her to eat. Ever since then she'd been hanging on the precipice between strength and starvation, and the Shaman would keep her and her foal—no, his foal—alive.

If she had a way, she would tear the thing out of her. If she had a way, she would die before the dogs could use it. All she could do was try to starve it out, and even that was being taken away from her.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. For a moment she thought she was hallucinating, but there he was, standing on the other side of the rusted iron. He had no mask and he wore a vest and bowtie, but it was him. "Autumn," she said, her voice weak and cracking. "You're..." She struggled to stand but succeeded only in stumbling closer to the bars. He reached through and placed a concerned hoof on her shoulder. For a moment, the touch sent flashes of him through her mind and she flinched, nearly pulling away, but Autumn's hoof was warm and friendly. A shudder ran through her, and she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "You're here."

Her smile was feeble, but warm. "A little hungry, is all. It's nothing." She rolled herself into the bars, leaning closer to him. "It's good to see you."

He wrapped his foreleg around her—cold iron stood between them, but she felt only him. "You too," he said. "Here, I'll get you something..." He paused, looking at the plate in her cell. "There's some—"

He looked at her, confused. "Why not? If you're hungry, you need to eat. I cannot—I will not let you starve."

She shook her head. "No, that..." Her voice caught, but she knew she had to tell him. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to say, "That's from the Shaman dog."

The words were bitter leaving her mouth, reality gone sour. She fought the urge to hide her face, but lost the battle. "The Shaman?" he asked. "He is here?" She nodded, and he looked around the dungeon. "But, why would the Shaman..." He trailed off, and she watched his face fall as he turned back to her. "Dew... what happened?"

She didn't say anything—saying it would give it strength against her. Saying it would give it power over both of them. Something else—she had to say something else. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a choked sob. Immediately he was beside her again, hugging her through the bars. She collapsed into his awkward embrace, tears now flowing freely, and curled up—she didn't realize she was clutching her stomach.

She lay like that for a time, no longer trying to hold everything in. The past days had been so cold it was easy to keep her feelings frozen, but Autumn was warm and he brought the thaw. So she wept, openly and quietly, and Autumn held her in silence. He hadn't changed—that simple fact gave her great comfort.

"I tried to fight him," she said. It felt like an hour had passed. Her tears had dried but her eyes still misted, yet everything felt... easier somehow. The weight that dragged at her stomach was lighter, and the tension that wracked her body had evaporated. In the easy glow of his friendship, it felt wrong to hide the truth. "He was too strong—his magic was too strong. He pinned me down and he... he..." She sniffed, fighting back the tears that threatened to flow again. Autumn hugged her tighter and said nothing. "A-after," she continued, "he brought me down here, to the dog. It's trying again. It's trying again and he's helping. It wants its alacorn foal so badly, and now..." She wiped her eyes, pausing a moment to collect herself again. "He stopped coming down here a few days ago—he's done with me."

There was a venom in his voice that she'd never heard before. She looked back and saw him snarling, his eyes fluctuating between red, purple, white, and black. The sight terrified her. "Autumn, y-you can't! They'll kill you if you even approach him!"

Autumn glared at the far wall, his voice like burning embers when he spoke. "Lock."

Abruptly he stood, his gaze flicking over the rusted iron of her cage. Then, without a word, he turned and bucked the bars—the dull ring echoed loudly in the dungeon, and the bars rattled but held. "Autumn, stop!" Dew cried, but he bucked again. "You can't break them!" she tried again. "They're held by magic!"

At first he didn't seem to hear her; he bucked twice more, but the third time felt weak and hopeless. Dew understood that—hopelessness was a constant cellmate. As he stood there, unmoving, a terrible realization ran through her.

"Autumn, you have to run." He turned to face her, confused and hurt, but she continued. "The dog lives down here—there's no way he didn't hear you. Please, Autumn; you have to run!"

He glanced down the cell-lined corridor, then back to her. His eyes had settled on a deep blue, and his voice and face were lined with determination. "I will get you out of here. Wait for me." With that, he ran off toward the exit.

She stared after him, long after he had faded into darkness; she didn't even notice the Shaman until he grabbed the bar in front of her. "Noisy pony pet," he said. "Wake Shaman. For what? Is time to eat?"

The Shaman grunted, glancing over to her untouched plate before turning back to her. She fought to compose herself under his scrutinizing gaze, and soon he gave a dismissive huff and turned away—then stopped. He placed a heavy paw on the ground, dropped his face beside it, and sniffed the dirt. Dew's breath caught—Autumn's hoofprints. The Shaman snorted and cast a glare back at her. She said nothing, struggling to act natural, and soon the Shaman turned and left, back down the way he came.

He was several minutes gone before Dew dared to move. She let out her tension in a slow exhale, swallowed hard, and reflected.

The warm glow came back and, in spite of everything, she smiled. Autumn knew where she was and had made her a promise—a promise she could believe in. For a moment, everything was at peace. She looked over to the Shaman's plate, then crawled over and took a bite.

The Gala was in chaos. Wild animals ran around the ballroom, statues and pillars littered the floor, and there was cake everywhere. An old, feeble pony was trying to chase the critters out while the noble ponies settled for being as indignant as equinely possible, though Autumn only saw one covered in frosting. Royal guards were everywhere, trying to maintain order and handle complaints while a few janitors scurried about helplessly. A few waiters still wandered around, carrying assorted appetizers and drinks for the distressed nobility. The musician's stage was empty.

Autumn scowled. His mood was dark enough without these minor inconveniences. Luna, her nightguards, and even Spotter agreed that there was nothing that could—or rather, that should—be done for Dew. Better to leave her there and let Lock and his dog think her undiscovered. Better to let them think themselves safe until a net can be closed over all traitors. Better that she suffers at the hooves of that animal.

Autumn shook his head—the thought was unjust and he knew it, but it was still hard to convince himself that Luna and the others were right. No matter how many times he told himself or how many ways he put it, it felt like betrayal, like abandonment, like a poisonous pit gnawing at him. It was only begrudgingly that he now sought Tavi and her home. The Gala was over; their time in the palace with it. He could only hope that whatever the others found would prove more useful.

He grabbed a glass from a passing waiter, drained it, and put it back without breaking stride. The alcohol stung his senses, but it managed to blunt his emotions just enough. Perhaps he could walk out on her. He glanced back to the stage—the instruments were gone. He didn't think Tavi would leave him, so he decided to check the break room.

Fiddler paused, his thoughts tumbling about to find a inconspicuous answer. "I... was just speaking with some of the guards," he said. "They wanted to know if..." He looked behind him, hoping to find something to end his sentence, but Tavi didn't wait.

"Oh, those guards are useless," she said, shaking her head. "Can't even stop the garden's own fauna from running amok, and now they're trying to blame the guests? Tell me they didn't threaten a fine?"

He blinked once before looking back at her. 'Some lies tell themselves,' he remembered Smiles saying. "No," he said. "No fine."

Tavi breathed a sigh of relief as she nodded. "That's good—last thing you need is more financial problems." She chuckled, then turned to him and smiled. "Well, let's not dwell on what didn't happen. C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Can we?" Fiddler's eyes drifted toward a nearby guard. If they really were questioning guests, then...

Tavi shrugged. "The guards have already spoken to both of us, so I don't see why not. Besides, the Gala's been closed—the show's over. No point in staying." She shouldered her cello and beckoned, trotting off toward the exit. A moment's hesitation, then Fiddler followed.

He watched the royal guards as they left—they made no motion to stop them. There was a contrast that boggled him—if the Service had been doing the questioning, no-one would've been allowed to leave until they could prove everyone had given statements. For a moment he glimpsed the carefree world the rest of the ponies lived in and wondered. If I had to flee the Service, could I ever live here?

They stepped out of the palace, undisturbed, and Autumn looked over his shoulder. The palace gates stood open like the great maw of a predator. Somewhere, deep in its belly, Dew was hidden and caged, left to be a plaything to a monster and its magic. Alone.

"You know," Tavi said, looking up at the stars, "the night's still young. Want to go somewhere and finish it off?"

Autumn had hoped to head home and finish the night by sleeping through it, but Fiddler found it difficult to turn down Tavi's request. "...If you want to."

She smiled and picked up her pace. Autumn watched her go, then—hesitantly—followed her. Tavi's company was comforting, yet somehow he felt guilty for it.

"...and asked us to play the 'Pony Pokey!' The Pony Pokey!" Tavi laughed. "At an event like the Gala, no less! I mean, how could I say 'no' to that?"

Midnight had passed a few hours ago, and Fiddler and Tavi were on their way home. Tavi was only mildly tipsy, just enough to ease her mood a bit. Fiddler had drank with her, but he still held his dark cloud. He smiled slightly, giving an obligatory laugh to her tale, but his thoughts dwelt elsewhere.

Tavi sighed and nudged his shoulder. He looked over and found himself staring into a pair of warm eyes and a sympathetic smile. "You know... you can talk to me. I won't judge."

He turned away and occupied himself with the ground. He didn't know what to say—how could he explain it without telling her everything? No matter how many times he asked, no answer would come. Her house was just ahead, so he settled for a delaying tactic. "I am just... tired."

She nodded and straightened herself up. "Right, of course. But, you know, if you ever need a shoulder..."

Her sincerity made him smile—he wondered if he'd ever be able to take her up on the offer. He faced her again. "Thank you, Tavi; I... will remember that."

They turned the corner and Tavi's smile fell. Fiddler followed her gaze and found six ponies standing outside her house. At the sound of their hoofsteps the ponies turned—one of them smiled. "We've been waiting for you," Grey Gale said.

"I'm afraid we were at the Gala," Tavi replied. "I'm sorry we missed you, but it's a bit late now. Perhaps we could discuss things in the morning?"

"I know where you were, Octavia, though I was surprized your friend got in." The other ponies—unicorns, earth ponies, and another pegasus—started walking away from the door. "Well, no matter," Gale continued. "You're here now and that's what's important." He turned his head slightly and gave a light chuckle. "It's been a fun chase, but it's come to an end. Time to come with us—" his eyes flashed up and met Fiddler's "—Autumn."

Autumn's heart stopped. The other ponies were starting to surround them—if he didn't leave now he wouldn't be able to leave at all, but...how could he? Tavi still trusted him, believed in him. What would they do to her? How could he abandon her, too? He became dimly aware she was talking to him, looking back at him, growing concerned...

A knife twisted and he tasted bile, but he was out of options. I am sorry. He shut his eyes, turned, and bolted. His wings snapped out and caught air currents—he took to the skies as he heard magic spells slam into the air behind him. He turned tightly, squeezing through Canterlot streets.

"Damnit," Gale cursed as Autumn banked out of sight. "After him! Do not let him get away again!"

Starwind giggled gleefully as she took the order to heart, leaping into the air after her prey. Dusk and Spell Swirl cast speed spells on themselves and the earth ponies, and they took after him on hoof. Gale gave Octavia one last look before taking to the air and joining them.

Tavi stood still long after all the ponies were gone. She was shocked—what was it she had just seen? Fiddler kept secrets, she knew, but this was beyond anything she could've imagined. This... this can't be... Slowly, she looked back to her front door, then up to the second-storey window of Fiddler's room.

Autumn banked hard, his hooves scrambling across the wall as he ducked into the darkened alleyway. The pegasi flying overhead would have seen him enter, but there would be a few seconds before they signalled the unicorns to use their light spells—seconds in which he hoped to lose them. If only I had my mask...

Light flooded the alley, momentarily blinding him. He cursed—the unicorns and earth ponies would only be a few seconds behind him. He left the alley, exiting over the rooftops to the far side. The roofs held their own danger—spending more than a few seconds up there meant assault from the pegasi. He dropped to the streets as soon as he could and kept moving.

A few seconds. His whole life was now just moments defined by those words. Always just a few seconds ahead of his pursuit, he'd been pushing his limits trying to broaden that gap, but all he'd done was maintain it. He was exhausted, running off fear, and unsure how much longer he could go.

A bolt of magic zipped by his head, barely missing his right eye. Perhaps they missed on purpose, and he refused to be herded. He turned right, dashing headlong into an empty street. A few candles blew out as he flew by the lampposts, causing a trail of darkness—easy to track. He cursed again, then an idea formed.

He continued to blow past candles, missing some purposely to both hide his intention and still be seen leading the dark. He took turns that kept him on the streets rather than through alleys, giving the pegasus above a clear trail to follow. All the while he collected winds about him. Then, after the fourth or fifth turn, he threw the winds ahead of him, blowing out candles all down the street, and he banked into another darkened alley. At most, he'd only buy himself a few more seconds, but with luck a few seconds was all he needed.

He landed on a window instead of the wall and tumbled through it, shattering the glass. He flailed, hit the floor, and crashed into a table, knocking it over. For a few moments he just lay there, panting heavily, trying to ignore the stabbing pain.

The alley outside lit up. Autumn coughed and struggled to stand, but slipped as his legs gave out. He stared out the broken window, the bright light shining through, while a rising sense of panic began to overwhelm him. Just a few seconds, he thought, trying to make his legs move again. Just a few seconds...

A white cloth fell over him as he heard a window break behind him. Panic gave him new strength and he began flailing, but a hoof bucked him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He cried out silently and curled up, losing the strength to resist again.

"Shut up and don't move," a voice whispered. He paused—the request seemed so odd under the circumstances. A moment later he struggled to quiet his laboured breathing and opened his eyes. All around him was the cloth, most of it hovering just over him. Beyond it all he could see were shadows in the light—two shadows fell across his vision, joined a moment later by two more.

"Hey! What's all this about?" demanded the voice from before. A mare's voice, the sound came from across the room, outside of his vision.

"I should think it is," replied the mare. "This is my establishment you're destroying!"

The shadows faded slightly, a purple glow emanating from one of them, then everything was obscured by a bright flash that left Autumn blinking. "No!" said the mare. "No memory alteration! You're, what? Elite Service squad? You know Celestia forbids those spells for anything less than grade 2 situations. Now, you will answer my question!"

His vision cleared and he saw one of the shadows had shrunk—the pony was kneeling. Another shadow was supporting it. "You're Service?" the shadow asked.

"Thought that'd be obvious by now. Now how about you tell me what you're doing here."

The first shadow stood, and the light from the alley faded. Autumn's world became just a white sheet and sounds. "We're chasing a fugitive. Has anypony come through here?"

"Peace, Swirl." Gale's voice was accompanied by the rush of wings and the soft tap of hooves on wood. "Merry here is one of the Hunters who's been supplying us with rumours. She knows of our target." His voice went cold. "And that time is of the essence."

"You found the kid?" Merry sounded excited. "Great! And you thought you'd celebrate by banging up my place?" A pause. "No, I haven't see him. I was woken by the racket and came to find them and a messy room."

"Enough," Gale said—everyone stopped talking, but the sound of hoofsteps filled the room. Autumn fought to keep his breathing shallow and unheard, but he'd already been out of breath from his breakneck pursuit and his lungs were starting to burn. "There are two broken windows," Gale continued. "It isn't unlikely that he burst straight through this room. Swirl, scan the area. Dusk and Harvest, continue probable pursuit."

"On it." Hoofsteps dashed across the room, paused, then faded into the distant streets. A emerald glow fell across the cloth.

"No other ponies, but there are a fair number of illusion spells around the area."

"Of course there are," Merry said. "This is a Service house. Can't rightly conduct business if anyone and their mother can listen in."

"I can't; I didn't cast them. They're woven into most of the fabrics around here. All I do is direct them to cover the tables when needed."

"It doesn't work like that!" Merry groaned. "You: Swirl, was it? Tell him how these things work."

A pause. "The fabrics are enchanted during the weaving," Swirl explained, his magic glow fading slightly. "Dispelling them would require the purchase of new ones."

"No! These things take weeks, sometimes months to make!" Merry protested. "Do you want to be responsible for shutting down a Service house that long?"

"Just sight and hearing spells," Merry said. "Simple things—to disguise Service interactions."

"What good would that do? Everyone sees who comes in; hiding them afterward just raises unwanted questions. The sight spells here are limited to concealing handoffs and the like, not ponies—nor their life signatures."

The glow didn't abate in the following silence, and Autumn realized that he'd stopped breathing in spite of his fatigue. Finally, "Continue pursuit," Gale said.

"Aye, sir." The glow ended and the sound of hoofsteps quickly dashed out the room and down the street.

A second later the cloth flew away, and Autumn found himself staring into the frowning face of Merry. "Nightmare's crown, I hope Spotter's right about you."

She walked away and Autumn finally remembered to breathe, taking several lungfuls of air. It was a few moments before the dizziness passed and he was able to wheeze, "Th-thank you."

She quit straightening the room to glare at him over her shoulder. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I really don't appreciate you bringing trouble right to my doorstep."

"I did not... did not know where I was going. It was an accident," he replied between breaths.

"Then either you're incredibly lucky, or I'm incredibly unlucky." Her magic grasped the table he was slumped against. "Hmph. Maybe both. Move." Autumn complied, and she straightened the table and reset the white tablecloth. "So, now that you're here, what are you planning to do?"

"Nope," Merry replied, shaking her head. "You think those ponies are going to keep searching out there once they find you've vanished? Nosiree, they'll come back here, where they last saw you."

He looked to the floor. She was right, he realized, and he likely only had a few seconds left. He was weary and sore, but he forced himself onto his hooves. "I had best go."

He paused a moment, considering whether to thank her again, but the he silently made his way to the door. Merry had stuck her neck out for him long enough; the sooner he left, the better.

"I could..." Autumn stopped, waiting. Merry paused, then sighed and faced him. "I could cast an invisibility spell on you, before you go."

"Thank you," he said, shaking his head, "but it will not be necessary. They will not find me again." With that, he slipped out the door.

The night was dark and cool, perfect for remaining unseen. He stuck to the alleys and shadows, keeping one eye on the sky and both ears to the ground, but he saw no signs of Gale and his companions. He pushed forward, and it didn't take him long to reach Tavi's home.

He stood rooted across the street, staring at the house. The windows were dark—Tavi was likely asleep. He could enter without waking her, grab the things he needed—his cloak, his mask, and Luna's bracelet—and leave without her ever knowing, but something held him back. Perhaps it was the guilt he felt for lying to her, for breaking her trust. Perhaps it was that he knew he was no longer welcome on her doorstep. Perhaps he was simply afraid of what might happen.

A chill wind blew down his spine; he shivered. Somehow, that simple motion broke him from his statuesque reverie and he pawed at the ground. He couldn't stay too long—Gale and the others would try back here looking for him. The window on the second storey was probably still unlocked, so he silently took flight, eased the window open, and slipped inside.

Autumn froze—it was Tavi's voice, quiet and melancholy. He didn't say anything, and soon the silence was broken by the soft tap of hooves on wood. A green glow emanated from the dresser where several fireflies awoke, and their light revealed Tavi, sitting on the edge of the bed, her right forehoof tapping the dresser.

She had been crying. Seeing that sent a knife through his heart. She looked at him with such a longing, such a pleading that the blade travelled to his gut and twisted. "Tavi, I—" She shut her eyes and looked away, and he mentally recoiled. Slowly, he looked to the floor. "I... I am sorry, Octavia."

Silence. Agonizing silence. The one word wasn't enough, was an inadequate expression of everything he felt, but it was all he had. He could have invented a whole new language with what he wanted to tell her, but he didn't know how to begin. So they stood there, silent, in the gentle glow of the fireflies.

"I found these," Octavia finally said, hopping off the bed. She walked over near the closet, and Autumn saw his cloak and mask lying on the floor. "I hope you don't mind me going through your things," she said, sitting down beside them, "but there was some cleaning to do, and..."

She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, threatening to cry again. Autumn found it hard to swallow, hard to talk, so he continued to watch her. She placed her forehoof on his mask and rolled it underhoof. "It's just like the posters," she said, her voice cracking, "b-but that's a joke... Isn't it?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes burning fire as she glared at him. Behind the blaze, however, was still the helpless pleading and the threat of tears. She spoke again, her accusing voice barely above a whisper. "Who are you?"

Autumn looked back at her, then down at his mask. It stared back with hollow eyes and a grin that lost its lower jaw. Finally, he closed his eyes and did the hardest thing he could think of.

Equestria's Secret Service

by EdwardJ

XV - The Gala