//------------------------------// // Wherein Our Heroine Acquires Appropriate Headwear // Story: Treasures // by Carabas //------------------------------// Daring Do perched on the prow of her ship, outspread wings keeping her steady as the vessel plowed on through the raging sea. High waves furiously battered the ship, and the endless black stormclouds overhead rippled with lightning as they sent down sheets of rain. Both were soundly ignored. Daring had eyes only for the mountainous silhouette of an island past the storm, and for the vast and skeletal ruin that rose from its peak like a grasping claw. Daring grinned her fiercest grin as the ruins of Lord Ghastly’s Eyrie took form, already imagining the great treasures and glories that were rumoured to lie within. Only the bravest and most skilled of adventurers were said to have a hope of uncovering its secrets. So it was pretty lucky, all things told, that the bravest and most skilled of adventurers was on the scene. “All right, crew!” she shouted, turning smartly on her heel to face the rest of her ship — because, naturally, the greatest of adventurers was a dashing pirate queen as well. “Belay that mizzenthingy! Rig the brig! Other nautical words! Don’t let a little rain get you down now that the goal’s in sight!” “Aye-aye, Queen Cap’n Adventurer-Archaeologist Daring Do!” said the swarthy old pirate jack at the helm, who Daring had only come up with recently and hadn’t given a name yet. “Belaying the mizzenthingy!” The ship rocked underhoof, but Daring remained steady. It was a calming amount of peril, really, even as a spluttering noise at the back of the ship brought a new problem to her attention. “Ignis!” she said, turning to a pony-sized dragon who was clutching the mizzenthingy for dear life, like the lovable coward he was. “The steam engine’s furnace has run out of coal again! Go below and breath more fire into it so we’re still on course!” “Aye-aye, Daring!” said Ignis, his scaly face betraying relief at being sent below out of the way of the storm. “That’s Queen Captain Adventurer-Archaeologist Daring to you, sailor! Now as for everypony else ...” A sudden crash upon the ship’s hull broke Daring’s train of thought, and she turned back to the front of the ship, holding her pith helmet steady on her head as she did so. In the skies above, great winged shapes came plummeting down amidst the stormclouds, breathing plumes of lightning as they descended. Across the surface of the raging water, the tall shapes of dozens of other ships with ragged black sails and flags had appeared, bristling with weaponry. And under the waves, long and lithe black-finned shapes with heads like hammers wove around the ship. Splintering crash after splintering crash echoed up from the hull as the hammerheads applied their namesake. This was to be expected. This was, in fact, just fine. “Everypony else!” said Daring, turning to address all other ponies on deck. A mix of interesting and half-remembered faces, old playmates, assorted characters from the adventure stories she’d read, and whoever else seemed like suitable adventuring companion material. Mrs Nettle, Daring’s favourite teacher at her school in Canterlot, who’d once lent Daring a full set of Equid Brayton books. The Superb Six from said books, including, of course, their dog companion. Baron Munchorsen, the great braggart who often found himself reluctantly living up to his word. Tumbleweed the great pegasus explorer, who’d tried to sail around the world and had gotten himself lost forever for his trouble. Firefly, founder of the Wonderbolts and all-round haunch-kicker. All those and sundry talented others for Daring’s crew. All stopped whatever deck-swabbing and line-securing they’d been engaged in and gave her their full attention. “I know this seems like dire straits! But even though we’re about to be attacked by a full flock of lightning-dragons, and a corsair armada, and a shoal of hammerheads —” Another splintering thud sounded against the hull as the last group reaffirmed their presence. “Don’t worry! I have a cunning plan. Lord Ghastly’s Eyrie’s getting explored, and nothing’s going to stop me!” “Hurrah!” the massed crew dutifully echoed. All except for two figures at the back of the ship, next to the old pirate jack. One of them, an earth pony stallion in a battered justacorps coat and a tricorn hat, gave Daring a cheerful wink. “Just be sure to leave some ancient ruins intact for the rest of us, poppet,” said Dad. And the other was a pegasus mare whose face Daring couldn’t quite make out, but whose helmet and bush jacket were a match for Daring’s own, and who radiated pure awesome like the sun radiated fire. “I know you’ll make me proud, Daring,” she said, and that was all. Daring turned round again for the umpteenth time that minute, her grin as fierce as any manticore’s as she regarded the odds ahead. Victory was in her hoof’s grasp. Now all she had to do was actually have a cunning plan… But before she could go smoothly through one’s motions, another abrupt crash all but knocked her off her hooves. The whole ship seemed to have stopped moving, even as it seemed to keep rocking underhoof. Had they struck a reef? Another ship? A particularly strong hammerhead? Daring tried to steady herself and look over the side, but her senses were reeling and foggy for some reason. “Brace!” she called, which was probably a helpful, commanding sort of thing to yell under the circumstances. “On my mark … er … do something! I just have to think of —” But coherent thought wasn’t coming, and the more Daring scrabbled for it, the more her senses seemed to become disoriented. Her bush jacket had become strangely constricting as well, and though she tried to shrug it off, the feeling remained. And as her senses lurched and split away from what was happening, and as conscious thoughts began to knock her even more off-kilter, and the feeling of being smothered by her own jacket grew, Daring finally realised what was happening. “Dang it,” she muttered. And in a few fitful bursts, and not without some counterproductive mental struggling, Daring Do woke up in her father’s travelling wagon. She grudgingly yawned her way towards consciousness from where she’d fallen asleep amidst a pile of rope and old papers, and groggily raised her head from where it had been resting in her mother’s old pith helmet. Her plush dragon doll, Ignis, lay to one side out of hoof’s reach. Something covered her, and she shrugged off the heavy indigo material that must have been laid over her as a blanket—Dad’s patched justacorps, after a moment’s inspection. By her, there sprawled the books she’d taken along for the journey. Not too many, no more than about a dozen. Daring poked her head clear of the jumble and out into the cool open air. A dark blue dusk had fallen over the hills around, painting the clouds and distant horizon orange in the last of the sunlight. Ahead, past the front of the wagon and the empty harness, she saw Dad standing to one side, his head tilted back as he held his canteen firmly in his mouth and gurgled water. His old tricorn had tumbled unnoticed to the ground at his back. Dad and dignity weren’t often on speaking terms. Daring yawned and pulled herself free of the entangling stuff at her hooves—tent parts, spare crossbows, the odd bit of barding —and waved to get his attention. “Dad? Why’ve we stopped?” “Glkglkglluk—ah! Good sleep, poppet?” Dad spat out the canteen, brushed water off his muzzle, and turned to Daring, his smile and eyes bright upon his slate-grey coat. Several small old scars ran across his face and hide, and those on his face creased whenever he smiled. “Yeah. Why’ve we stopped?” Daring tried to be patient as she said it. If she’d learned one thing in her eight years of life, it was that adults could be very, very dense, and needed things repeated to them a lot. It must be terrible, getting to that age. “Just a drink and a rest before the final hurdle.” Dad gestured at his canteen on the ground. “Next time, I think I’ll take the new railway they’re laying out from Canterlot. Once you get old and dottled like me, travelling while resting your hooves all the while and without having to heave your own luggage begins to sound like heaven on earth.” “You’re not that old and dottled.” “Flatterer. Were you dreaming? I heard you kicking and mumbling from time to time.” “Just having an adventure dream,” said Daring. The details were already growing fuzzy in her memory, but she could recall some things. “I was on a ship to get to some old ruins on an island. You were there as well. So was Mom.” “Ah.” Dad’s smile twitched. “Was I doing anything characteristically bold or gallant?” “Mostly just asking me to leave some of the ruins for you after I was done with them, I think.” “Definitely me.” He eagerly motioned her over to where he stood. “But now you’re up anyway, come, behold! The end’s in sight!” Daring awkwardly leapt out of the wagon, her little wings buzzing away to support her fall, and trotted over to where Dad stood. Past him, the hill they stood on descended into a patchwork of wild-looking forest and farmland. Buildings sprung up amidst them, smoke trickling up from their chimneys and into the star-dusted dusk. Daring squinted as she tried to make out details in the dark — that might be a schoolhouse off to one side, and that was probably a row of houses. There, far-flung farmsteads, and there, a tree in the centre of the town, and amidst them all, a few ponies still milled around in the dusky streets. Daring found her eyes glazing over as she regarded the village, and decided that the large expanse of dark and untamed forest at its back looked way more interesting. Parts of it rustled in a distant breeze, and it was easy to imagine the exciting monsters that might lurk within. “Behold, the metropolis of Ponyville!” said Dad, sweeping his tricorn up from the ground, pressing it onto his unruly charcoal-coloured mane, and striking a dashing pose atop the hill as he gestured at the town. “Our destination awaits. What do you think, Daring?” “It looks really dull.” “Doesn’t it just? But— ” Dad’s grin grew mischievous, as he was conspiring something, and he leaned in close to Daring. “Underneath one of those buildings — that farmstead there, if I’m not mistaken, the good ponies of Ponyville have uncovered themselves a predicament. A ruin, of ancient and puissant origins, whose hoary secrets and artifacts beg to be dragged into the light of day!” Daring couldn’t help but grin. She knew why they were here, of course, but Dad got excited and dramatic at the drop of a hat. He could have this. They’d all end up having fun, anyway. “And who better, I may ask, to uncover such potentially perilous secrets from the dawn age of the world than Field Researcher Gallivant of the Royal Archaeological Society, and the surpassingly competent and adventurous Adventurer-in-Waiting—” “—Daring Do!”. It was hard not to get caught up in the drama sometimes. “Words stolen right from my own mouth! None better then, it’s been decided.” Dad smiled down at Ponyville for a moment longer, and then turned back towards the wagon to re-attach himself. “It’ll be good to get myself back in the game. Hop back in, poppet. No much further to go. You may as well rest.” “No, I had a rest,” objected Daring. Drowsiness had been replaced with full wakefulness. “It’s bumpy in the wagon, anyway. Let me go on your back.” Dad smiled even as he reached out to redon his justacorps. “How could I refuse? We shall gallop forth into battle — or Ponyville, whichever — and—” “Can I wear the helmet as well?” The twinkle in Dad’s rose-coloured eyes diminished for a moment, just a moment, but he nodded all the same. As he always did. “How could I refuse that either? Headwear is important for all adventuring purposes.” He tapped his own tricorn. “Just remember to be gentle with it.” Daring reached up and into the big wagon, straining up on her hindlegs and flapping off the ground, and she managed to snag the edge of her mother’s old pith helmet. She turned with it in her mouth, and was swept up and onto Dad’s back before she could blink. She wobbled for a moment before she found her old balance and properly donned the helmet. “Adventure!” she cried, punching the air with her forehoof. The dashing impression she was going for was somewhat undercut by the too-large helmet sliding down over her whole head. Dad had advised her to give it a few years before proper adventuring poise could co-exist alongside headwear. But where was the fun in waiting? “Adventure, ho!” echoed Dad, as he took off at a brisk trot down the winding path towards Ponyville. Daring thought a gallop would have been more fitting, but she supposed a full wagon might have some influence there. Regardless, adventure! She imagined her compass cutie mark trilling along with the thought. She wouldn’t just sit on the sidelines, she silently vowed as she held on tight to the helmet with her forehooves. This was the first outing Dad had done in her memory, his first in years, and if she’d been invited along for the journey, she sure wasn’t going to just hear about it as a new story after it all happened. Hearing about adventure was one thing. Dreaming about it wasn’t bad either. But neither could surely compare to finally having one. They made quick time into Ponyville along the well-trodden paths underhoof, fences and farmsteads and eventually townhouses rising up on either side. A few ponies they passed by gave them curious looks and polite nods, and Dad smiled their way in return. Daring held her own head high, partly to try and keep the helmet balanced and to try and keep herself alert despite her tiredness. Explorers shouldn’t doze off while looking adventurous, everypony knew that. Past a little stream cutting through the town, a high and pointed hall rose. An earth pony mare who seemed vaguely familiar to Daring waited on its front steps, and she waved and trotted closer as the wagon trundled over the bridge. “Gallivant!” said the mare, blue-eyed and parchment-coloured and sporting a wisp of vivid pink mane. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. We’d been expecting you sooner.” “And you’re a sight for sorer ones, Ivory Scroll,” Dad replied, doffing his hat and sweeping down into a deep bow. The motion came with a subtle wiggle to the right, code for Come off my back and be sociable, Daring. Daring needed no second telling, and flapped off to meet the mare. “Apologies for the delay. I loaded the wagon a bit too enthusiastically. Also, this peculiar filly chose to tag along with me. Not sure where she came from.” “Dad!” “Oh, shush, you old scoundrel.” Ivory smiled and leaned down to meet Daring’s gaze. “Hello, Daring. My word, you’ve grown since I last saw you. How old are you now?” “Nearly eight and a half,” Daring replied with pride. It was a big age to reach; she wasn’t little anymore. She must have been really little when Ivory last met her, though, because she had no solid memory of the mare at all. Ivory was looking at her as if she saw an old friend, though. “My word, you really are growing up.” Ivory sighed. “You’ve got your dad’s eyes, but otherwise you’re the spitting image of—” “I was told by reliable authorities that you’ve got an ancient set of ruins in town?” Dad interrupted. “Curious thing to erect with the town’s budget, but I suppose I may as well have a look at them while I’m here.” “Oh, by all means. You can leave the wagon, it’ll be quite safe. Nopony steals things around here.” Ivory Scroll glanced towards Daring and then back to Dad. “Should she, ah—” “Spitting image of who?” Daring asked, but without much hope. Some questions would just be studiously ignored by grown-ups, no matter how patiently you repeated them, and that one indeed went ignored. She saved her breath. And in the back of her mind, she suspected the answer. Dad turned around to smile at Daring. “Would you like to come see the outside of the ruin, Daring? Come see where I’ll be jumping into tomorrow?” “Sure!” Where they’d be jumping into tomorrow, if Daring had any say. But she’d be clever. She’d pick the right moment to bring it up. “That’s my girl,” Dad said, tousling her mane and unhitching himself from the wagon, stepping free and relievedly shaking his withers. He was lucky to be an earth pony rather than a pegasus, Daring thought, or his wings would have been terribly cramped. “Lead on, Ivory!” “This way,” said Ivory, making for one of the streets leading away from the town hall and towards the outlying farmland. “Mrs Smith spotted the sinkhole on the outskirts of her land about a week ago. The mayor had some ponies try and do a little clearance, and they found a tunnel branching off into a cavern. And in that cavern … well, that was when the mayor asked me to send a letter to the Archaeological Society. Just as well I knew a suitably daft stallion still hanging on there, eh?” “Quite,” said Dad. “Goodness knows I’ve got an archrival or two there who’ll be green at the thought of me getting initial adventuring and research access here. I can’t wait to trot into Old Chestnut’s office with whatever I get published and see the look on her face.” “Your academic pettiness is an inspiration to us all. Just keep an eye out for whoever they send in your wake.” As they trotted out through the streets and onto a winding path between the hills, Daring fluttered up onto Dad’s back and settled there amidst the folds of his coat. The conversation drifted off into considerably more boring grown-up tangents; the last thing Dad had gotten published a year or so before Daring had been born, Ivory’s plan to run for mayor after old Calamander’s forthcoming retirement and how she might invest in grey manedye to look more statesmare-like; plans to build more houses on the west side of the town, and other topics that passed through one ear and out the other. Daring found her eyes drifting shut as they ambled out into the countryside and towards a nearby farm. Only the sudden jolt of Dad stopping roused her from sleep once again, and the voice of a new mare crying, “Howdy there, Ivory!” made her scramble off his back to meet whoever they’d bumped into. A collection of farm buildings lay sprawled out on a small hill before them, surrounded by orchards of flowering trees. A lean-looking and green-coated earth pony mare, who looked as if she was staring imminent old age in the eye and daring it to make the first move, trotted smartly towards them from out of a barn. “Good day, Mrs Smith,” said Ivory. “I’ve brought along the archaeologist from Canterlot.” “Really? ‘Bout time. That darned sinkhole’s made a ruin of the south-west field. Outlying and small field to start with, mind you, but any growing land’s good land.” The mare stopped before them, and her eyes briefly creased at the edges with mischief before she leaned down towards Daring. “You must be the high-up researcher-slash-adventurer out of this bunch, then. A pleasure to meet you, miss …?” Daring tried not to giggle, and failed. “Daring Do, Seniorest Researcher. Here to delve into all your old ruins.” “Well, it’s a pleasure to make your learned acquaintance, Miss Do. And this must be your dashing assistant?” said Mrs Smith, turning to Dad. “Oh, just a dashing and brainless intern, ma’am. I wouldn’t know what an ancient ruin was if you dropped one on me. It’s just as well I travel with the experts.” Dad extended a hoof. “Gallivant, Mrs Smith. Here from the Royal Archaeological Society.” “Granny Smith in full. A pleasure,” she replied, all but lifting Dad off the ground with the strength of her hoofshake. As she released her grip, leaving Dad wobbling and trying to keep his footing next to Daring, Granny Smith looked at the dusk sky dubiously. “Mite late to go underground, ain’t it?” “Just having a preliminary look at the exterior, Mrs Smith, if that’s okay with you,” Dad managed whilst recovering his balance. “I’ll conduct a proper exploration early tomorrow.” “Fine by me, Mr Gallivant,” said Granny Smith, shrugging and turning in the direction of the setting sun. “Trot this way, y’all.” Yet more walking, this time along pathways through endless orchards of budding apple trees, until they reached an unploughed field surrounded on three sides by apple trees. A wide sinkhole sat right in the middle of it, falling at least twenty metres down through layers of topsoil and earth and stone. A rough wooden walkway had been built down along its edge, circling down towards a natural tunnel amidst the rock at the bottom. “My daughter and son-in-law slung that up when we were first exploring it,” said Granny Smith, gesturing towards the walkway. She snorted. “T’weren’t no stopping that mare once she’d gotten the notion, never mind no pregnancy with my first grandfoal or anything unimportant like that. Never made my mind up whether our Apple stubbornness is a blessing or a curse.” “Inclined to bless it at present, Mrs Smith,” said Dad, trotting down the walkway and glancing behind as he did so. “Stay by me, Daring.” Daring did so, hovering close to the edge of the walkway and peering down curiously all the while. Ivory and Granny Smith’s hooves creaked on the wood behind her, acquiring a certain resonance the deeper they got. They reached the end of the walkway and the dark tunnel loomed before them. Dad drew a small strip of alchemical paper out from the band of his tricorn, and one small tear in it made it shed golden light to see by. Tucking it back into his hat band, Dad pressed on with the group at his back. The tunnel inclined downwards for a stretch, the air growing ever-mustier, before twisting off to one side. Past that twist and several others, a cavern waited, and for the first moment upon seeing it, Daring’s mouth dropped open. At one end of the cavern, under a roof of packed earth and tangled roots, a short tower of white stone rose against one wall. Its stone was smooth and polished and seamless, shedding a soft white glow into the darkness of the cavern that was reflected by a few clusters of naturally-growing gemstones. Its top came to a curving point, with two elaborately curving jags that resembled antlers jutting outwards on either side. A door big enough to fit a large stallion sat at its base, slightly ajar but betraying little of what could lie within. That was all, but there it was; an actual ruin in the flesh, glorious and luminescent (a word which had given Daring difficulty when she’d first read it, but which she was fairly confident the tower deserved). Its ajar door betrayed nothing about what lay within. Come inside and explore, it said to Daring. Come see things no pony ever has. The first noise came from Dad. “Oh, aren’t you a beauty,” he murmured — the first sight of old ruins always had a way of making him strangely quiet. “Late Antlertean, if I’m any judge. Plenty of time and opportunities to become submerged like this, during the Fall and after. Which mage-lord raised you in bygone days?” “Thought it best to hold off poking around inside till a professional could come,” said Granny Smith. “Ain’t too big a tower, though. Shouldn’t take you that long to look it over, surely?” “It’s not the size of the tower that matters,” said Dad, still star-struck. Both Ivory and Granny repressed snickers for some reason. “It’s about what’s beneath it. The Antlerteans always built deep underground with their overseas outposts, and their mage-lords were paranoid about keeping their secrets far from prying eyes behind traps and wards. Ooh, this one’s going to be fun.” “It’s been thousands of years since Antlertis sank below the waves and left all their outposts bare, though,” said Ivory. “Surely any traps or wards or whatever would have rusted away or faded long ago?” “Not Antlertean stuff. The magic they played with makes ours look like foals at play. And they built to last.” Dad’s eyes twinkled, and his grin threatened to run right around his head. “Oh, this is going to be fun. And it’ll be one heck of a paper that can be produced from this. Just as well I stuffed the wagon with everything barring the kitchen sink. I’ll spend the rest of tonight planning — I’ve gone into similar ruins before, and I’ve read Tumbleweed’s Findings from the Pale Palace cover-to-cover more times than I can—” “Dad?” said Daring eagerly. Now was the time, now when he was excited, now when he was starting to plan. “Hmm? Yes, poppet? “Take me in with you tomorrow! I want to see all the old Antlertean stuff too!” Daring all but hopped up and down on the spot with excitement. “I can help you look out for things, and if any of your academic archrivals come down to have a hoof-fight with you while you’re exploring like you said happened to you and Mom in Old Trotenu, then I can—” “No, Daring.” The wrong answer, cutting Daring short, coming from a face that had lost its grin though the voice was still soft. “We’ve spoken about this before. Not until you’re older and you’ve got some practical experience under your withers. Archaeology is dangerous work, and I won’t have you get hurt.” “But ...” Daring floundered. It hadn’t gone this way in her head, and maybe she could still fix it if she thought of something. Anything. “But I am older! Eight and a half! And I’ve listened to every story you’ve told me and I’ve read all the adventure books and—” “I know, Daring. And you’re on the right track and you should keep up all those commendable habits, especially the listening to me one. But now’s not the time. Not yet. You’re not ready.” “When will I be ready? I have to start adventuring and getting all that practical experience sometime! Why not now?” “Because I’ve told you you’re not old enough now. And because I know what can happen to adventurers, prepared or not. Accidents happen on adventures, even to the best ponies.” The twinkle in Dad’s eye had become a steely glint. “You’re staying above ground tomorrow with Ivory Scroll, and I’ll tell you all about it once I’m done. That’s final, Daring.” Daring looked helplessly around for support, and found none. Granny Smith shook her head. “Heed your daddy, young ‘un. Fillies ought to be out playing in the fresh air and sunshine anyhow.” Ivory Scroll likewise shook her head. “It’s alright, Daring. I’ll be looking after you tomorrow, and we’ll have fun.You could meet other foals in Ponyville — it’s a school today tomorrow, but they’ll be out and about afterwards. I could introduce you to my niece Cheerilee. Or you can just stay with me. Do you know how to play chess? I’ve got a lovely new board and set of pieces I’d love to break in.” She reached out with a hoof to pat Daring’s wither, and Daring stiffened at her touch. A hot ball of anger seemed to have gotten stuck in her throat, and her vision blurred. Her face screwed up to stop that blurriness leaking out. It wasn’t meant to have gone this way. She was a big filly, she’d gotten her compass cutie mark ages ago, and what was she meant to do other than adventure? She couldn’t be stopped from doing what Dad did and what Mom had done, what she was meant to do. It wasn’t fair. It was her mistake. That hadn’t been the right time to ask at all, not with all those adults. They’d all had to be boring and grown-up in front of each other, and they’d had to back up each other’s own boringness. Why hadn’t she seen that coming? Behind her, she heard Dad sigh. “Not much more to be done here. We should head back up and ruthlessly take advantage of Ivory’s hospitality. Plenty of work to be done tonight, and plenty more tomorrow.” “I object to the ‘ruthless’ part of that—” Ivory said quickly, and whatever she said next, Daring didn’t hear. The angry tightness in Daring’s throat petered away as she started thinking. The blurriness in her eyes didn’t go away — she’d have to blink it out when nopony else was looking — but she realised she wasn’t stuck. She could still adventure in these ruins, and she could do it so well that Dad would have to admit he’d been wrong. The plan of it took shape as they left the cavern and made for the walkway, as Dad silently scooped her up onto his back again, as they left the walkway and ventured across the dusk-lit fields. If Dad was picking out stuff from the wagon tonight to take with him tomorrow, then that’d leave plenty of stuff Daring could borrow. She’d want to go in properly prepared. That was how you had a good adventure. But if she wanted it to go really well, she’d have to do it herself. And most importantly, she’d have to do it first. Ignis, who pulled double duty as a little magical alarm clock as well as an enchanted dragon doll, roared Daring awake and produced a small stream of vivid light from his mouth. She blearily fumbled around in the tangle of sheets, found him, and bopped him on his plush snout to make the alarm-roar and spray of light stop. No dreams exciting enough to be worth remembering happened this night. But then, she’d hardly need them today if all went as she’d planned. Early morning light filtered in past the curtains separating Ivory Scroll’s second guest bedroom from the outside world, prodding painfully at Daring’s muzzy state of mind. Her plans from yesterday flared to life in her mind, giving her a jolt. She held her breath for a moment, waiting to hear if anypony else in the house had been woken. No hoofsteps came creaking through the solid timber, and Daring breathed out after a few moments. Setting her alarm for before Dad was likely to wake up and head off had been the important part, and now all she had to do was stay awake until then. That was easy enough, all she had to do was keep planning and keep herself excited. She could do that. She was good at planning. What was Dad likely to take with him, and what would he leave behind? There’d always be plenty of rope around, a few of the little head-lanterns, and spare magical multitools (probably including some of the really fun ones with little blowtorches built in that Dad had said she could only play with when supervised by a semi-responsible adult) but not much she could really carry apart from that. Things like the crowbars and ten-foot poles were too big for her, and all the barding was fitted for a grown stallion. Should she take a notebook? Dad always said proper adventuring-archaeology required some amount of boring writing-things-down so you could assemble your notes into a proper report afterwards and get it published in all the archaeology journals and get acclaim and tenure or whatever, which had always seemed like a waste of time to Daring. Who cared about journal articles, really? If you had to write at all, books would be much more fun. She wondered what sort of trophy-pieces the ruin would have in it. Trophy-pieces were what an adventurer-archaeologist used to affirm their first claim to a place, Dad had told her. In the strange mix of rules and violently-enforced honour that ruled amongst fellow archaeologists, you could stake first claim on a site if you made the first delve, sent a message to the Royal Archaeological Society saying you’d done such, and enclosed proof of something you’d taken from the site. That something was a trophy-piece, and the more glorious it was and the more inaccessible your reports had made it sound, the more drinks you’d have bought for you at conferences and the more journals would want to publish your field reports. According to Dad, at any rate. And if nothing else, you could put it on your mantlepiece, or sell or donate it to a museum or private collector. Equestrian archaeology seemed like a strange place to Daring, and the race to get a good trophy-piece meant that all manner of hoof-fights could break out between rival archaeologists doing their own delves at the same time on top of everything else in a ruin that might be trying to kill them. Past all the explosions and inevitable devastation, though, you couldn’t deny it got results. A creak from the next room along where Dad had been sleeping broke Daring’s line of thought, and she held her breath. Hoofsteps pattered on the floor, as if he had heaved himself out of bed and were trying not to wake anypony else as he moved around. The door opened, the hoofsteps moved further away, and there came the distant gurgling of water from Ivory’s bathroom. Daring kept careful track all the while, and her thoughts fluttered into furious motion as Dad’s hoofsteps left the bathroom and returned to his bedroom. He’d stored his clothes and barding there, so she’d have a few more minutes to think. Was she sure about the route she’d planned? Out the window, flutter onto the nearest soft thing to break her fall, grab what she needed from the wagon, and run right through some of the little paths she’d seen that bridged the streets. That should let her go straight-on towards the Apple farmland rather than take the winding road there. Dad would always take the longer and more scenic route, and she could use that to her advantage. So long as she had her mental map right. Past the streets, she knew she could just go in a more-or-less straight line towards the field with the ruins. Daring thought through the route she’d take, and then thought through it again, and then once more for good luck, and the broad details were very nearly similar each time, before a gentle rap sounded on her bedroom door. She quickly snuggled herself back down under her duvet, and tried to mimic a yawn as the door creaked open. Dad stood framed within it, the shape of barding visible underneath his justacorps and his tricorn set at a jaunty angle on his head. He gave her a concerned look as he entered. “Morning, poppet. Was that a cough?” One day, she’d be able to do a convincing yawn. “It was a yawn,” Daring insisted. She moved slowly under the covers to turn directly to Dad, as if she was still half-asleep. In all fairness, that one wasn’t too hard to mimic. “It’s early.” “The early bird catches the worm and also the bevy of ancient Antlertian trinkets with which to upstage its sneering bird colleagues,” said Dad. “It’s possible I’ve misremembered that phrase, but hey-ho. I felt like making a start while the day was young. Sorry if I woke you, Daring.” “It’s alright,” said Daring. She looked up at Dad and posed the question she thought he’d expect her to ask, though they both already knew the answer. “Have you changed your mind? Can I come?” Dad shook his head gently. “No. Not yet, poppet. But when you’re a little older, you’ll get your chance, I promise.” A smile broke across his face. “Once this is all over, I might head back to the Thorn Tower excavation site next month for a bit of work. Would you like to come with me then? Good easy place to show you some of the ropes. Every great adventurer has to start somewhere.” Normally, Daring would have jumped out of her own hide with excitement at the offer. Even a cleared-out and toothless ruin had to be worth exploring. But in the face of what she planned to explore today, well, the Thorn Tower was foal’s stuff. “That’d be great, Dad,” she managed, plastering a grin on her face. Dad peered at her more closely, his face growing concerned. He leaned down to feel her forehead with a hoof. “Hmm. You’re not jumping out of your hide with excitement at the thought. Are you feeling alright? That did sound like a nasty cough.” “It was a yawn. I’m fine, Dad,” Daring said hastily. “Maybe just a little more sleep?” “It is early,” Dad admitted, glancing towards the wan light seeping in past the window. “Ivory’s already awake; I bumped into her heading to the bathroom. Shall I ask her to give you a couple more hours?” “That—” Daring thought quickly, and concluded that would be perfect. “That’d be great!” Dad shook his head ruefully. “Nary a peep at the prospect of the Thorn Tower, but extra sleep gets a higher octave out of her. Am I sure she’s my daughter?” He backed away while chuckling at the squeaks of purest indignation this produced from Daring. “I’m joking, poppet. Get some sleep and try and feel better rested. Maybe I’ll be back by the time you wake up. You can be the first to see whatever trophy-piece I bring back. That’ll be fun, won’t it?” Daring bit back the next indignant squeak and nodded her head. Dad leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Sleep well, Daring. I’ll be back soon.” Daring nestled back into the bed as Dad turned away and left through the bedroom door, his coat rustling against the edges. He gently nudged the door shut as he left, leaving Daring alone. It was just as well. The urge to grin was now uncontrollable, and she let herself. That had ended perfectly! Dad didn’t suspect anything. She had hours before Ivory would think to check on her and get suspicious that she wasn’t around. And she’d be getting at least one other adventure next month anyway, which certainly wouldn’t be anywhere near as good as this one, but was still nothing to be sniffed at. She was already the cunningest adventurer there was, clearly. They may as well give her all the awards and publications and whatever already. She wouldn’t be selfish, of course. Dad could have some of whatever she got. Daring leapt out of bed, keeping one ear out for Dad’s progress. The tread of hoofsteps on the stairs, the creak of Ivory’s front door. And after a moment, the rustle from the oilskin being shifted off the wagon under her window. She held her breath for what seemed like an eternity, until things stopped rustling and she finally heard the smooth sound of the oilskin being resecured. Somewhat more encumbered hoofsteps clanked away, until they passed beyond her hearing. She released her breath. No time to wait, no time to brush her teeth or mane or do anything else now. This was it. With one bound, Daring was through the curtains and fumbling at the latch on the window sill, sending them flying open as she wobbled precariously on the edge. Sunlight spilled down from the new dawn sky, lighting up the rooftops of Ponyville and the blossoming window gardens all around. Only a few ponies were out and about, and none of them seemed to have noticed her. She closed her eyes briefly, and then let herself fall forwards, arresting her freefall through empty air with furious flapping and a minimum of disorientated yelping. The descent brought Daring tumbling face-first into a nearby bush, which she freed herself from after a few moments with yet more vigorous flapping. As she emerged, she glanced from side to side. Nopony seemed to have noticed yet. Stars above, she was too good at this. The wagon rose before her, resting at one side of Ivory’s house and covered by the oilskin Dad used to keep the stuff inside protected from the rain. She strained up to try and unfasten one edge of it, and with great effort was able to roll it entirely off. As it tumbled to the ground, she jumped up into the wagon. As if by magic, or destiny, or whatever, the most important adventuring tool sat before her, as if it had been waiting. Daring picked up her mother’s old pith helmet and brushed it off with one hoof before she perched it on her head. It was too big for her still and she had to nudge it backwards to stop it slipping down over her eyes, and she still hadn’t entirely decided what she was bringing, and she’d have to hurry if she wanted to be sure of beating Dad to the ruins, but somehow none of that mattered. She was doing what was right, what Mom would have surely approved of and what Dad would probably secretly approve of even if he had to be cross on the outside, and the surety lit a fire in her that couldn’t have been washed away by an ocean. “I’m going to get there first,” Daring whispered as she rummaged for rope and lanterns in the bottom of the wagon. “I’ll explore where nopony’s ever explored, and nothing’s gonna stop me.”