It was not until the instant that we had bought our tickets from the conductor, and settled ourselves into a comfortable compartment, that the vagaries of what had taken place that morning struck me.
There I was, a doctor with exactly zero experience in matters such as these, about to accompany the strange and exquisitely-minded Pones. He was, as I had come to expect of his fairly strange nature, unbothered by the troublesome events that had caused his calling out to the tiny town of Ponyville.
In fact, so nonchalant was he about the whole ordeal that no sooner had we taken our seats opposite each-other and closed the compartment door, then he folded his forehooves across his chest, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.
“Pardon me, Pones, but do you think you could enlighten me on the intricacies of your work once again?” I inquired, wishing to discuss the matter with him.
He opened his eyes slowly and unevenly, as if he had been sleeping for hours – though in reality, he could not have dozed more than a minute. He did not look irritated, but instead fixed me with a stern glare from across the carriage, still not shifting from his restful position against the back of the leather seat.
“Is there anything you could not deduce from the headlines of the paper and the note that I gave you?” He said dryly.
“Well, a little more of an explanation about what exact role you fill would suffice…” I responded meekly.
Despite the fact that it was impossible; I felt that he was irritated for being awoken, but nevertheless, when I asked my question, I knew - or rather saw - his attitude change a slight. He sighed, sitting up a little from the reclusive depths of his dark grey jacket in which he had attempted to sink. Turning his head on an angle, he seemed to focus deeply on the question, his eyes resting on a point some way behind me. I had often observed such a mannerism when he lay on the couch back in Baker Street, staring vacantly at the ceiling and silently mouthing his own thoughts to himself.
“I am, as I stated before, a detective,” he began wearily, but something gave him pause as he prepared to undoubtedly regale me with a repetition of what he had said at our late breakfast that morning. “Or, perhaps, you might consider me a private investigator, even though I am far above those who call themselves by such a title.”
“Do you work for the police?” I inquired, bringing my hooves forth and together on the table that lay between us. I was eager to learn all I could about Pones.
“No.”
“And yet you have accepted the task before you.”
“So I have,” he replied calmly
“Why would you do such a thing if you have no obligation to the police?”
Pones moved a muscle, raising a hoof to his face. He ran it around the inside of his chin as he spoke steadily, eventually letting it come to rest on his cheek as if he were a bored student in his classes.
“Often, in times of leisure, a stallion may choose to pursue his own work for the simple thrill of self satisfaction - though as a medical man, I do not doubt that you know as much,” he said, affixing me with a reflective look from his tawny eyes. They had gone glassy again, and I had imagined that he would simply say nothing further, dropping into one of his meditative slumbers again. Instead, he continued to speak.
“Such is the case with myself. I am Lestrade’s advisor, and nothing more, and when all is said and done he will claim all semblance of praise and, if I am lucky, cast me a vague mention in the papers.”
I bristled at this knowledge. “The nerve of him!” I exclaimed angrily. How it was possible to remain as calm as Pones was in the news that the Inspector was stealing the credit for his work I knew not.
“Trotson," Pones said boredly, "If business were an issue I may indeed have it so that my name and face were on the corner of every street in Canterlot."
“Nevertheless, why not insist on your name’s publication?”
He smirked. “My dear fellow, what does it matter to me?”
“Well, evidently it does not – but he begs of you for assistance, and then does not give you credit?”
He gave a solitary, sagely nod. “Yes," he said, his eyes twinkling with a hidden delight. "Yes, I suppose it is true that he does not give me credit where it is due. But, he knows that I am better then he, and has told me as such many times; but he would sooner cut his own tongue out before whispering it to any other, in particular his compatriots at Trotland Yard. For me, the simple knowledge that this is so is more than enough.” He sniffed once.
I frowned as the cogs ticked over in my own head “So, you are doing this out of your own interest then, given that your reputation will not be bolstered?”
“It would seem so.”
“And are you paid for your troubles?” I asked. To this, Pones simply shrugged – the first time I had seen him do so.
“Often, I am, though neither of these things are the reason I pursue such ends.” He thrummed his hooves against the table. “Hum, how to explain it!” He voiced his question to the empty compartment.
At length he sat, the only noise being the long whistle and gentle clicking of the train as it pulled away from the station, combined with the patter of his two appendages on the leather table top. He remained that way until we reached full speed, and then, just as I assumed he had given up on the subject, he spoke once more.
“Consider this, Trotson,” he began very suddenly, and he leaned forward. So swift were his movements that I jumped, myself having faded into a lulled state of daydreaming. “There are basic principles which underline our actions. Money and Status are two of them.”
I nodded slowly, not entirely sure what he meant by the strange analogy, but eager to hear him out.
“If ponies in this day and age toiled simply for wealth fit for Princess Celestia herself, till they could fill themselves with the finest liquor and tobacco till they choked – then we would all be very miserable.”
“So we would be, yes.”
“And similarly the precept applies the other way round, in that if we moved only for our own self centred happiness, then we would be extremely poor.”
“Yes,” I said, nodding once more.
“Well, assume that I have discovered a third path in, which I may only fulfill requests for my own entertainment and nothing more, while remaining quite content for money," he said. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do, but I’m not entirely sure that I follow why that makes you do things as you do,” I said, shaking my head.
Pones only sighed, and shook his own.
“It is, potentially, impossible to explain if you are not me,” He said with a laugh.
“And presumably just as impossible to understand.”
“Quite so,” he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing an old wooden pipe. With a deft flick of his spare hoof, he produced a lighter from thin air. No doubt it was a trick of sleight that fooled my eyes, but all the same I had to blink twice in order to make sure that the lighter was there. He lit the pipe and then put it to his lips, slipping the lighter and his hooves back into his pocket as the flames stoked the tobacco into life.
“I would not have asked,” I said as I watched him, “But it is just that even though this is the first time I have encountered a pony of your occupation, I would have imagined a similar role to have given the matter a good deal more thought.”
Pones laughed once again, cracking open the window with a hoof before blowing a wisp of smoke through it.
“Fear not, Trotson, I have given the task at hand all of my not inconsiderable attention,” he said, observing as the trail of smoke streamed by outside. “However, as you might conclude yourself, we are still in Canterlot.” He tapped on the window with the hoof that did not hold his pipe. “There is nothing I can do about it until the train arrives.”
“Well that is good to know, for now I will at least know that you are not as carefree as you seem.”
He looked over at me again, surprised.
“Carefree? Do not assume so readily that I have no obligation to my work, Dr. Trotson,” he said in a firmer tone. “My professionalism is unquestionable, even though I am obliged to work for whatever reason takes my fancy. Such is the luxury I have been afforded by years of private study.”
I would have opened my mouth to reply, but I saw that I had irritated him with my last comment. His eyes were now averted away from me, gazing out the window at the rolling green hills that passed us by. Clearly, he did not wish to converse anymore, but I still continued to look at him curiously as he puffed away at his pipe.
Eventually, I gave up on the strange grey pony, instead retiring to the copy of today’s paper that lay before me. The headlines were printed as the letter had said.
FASHION HOUSE ROBBED! HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF BITS IN GEMS STOLEN!
Underneath, in a hastily written column, there were very trivial details about the report that satisfied none of the questions that were in my mind. The inset picture was what drew my attention, though, for the unicorn mare that took the majority of the length and breadth of the page was extremely fetching. This was the Lady Rarity, I assumed, and indeed a small caption confirmed my suspicion.
She was, as I just mentioned, quite beautiful – there was not an inch of her that did not look pampered and preened, from her clearly manicured and polished hooves, all the way up to the top of her immaculate lavender mane. It was fashioned into a refined and elegant curl at its ends, forming long, curled locks that dangled over her brow. Between the locks, there sparkled a pair of half-lidded, astonishingly radiant blue eyes, paired with long lashes.
The picture, according to the paper, was taken some weeks ago at the grand galloping gala, and she looked well dressed for the occasion – I could just see the pointed tip of her polished horn from over a golden tiara, which was affixed with a diamond-shaped ruby where it tapered to a soft point. Either side of the ruby were two beryl stones, and about her pointed ears there were two equally expensive-looking and large rubies. They complimented the dress that she wore, a vast creation of pink and red silk, lined with what appeared to be fur.
On the whole she looked very sophisticated and wealthy, and as I passed over the front page photo to the full story, I found that a small recount of her life was given.
Born the only daughter of respected Caneighdian land baron Sir Charles Rarity, and Lady Sapphire (heir to the Sapphire family fortune), Penelope Amelia Rarity was educated at Oxford. Miss Rarity has worked tirelessly in starting her own boutique in the town of Ponyville, an establishment that has since become one of the most well-known houses of Fashion in Equestria. This morning, Miss Rarity was devastated to find that the gemstones she had ordered for the dress of a ‘very special customer’ (we were not permitted to know who this was) had been stolen the night previous.
I pulled my attention away from the story, and thought for a moment about the nature of the mystery. Assumedly, she was well-to-do and independent, and the supposed success of her business led all kinds of thoughts into my mind about the possibilities surrounding her stolen gemstones. But whether it had been a business competitor or a cat burglar I was not able to ascertain, my only knowledge about the theft coming from the police note that I still had folded in my pocket.
“Have you read this?” I gestured with the paper. Pones, whose vacant expression had not changed since we left Canterlot’s central station, remained unmoved.
“I perused the rag, though there was nothing there that I would call useful – far from it, in fact,” he said with disdain.
“Why is that so?”
“Lestrade will have removed everything relevant to the case so as not to tip off the perpetrator,” he replied calmly, tapping his pipe on an ashtray that lay on the table. “Or at least, he will have done so if he has a head on his shoulders.”
“Do you suspect anything already? You appear to possess the talent of seeing the unseen.”
My friend looked me once in the eye, and gave me the response that I would become accustomed to seeing many more times in my acquaintance with him.
“You will see in good time.”
I wondered, then, as he fell silent once more, what it was that drove him to work as he did. He was either fully committed, or strangely distant and uncaring about the task in front of him, and I thought a little longer about what conclusions had passed through his mind, surveying his thin face as the trees rushed by outside. His expression remained unchanged for the remainder of the journey, and he appeared to be lost deep in thought, though whether that was a result of what I had said, or the impending investigation, or perhaps something else, I could not say – I could no sooner ascertain what he was thinking now than I could at our first meeting.
“If you still wish to analyse me, Doctor, you will have your data soon,” he remarked, his gaze quite as still as it had been as he stared out of the window. “We have just arrived in Ponyville.”
We alighted from the train, and I followed Pones’ meaningful stride out of the train station and into the heart of a bustling little town.
Ponyville was as distant from Canterlot as one could be, despite being geographically close. It lacked all the cosmopolitan rush that seemed to drain one’s energy, instead replacing it with a slow and laidback pace of life, where time almost seemed to crawl. Ponies of all colours trotted past us and towards us in pairs or alone, but nopony was in a hurry. There was that delightful, comfortable slowness that seems to engulf every small town, which, when combined with the sunny blue sky and cool southern breeze, was a welcome and refreshing change.
The most noticeable change between the two places was the abundance of greenery in Ponyville, with either side of the steps that we now stood on flanked with a healthy garden of trees and shrubs. Visible ahead of us was a large, circular place, presumably the heart of the village. Around its edge, there were few shops and hansom carriages that did not appear very busy, and at its heart lay an extremely tall pavilion, encircled by a very large wooden porch. So large was the building, in fact, that it towered at least a good story above every other construction that I could see, even though it appeared to be some distance away.
“The mayor’s residence,” Pones said, answering my unspoken question.
“The town hall, you mean?” I replied inquisitively.
“Yes, but she lives there, too.”
Pones headed down the open stone steps that led onto what appeared to be the main thoroughfare for the town, turning to me as I turned my head left and right, absorbing the quaintness of the town. Pones appeared to be very familiar with the area.
“Would you kindly pass me the note from Lestrade?” He asked as we reached the bottom of the small flight of stairs. I rummaged in my pocket and held it out, the pink slip seeming to whip out of my hoof as he took it firmly, before opening and glancing at it.
“He has not left an address,” I said unhelpfully, but Pones did not appear too fazed by the comment, instead pocketing the note once more.
“We do not need one – I am familiar with this town, doctor, and I am quite aware of where we need to go,” he said idly. “It is not very far, so we shall walk and admire the scenery, instead of catching a cab.”
“And where are we bound for?”
“Carousel Boutique is the name of the shop, though I daresay you should recognise it as soon as we see it.”
With that, he set off once more, and I followed after him, and together we strolled down the road, giving me ample time to absorb some more of my surroundings.
The shops that we passed appeared to be quite well aged as I had suspected on first glance, though their interiors were new and fresh. The streets were adorned with exquisitely ornate iron lampposts and flowers grown in half-barrels and raised garden beds. The townhouses were decorated in a simple Tudor fashion that was quietly elegant, and such styling gave Ponyville a rustic feel to it. It was a feeling that was certainly quite accurate, as I had seen orchards of fruitful apple trees and fields of yellow wheat from the train as it pulled into the station. The steeply pitched thatch roofs and crossed gables of the houses seemed to give modesty to the intricate half-timbering that ran round their exterior, and I found the place to possess a certain beauty to it on which I could not place a hoof.
It was a place whose charms would grow on me the more time I spent there.
“You said you had visited here before?” I questioned my companion as we strolled along an avenue of shops.
“Many times,” said he, and at this he took a very uncharacteristic deep breath before sighing a little, smiling as he did so. I was surprised by this fragment of humanity from my companion, who did not appear to possess a great love for nature or anything outside of his work. But, such was the relaxing nature of this mysterious little town that I could not help but feel precisely the same way.
We walked for about ten minutes, and the shops eventually thinned into houses. We crossed over a small river that ran through the centre of the town, and passed by a large red schoolhouse. My companion paused as we walked by, looking back at the gate that marked the entrance to the schoolyard, where dozens of foals played, their shouts and laughter echoing towards us.
“Trotson – stay a minute, there is an old acquaintance here that I wish to visit, and I doubt we would be missed at the boutique,” he said. I was surprised – Pones did not appear to the sort of fellow that would keep track of old friends, though he clicked his tongue disapprovingly at my expression.
“An integral part of my business, and one that I enjoy quite a good deal more than others,” he said as he turned back to the front gate, “Is to maintain good relations with people that I meet. Besides that, she is somewhat of a gossip.”
I was confused as I followed Pones back to the gate. Surely, idle gossip had very little place in a proper investigation – the exaggerations of Redheart concerning various other things flowed into my mind.
“As supernatural as I appear, I can assure you that I am only a pony,” Pones continued. “I have many friends, who tell me many things, and I value the ability to keep an eye or an ear everywhere I wander, in case it might prove useful.”
I nodded, though again I had not asked anything of him.
“So, barkeepers, town gossips, doctors… anypony that allows you to know what’s going on underneath the veil of normality,” I said, following Pones through the gate. I shut it behind me with a soft snap of metal on metal, and we walked up to the oaken double doors of the schoolhouse.
“Precisely!” he said, giving another unusually merry grin. “You may make a fine detective yet, Trotson.”
I laughed and ran an embarrassed hoof down my mane, though I had no idea why this was so – in reflection, it was most likely the fact that Pones had complimented me on my ability in light of his own excellence.
Pones pushed one of the large doors so that it opened inwards, and in we strolled. Here, there were many desks lined in a row where the children sat, creating an aisle that led from the door where we had entered up to a vacant teacher’s desk, behind which stood a dusty blackboard. Scribbled on the blackboard were various sums and underlined words, but other than those signs of life (and the odd sheet of paper left on the desk) there appeared to be nopony here.
“Perhaps she is outside?” I commented, turning to Pones.
“Yes, she is!” said a bright voice from behind us.
I turned again, and immediately I struck with the idea that the voice was bodiless. But, as my vision adjusted, I looked towards my hooves, and noticed that there were three adorable little fillies who had entered into the schoolhouse behind us.
“Hullo there!” Pones said. “Is Cheerilee about?”
The filly on the left, who had hailed us, spoke again. She had bright orange eyes, and sported a very large pink bow in her red mane.
“Isn’t she supposed tah be Mrs. Cheerilee?” the little filly said with a curious drawl, eyeing Pones suspiciously.
The filly on the right turned and scowled at her. She had a shocking pink mane that looked a tad unkempt, and an orange coat.
“What are you saying, ‘bloom? Grown-ups don’t have to call her Mrs!”
“Are you sure?” asked the one in the middle, looking uncertain. This little filly had a coat of white, with bright green eyes. This, combined with her well-groomed mane, (which appeared to be a vivid mix of a faint lilac and light pink) reminded me briefly of somepony I had seen before, but I could not pin my hoof on who it was.
Pones laughed in good humour, shaking his head.
“Why, I do apologise, I mean Mrs. Cheerilee, of course. What is your name?”
“Applebloom,” she said, her face perking into a cute little smile.
“Well, Applebloom,” said Pones encouragingly. “Can you show me where your teacher is?”
“Sure thing!” she said enthusiastically, turning and leading Pones and I out into the sunlight and noise once more.
The little filly led us left around the side of the school, going off the well-worn path that ran from the front gate to the front door.
“She’s just over there,” she said, pointing with a hoof at a swing set in the distance. There, in the distance, was a Fuschia-coloured mare with a pink and rose mane, pushing another filly on a swing.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said to her, kneeling a little and putting on my best smile. The little filly looked at me with some confusion.
“I told y’all my name’s Applebloom, not sweetheart!” She gestured to her friend with the pink-and-purple mane. “This is Sweetie Belle, but there ain’t no sweetheart around here,” she said.
I was confused by my mistake; not sure how to explain my error to her, but I was offered an immediate reprieve by the orange filly once more, who turned to her friends.
“Hey! Wanna try hula hooping?”
The three of them agreed unanimously and simultaneously that that sounded like a very good deal of fun, and they took off before I could even open my mouth. I turned back to Pones for some comfort, but he had already left me, and was halfway towards the purple mare at the swing set. I hastily trotted over to him.
We were still a good way from her before she recognised Pones, and stopped swinging, much to the dismay of the small foal in the seat.
“But I don’t know how to swing on my own…” I heard her say sadly as I approached with Pones.
“Well run along and find something else to do until your lunch is over, Ruby,” the Fuschia mare responded. The foal begrudgingly got out of the chair and cantered off to find something else to do, to which she turned to Pones.
“Pones, you rogue!” she said with a sudden burst of glee, throwing her hooves around him and kissing him on the nose. I was somewhat alarmed by this seemingly spontaneous outburst of affection, and doubly surprised by the way Pones returned the greeting, kissing her briefly in the same way and embracing her.
“How are you, Cheerilee my dear?” He asked as they separated.
“Very good, very good – but you didn’t send a letter in advance to tell me you were coming!” she said. “I would have taken the day off of work, and we could have had lunch!”
“Ah, well, I did not know that I would be here until this morning.”
“You mean you just got into town?”
“That’s right,” he said. “I got a message this morning asking me to come.”
Cheerilee covered her mouth with a forehoof, her eyes widening like deep green saucers. “Are you here about Rarity’s boutique?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“It was awful, wasn’t it – how many thousands had those gems cost her, one wonders!” She added, a genuine worry crossing her face.
“About three hundred, if the papers are to be believed,” I interjected, smiling warmly as she turned her attention to me.
"It wasn't you, was it?" added Pones rather suddenly. The mare turned back, thumping him in the chest playfully.
“Oh, you," she said with a hearty giggle, before glancing back to me once more. "Who's your friend?”
“My associate, Dr. Trotson.”
I nodded and offered a hoof, somewhat surprised by my upgrade in status to ‘associate’.
“Please, just call me John.”
“John?” Cheerilee exclaimed, looking surprised for a moment before she shook my hoof. “I’ve heard about you before, John.”
I was plunged into confusion, my mind racing for answers. Had Pones written to her? No, that was not possible, as she had just said that he should have wrote before leaving. Unless it was –
“Why, you’re that lovely stallion that Felicia was telling me about the other day!”
My stomach froze. Naturally, that was the only other logical option.
"Your reputation precedes you, doctor," Added Pones dryly from to my left.
“You know of her?” I inquired; my face not giving away my inner nervousness that Redheart had been discussing me in my absence.
“Do I?” she exclaimed incredulously, laughing a little as she did so. “Oh Celestia, we’ve been friends for as long as I can remember – before she even went to Medical school, we were in high school together.” Her eyes flew skywards as she sighed, happily and freely reminiscing. It was only a moment though before her eyes were back on me, scrutinising me closely, as if I were a fine vase; and she were a buyer inspecting me for faults.
I shifted uncomfortably. I wasn't exactly sure why everypony was so prone to looking me over recently, but maybe it was just my proximity to Pones that had encouraged such sensitivity.
“…Yes," she said at length. "Felly talked about you at great length the other day when I was at the practice just up the road!” she said happily. “She didn’t brag, but she spoke of you quite highly, and,” she paused for effect, as if pronouncing something important, “She said you were quite handsome, too.”
I stumbled for words, instead choosing to laugh and smile at the news that in reality set my heart racing. Pones then spoke up, saving me from responding.
“Please, Cheerilee, I need my companion intact – it will not do if he bursts into flame and turns into ash!” He said with a grin, and I became aware that I had blushed furiously. The schoolteacher giggled and nudged me gently, leaning close and putting a hoof to my ear.
“She loves roses,” she said to me quietly before giving me a knowing wink and turning to Pones. “So, what can I do for you?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Pones said with a meditative scratch of his chin. “Just checking for anything useful before we make our way over to the boutique.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, and her face became more serious. “No, I haven’t heard anything interesting about that.”
“Have you spoken to Miss Hooves the mailmare lately? She seems to get herself tied up in all sorts of trouble.”
“I have, and she knows nothing of it either.” Cheerilee shot him an apologetic glance. “I’m afraid you’re quite on your own, Pones, though I daresay others with their hooves in the right places might know a tad more.”
“I doubt it,” said Pones, and I noticed that he had resumed his reflective look of concentration. “Were it to have come from anypony else, I would have merely assumed otherwise, but you know a good deal more than I about several things, this town being one of them.” He turned his attention to the children in the playground. “You’ve been busy lately, I assume?”
“No more than usual,” she replied indifferently, following his gaze. “Or at least, not busy enough to keep me from my usual string of contacts. The only person I haven’t spoken to since the ordeal is Berry Punch, though I doubt she would know.”
“Where is she?” Pones said, cutting her off before she could continue. Cheerilee did not seem to mind his abruptness, instead immediately answering with a shrug.
“Well, I don’t know where she is now, but she was at the town lockup again last night,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Public drunkenness.”
Pones sighed, the first time I had seen him do so. “Still heavy on the bottle then?” he inquired, and I took it that this ‘Berry’ character was an alcoholic.
Cheerilee tipped a hoof this way and that. “Not as much as she used to be, which is always good. Only in the evenings now,” She said, a sad smile formed over her face.
“She?” I said, surprised.
“Yes, that’s right.” Cheerilee said, turning to me from her kids. “Husband was a forest ranger.”
I frowned. “Was?”
“Ursa Major.”
I nodded wordlessly. The inflection in Cheerilee’s words told me all I needed to know.
“Ruby is her daughter,” she said, pointing with a hoof over at the little filly that she had pushed on the swing before. She was now happily and obliviously talking to the three fillies that had assailed them in the schoolhouse just a few minutes earlier. “She shelters her quite a bit ever since he passed away. But, like I said, at least she’s sober in the day.”
She turned back to Pones.
“Sorry I couldn’t help more.”
Pones shook his head. “Not at all, my dear, though I will be getting in touch with Miss Punch.”
Cheerilee looked surprised. “Even though she was in the slammer for the night?” she said, a trace of scepticism in her voice.
“I distinctly remember a certain Magenta Pony once told me to ‘leave no stone unturned’ when I was looking for something,” he replied, raising his eyebrows. To this, she smiled and chuckled.
“Well, I’m touched and honoured that you remembered that,” she said, “But she was in the lockup for most of last night, so it’s highly unlikely that she knows anything.”
“Even so, my dear, even so.”
We stood for a while and watched the young ones play, the noises of their games and occasional gleeful squeals falling on us. I found my eyes falling upon the little white filly that I had seen before. She was singing a little song to herself while dusting a table with her extremely well-kept tail, an act that probably undid all of someone’s hard work in combing it.
“You should get going,” Cheerilee said, after a while. “The sooner you get to Rarity’s, the better – she was an absolute wreck when I saw her from afar this morning on my way here. I didn't go and talk to her, though." She sighed resolutely. "And I have to get these little rascals inside anyway.”
“Quite,” said Pones, turning to me. I sensed that he wouldn’t mind staying and talking more, and indeed he seemed regretful in leaving. “Come now, Dr. Trotson. We should leave Miss Cheerilee to her students.”
I nodded in reply, and we both turned to her and bid her good day before turning and departing the schoolyard. I found, though, that as I walked back around the outside of the schoolhouse I had left Pones behind. I turned, and he jogged to keep up with me, eventually drawing alongside.
“What was it? Did you forget something?” I inquired to Pones, and he shook his head.
“Concerning my work, no – I had already asked all that I could. But, as easy as her advice makes my work, I enjoy seeing her every time I come down here, so I took my time for a goodbye.” He looked quite put out about leaving the schoolyard so soon, his sharp eyes glassing over as he looked at the ground, his forehead tightened into a frown as if something troubled him. I sensed that there was some older and more affectionate bond between him and Cheerilee, but I chose not to ask him about it.
“Well, lead on,” I said to him, after the silence between us grew uncomfortable. “I know not the way.”
“Oh, of course!” He said suddenly, and it was as if for a moment that he had forgotten his own intelligent and guarded nature, and my words reminded him of it. “We are not very far off – It’s just a short walk over the hill.”
He opened the schoolyard gate and strode through, and I followed on. I cast a glance back at Cheerilee’s form as she ushered the last of her students inside. She was watching us leave, and, as she saw me looking back at her, smiled, waving briefly before turning and following the last student back into the schoolhouse.