Bonus Chapter:
The Giant Weasel Incident
It was a good while after the Decadence fiasco – Cadence lost her mind and tried to end the world, it's quite the story, I'm sure I've told you about it – that I was spending some time in Canterlot. Just the day before, I'd captured a rogue spirit living in the library, and I needed rest.
With nothing but a few bits in my bag and time to kill, I decided to tour some of the lesser-used streets of the pristine city. Secrets, I'd found, often hung around dark alleys. Some were more mundane than others.
On the corner of a narrow street was an old shop. Once upon a time it may have been a nice place, but today decades of dust and cobwebs covered whatever decorations that resided within. There was an old stallion behind the gnat-infested counter who had a wandering eye and bones that creaked louder than the floorboards. In my time in Night Shift, I'd learned to recognise when adventure called. This one seemed interesting.
He greeted me with about three teeth in his smile, and an apparent effort to focus both of his eyes on me. “I'd been expecting you,” he said, voice like a dying whisper. “Here for the tome, yes?”
“I think you're getting ahead of yourself, old stallion,” I replied, as eager and curious as wary. If the number of times a pony saved the world is any measure of their likelihood to be some sort of 'chosen one', I'd say I was anyone's best bet. Still, there's only so much world-saving one can do before getting a little bit tired of it. I'd hoped for a smaller job. Catch a monster, slay a demon – that sort of thing. “We have never met.”
He chuckled through his smile, air whistling in the spaces between his remaining teeth. He reached for a shelf above the counter – filled with pickled organs, strange concoctions, and at least one dead rat – and retrieved an ancient tome. He placed the tome on the counter and slid it over to me.
“None must know you got this from me,” he said. “I've taken a huge risk in keeping it all this time. I'm glad you're finally here to take this burden off my back.”
My horn lit up, and the tome flew up before me. Its pages were yellow and hardened by time, more prone to break than tear – and empty. Not a word written on the inside or out.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked. “If this is a joke, or a trap, know that I'll find you again.”
“Its secrets are yours to discover,” he said. Then he stared, frozen with that grin on his face.
So I left, with the tome buried in my bag.
I liked the mystery. Was it unwise to attempt this strange quest alone? Most likely. I've never been anything if not wilful and just a little bit proud, though. Little lapses of judgement create the best stories.
The tome was an old one, bound in leather. The front cover held no title, only strange, arcane runes the kind of which I'd never encountered in all my adventures, not even anything vaguely similar. Over my stay in Canterlot, I spent many sleepless nights trying to decipher them. While I came no closer to gleaning the meaning of the runes, I quickly found out something peculiar: at midnight, every night, the runes glowed for a minute.
'What are you?' I wrote into the first page of the tome, at midnight on the dot. The old tome swallowed my quill's ink.
'The keeper of secrets', the tome wrote back, ink appearing from the pages before sinking back within the moment.
'What secrets?' I asked the tome. My minute was almost up.
'Luna's secrets', it replied.
'What sort of secrets?'
The tome did not respond for a while. I was beginning to fear I'd ran out of time; I had been too tense to keep track of passing seconds.
'The secrets of weasels', it finally said.
“See?” I asked, slamming the tome onto Luna's desk. “Is this a joke?”
Princess Luna eyed the tome inquisitively, tilting her head this way and that. “You tell me,” she said, eyes on the leather cover. “Are you playing a prank? For your sake, I will not ask what this is made of.”
“I want to know what this is,” I said, tapping on the cover. “It keeps blabbering about you... you and weasels.”
Her ears perked up and her eyes went wide. I'd expected her to laugh. Instead she gave me the most horrified look. “Weasels?”
“Weasels.”
She started breathing heavily, and her gaze wandered as though she was about to faint. “What size are these... weasels?”
“I beg your pardon?” I rubbed my forehead. “What do you mean, what size? Are you saying this isn't a joke?”
“Where did you come across this tome?”
“A shop two streets down. In fact...” I turned around. From Luna's room, high in a spire of Canterlot Palace, it was easy to see. I pointed outside to the street in question. “Right there. The shop is...” And that's when I noticed. I recognised the street from an aerial view, but it was as though a building was missing. “It's gone?”
She stepped up, leaning over my shoulder to scan the city. “What is gone?”
“The shop! It was right there. I swear.”
She closed her eyes. Her horn glowed, and the tome floated into the air. Before I could say a word, Luna's horn came alive with a bright spark – and the tome caught fire.
“What are you doing?!”
“Twilight Sparkle,” she said, staring into the flames and the falling, charred flakes of old paper, “there are things in this world that must remain hidden. I urge you, nay, I command you not to pursue this matter further.”
“Weasels?” Vinyl Scratch asked. She was a vampire; her blood hadn't flowed in her veins in decades. Yet I could've sworn I saw her face go white, whiter even than it was normally. “I'm telling you, Twilight, I'm staying out of this. Far away. In fact, let me pack my things and move to the farthest corner of the world, 'cause I'm not about to be around when you inevitably find out.”
She fell back against her dressing table, grabbing her head. The muffled sounds of the night club throbbed across the thin walls of Vinyl's office, imitating a heartbeat. Perhaps that's why the vampire loved it so much.
“Do you know anything about this?” I asked.
Octavia sat. She sat, and she stared, jaw hanging. “I wish I didn't. By the stars, I wish I didn't know about the Giant Weasel Incident.”
Vinyl curled up in a corner and began rocking back and forth. “Why did you have to remind me, Twilight?” She sniffed. “I can still smell the bagels. And my nose has been dead for years.”
I stomped. “What in Equestria are you talking about? Look, I'm not going to drag you into this—”
Octavia sighed. “You already did, Miss Twilight.”
“...but I'm at a dead end here. The tome is gone and Luna wants this buried. The stallion at the shop told me this was for me to discover. I need to know. So tell me.”
Vinyl rubbed her temples, groaning. “No. Nope, nada, nah, I'm not saying nothin'. Get out. I'm telling you, Twilight, get out.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Did you say bagels?”
She perked up, a horror behind her eyes. “No! No, I didn't say anything. You heard me, Tavi, I totally didn't.”
I turned my head to Octavia.
She stared blankly at the wall. “Damn it, Miss Vinyl.”
I knew where to go next.
That same night, I hit up Pony Joe's. I remembered my first time there, after that catastrophic Grand Galloping Gala. We gathered there with the girls and Celestia and Spike. Those were good times. Innocent times. Before Chrysalis, before Decadence... and before the weasels.
“Give me the largest doughnut you have,” I said, holding up a hoof as I barged in. “Extra sprinkles. I'm in a bad mood.”
He nodded, putting down the mug he'd been drying with a towel. Why is it that barkeeps are always drying mugs and glasses? Ah, those were questions for another time. It was clear, by now, that I wouldn't gain information regarding the weasels easily. It was as if anypony who knew about it wanted it all gone.
I threw myself into a tall barstool at the counter, then buried my face in my hooves. I'd never been much for pretend-weeping, but I'd known Rarity long enough to pick up on a few things. The scrunch of the nose, the wobbly voice... with enough stimulation, even the tear ducts could be bent to the conscious will. I rubbed my cheeks and breathed quickly and shallowly for a moments – and then, my tears were falling like rain.
“Aww,” Joe sighed. “How did life let you down?”
“They told me...” I paused for a dry gag and a sniff. “They told me I should just get a dog, you know? Or maybe a ferret.”
He leaned on the counter, a concerned look on his face. Joe was, by all account, a nice pony. I hated to toy with his emotions like that, but a mare needed information, and she was going to get it. “Something happened to a little friend?” he asked, patting my shoulder.
I looked at him, face screwed up with feigned sorrow. I gave him a nod as if I couldn't speak.
“Don't worry, lady,” Joe said. “Say, that doughnut you wanted? It's on the house. Let me get it for you.”
The moment he turned around, I was already scanning the place. There were a couple of ponies sitting further back, apparently unaware of the crying mare up front, or pretending to be. Not much else going at this late hour. The diner smelled of sugar and freshly baked goods, and had a warm, if a bit humid, atmosphere. It was easy to see why sad ponies would come here. A very comforting place.
A row of framed photographs stood on a shelf above Pony Joe. Some seemed to be of his family; others were pictures of him and the diner, taken with or by grateful guests. He posed with Royal Guards off – and occasionally on – duty; pretty, young broads; wizened old stallions; all seeking the comfort of an understanding pair of ears and a sweet doughnut.
One picture among the dozens caught my eye. It was Trixie, standing upright on a diner table, her wide-brimmed hat tilted back and cape flowing in the wind, with the many guests and Joe himself looking up at her in awe. It was difficult to tell from the picture – it looked old and cracked in many places – but she seemed to be levitating a bunch of chairs and making some sort of structure out of them. They looked warped by magic, contracted here and elongated there to better represent whatever she was building. Her work obviously wasn't done at the moment the picture had been taken. Yet I thought I could discern a general shape:
Something four-legged. Something round-eared. Something long.
Squinting just right, off centre and out of focus, I could just barely make out a cage in the picture, sitting on an unused chair. The troubling thing about it was the weasel inside... or rather, half inside. Just as the photo had been snapped, the animal was squeezing itself out between two bars, and its upper half was already free. The ponies in the pictures all seemed too enraptured by Trixie's hocus-pocus to notice.
Joe came back with the doughnut. He placed the plate in front of me, followed up by a warm mug of hot chocolate.
“Now,” he began, “tell me what ails you. I'm the keeper of many secrets.”
“You are?” I asked back in pretend ignorance. “Well... it's about my pet, like you guessed.”
“What sort of pet?”
I nibbled at the doughnut innocently. “A lovely sort. My oh my, how I loved her.”
He put a hoof on mine. “I'm sorry for your loss.”
“I guess it's my fault,” I said, wiping away my tears. “I shouldn't have bought a weasel.”
Joe lifted his hoof for a moment, a clear look of fright on his face. But then he put it right back, and his familiar, reassuring smile returned. “Well, I don't know too much about weasels, but I know they can be trouble.”
“Not mine,” I said. “She was an angel.”
“What happened to her?”
I looked him square in the eye. “I didn't give her enough bagels.”
Slowly, Joe retracted his hoof. That friendly smile melted away. He lowered his voice to a dreadful whisper. “Is the Great One restless again?”
“Positively agitated,” I said, unsure of what to expect. Best keep him talking, I figured.
“I trust the Gaze of the Northern Salad is turned our way?” he asked.
“I've yet to find it,” I said. “Where should I look?”
“So it does not want to be found.” He took off his little paper hat and placed it over his heart. “Truly the stars have abandoned us.”
We exchanged a moment of silence. I may not have known what he was talking about, but staring into his eyes, the severity of the situation slowly dawned on me.
“What must we do?” I asked.
“I don't know, lady,” he said. It was like he was staring right through me. “I don't know.”
Finding Trixie was difficult, with her being a travelling magician as well as an agent of Night Shift and all. It took me weeks of searching. I'd passed through great cities and tiny towns and travelled down paths both well known and never before used. Equestria was a vast place, and finding this one pony truly took a toll on me. The only saving throw I had was Trixie's love of bombast; if she'd been somewhere, the ponies knew, and they could always point me in her direction. She truly knew how to make an impression. It was only a matter of following her tracks.
Rolling eyes, words of annoyance, and displeased groans guided my way towards Trixie. Eventually, I found her wagon stationed in the biggest square of a small, out of the way town up in northern Equestria. Weary of both mind and body, I'd finally arrived in Pin Tweaks. The mare herself, however, was nowhere to be found.
It was a small town, beset by evergreen mountains, and not a soul in hours of travel in any direction. Crumbled plaster covered the streets under antique walls, and of all the buildings, none but the mayor's reached above a single floor. By the conspiring looks and hushed whispers that the ponies in the diner exchanged, I figured this was a close-knit community, not very welcoming of outsiders. Trixie may have been their first meeting with the outside world in generations by the looks of it, and goodness knew if that was the case they had every right to be wary of newcomers.
I sat down by the counter. Everypony else subtly, slightly turned away and lowered their voice. The waitress – a matronly, plump old mare with her mane in a bun and a stained apron tied around her waist – fought down a sneer while turning to me. She didn't say anything, only furrowed her eyebrows at me.
“Tea, if you would,” I said, throwing some bits onto the counter. “And some information.”
She cleared her throat and replied in a gravelly voice, “Info-what?”
“That wagon outside.” I stuck the tip of my hoof towards the door. “You know who it belongs to?”
She squinted, looking through the diner's glass door, a frown creasing her face. “Is some no-good plonker gobermouch is what she is. Came ridin' in town an' never 'ad a good word ta anypone. Whatcha' wan' with 'er?”
“I need to discuss with her the state of weasels.”
She gave me a long look-over. “Yer some crazy pone like 'er ahn'cha?” With that, she turned around to fetch my tea.
While waiting for my drink, I pretended not to notice all the ponies now staring at me. I saw one of them shift and fidget uncomfortably. He had a long cloak covering his hunchback and a hood draped over his face and an unkempt beard. When the waitress slammed my mug of tea down, spilling a drop, the strange stallion stood up. He walked just slow enough that the waitress went to tend to other ponies by the time he got here.
He climbed into the seat next to me, slumping over the counter and sticking his wide, circled eyes at me from the shadow of his hood.
“D-did-didja...” he jabbered, “Didja say, weasels?” The lump on his back seemed to shift and pulsate under his cloak, and I could've sworn I heard some high-pitched squeaking.
“You know something about them?” I asked, turning to him.
He twiddled his hooves a bit. “I... I know something about them.”
I leaned in, beckoning him closer, putting my mouth to his ear. “Is the Great One growing restless?”
He recoiled, nearly falling off his seat. His lump nearly fell off his back before climbing back into its spot amidst more squeaking. “The Great One fears the Bagel Lord, but the Haymaker forgot the Skinner's breakfast.” His eyes narrowed and he lowered his voice. “H-he hates salad dressing.”
Intrigued and terrified in equal measure, I knew I had to find out more. It was also obvious that the doddering fool sitting beside me wouldn't be of much use. “Tell me, where can I find Trixie?”
“The Trickster is out of town,” he said. “Sh-she needed fresh air, she said, she did. Mayor told her ta get a hike. Not seen her since, we haven't, I didn't.”
“Fresh air, you say?” I asked back.
“And a hike.”
I liked the way this one thought.
There was a mountain that overlooked the entirety of Pin Tweaks – and a hiking trail leading up to the pinnacle. It was as good a place to start as any. The Sun was setting by the time I reached the mountaintop. Trixie, again, was nowhere.
It's a shame, I thought. I'd almost grown fond of her during our little adventures a while back. I've saved her, and she's saved me; as much as I hated to admit it, when she wasn't playing out her outrageous stage persona, Trixie may even have been the better pony of the two of us. Far more experienced in life, anyway. Although my first priority was uncovering the mystery behind the Giant Weasel Incident, I was secretly looking forward to catching up with the old friend, too. Nothing quite like the impending end of the world to bring ponies together.
An old, decaying bench stood at the mountain's peak, in a clearing that provided a pleasant vista of the town. I figured it'd hold my weight. One by one, the lights started coming on as the Sun sank behind the distant, misty horizon.
My ears fluttered. “Through the darkness of future pranks...” came an ominous chanting from the woods.
“The Trickster longs to see...”
It was usually the case, I'd found, that one heard Trixie before seeing her.
“One chants out between two bagels...”
I jumped from my seat and ran off in the sound's direction. It wasn't far away. Finally, I found Trixie in a small grotto beset by thick, vine-covered trees.
She reared on her hind legs, sticking her front hooves to the sky, dancing above a flickering blue fire. “Weasel!” she yelled. “Walk with me!”
“Trixie?” I called out.
He grin dissolved into a look of terror. She slowly turned to me. “Sparky?”
Then the earth began to shake. Trixie looked back at the dancing flame – which had gone blood red. “What have you done?!” she screamed. “You broke my concentration!”
Storm clouds began to gather above the previously open sky. The air began to rumble, the forest shuddered under a sudden gale wind. Birds flew into the sky and all animals scrambled in panic, screeching and wailing, trampling over one another as they ran.
Trixie took off running as well. “You've done it now!” she yelled, rushing past me into the clearing with the bench. “It was supposed to be a joke! It's just a prank!” For all the adventures we'd been on and all the monsters Trixie and I faced, I'd never heard her scream in utter terror like that.
“What in Tartarus is happening?!” I yelled, hot in her steps. “What did you do?”
“What did you do?!”
An enormous stomp shook the ground, with a force so violent that we both fell. It seemed that the stars and the Moon had all gone out, hidden by the oncoming storm. Below, the lights of Pin Tweaks had disappeared; the world had turned pitch black. Unable to see much farther than my own nose, I couldn't be sure the town was still there at all.
“What happens now, Trixie?”
“Now, Sparky?” she asked.
The crack of thunder shook the world as a bolt of lightning illuminated the mountains for just a moment. Something enormous and dark loomed above us, taller than the mountains themselves, the long hairs on its ears scraping the clouds. Its eyes and bared fangs reflected the lightning's flash.
“Now, Sparky, we pray.”
It was at this time – when I was lost in the darkness at the edges of Equestria, with the Giant Weasel towering above me, when I thought all hope was lost and I'd never see the face of another pony again – that Trixie barged into the library.
“Sparky,” she said, relieved. “I've been looking all over for you.”
She was so old, now. Worry lines drew ridges in her brow, and many wrinkles now covered her once smooth face. The skin under her eyes had gone saggy, but she never lost that youthful power in her gaze.
“Alright, that's oddly flattering,” she said, awkwardly giggling through a grin frozen on her face. “Pray tell what you're doing here at this hour.” She stamped over to me with all the strength her frail bones allowed.
“Oh, I was just telling the kids about how we got together.”
“That's nice, dear,” she said, the corners of her smile twitching. Grabbing the handles of my wheelchair, she leaned a bit closer to the kids and lowered her voice. “Don't believe a word she says after 6 PM. Her mind just leaves town around that time. Now...” She started to push me out of the room. “Now, Sparky sweetie, let's have dinner, alright? I'll get your dentures. It's your favourite Sweet Apple Pie. Then we'll take your medicine and we can go nap-nap.”
I loved nap-nap. Not so much the medicine. It tasted bitter, and bitter was the only flavour I could still feel. It was like I hadn't tasted anything else in thirty years.
“But what about the apple pie?” Trixie asked. “You can taste that, right? Also, you need to stop narrating everything that happens.”
“I like pie.” I liked pie a lot.
Trixie continued pushing me out of the room, the wheels of the chair creaking. Trixie had apparently forgotten to oil them again. She groaned. She planted a hoof in her own face. She stopped right before the door, turning back to the kids for just a moment. “Poor old sap. She's forgotten more about friendship than the rest of us have ever known.”
The biggest question on my mind was, in that moment, just where Trixie was taking me.
“Dinner, dear.”
“Right!” I said. I knew that. I was only checking if she did, too. “What's that book about?”
Her aura wrapped around the door's handle, but fizzed out shortly. She sighed, a trembling hoof combing back her old, grey mane.
“My mane's always been... oh, never mind.”
Not the first time she stopped mid-sentence. Her age has been catching up with her. Poor old sap. With magic so weak, she had to open the door with her own hooves. Then she very carefully eased me over the doorstep, out into the clear Ponyville air.
“Wait, have I told them about the time I became a princess?”
“That never happened, Sparky.”
“I'll tell them anyway!”