Opening his eyes slightly, Parker found himself blinded by the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the gothic windows into his room. He started to make a move, finding himself pinned down to where he sat by some dead weight. Groggily, he opened his eyes to find himself laying back in the comfy chair in his room, Cook was partially laid on top of him on his lefthand side, still sleeping heavily. Parker spent a few minutes looking at her, contemplating how much younger she looked out of her work apron and without her horn rimmed glasses stuck on the end of her nose, along with her hair not being tied back in it’s slightly frizzy state.
One thing that started to trouble Parker was his lack of memory from the night before. He could vaguely remember the two of them starting their evening with a hot meal in one of the many pubs down on the Harbourside. He was fairly certain it had been in The Black Lion, though it could have easily been The Ten Bells. From then onwards his memory was a bit patchy, he was fairly certain he could remember his gramophone being involved somehow, along with the two of them drinking tea together late into the night in a civilised fashion. What he couldn’t understand, was why he couldn’t remember any of the evening from then onwards.
Coming out of his trance as he found himself twiddling a few strands of Cook’s greying chestnut coloured mane with a hoof, he found his answer. Sitting on the tea tray atop the small coffee table was the old gloss brown teapot and cups from the previous night, sitting beside a bottle of whiskey and Cook’s folded glasses. The memories suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. It had indeed been fairly cold when they’d returned last night. Being ponies of an older, poorer generation, he and Cook both enjoyed a slick of Whiskey in their tea before bed to keep out the chill of the night, such was the lack of heating in both their homes in their youths.
Cook began to stir, slowly fluttering her old eyes open “Good morning…”
She scratched Parker beneath his chin, which after years of experience she knew he enjoyed. His right leg began to twitch in a kicking fashion, but unlike normal he didn’t arch his head back and sink further back. This troubled her.
She raised her head as she stopped scratching “What’s wrong?”
“Did we start in The Ten Bells or The Black Lion, last night?”
Cook’s eyebrows dropped in annoyance as she rested her head back on his chest “Traffers, we started in Traffers”
Parker nodded as the murky memories suddenly became clearer. He remembered how sticky the table was from spilt ales, ciders, beers and stouts quite vividly now.
A small silence followed, punctuated only by Cook’s heavy breathing and the broken chimes of the battered old grandfather clock in the corridor outside. Seven o’clock.
Parker yawned, cheekily patting Cook’s flank with his forehoof “We’d better make a move. Those ‘up above’ will be starting to-“
Cook put her left fore hoof to his mouth, silencing him “No, just five more minutes. For once my joints aren’t aching…” She inhaled deeply “…and it’s bliss”
Parker held her closer with his left fore hoof as she dosed again, resting his head on hers. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for Cook. The two of them had had plans together years ago, leaving behind their life of service for Lord Spyglass and owning a tiny terrace house down near the harbour, spending their retiring years there and possibly letting out a spare room as a B&B during the summer months.
Even though they’d brought the house, albeit in a dilapidated condition, their plans had changed with Cook’s poor health. As much as she tried, she couldn’t hide her aching bones from Parker, he knew her too well. Many times he would walk into the kitchen to find her struggling to lift a heavy crock pot with her forehooves. Although she was always grateful for his help, particularly when she’d had to give backseat cookery lessons in order to save the families’ dinner, Cook hated the sensation the intense pain created in her bones. She felt as if she was loosing control of her body, and there was nothing she could do about it. Parker had spent many an evening cradling her in his forehooves in the kitchen when her anger at herself had boiled over and resulted in broken crockery, followed by an overwhelming sense of sadness that only seemed to end when Cook exhausted herself and fell asleep in his arms.
Parker nuzzled her “I suppose five more minutes wouldn’t hurt”
Parker let out a long, loud yawn as he stood with the carriage in a long queue of traffic. Rush hour didn’t normally cause too much hassle for local residents of Colton-on-Sea, but this morning it was chaos. One merchant with a heavily laden wagon had turned too sharply at the junction in the town centre, toppling the cart and spilling its load of crates all over the junction, a few of them splitting open revealing them to be full of live crabs, headed from the early morning fish market at the harbour to one of the local fish mongers shops.
In the process of falling the cart had clipped another one turning in the opposite direction, a rather rickety hay wagon, causing it to crumble and spill its load as well, adding to the chaos. The two haulage ponies had been in an argument for quite some time as to who was to blame, at one point almost breaking out into fisticuffs, this all stopped however as soon as one of the local police ponies interrupted them with the bell of his bicycle. Now it was simply a case of waiting for the road to be cleared enough to allow a single lane of traffic through the junction.
Mixy was leaning out of the front window of the carriage as normal “You don’t seem yourself this morning Parker?”
“Me?” Parker tried to open his eyes wider to look fully awake, but they quickly reverted to being little more than tiny slits “I’m fine”
Mixy put a hoof to her lip, thinking “Is Cook feeling ok? You wouldn’t happened to know why breakfast was a little…” she tried to pick her words carefully “…burnt, this morning, would you?”
It turned out that five minutes more sleep could hurt a lot, especially when it unintentionally turned into one more hours sleep. The result being that Parker and Cook had both had to rush to try and get the house’s breakfast out only a few minutes late. He could have simply explained this to Mixy now that they were alone, but the more memories of the previous night that kept coming back to him like the feeling of being hit over the head with a brick, the more he realised the things he and Cook had got up to shouldn’t be recounted to a young lady.
“I couldn’t say, M’Lady” Parker drooped his head as, not for the first time whilst being stood in traffic that morning, he unintentionally fell asleep whilst stood up.
Using her mother’s opera glasses to look further down the road, Mixy was afforded a better view of the cleanup operation at the junction. There were a good number of ponies still trying to round up the crabs that were making a bid for freedom, using any means possible. Buckets, brooms and spades were just a few of the items being used to try and herd them into the crates that weren’t damaged from the accident. Others were starting to pile what hay they could back onto the cart, coming across the odd escaped crab or two hiding amongst the many strands.
Mixy began looking at the ponies surrounding this spectacle. Many of the locals were simply going about there daily business, blissfully unaware. A few tourists were recoiling in horror at the very sight of the crabs, having never encountered the creatures before. The few local shop keepers were stood in the doorways to their premises, shaking their heads in a patronising sort of way as the lone police pony tried in vain bring some sense of order to the spectacle, blowing his tin whistle till his cheeks turned red and waving his white gloved forehooves to no avail. On the other side of the junction Mixy could see the large, green, metal facade of a small newsagents stand, purposely placed to make good of the traffic it would receive from ponies waiting at the crossing lights. Amongst the large crown of ponies gathered in front of the stand, a rather familiar young grey stallion with a yellow mane and tail wearing a slightly unfashionable purple and blue diamond coloured sweater vest with a flannel shirt turned round to face the traffic, a rolled up copy of ‘Creative Writing Monthly’ held in his mouth.
Recognising Ostin instantly, Mixy took a few seconds to see what his next move would be. Like so many of the ponies around him, he now seemed transfixed at watching the accident cleanup in front of him. Not wasting any time she quickly replaced the opera glasses in the small compartment and grabbed her saddlebag, fastening the strap round her waist before quickly stepping down from the carriage to the pavement. Nervously, she almost crept round the front of the carriage, giving Parker the most gentle tap possible with one of her forehooves.
Parker woke with a start, causing the carriage to lurch back slightly “N-No Cook, I haven’t been using your horn-rims to read the paper with again!” He suddenly remembered where he was, letting out another big yawn “M’Lady, what are you doing?”
“I can see Ostin over the other side of the junction, so it’d be quicker to get to the university if I walked over to him, today is his one day a week there after all”
Parker simply nodded in silence. He generally understood what Mixy had just said, but most of the words unintentionally just went in one ear and out the other.
She carefully watched her step as she crossed the road, making a point of not getting anywhere near the escaped crabs. Until that morning she had no idea that they were kept alive right up until the point at which they were to be cooked, slightly unnerving her as she watched them snap and scuttle along the cobbled streets surrounding the junction.
Noticing Mixy as she approached, Ostin spoke first, genuinely surprised “Mixy? What are you doing here by yourself?”
“Parker’s stuck in traffic” Mixy gestured with a tilt of her head “Spotting you here I’m assuming it’d be quicker to what to the university at this rate?”
“The University? It’s closed today” He produced a letter from his saddlebag, swapping the magazine over for it “A burst pipe or some sort of problem with the plumbing apparently. Either way, according to this letter that arrived via dragon flame this morning, the whole of the dome is like a sinking ship, with all the tables and chairs from the cafe floating around. You did get this letter?”
Mixy didn’t look surprised “My parents have a ban forbidding mail being delivered by magic to the house. Having it delivered by a pegasus postal worker allows them to track just exactly where and who it’s come from. As you can imagine, not being too popular they tend to get quite a few…unpleasant letters. It also means it arrives later in the day”
Ostin simply nodded.
Mixy seemed slightly disappointed “If that’s the case though, I’d probably best get Parker to run me home then”
“You won’t get far, look” Ostin pointed.
Mixy swung her head round just in time to see Parker galloping away from them down the street, having pulled a quick U-turn in the road, almost as if he’d been given a sudden boost of energy at the prospect of more sleep in his comfy chair. Mixy scrunched her face in a disapproving way.
“So, since your obviously not getting home in a hurry, and since as far as your parents are concerned you’re at the university,” Ostin started to sit down on the pavement “Where do you want to gAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”
Ostin shot up high into the air, grabbing his rear end with his forehooves and screaming in pain as his eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets. A few of the ponies stood around the newsagents immediately looked at where the screaming had come from, their gaze following Ostin as he rocketed up into the air. Mixy looked down at where he’d previously been to see the burnt red, spider like shape of crab looking back at her with its beady black eyes. Ostin clearly hadn’t been watching where he was putting his rear end before he made his move.
Noticing the ponies around her starting to look downwards as the sound of Ostin’s screaming getting louder told her he was returning to earth, she looked upwards. She shuffled backwards slightly on her hind legs and instinctively held her forehooves out and upwards. Ostin landed in them perfectly on his stomach.
“I’m thinking we should go somewhere with less marine life” he sighed in annoyance.
“Me to”
Mixy couldn’t help but notice the tiniest patch of his grey coat on his rear end seemed to have had a close shave.
There were numerous cafes in Colton-on-Sea. The majority of them, down towards the seafront, were cramped, dingy, greasy, overpriced and mainly frequented by tourists who didn’t know better. Local ponies however knew that the best cafes were further inland, tucked away in little side streets and back alleys in the town, totally hidden unless you were specifically looking for them. It was in one of the latter that Ostin and Mixy now found themselves.
Looking out of the window, Ostin could see the small courtyard which the cafe sat at the back of, the entrance to the area being through a rather small arcade lit by tiny oil lamps. The place had many of it’s original features still in place, such as the well worn cobbles that lined the ground, radiating outwards front an antique street light in the middle of the square. A large selection of shrubs and flowers lined the edges of the courtyard, helping to bring some colour to a rather bland coloured area. Inside the cafe, just like outside, most of the original features were still in place. All the furnishings were fashioned from a dark coloured oak, matching the low beams that ran along the ceiling. The few walls not clad in oak were a slightly off white colour, betraying the fact that they hadn’t been whitewashed in a number of years. The uneven plaster work also did nothing to hide the age of the building.
Mixy and Ostin were sat in a booth in a corner of the small cafe, up against the bay window which afforded a view of the scene outside.
Having taken some time looking outside, Ostin turned back to look at Mixy sat across from him, partially obscured by the steam rising from the metal teapot that had been brewing on the table between them. She was totally in her element, scribbling away wildly in a leather bound sketchbook with a pencil.
“How do you know about this place, it’s pretty out of the way” She asked.
“Oh, Sandy’s mentioned a few times. This is the place she tends to go to when her writer’s block kicks in. Apparently the change of surroundings does wonders to clear her mind. That’s probably where the waitress seemed to recognise me from. This is apparently the booth Sandy says she normally requests”
Mixy set aside her sketchbook and made a start at pouring her tea “So, who’s Sandy?”
“Well she’s…” Ostin paused “…I’m not quite sure…is the term ‘guardian’ too formal?”
He contemplated this for a few moments, inevitably shrugging the matter off and making a start for the big slice of chocolate cake in front of him. He picked up the spoon and planning how best to attack it, starting to lower the end of the spoon to stab the cake. He stopped as he heard Mixy inhaled sharply through her teeth. He looked up. Mixy’s pupils seemed to have shrunk in a panicked sort of way, looking directly at him.
“What is it?” Ostin asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Even Mixy’s replies seemed panicked. Ostin turned to look out of the window briefly into the small courtyard area outside. Apart from a lone window cleaner high up on their ladder, there wasn’t a single soul out there, so Mixy certainly wasn’t panicked about being spotted by somepony.
Shrugging again, Ostin return to his cake. He stared at it again, licking his lips as he advanced his spoon towards the slice. It was just about to pierce the layer of icing on top of the sponge when a grey fore hoof swatted his own hoof down onto the table with a loud whack, the force of the impact causing Ostin to let go of the spoon and send it rattling along the table.
Ostin looked up to find exceptionally strong hoof belonged to Mixy “What?”
“You’re trying to eat cake…”
“Yes”
“…that’s a soup spoon…” Mixy pointed at the offending object in question.
Having been altered by the noise from their booth, the waitress who’d served them their tea walked up to their table.
“Is everything ok?” She asked.
“Um,” Ostin looked across quickly at Mixy, who now seemed totally embarrassed by her actions “I’ll just have a box to put this cake in, please”
“Anything else?”
Ostin looked at his hoof, which looked like it was starting to swell “Actually, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare bag of ice, would you?”
“…a-and so, looking at these averages, you can see that company profits are up a good 10% for this month”
Lord Spyglass reclined back into his captain’s chair in his dimly lit, oak panelled study, taking a long drag on the cigar he held in his forehoof. Despite his doctors recommendations, he always made sure he had one in his hoof when he was talking business matters, it made him feel powerful. It also made his business seem more grand than it really was. Only a select few ponies knew of just exactly what it was his families reputation and wealth had been built up on and were sworn to secrecy, he knew he and Lady Jewel wouldn’t be able to live down the scandal if the truth ever came to light around Colton-on-Sea.
His accountant, Leicester, was possibly one of the most boring ponies there could be. A short lodge pony, his mane, short and curly, had an annoying tendency to bob about slightly with the tiny, bird like movements he made whenever he spoke. A thick, square rimmed set of glasses sat high upon his nose, the lenses magnifying his eyes to the point where looked like a goldfish out of water.
“Save the formalities Leicester, how much are we up profits wise so far this year?”
“W-Well, according to these figures” panicking, he accidentally dropped his notes, scattering his papers over the floor in front of Spyglass’s desk “I-It would appear your business is…um…down by five percent, Sir”
Spyglass held his head in his hooves, exhaling deeply, the cigar smoke spewing from his mouth like a dragon “I’ve already got enough problems, what with Mixed Media acting the way she is as of late…”
Leicester stammered “A-As a matter of fact, I saw her on the way here”
Spyglass raised his head, lifting a quizzical an eyebrow “The university’s a bit out of the way from your route”
“Well th-th-that’s the thing, I didn’t see her there. She was sat on the street corner, just besides that small newsagents at the crossroad in the town centre. There’d been a fairly messy accident there this morning”
Spyglass nodded silently, his head resting in one hoof whilst the other held his still cigar stub, still singeing away. It wasn't too odd for ponies of his stature to get out of a carriage to stretch their hooves if they were held up in traffic.
“It was odd though” Leicester shook his head slightly “She was with a rather scruffy looking stallion”
“What?” Spyglass’s eyes suddenly pierced through him like a nice through a butter block.
Leicester recoiled in fear slightly “A-A stallion. Probably about the same size as her, rather scruffy short grey coat with a yellow mane. Looked like he was wearing some sort of sweater vest and shirt. Certainly not posh by any means”
Spyglass paused for a second “And was Parker there?”
“I can't say I saw him”
There was a moment of silence as Spyglass puffed cigar smoke out through his nostrils. Leicester wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking.
After a moment he spoke “Thank you Leicester, you may go now”
Gathering up his papers and gladstone bag as quickly as he could, Leicester nervously left the room.
Getting up from his desk and walking to the mantle, Spyglass drew heavily on the cigar in anger, going into a small coughing fit as the smoke choked him slightly. He glared at the object in disgust, refusing to admit his doctor’s advice that he should give them up was right. In his opinion he deserved to be able to flaunt his wealth in any way he wanted. He threw the slightly singed cigar stub into the roaring flames of the fire, quickly filling the room with the pungent smell of expensive tobacco.
He had to know just who Mixy was seeing behind him and her mother’s back, and how he could put an end to it.