//------------------------------// // Chapter 26: Any Plan in a Storm // Story: The Enforcer and Her Blackmailers // by scifipony //------------------------------// I knocked a couple of first-year mares aside barreling from the lavatory, heading for the stairs. The halls were clearing, except for a few grabbing books from lockers as the morning sun streamed in the window at the end of the hall. The bell rang. A last gold stallion slipped through the doorway and shut the door, recognizing I wasn't a classmate as I skidded up to the room. That left me winded, pressing my face against the cold rectangular window to see Sunset Shimmer in a wall-side desk, rustling through her saddle bags and bringing out papers. I slid to the worn, darkly-stained wood floor, feeling as dented and trodden by horseshoes as the centuries-old oak planking looked. A small purple mare trotted quietly by, tardy as I, frowning at me. Not kidnapped, then. What good would kidnapping do for Running Mead? If he wanted influence through a minion with access to Canterlot Castle, namely me, he stood to lose it if he got the royal guard involved and my affiliations became known. Still, I was no expert in criminal psychology, despite spending time involved in a few such organizations. With a sigh, I levered myself up and trotted to class against growing paranoia that I shouldn't be leaving the keys to my new life unguarded. Though tardy, I shot from the room a minute before the bell, leaving a potions quiz incomplete to make it to her class as the bell sounded. A tide of pastel ponies surged outward as I arrived, none yellow with a yellow and red mane. When I could stick my head inside, I saw Sunset Shimmer sigh and lay her head on her desk, her bright tresses cascading over her face. The auburn teacher in a brown dress said, "Excuse me!" squeezing past as I entered. Standing beside my patron, I asked, "Are you okay?" Without lifting her head, she groaned and said, "Why are you here?" I packed her notebook and quill into her saddle bags, pulled her unenergetic self standing with grudging assistance, and placed her saddlebags on her back. "What you need is a mug of strong sugary tea." "Won't help," she said… and said again as we sat in the largely empty cafeteria with that mug of deep red liquid and a rapidly dissolving ice cube before her. She deigned to sip it, then affixed her green eyes on me, "Why've you done this to me? I could have snoozed for an hour upstairs." "I was worried." "About what?" Well, that was an awkward question. A pegasus delivered a note from a crime boss with a threat on your life this morning. Though she hadn't asked, I assumed she thought my "gigs" in the Lower were either acting or musical in nature—Proper Step had insisted a filly needed to learn to sing, and occasionally I sang pop and bridleway show-tunes around the ivory tower while doing experiments, cooking, or showering. I couldn't tell her that I had worked as a racketeer's enforcer. That would ruin everything. I'm sure Running Mead would find my discomfort amusing, but I doubted the imagined humor was what he had had in mind with his note. Instead, I said, "You were fine at breakfast." "Say, isn't your library science class now? You were so excited about getting that book. Go. Leave me be." Her hair slid over her eyes as she bent to sip her tea loudly. "You planning on going into Canterlot for lunch?" "Scrounge up your own lunch, Glimmer," she hissed. "Go." I found her at lunch on the castle-side quad, under a tree, munching brown-bagged sliced apples and curried hay, reading a textbook. As I passed by behind Sunset Shimmer, the usually wary pony continued reading placidly, not noticing me. At least she looked less downtrodden than before. As I walked around the building toward the front lawns, intuition, or something seen subliminally, made me look toward Castle Walk Boulevard. I saw a pony with a white blaze. This wasn't me thinking I saw Sunburst, who had both a white blaze on his muzzle and white socks. I'd seen Sunburst everywhere I looked the year he left for Canterlot. Well, maybe it was a flavor of that old hyperawareness mixed with the memory of fighting another with a white blaze, locked in a battle that I'd expected to end with me dead. I moved to stand in the shade behind a fragrant cypress tree and looked. Was it Fellows coming out of the bank wearing a tan business suit, white shirt, and red tie, "idly" looking around from the vantage point of the granite steps? Not dead. Of course, Running Mead was stupid enough to believe that, which meant he didn't have spies in the constabulary—yet. Certainly, Fellows suspected his appearance would scare away Grimoire? Of course, the detective might have learned that a suspicious blue pegasus pony delivered a blue note to a snitty filly with a chartreuse-striped purple mane. I glanced around. No students stood close. A few talked or ate their sandwiches, laying on the lawn, studying. Others looked at an impromptu hoofball game in the rear of the school. Despite the blue-sky reflected in the windows, I felt certain nopony watched me. I cast Don't See Don't Hear Don't Look and trotted quickly to the street. The illusion had its usual drawbacks, and the number of observers also attenuated the spell. One odd head turn, expression, reflexive dodge of something not fully seen by any potential observer, even an unnoticed ear flick, could break the illusory verisimilitude that interfered with the senses and, in a cascade, cause everypony to look. Things I touched might disappear, especially if small—or fail to disappear, meaning things would move without a levitation aura. Perhaps worse was the personal danger of pony or vehicular traffic. Nopony would avoid a collision. I stopped before the sidewalk and watched Fellows, assuring it was the self-same mauve pony with a white candy-stripe in his purple mane, just before he clattered down the steps and strolled toward the Hey Burger!. I waited for a student to pass, then timed my crossing to avoid a northbound bus and a southbound van, the latter by inches, blowing my tail in the draft. Hoof-traffic was light, but it felt like threading a needle, me having to concentrate on the spell and being aware of everything 360 degrees around me, including the ponies, pasteboard restaurant menu signs, cafe tables, newspaper racks, and other sidewalk obstacles that limited my ability to dodge. My neck began to hurt from swinging it around rapidly and I began to sweat, and I well knew the spell didn't mask that distraction. I caught up to him past the Hey Burger!, where I noticed the tip of his ear. A triangle of about two inches had been sliced off; he was probably not too happy about that. Better that than dead, though. He purchased a stick of apples, jicama, and watermelon dipped in chocolate from a window, but other than occasionally glancing at the school, I had no new clues as to why he was here. I noticed a little orange colt foal with a quacking wooden duck on wheels pulled by a string, trailing his mother. His eyes seemed to follow me as he approached. Add the height of the caster's eyes leaving gaps in the caster's perception to the weaknesses of the spell. With the strain of casting the spell growing too much, I ducked into an access way and watched Fellows amble away to be lost in the crowd. A "Mommy! Mommy!" was also lost in the crowd noise. I was going to have to be wary of young foals, and probably animals too. I timed it and let the spell unravel as I exited onto the sidewalk. It left me too much to think about in class the rest of the day. My practical magic teacher actually banged on my desk. I realized she'd said, "Stop cloud gathering, Glimmer—!" before she dropped her ruler. A charred piece of wood smoked on my desk top. I tried to look contrite, but trying to blush just doesn't work. I got to meet the vice-principal. Yippie. I had to face it. All signs lead to the conclusion that my life would soon implode. Needless to say, I felt torn when a somewhat-revived Sunset Shimmer hauled me away from studying at my desk on the first floor of the ivory tower to join her in Canterlot for dinner. I said, "There's oat bread and veg in the pantry." Her eyes had dark circles under them. "Are you trying to get on my nerves, today?" she asked, then led me with a tug of her magic. "Silly filly." At an all-you-could eat herb and hay bar, she also bought a hard cider, and another when I whispered, "Me too," before we got to the cashier. If there was any time I needed it, it was now. Watching the crowds in full bodyguard mode, looking for constables or gang members, had my every muscle tight. We found a table with me facing the storefront and an eye to the swinging kitchen door. Celestia, how I hated this. How could I have found this at all fun? Right. All the attention and praise... Being useful. Protecting a life. Being the fastest quick draw of them all... I bowed my head to sip the golden liquid in the glass, the effervescence tickling my nose as I put my lips to the liquid. My reaction was instant. "Bleech! How can you drink this yucky stuff?" I couldn't tell if I hated the sour or the astringent medicine taste worse as I tried to remove the taste by scraping my tongue with my front teeth. "More for me," she said, dragging the glass next to hers in her magic. "What's up with you today?" I looked down at my plate. The whole basil leaves, red and yellow nasturtiums, and the pile of potato and ground alfalfa beet salad had seemed more appetizing when I'd heaped them on my plate. Hers had halved tomatoes, arugula, caramel hay stalks, and celery root purée. I looked up to find her green eyes regarding me. I said, "I realized how important you are to me." She started blinking as I realized the many ways in which what I had said could be misinterpreted. It didn't help that my face grew warm. Her face went through a panoply of expressions, all uncomfortable. "I don't know much about this friendship thing, but I don't think I've been much of a friend." She munched on a forkful of hay. "I've sworn off the institution—" "After Sunburst?" "Yeah." So why did I care about Sunset Shimmer, and truthfully, that punk Streak? "We've both had lives where that just doesn't make sense." "We're survivors." "Exactly. But for a few weeks, I thought I might evolve beyond that. Unfortunately, I've made choices in my life that I regret all of a sudden." I didn't realize it at first that I glared when she picked up her glass. It registered with her the instant it did with me because she put it down unsampled. I added, "I hope you won't make decisions you'll regret." "I'm sure I'll make loads of them," she said prophetically, hefting and downing the entire glass. Later, I hugged her in bed—after she fell asleep. Something told me it might be the last time. It didn't take a day to realize her choices already haunted her and would destroy my dreams. It didn't seem possible, but she became more grumpy and more irascible. Not only did she look like she was hungover, despite only two ciders the night before, but I overheard the gossip fillies mention her name as I returned from the university library. Seems she'd bawled out a student during a practicum she had administered. As I lingered around the group, a lavender platinum blonde said she heard Sunset had boxed the ear of a student. Another said she was on report with the principal. Incidents the princess would hear about. I returned to the ivory tower and checked the fume hood in the basement laboratory. As I suspected, no scent of nettle-ewe smoke. There was always a chance she had listened to me and voluntarily gone cold turkey. I hissed, "Yeah, tell me another!" and slammed the glass door down. Whatever the reason, her supply had dried up, and I would bet bits to biscotti that I knew why. The best I could hope for was that she would seek out help or, at the very least, tough it out. But when she returned home later, and despite being a wreck, with hairs in her mane standing out, and wincing at loud noises, she acted nice, almost sweet and deferential around me. I'd introduced her to weed, after all. Who might be better able to get her more? I could understand. I had amazing memories of the influence of the drug. That Zecora had helped me through the experience with her salts, guidance, talk of spirits, and metered doses of the herb prevented it, barely, from stepping from fond memory to a craving. The next day, before my third period class, I stood at the second floor window facing the boulevard. I spotted Fellows again. I now knew that the downtown constabulary shared office space with the royal guard and was less than a dozen blocks away, but still. What was his game? I saw him again near the end of lunch, too. At dinner, in the kitchen, we ate poorly seasoned spinach and garlic oat pasta that Sunset Shimmer tossed together with olive oil. With her barely able to keep up a nervous banter, she finally asked how I spent my time in the Lower. "Acting," I prevaricated, curtly, and that proved sufficient to delay the inevitable. I trotted up to school at dawn while the janitors busily swept for the new day, the cafeteria cook prepared the day's meals, and athletes showed up for early practice. I kept vigil at the second floor window sill with a mug of steaming honeyed tea, a math book, a sheet of paper, and a quill. As normally-didn't-get-out-of-bed-until-the-last-second students showed up, with, to my relief, Sunset Shimmer amongst them, I spotted dear old Fellows across the way, rapidly heading in the direction of the constabulary, but not so fast that he couldn't spare glances at the school and the pastel ponies streaming into the building. By then, I had written a checklist of my options. One: I could throw it all away and spend my last gold bits on a train ticket to Dodge City or Trottingham. I had more skills, now, even if I didn't have a diploma or a degree to prove it. I might get honest work. Two: I could go home. I'd have plenty of money, would even be able to pay for tutors; let Proper Step try to restrict me now and insist on making me a proper lady! I'd love to know who had made him the administrator of my trust fund. However, both Running Mead and Sunset Shimmer had correctly deduced I came from around Horseshoe Bay. Grin Having stood five miles away in the hills. Either of these two options seemed like running with my tail between my legs. Quitting. The argument that a mare had to do what a mare had to do just rang hollow. Three: I could visit Zecora. Assuming Zecora would trade me for nettle-ewe—and I sensed she might refuse—that solution was fraught with problems, like getting caught bringing an illegal herb into Canterlot, to name one, or possibly drawing the ire of Flowing Waters or Princess Celestia herself. I had no criminal record or enemies that weren't criminals, yet. Becoming saddled with either was the risk. This option allowed me to expand the length of time I could research and study. Of course, Running Mead would find another way to obtain his goal, which I still wasn't clear about, so how could I counter it? How much time could I buy? Four: I could go to Flowing Waters and tattle about Sunset Shimmer's addiction. I could go to the Princess herself, for that matter, but the result would be the same. Sunset Shimmer would retaliate by mentioning that I introduced her to the weed, and perhaps that I had had sex with her, something I couldn't refute since I didn't remember. No chance I'd become the princess' next physician; a slim chance that I might avoid Tartarus. Five: I could take Sunset Shimmer to Zecora. I presumed the zebra knew how to cure addiction considering that she knew how to prevent it. However, I could see Sunset Shimmer objecting to visiting the Everfree Forest, or letting herself be treated by a folk healer. This option also exposed Zecora as Running Mead's nettle-ewe supplier. If Sunset Shimmer retaliated, she'd hurt Zecora, too. Or she might just threaten to retaliate to get nettle-ewe. I owed it to Zecora to protect her from harm. Last, it would raise questions in Sunset Shimmer's mind as to my involvement… Six: I could work with Sunset Shimmer to ride out the storm of her withdrawals. She might not be able to cast Force correctly, but she was huskier than me and no lightweight mage—she was Princess Celestia's first protégé after all. I might be able to corral her for awhile, but she'd get away. I knew the authorities could control a dangerous unicorn by ringing her horn, but that meant both obtaining the prohibited toroidal amulet and getting the unicorn to cooperate to allow you to put it on her horn. My situation was reality, not fantasy; if I acted without Sunset Shimmer's permission, at least she'd retaliate only against me unlike in option five, maybe not as forcefully as in option four, but I'd be out on my ear with no help for my project, and an enemy who'd likely thwart any research In the future. At best, it would buy time as in option three. Six: Abandon Sunset Shimmer, get work force-heating burgers, and find a flop house with ponies who attended school from distant cities. This was the weakest option of all since I gave up my one strong asset, Sunset Shimmer, and left Running Mead plenty of time to blackmail me or hurt another I might associate with. The five minute bell sounded. I packed my supplies, drank my cold tea, and trotted to class. As I sat in my desk, looking at the blackboard upon which the teacher wrote the topics for today's lesson, I thought sourly how my options were to 1) quit, 2) lose everything, 3) be beaten into submission, or 4) get arrested. Might as well jump off the Canterlot Precipice as go back to work for Running Mead. That would be number 5, wouldn't it? I hated that Running Mead stood to win big or not lose anything he hadn't lost. The teacher continued yesterday's lecture about the Resignation Interregnum. Three-hundred years ago when Princess Celestia had retreated to the Crystal Mountains, she had left Equestria under parliamentary rule. The teacher talked about cultural shifts. During that time, ponies of any means wore clothing in public. Many wore outlandish frilly costumes, even stallions, that always covered a pony's cutie mark. It was a time when philosophical and political thought ran that ponies, whether commoner or gentry, were equal under the law and, like Princess Celestia's sun cutie mark, cutie marks were thought to intrinsically differentiate ponies. Some historians even thought that the fashions of the interregnum seemed to indicate that ponies thought it rude to display cutie marks, though my teacher poo-pooed that conclusion. I found it fascinating that for about thirty years, everypony thought that cutie marks made ponies appear unequal. But more interesting was the idea that costumes made one's identity. I thought about Grimoire. I thought about my former life in Grin Having. The inkling of an idea bloomed in my head. That afternoon, I cut class when I ascertained Fellows had finished his occasional patrol. I took my bits and did some very careful shopping in the Canterlot fashion district.