//------------------------------//
// XVI. Her Highness' Pleasure 
// Story: Chrysalis Visits The Hague 
// by Dan The Man 
//------------------------------//


XVI
Her Highness' Pleasure






Royal Palace, City of Canterlot, Equestria
19. November, 2015
7:58 am ICT

The blue monarch shut her eyes, clasped her muzzle with her hooves and drew a sharp, exasperated breath through them.
Each of the princess’ wheezes became more audible as rage began to boil up inside her.

“The chave… was otherwise abandoned, to my best knowledge.”
The human forensic cautiously bit her gums, but continued on with her narrative with a typically monotone drawl.
She was stultified. Here she stood, still dripping with snow and sickly sweat, deep inside the revered residence of Equestria's leaders. And there she was, one of those leaders, looking up from her breakfast and cocking her head, brimming with expectation.
“Exhcept, naturally, for that one chreature that tried to assault the lieutenant here…”
Standing near her was none other than Lieutenant Fighting Fit. Now a captain, as she was quick to remind herself. The human and the military stallion crossed looks for an instant before she continued, “...everyone else in that chavern was inside their chochoons and had to be physichally wrangled out. There was no one else there.”

“No one in the forest outside either?” the princess repeated, trying to make absolutely sure of the situation.

“No one, M’am.” Captain Fighting Fit loyally confirmed. “As far as we could see, at least. I ordered my colts not stride too far away from the cave. In case another changeling would try to get a drop of us.”

Finally, she lifted her face out of her limbs and glared intently at the two unlikely adventurers before her.
“Unfortunately, Captain, it seems that some did.”

Just as the Captain was about to ask what she meant, her horn’s magic gripped the handle of one of her desk drawers and pulled out a beige piece of paper from within.
“Lieutenant Pelisse of the 3rd Night Guards reported to Us that he and his comrades combed the forest floor and uncovered at least a half score of hoofprints leading away from the cave, deeper into the Everfree’s underbelly.”
She rose. “Now We must ask thee anew, Captain, if though are ascertained that these are not thy colts’?”

The pegasus stood straight. His face was ashen, but his eyes were reddening.
“Out of the question.... My troop was with me the entire time.”
Even his voice betrayed some sudden soreness.
There were some changelings there. And he couldn’t confront them?

The princess meanwhile turned her judging eyes towards the human for confirmation.

“I… was in the chave until I was evachuated with the others. But...” Edith theorised forlornly, “...it wouldn’t be absurd to suggest that they left longh before we arrived.”

The princess let a hoof scrape over her desk top.
“Those prints were fresh. They slipped by thy host. They presumably scented thy approach, and so they fled… like the cowards that they are.”

“Tartarus...” the guardspony breathed.
Impulsively, he turned away from the princess and trotted to the nearby window, trying to direct his onsetting anger in a safe direction.

Again, the alicorn minded Edith specifically, “Art thou surely not a soldier, Edith of Bosnia and Herzegovina?”

“No.” she answered sparsely. “I am a certified forensich pathologhist. There must have been some khind of mischommunichation.”

“And not the first one either...” Luna agreed, leaning back “Only this morrow, Our court was under the conviction that thou hadst - pardon Our expression - died... in the confusion.”

The word elicited a harrowed shudder from the pegasus by the window.

“Though We hadst always known that this was truly not the case, it did cause much grief to Our human legation on the palace grounds.”

“You knew?” Edith inquired and raised her chin, incredulous. “How did you know?”

The princess looked down at her, chewing over her question. It was rather evident the human didn’t have a lot of experience with royalty.
“‘Tis in Our veins, human.” she answered somewhat cryptically. “The passing of innocent creatures seldom goes past us unnoticed.”
Then she harrumphed and assumed a more official stance. “Even so, thy presence here has use nevertheless. As a first-hoof witness of the Everfree travesties, thou hast, perhaps more than any other human concurrently, knowledge of the changeling’s nefarity. Of the horrors that it likes to spread.”

Edith nodded slightly, though not exactly endorsingly.
“It was… exhcessive.”

Levitating a cup of cold tea next to her, the princess gave her yet another awkward gawk.
It was obvious that she had expected more of a visceral reaction out of the forensic.

“I’ve… seen worse.” she repeated, all while trying not to sound too heartless.
Only then did she notice the cup flying up to her chin. She reflexively grasped hold of it with both hands. “Thankh you.”

“Nevertheless, thou art the ideal person to carry the news into the world. Thou shall approach thy lords at the United Nations, and tell them all about what grievances are befalling ponykind concurrently.”

“I already sent my report to New Yorkh and The Haghue… as specified in my chommission.” she commented dryly, then wetted her gums with the tea. Cold as it was, its sweet and aromatic taste made it up for it.

“Human. Thou must understand that Our nation is in peril. Our Royal Guard is in dire need of outside succour. We have already discussed this with the good captain here before thou hadst arrived.”

Captain Fighting Fit nodded absent-mindedly.

“Alas, We are browsing the world over for trustworthy friends. But even so, who might there be? The gryphons… unreliable. The donkeys… ineffective. The horses… unwilling. We art strapped for choices. ” Her head reared around thoughtfully as she made her way into the centre of the room. Her big blue eyes did not leave the human cradling her teacup.
“It's at times like those, We look to creatures such as thyself in reverence. Thou who art so... strong-willed and martial... yet disciplined and dependable. Humanity is, in parts, a trueborn warrior race. And we doth respect that.”

“Thankh you… your Exhcellence...” Edith stammered awkwardly. “But I really don’t know a lot-”

“We wish to plead with thy own sovereigns about the possibility of erecting a formal alliance.” she declared importantly. “And for this purpose, We wish to recruit thee to act as Our...”

“Mouthpiece.” the Bosnian suggested, noticing a little too late how impertinent it might have come across.

“...Trustable intermediary.”
Edith was beyond doubtful at the Princess’ proposition.

“And… you thinkh I’d be listened to if I spokhe out for you?”

“Now more than ever!” Luna affirmed her, resolutely delving to the human’s side. She was more or less exactly her height, Edith noticed as she stared back blankly at her.

“Well… I’d have to hurry then.”

The princess paused.
“And why?”

At this point, something in the back of the Bosnian’s mind clicked. It was a realisation. She smelled an opportunity.
So she dropped the words like a cymbal dish.
“They’re sendingh me backh to Sarajevo chome nexht weekh…”

And then she watched the eyes of the monarch in front of her drying up in seconds. Also the officer in the corner turned around, taken as off-guard by that revelation as his mistress.

“What? Heavens’ sake, why?” the lunar monarch roared.

“They said it’s... bechause I’d no longher be chapable of performingh my mandate in Eqhuestria.”

The alicorn just took a step back and scanned the human’s - admittedly battered - body up and down.
“Art thou?”

Edith propped herself up into a healthy-looking pose as best as she could. Then came her answer, defiant and resolute.
“I am.”





Raven the royal secretary was juggling tasks.
She was nominally supposed to escort her esteemed human guest through the palace complex. But even so, she saw it as her responsibility to warmly make the foreign visitor acquainted with his surroundings. All the while, she tried not to stumble as she dabbled the seemingly endless staircase leading deeper and deeper into Canterlot Mountain.
She was juggling all three of them with rather expertly finesse.

“Alright, Mister...”

“Ahem… Abel.”

“And what can I call you?”

“Mister Abel.”

“That's... a funny first name...” she smiled up at the human.

Too bad he wasn't sharing her approval of her work.

The stairs were tiled with marble, the walls were garnished by expansive, intricate oil canvases, and it was all illuminated by bushy, seemingly sprouting chandeliers.
But even all this glitz and the glamour of the surface halls seemed lost on the monkey's unamused mime.

The human never even bothered to return the smile, much less her glance. His face just presented an annoyed scowl that shone even through his bushy red beard.
He instead kept looking, rather peeved, at the two Royal Guardsponies marching down the steps immediately behind him in locked step. He had less the demeanour of a well-protected dignitary, and more that of a jumpy convict.

“Well... Mister Abel... I'm sure you're brimming with questions about this place. I guess you've never seen anything like it before.” she lied, consciously.

“Nope...” he agreed. “Not surprised I haven't. I wouldn't want to live in a castle that's built on stilts.”

The unicorn giggled amicably.
“It didn't fall down for one thousand, four hundred and ninety years, so I guess it's quite safe.” she assured him.

Passing  the reception hall on the left side, every head briefly looked up at the pegasi maintenance buzzing about under its ceiling like eager worker bees. The spaces between every window were being ornamented with banners and colours from all corners of the known world getting hung from brass pins. 
Over there hung the tricolour of Romania beside the Jamaican saltire, and over there the medieval crested banner of the Unicorns, next to the historical Pegasus State colours.

"As you can probably see, not even two-hundred-and-counting sovereign nations could take the breath out of our work crews - our preparations are almost complete."

"Preparations for what?" Pierre slurred skeptically. He had already caught wind of how the entire city up on its hooves and doing errands for some great upcoming feast, but could never be bothered to figure out which one.

"Why, the very first anniversary of both our worlds meeting, of course.” she announced proudly, “Perhaps the most important and moving event in all our lifetimes, you’ll surely agree."

"Ehm." Pierre shrugged.
He swore, he could squeeze more tears out of the fall of the Iron Curtain than he could about last year’s two months of absolute panic.

"There’s going to be a big ball and a concert...We sincerely hope that you will find the time to come and party with us." the secretary exclaimed, perhaps a little less sincerely than she had intended. “We’d… love to have you there.”

"We’ll see. I never came here for the dancing and singing. And considering all the things that have been happening recently, I’m not really stricken with a festive mood..."

The secretary cleared her throat uncomfortably.

The staircase turned left, narrowing noticeably the deeper it led.
As they descended, the lavishness and beauty of the upper stories disappeared more and more with each altitude meter. It was like wandering backwards through the ages.
Gold was was slowly replaced by marble, marble by sandstone, and sandstone by bare slabs of greying mountain rock. Elegant photos gave way to dusty oil paintings, which gave way to intricate tapestries that rivaled those of Bayeux in length. Chandeliers were replaced by lanterns hanging from hooks, which themselves were replaced by plain, tar-smeared torches. The boisterous porcelain and metal embellishing the floors of the floor-level reception hall were now represented by ancient cobblestone bearing time-consuming mosaics of pebbles, shells and motley minerals.
Ferns and flower baskets were now moss and limescale.
The air had also become a lot colder, the further they moved away from Canterlot's state-of-the-art central heating systems. She shivered. The hairy human seemed not to.
After what seemed like an eternity, the descent ended. The party, roundly relieved to have a flat floor beneath their limbs once more, continued the last few meters towards the Canterlot Royal Archives.

The ceilings had now risen to a staggering twenty metres above their heads. As they moved down the comparatively narrow corridor, they could soon see the metallic shimmer of a grand portcullis barricading the entrance to a much bigger hall.

“This is the grand entrance to the Royal Canterlot Archives. You’ll find everything you need behind that gate.”

Hushed voices echoed through the ancient stone passage. By the sharpened metal bars, a small group of humans and ponies, clad in their respective white and golden uniforms, stood leaning a against the walls, chatting, and trying to persevere in the relative cold of the catacombs.

“Ah, the guys are here already. ” the human confirmed somewhat relieved. “Everything we need, you said?”

The unicorn nodded. “The Princess has freed up as many documents from circulation as possible to make your work smooth sailing.”

“I’ll pretend like I appreciate that.” he only grunted before launching into the next complaint. “Now, I had requested from your government a list of every Equestrian archive or other larger accumulation of government papers. Every one.”

“Oh. So?”

“I never got it.”

There, the unicorn gave an uppity smirk and pulled a piece of paper out of her collar with her magic, and let it float between the human’s waiting palms.

“Aha, how’s that for a change. You guys actually follow through with a request. And you’re only a month and a half late.”
He inspected the list closer. It was just six addresses long. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“Mister Abel, we only have a hoof-ful of major archives in Equestria, most of them in and around Canterlot. But they’re all yours to roam and explore.”

“...Much obliged.”

“Not that you’ll need to. I can assure you that the Royal Archives here will satisfy your request entirely.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” he waved her off.
Without as much as nodding goodbye, the UN coordinator left the secretary's side in a quick step and hailed the assembled creatures in front of him.





“Okay, people!” the official yelled into the relative darkness of the passage, his voice getting thrown around the narrow stone walls. “I wish you all a good morning! Gather around, if you will.“

Lethargically and with much off-guard moaning, the group began to assemble themselves in front of the Canadian.

“First of all, thanks for volunteering for this very important task. You are, at the moment, the principal investigation team of the International Criminal Court in the Chrysalis case. I think you've all been briefed sufficiently on your task.”

There were some solitary nods.

“You are going to search these archives for material relating either thematically, temporally or geographically to the alleged crime scenes that are subject to the ICC prosecution investigation. The Equestrian Royal Government has, in its infinite wisdom, granted us a limited amount of time to execute our search and mark selected documents for closer inspection by official investigators. Our colleagues from the Council of Harmony will conduct their searches independently and...” he cleared his throat demonstratively, “...in a more relaxed time frame. Good for them.”

Raven the Equestrian bureaucrat ejected an earnest, reminding harrumph.

“Yeah. On behest of the Crown, I need to remind you all that these archives are considered secret - as in, they carry an official 'Secret' classification -  so under normal circumstances, none of your clearances would suffice to take files out of this place, even at this occasion. But thankfully, someone up there seemed to remember in time that we're supposed to conduct an international investigation into war crimes here, so... here we are.”
He pointed towards a small enclave in the wall, where a wooden desk, illuminated by a simple candle, was manned by two on-duty soldiers. “Before you enter, you will need to stop by the doormen over there and leave your name and birthday, and remember to sign out before you leave. They will probably demand your signature on a non-disclosure agreement or conduct personal searches or something... Look, just don't do anything that'll stretch out this thing any longer than necessary. I needed six weeks to organise this, so let's not cock it up now, okay?”

There were some sparse mumblings of ‘aight’.
Squeezing through the thirty-something attendees, Pierre then made his way towards the candlelit desk.
“So...” he addressed, the officers behind it. “We're all set. Is this gate going to open now, or will we have to climb over?”

The officer of the watch held his disdainful glare some while before eventually ducking under the table and retrieving a large, dusty sand clock from beneath.
“Each turn is one hour. You have four turns to do your business. That is all.”

The other soldier cantered over to a large wheel on the wall and clasped the handle in his mouth. With slow turns of a crank, he lifted the heavy portcullis out of its socket and tied it up just above the visitor’s heads.

Meekly, the ponies and humans passed into the archive hall.
The room was nothing like archives that could be found around the modern human world. There were no low ceilings, no neon strip lighting, no rolling shelves and no aluminium ladders hanging off hooks on coffee-beige walls.

Like about everything else in the city, the place looked more cathedralic than anything. Several million scrolls, books and cadastres were stacked on rows upon rows of massive dark-brown oak cabinets that soared as high up as the distant ceilings allowed it to reach. Each row ran a hundred meters down the hall, and every file almost as wide both left and right.
Between the rows and files of cabinets, ancient banners dangled down from high above, each bearing its own crest and hue, segregating the room into blocks and areas with its complex heraldic imagery.
The only illumination came in form of warmly shimmering  bronze lanterns standing in tiny alcoves in the stone walls, giving meagre, but otherwise perfectly safe, reading light.
Segregated study desks, each coming with its own three elegantly carved walls, rowed along the centre axes.

Even though he knew that he was meant to gawk in awe at this magnificent place, but he instead felt progressively nauseous at the sheer size of the work he had carved out for himself.
Sticking his hands under his belt all official-like, the Canadian paced around the hall some more, squinting through the relative darkness, trying to make sure everyone was getting on just fine. Of course, he wasn’t an archivist himself, so all he could do was make sure that the real ‘professionals’ wouldn't have their work impeded by the local authorities  - or at least, as little as possible.
But he knew that he wasn’t the right one for that job either. New York had sent in a hound to do a snake’s work.

“Sorry, Mr Abel?”

“Yes…”

He turned, finding a dark-haired man with a subtle three-day beard who had been stuck into a thick woolen jumper.

“Hi, you might not remember me... Ibrahim Shalgham, Lybia.”

“Are you...”

“Language mediation and research? ICMP?”

“Oh yeah… You’re that one guy from that other place...” Pierre guessed, rather cluelessly, “Glad you could make it.”

“I brought the HD-scanner. Where should I put it?”
He heaved something bulky in his arms.

“Oh… just plop it down on one of the tables. Let the right guys find it.”

“Oh, alright.”
The man grinned, a bit disarmingly. “So uh... Where’s Pokerface gone to?”

Pierre could only scratch his beard as a quick reply.
“I’m sorry?”

“You know… the Yugoslavian woman… The one who always looks like she’s trying to mimic Spock...”

That description sounded all too familiar.
“Edith Šarić...”

“Yeah, her. Where is she?”

The UN officer cleared his throat and folded his arms in reservation.
“Uh. Haven’t you heard? She drove off into that forest and a rock almost smashed her face in. It’s over for her, she’s on her way back to Europe now.”

The young Libyan looked incredulous.
“What, already?”

“Look, it wasn’t my decision, okay?” he insisted, immediately launching his defensive. “Just following orders here.”

“No, I mean… I saw her not a minute ago.”

The Canadian froze.
“Where?”

Ibrahim just pointed behind him.
“Down the hall. At the entrance. I just lost sight of her for a second. This place is pretty huge...”

Even before the man with the scanner could finish his thought, the UN official was rushing back.

That woman just wasn’t giving up, was she?! Did he have to literally cuff her to a plane’s gangway to make sure that she wouldn’t just snow back in?

Battling his way past shelves, tables, and investigators, he closed back in on the passageway. Indeed, through the twilight, he could see a thin, rather small creature hobble into one of the adjacent aisles.
He gave chase immediately. His eyes were still accustomed to the weak lantern light, so all he saw before him was pitch.
“Alright, Šarić. You’ve had your fun, but enough is enough!” he barked into the the shadows of the towering racks. “If I have to drag you to the airport myself, I’ll fucking do it!”
The shadows didn’t reply. “How the hell did you even get in here, anyway?”

“That would be by way of Us.” he heard a sharp voice explain from behind.

Something about that made him inadvertently gulp.
He slowly turned around, and found himself staring into the cold blue eyes of a crowned alicorn.

He had no idea how she had suddenly materialised behind him. Nor did he quite know what to do. He shuffled away a little, but that is where he was at his wit’s end.

“Pierre of Canada, We presume.” she announced, taking yet another step toward him and closing the cap once more.

“Newfoundland, actually...”

Her face betrayed no amount of amusement.
“Thy rank, if thou pleasest.”

“Uh… Deputy Programme Officer, Southern Equestria. And you...”

“We believe thou knowst perfectly well who We are.” the Princess of the night stated somewhat roughly. “So the allegations were true, then. Thou wouldst discard thy subalterns as thou tossest away cleaning rags?”

The dumbfounded civil servant glanced over his shoulder momentarily.
“Where is she? I could swear she just went through...”

“Direct thine eyes upon Us.” the alicorn ordered, somehow intensifying her authoritative demeanor. “With her, thou shalt not concern thyself any longer. We shall make sure of that.”

Was this about the Bosnian?
How did she know? How?
More importantly, how could she be bothered?

“Tell Us, is this a display the legendary human camaraderie that is on everypony’s lips? That woman spills her sweat and her bravery for thee, and thou rewardest her with demission? As though she’s but a common delinquent?”
Her voice was relentless, and perhaps a tad too loud for a place like this.

“M’am...” the Canadian tried to explain herself with the cookie cutter reply, “Ms Šarić has suffered a grave injury in her line of duty. It’d be more punishing if we didn’t… furlough her for the duration. She can barely stand upright.”

“Well, when she walked into Our chambers, she told us something quite different.”

Pierre scowled inside. How did that woman manage to show up in the most impossible of places?
“What… exactly did she say?”

Like a vulture circling a soon-to-be cadavre, the princess rounded the Canadian, scanning him intently.
“Many things that would cast… serious doubt upon thy ethos, Pierre. We had been under the impression that helpfulness was thy United Nations' prime tenet. We were very upset to hear that thou hath reprimanded her for trying to help a forlorn Colton mother to locate her lost child...”

Pierre felt himself forced to turn with her, to not let her get the best of his exposed back.
“That’s because we would leave things like those to committed professionals, like... police investigators and soldiers, and not to forensic scientists. This is called deploying one’s assets sensibly. You wouldn’t send a kitchen help to slay a dragon, would you?”

“Art thou getting fresh with Us, human?”
She took another step towards him, driving him deeper into the shadows. “Our nation finds itself under attack by its oldest and most nefarious nemesi, and thou… what hast thou done ‘till now to help it?”

Exasperated, the Canadian straightened out his pearly white jacket.
“Just the thing we’re supposed to: We observe the situation.”

“If thou thinkst we art in need of somepony looking over Our shoulders, thou art surely mistaken.” the princess snapped, finally interrupting her exploratory dance and confronting the human head-on. “Observers and ‘professionals’ as thyself We can have any day; It’s humans like Edith that we sorely need.”

“Really?” he asked, his hands gradually curling up into fists. “Are you really so worried by someone sitting in a jail cell seven thousand miles away that you feel the need to... make meat shields out of my staff?”

The princess’ shoulders sagged within the moment. She could evidently not believe what she had just heard.

Also the UN official could already hear the jingle of helmets and breastplates behind his back. Had he pushed the pony monarch too far?
“She… Šarić’s got no S.A.R. background whatsoever. Her life’s work consists of unearthing graves and counting teeth inside detached skulls. What the hell makes you think she’d last ten minutes straying around in no-man’s land?!”

Shaken, the alicorn only combed her mane back and coolly leaned in toward the human.
“We know the concept might be quite a novelty to thee, but she wants to help - to do good - without expecting a thing in return.” 
A cautioning hoof of hers began to hover above his racing heart. “And in ways of such powerful emotions, none shall ever stand. Neither Our, nor thy humble self.”

He just smirked, shaking his lowering head.
“We all want a lot of things these days, your Highness. Doesn’t mean we can do whatever the hell we want. I, for one, cannot - and will not - allow UN workers to meddle where they’ve got plain no business.”

“Indeed.” 
The alicorn nodded, and put her hoof down with a clack. “Then perhaps, Edith truly dost not belong here.”

Something about the way she said it sent a cold shiver racing down his neck.





The forensic rifled through her pockets one more time.

It had to be somewhere! It was there just the other day! It couldn’t just evaporate into thin air, could it?
Then again, what wasn’t possible in this place?

Limping past row upon row, she energetically slipped out of her coat and gauged it all over once more.

As soon as she and the Princess crossed into the archives, she felt promptly reminded; she was certain that she had heard it mentioned before.
That mysterious soldier who had crept into her room. Yes, it was right before her. Golden Dirk, Sergeant First Class, service number Two-two-something-something…
He worked in this place didn’t he? And he had snuck her that paper, hadn’t he?
He, who had principal entry to this archive - during day the first half of the week, over night during the other?

Why had she not minded him and his note any sooner?
Maybe it was because she had spent that entire day in an exhausted, enervated haze…

But now it was not too late. She was at the right place - perhaps not at the right time, but that could be rectified with the princess by her side.
She had inspected the front desk by the portcullis quite closely. Although all of the guards - a bleak-beige pegasus and an ash-grey earth pony - looked quite alike with their equally rigorous facial expressions and prim-and-proper uniform tunics, the white-coated unicorn definitely wasn’t among them.

After what seemed an eternity, her finger tips finally felt something rather welcome - the prick of a sturdy, if somewhat mushed, sheet of paper, rumpled into the deepest corner of her inside pocket.
Narrowly avoiding cutting herself, she plucked it out and unfolded it. She held it against the damp lights flickering above her and took another long, close look at it.

It was as unintelligible as before, with tight, intricate paragraphs of writing recorded in an complex and intricate equine alphabet - Even if the ancient ink hadn’t weakened and partially melted into the parchment, it wouldn’t have been any more possible for her to interpret those hieroglyphs.

If she could find an interpreter-

“Alright, Šarić.” a familiar voice shouted somewhere nearby, making the almost trip into the closest reading table. “You’ve had your fun, but enough is enough!”

It was the bastard Pierre. He knew she was here.

Sorrowfully, she looked up from her paper, into the dim environment, before settling back on her paper.
No, she concluded, she wouldn’t take any chances. She had the opportunity, and like all the opportunities that were to follow, she was not intending to squander it.

Stepping out into the central passage, she came across a widely stretched table, upon which the ad-hoc investigators had begun dumping documents from shelves by the boxload.
And by the table, in front of the ever-rising mountain of materials, sat yet another familiar countenance.

It was Ibrahim the interpreter, a rather humorous man Edith had become acquainted with when she was starting her mission in Equestria.
Now, he was sitting on a chair and struggling to assemble a rather large book scanner with the speed and precision that could be expected with such dismal lighting.

“Ibrahim.” she called out in a hushed voice, rushing over to the beleaguered Libyan.

“Oh, there you are.” he said with a smile without looking up. “I’ve been wondering where you went.”

“It’s...” she just gulped, “A longh story. I was busy elsewhere.”

“Heh, I love the bandages.” he smiled, feeling his own chin in affection, before leaning in conspiratively. ”No, I mean, I saw you barely five minutes ago when you crept in. Angry Lumberjack is about. Better don’t get caught.”

She hesitated, confused.
“...Who?”

“That UN bureaucrat with the big beard. The one who likes screaming a lot.”

She huffed involuntarily.
“Pierre...”

“Yeah. He really seems to have it in for you.”

“I know.”
He eyes lowered towards his machine. “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Yes?”

The Bosnian pressed her crumpled paper in his face.
“Schan this for me. Try to kheep hold of the duplichate.”

He folded the paper apart and inspected the favour doubtfully.
“What is that?”

She shrugged.
“Whatever you want it to be. It might be important. And don’t breathe a word to Pierre about it.”

He winced painfully. “Why does this sound so fishy?”

“Zaboga, just do it! He’ll show up any sechond and I channot afford to lose trackh of this!”

“Alright, alright.” he surrendered, “I’ll scan the damn thing for you. Put it on the glass for me.”

Flattening the image, Edith squeezed it on the pane, and waited for a sharp white light to envelop it, up and down and up again.

“There.” he sighed. “Any other wishes?”

“No...”
Edith breathed a hoarse sigh of relief. “Thankh you.”

“You really scare me sometimes, Pokerface...”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” 
Ibrahim just sniffed and heaved a cadastre over from the next-best box. “One page down, one hundred thousand to go.”

Quickly leaving him to his looming monotonous labour, the Bosnian moved on, circumventing the table, hoping dearly for a little illumination.

But in her haste, she collided almost immediately with a thigh-high mare that arrived from another direction, her back packed with at least ten massive encyclopedias.

“Wowzers, girl” the earth pony shrieked as she was sent into a brief spin.

Edith could barely clasp a nearby chair to keep herself from falling flat on the floor.

“No hurry, four hours are plenty of time. I should know, I work here every day..” the mare smiled and instinctively adjusted her foam-like white mane. “Can I help you with something?”

“Are you an archivist?” the forensic just breathed.

“Well, offically, not today.” the earth pony answered, stacking her load onto the table and rolling her eyes. “Because I know my way around, I’ve been delegated to pitch in for the Council of Harmony for a month or two. Heh, it’s the first time I enter these halls and have to write down my own name.” 
She pointed towards the front desk. “I mean, I’ve already been that officer’s best mare, for crying out loud.”

“Do...”
Edith needed a moment to catch a break. “Does ‘Sergeant Gholden Dirkh’ mean something to you?”

The corners of the mare’s mouth lit up immediately. “Dirkie? Why, of course. What about Dirkie?”

“Is he around?”

“Oh… I was about to ask you the same...”
She quieted down momentarily, before glancing over the human’s shoulder furtively. “Can you keep a secret?”

Edith just shrugged.

“Oh well,  I’m afraid he’s gotten himself into a teensy little bit of trouble lately.” she revealed, in a hushed voice, “You know what ‘AWOL’ means, right?”

“Oh… yes.”

“Yeah, looks like he did that. He hitched a ride to the Everfree the other day when he was on sentry duty. Apparently. I don’t actually know.”

Edith sure knew.

“But the Lieutenant did put him to work shoveling snow for the next week.”
Then the librarian cocked her head. “What did you want from him?”

“I want... I wanted to find out what’s written on this.”
She held the paper under the pony’s nose.

“Oh… can I?”
The mare strongly squinted her eyes. She evidently had trouble interpreting the writing herself. “'H-erewith…. Yada yada... the envoy departed again, thoroughly beshamed and matters undone. Four hundred bags of grain would lay rotting in Trottingham godowns throughout the winter, for none to lay claim to them. The duke expressed his dismay for days on end...'”
Then she lowered her stares and accepted the paper into her own limbs.

“What are they talking about?”

She just shrugged.
“I'm sorry, honey. The text’s all out of context, and the lettering is older than my nana - Blasted old-timey unicorn scripture, you know - and the paper isn't helping much either, it's crumbling in my hooves...“

"And the annotations?"

"The annotations..."
She halted. Her expression grew worried. “Wait just a tick... Where did you get this from?”

For the second time that day, Edith just barely managed to keep the nervous fear away from her face.
“Any reason you're askhing?”

“Yeah.” she answered, weighing the single page and inspecting the mushy edges. “The right side's in tatters. Looks like it’s been peeled out of a book.”
Her eyes darkened. “An... old book.”

“How old?”

Her breath grew heavy. She took a wary step away from the towering human.
“Sweetheart... what have you done?”

Edith hesitated, fatally.

“You’re... you are with the ICC team, right?”

“Me? Well, no..”

'What could this mean?', she pondered to herself.
Had the Sergeant passed her a page that he had torn out of the very holdings he was supposed to guard?
Was it something that was supposed to circumvent the ICC's search efforts?

“Then...” the mare stammered, forlorn, cradling the paper like a noble stone. “Where... I mean... what did you...”

“What else does it say?” Edith asked on coldly. “What are those annotations by the side?”

“I...” the pony gulped, eyeing her with mounting dread. It almost seemed like, all of a sudden, there was an itch she had to scratch. “I'm sorry... I think I need to find some glue. Right now. Stat!”
Then she broke into a gallop and rushed past the startled forensic, whizzing off into the darkness with the enigmatic piece of paper.

“Wait a minute, hey...” Edith exclaimed impotently. “Hey!”

“Hail!” a much less meek voice answered instead, causing the leaning Bosnian to straggle a step backwards and shoot upright.

Out of the gloom stepped a cloud of floating, sparkling hair that shimmered like the night sky, enveloping the swaggering form of the same impulsive monarch that had pledged to minister to the Bosnian.
Left and right, labouring ponies dropped everything at the sight of their ruler and fell reverently on their haunches, while even the human workers gazed at the passing sovereign with genuine surprise.
By her side, the Princess led the white form of none other than Pierre Abel, who paced after her like an writhing dog on a leash.
“Alas, dear Edith, We have found thy commander after all.” she said with a victorious grin. “And it seems that We reached a rather bountiful consensus.”

The man's beard sagged in what appeared to be cold, glistening sweat of defeat.

Whatever had happened, and whatever was now going to happen, the Bosnian felt the dread.

“Dear Honourable Pierre... Hast thou naught to say to thy charge?”

The Canadian stepped forward monotonically. His eyes never left the forensic.
“Edith Šarić.” he announced, with palpable ire rolling off his lips, “Consider your United Nations Commission terminated from next week onward.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

But the princess behind him beamed virtually.
“Hark, brave Edith. Thou art now free to do the right thing.”
She turned to address the Canadian. “Wouldst thou not like to do the right thing too?”

He folded his hands.
“I think we talked about this.”

Her glance darkened unexpectedly.
“We can always convince thy superiors to find someone who is willing. Pierre.”

He chewed on an invisible bone for a short while. 
Then he dove into his coat's pocket and pulled out the hair sample he had confiscated from the forensic a mere day ago.
The princess' magic latched onto it immediately, pulling it away from his grasp and slowly passing it back to the Bosnian.

“You wanted to find Junebug?” Pierre asked, almost too gently, “Now you've got all the time you ever wanted.”

Ignoring him, Edith pocketed the bag with the deft of a starving sparrow.

But the bushy man stepped closer into whispering range. “And let me assure you, it will never be over for you. This will have consequences.”

She just raised her chin in hollow defiance.
She was too taken away by the moment to properly process what was happening, and just how good or bad the situation was turning for her.

The equine sovereign cleaved her way past the boiling man and came to a standstill mere inches from Edith. The alicorn's majestic wings sprouted importantly, sending a wave of air through the room.
“Now then, Edith. With this matter done justice, there shan’t be any further impediments. If thou art in any condition hereto, may We compel thee to kneel?”

The woman just put a confused hand to her chest.
“I'm sorry?”

“Kneel down before Us.” the princess solemnly repeated.

Edith just cleared her throat.
“I...”

She glanced around, meeting the awkward stares of gawking ponies observing the weird scene, until she finally spotted the increasingly sour face of Pierre Abel behind her, glaring at her, warning her that if she dared to bend a single toe...

So she knelt down without a second thought. Right there, in the Royal Archives, dozens of metres under the castle. Wobbly on her knees, the Bosnian lowered herself down on her sore legs, until she saw nothing more but night-blue hooves and worked silver braces. She tried looking up to read the face of the alicorn before her, trying to guess her next move.

“Lower thy head.”

And as she did, she could perceive the light ringing of metal dangling from above her. It came closer.
Suddenly, she felt her bare neck enveloped by a cold, hard chain, interlaced with bands and strings of varying scragginess.
Before her eyes, a brass metallic form drifted down, settling beneath her throat like an exceedingly bulky medal.

Only then did a gentle hoof pluck her by the chin, and allowed her head back up.
The smile of the princess towering above her was warm and welcoming, her eyes filled with genuine pride.

“Hear one, hear all.” she announced, “The human Edith of Bosnia and Herzegovina, who hath stripped her cloak to don another in the course of her creed, hereby steps under the protective wing of Luna, First of her Name, Princess of Equestria, Sovereign Commander over the Moon and the Stars, and Leader of the Three Pony Races.” 
She took a subtle breath. ”She has chosen to stand with Equestria in its time of need. She swears fealty to the realm and loyalty to the causes of peace and harmony. Let this gorget be the mark that would announce her unique position to the world. May it grant her passage and carry Our command throughout the land.”

Her horn momentarily lit up.
A fine blue spark loosened itself from it, floating into the air and settling over Edith.
Naturally, the human flinched at the foreign power, until she noticed how the light passed by her and seeped through the interlaced strings into the medallion.

“May its magic shield her and guide her in her quest for the truth.”

The metal went a little warm.

“Dost thou swear to uphold the princely peace on Our soil and answer the beckoning call of the most high if needs be?”

Edith nodded, slightly confused.

“Thou must declare, 'I swear this'.”

“I... swear this.”

The princess looked quite pleased.
“May more follow thy example.”
The pony gave the human a hoof. “Rise now. Rise to new heights. Fly off into the world, proud and free like a phoenix.”

And as she rose on trembling legs, the Bosnian once again only had eyes for the UN officer still glaring at the two of them, as though he couldn’t believe what a scene they were making.

“Yes.” he agreed, caustically, “May more people do what you just did, Edith. Maybe, once enough people renege their duties around here, you’ll finally be able to stick it to the changelings.”

“We believe We have heard quite enough out of thee.” the sovereign declared, not even feeling the need to turn and face the speaker, “Thou art free to commit to thy other tasks.”

He nodded.
But before he turned around and made ready to depart from the scene with a - at best, disappointed, at worst, disgusted - shake of his head, he decided mention out one more thing. 
“Perhaps we all should. Time’s scarce. And her trial doesn’t wait. And we don’t want it to end before it begins, do we?”

Edith witnessed the princess losing her complacent demeanor upon his words.

He just tapped the aviator watch hanging from his left wrist.
“Monday the 19th. That’s in three days. You might want to keep a TV handy. It should be quite a fascinating opening statement when the prosecution turns up empty-handed!”