"Welcome to Sugarcube corner." Feather didn't even look at the newest customer. He was busy trying to scrub butter-maple-scotch-something-or-other from his last menu so he could hand it over. Luckily, the paper menus were laminated, but they still required maintenance. The rag stuck, and Feather tried to shake it free, flinging the menu behind him. "Can I get you something?" he asked with a sigh.
"Eeyup."
A shadow fell over the colt, and he looked up. He knew this customer. "Oh, um, hi."
"Hello." Mac lazily dropped himself to the ground, ignoring the fact that other ponies were walking around them as he laid eye-level with the colt. He was also ignoring the fact that his belly was picking up a fair bit of dust and dirt. "Ya doin' alright?"
"Yeah," Feather answered quickly, "just fine."
"Yer a tough little fella, ain't ya? Gettin' up and goin' ta work hurt like ya are is beyond most colts yer age." Mac looked to see if the bandages were still where he secured them. "Beyond some grown-ups, too."
"Well, it was just a little burn, right?" The colt sighed. Why did he have to show up? First Twilight, he thought gloomily, now this giant. How long would it be before another adult took too much interest in him?
"Feather?" Mrs. Cake called from the counter, her voice reaching them even outside and reminding Feather that there was already another adult overly worried about him. "Are you almost finished with the menus? I have one more thing for you to do."
"What is with this town?" he muttered, before turning around and shouting back, "Almost, I'll be right there!" At least he had an excuse. Looking back at his visitor, he shrugged pleasantly. "Sorry, gotta go."
Big Mac nodded his understanding as the colt ran off.
Feather didn't look back until he was inside Sugarcube corner, and even then, it was just a peek. He was careful to stay out of sight while he checked to see if Mac had left, just in case the oversized grown-up decided to hang around. He groaned when he saw that the stallion was just now starting to stand up. "He sure likes to take his time about things."
"You're one to talk, silly-head!" Pinkie shouted from right behind the colt, scaring him straight into the air. She grabbed him before he could land, spun him around, and set him down facing the front counter. "At least Big Mac gets his work done. Mrs. Cake is waiting for you. Toodle-oo!" She scratched her chin. "Or is it, 'toodle-lou?' I can never remember. Anyway, get going!"
She gave Feather a tiny shove, and headed off to help customers. The shaken colt glanced back before heading for the counter, swallowing as Pinkie surprised a group of ponies by popping up from the window side of their booth to take their order. For a second there, he had forgotten all about her. Add one to the list of grown-ups.
He shook his head as he stood in line, waiting for the two ponies ahead of him to place their orders with Mrs. Cake so he could find out what she wanted him for.
It didn't take long for her to notice him and wave for him to come around the counter. "Go hang up your apron, would you?" And she was back to discussing pastries with the customers before Feather even made it past them.
Feather sighed and walked to the storage room in the back. Among the sacks of flour, and shelf after shelf of other dry goods, there was a coat rack full of aprons. He stood next to it and undid the strap on his own apron. Then, taking the hem in his mouth, flicked the neck loop up towards the hook. It took a few tries, but he eventually got the apron to catch and stay where it belonged. His saddlebags were nearby, leaning against a wall, and he retrieved them before heading back out to the counter. His shift was probably over, and he didn't feel like making a second trip for them.
When he made it back to the counter, the customers were gone, and Mrs. Cake was busy folding something up in brown paper. "Oh, Feather." She glanced back as she fastened the paper with a piece of tape. "Good work today." She took the package and stuck it in an open pouch of Feather's saddlebags. "You worked hard today," she said, ruffling the mane sticking out from the back of his hat, "better than some of our older hires. If you want to keep working here, I'll be paying you once a week, every Saturday at ten A.M. Be here at the same time during the week, and early on the weekends, like you were going to school, or even earlier. But, I'll be sure not to work you too hard. We just need an extra hoof during the busy hours, two or three hours a day."
"Um..." Feather squirmed away from the mare's touch. Why was everypony in this town so touchy-feely? "That kind of sounds like a lot."
"Okay," she nodded, "it doesn't seem like much to me, but that might be because I spend most of my time here whether I'm working or not. To a young colt with school, friends, and other stuff going on, three hours must seem like a lot to give up,” she said rather thoughtfully, then began to scratch under her chin, deep in thought. “How about, you just show up when you want?"
"Wait, really?" Feather blinked and looked up. "I don't think jobs work like that."
"Not usually, no," Mrs. Cake admitted as she returned to the counter. "But I'm not going to impose a strict schedule and eight hour shifts on a foal looking for some spending money. Just keep in mind that you only get pay and free meals if you come and work."
Feather's ears perked up at that. "Meals? I get food for working here too?"
The mare giggled. "Of course, dearie. I don't think any restaurant in ponyville doesn't at least feed their own employees. In fact, I packed a little snack in with your bits for today, a few slices of some banana bread I baked this morning. Let me know how you like it."
Before Feather could respond, a customer caught her attention, and she was off to help. With a sigh, Feather got up and headed for the exit. He originally came here just to get a few bits, but a steady source of food would be nice too. Otherwise, he would have to scrounge or spend bits to fill his stomach.
He reached the door and stepped out into the sun, but it wasn't long before a shadow fell over him. With a groan, he looked up. "Hello, Big Mac."
"Hello, Feather," the big pony answered. "Ya busy?"
"Um, yes?" Feather smiled awkwardly. With everything that happened today, he was too worn out to think up a good excuse. "Well, see ya."
Feather turned and started walking away. After several steps, it became clear that he wasn't leaving the stallion's shadow. He looked back. Mac was there, a step to the right, and one or two back, blocking out the evening sun.
"Ya look tired" the farmer observed, pulling ahead by several steps. "Follow me. Ah've got a good spot fer restin' after work."
Feather rolled his eyes. Didn't he just say he was busy? This pony expected him to just drop everything and follow him to who knows where? The colt stayed where he was as the big pony walked off, heading around the corner of a nearby building.
Feather smiled, thinking he was free and clear; but that smile disappeared pretty quickly when Mac came back around the corner pulling a wagon full of empty barrels behind him. He walked back to Feather and flicked his head back. "Climb in. There's plenty o' room, seein' as Ah got mah deliveries done."
Feather groaned quietly. "Do I have a choice?"
Feather sighed as he stretched out in the back of the wagon. As much as he hated to admit it, this beat walking. Hidden below the walls of the wagon, he got to kick back and relax for the first time all day. His saddlebags made a decent pillow, and the rhythmic bump and rattle was actually pretty soothing. He could have probably fallen asleep in there if the trip was long enough.
The colt scratched his head, realizing he didn't know how long the trip was going to be. Where were they even headed? They could be headed across town for all he knew. Hay, they could be heading to the next town for all he knew. Big Mac hadn't said more than two words to him since he climbed in the wagon.
Actually, he had said exactly two words. "All set?" That was it. As soon as Feather answered yes, he was off and walking, moving through town at a pace more fitting an unladen pony than one pulling a big wagon.
By now, they were outside of the town proper, following a worn but well-maintained dirt road. Feather hung his front hooves over the side of the wagon now, rest forgotten as he tried to puzzle out their destination. Wait… He recognized this road! It was the one that led to Scootaloo's clubhouse.
Feather leaned forward, glancing over the wagon's boards to look down at the pony pulling him along. For the first time, he noticed the apple that made up the big pony's cutie mark. That, combined with the few apples rolling around inside the wagon, gave Feather a pretty good idea where they were headed.
"Hook that on the strap there," Mac told Feather, pointing to the top of the barrel. "Then ya pull."
Feather tossed the little grappling hook up, catching it on the edge of the barrel on his first try. Luckily, it was just like trying to hang the apron up at Sugarcube corner. Then, he gave himself some room on the rope, and started pulling. It was a bit of a struggle, but after a few seconds, he managed to dump the empty barrel over onto a waiting mesh of chains.
"Yer doin' good," Mac said with a nod. He waved Feather over. "Now, the block an' tackle."
Feather carefully stepped over the chains to reach the back of the wagon. Once he got there, Mac scooped him up and set him down on the floor of the barn. The big pony pointed up towards the ceiling, showing Feather the complicated series of wheels, ropes, and beams that connected to the chains he laid down in the wagon.
"We pull on the rope here, an' the chains'll wrap themselves 'round the barrel and lift it. Then we can swing it round the boom arm, and set it on the ground." He grabbed one of two ropes hanging nearby and offered it to Feather. "Go on, pull this back."
"You're kidding, right?" Feather looked up at the farmer. "I could barely dump the thing over, how am I supposed to lift it?"
Mac offered the rope again. "Just try."
"Fine," Feather grumbled. He grabbed the rope and gave it a tug, meeting surprisingly little resistance. He pulled some more, eventually having to stand up and walk back with the rope. After several steps, and no apparent result, he held the rope with a hoof to free up his mouth. "How much do I have to pull? It's not doing anything."
"That's how a block and tackle works." Mac jumped up, grabbing a mouthful of rope closer to the pulleys. With his landing, which the colt felt through the ground under his hooves, enough rope was pulled that the chains were pulled taught around the barrel. "Ya pull more rope," he said around the one he held, "in exchange fer pullin' less weight." He walked over to Feather, hoisting the barrel off the wagon. He stepped on the rope to anchor the barrel in place, and nodded to Feather. "Go on, give it a tug."
"That barrel weighs more than I do," the colt reminded Mac. Still, he grabbed the rope in his hooves, bracing himself for a fruitless bout of struggling. Instead, as soon as he pulled the rope, the barrel lifted higher. Not much higher, but it did move.
Mac chuckled at the surprised colt and pointed back at the pulleys. "Twi told me ya enjoyed machines and such, so Ah thought ya'd like this. Ya put pulleys at the weight and up above, and run the rope through 'em. Ya can have as many pulleys as ya want, and each one cuts the weight ya pull in half, but ya have ta pull twice as much rope fer each one." He pointed to a larger set of pulleys stored nearby. "That one has five pulleys in it, and I bet ya could lift a full barrel on yer own with it."
Feather looked over to see two oak blocks nearly as large as he was, with pulleys the size of his head and massive forged steel hooks. "Please tell me we aren't going to test that."
"Not today," the stallion said with a deep, rumbling laugh that did nothing to reassure the colt. "Ah promised ya some rest, and Ah'm gonna deliver. Now, grab that other rope and pull it round to the left."
Feather looked up first, trying to see where the other rope connected. He saw where it was tied to a large eye hook at one end of a steel-clad beam. In the middle of the beam, there was a welded bolt, connecting the beam to the ceiling like a swivel. On the other end of the beam hung the block and tackle holding up the barrel.
"Oh!" Feather ran to get the rope. "I get it." The second rope was a little harder to pull, not having the benefit of a pulley system to mitigate the beam's weight, but was still within the colt's abilities. A few seconds of straining, and the barrel was moved away from the wagon.
Mac walked forward, relieving enough rope to lower the barrel down next to the pile that he unloaded by hoof. "What do ya think?"
Feather was still staring up at the beam, which was swinging free without any weight on it. "There should be a counterweight," the colt said, honestly answering the stallion's question. "The beam is only balanced if there's nothing hanging on it. And a chain drive would give you more control over positioning than this rope. You could run it over to that pole, then a shaft down so you can reach it."
Mac looked up, trying to envision what the colt was seeing. It might work, but the gears needed would be large, and expensive. Then again, it wasn't a piece of precision machinery; an old piece of train gearing from a junkyard might do the trick. "Tell ya what," he told the colt, "draw it up, and Ah might let ya help build it."
Feather froze with the horrible feeling that he just volunteered himself for something. He looked over at Mac trying to determine if the stallion was serious about that. It was hard to tell, because he was over by a stack of old toolboxes, digging something out. "Please don't tell me we're doing it now."
Feather started over, ready to come up with an excuse for why he couldn't remodel the barn tonight, when Mac pulled a stick out of the toolbox. Correction, two sticks. One blue, one red, both with faded stripes of gold paint. There was a simple loop near one end of the stick, and a wooden spool of string near the other end. "What are those?" the colt blurted out.
"Ya never seen a cane pole?" Mac glanced back. "Yer missin' out." He reached back into the tool chest, grabbed a small box, and started walking out of the barn with the box and two sticks hooked on his yoke.
"Where are you going?" Feather tagged along, slightly annoyed at the big pony's lack of explanation. "And what are we doing with the poles?"
The stallion stayed quiet until they were behind the barn, walking through a patch of corn. "Grab an ear," he directed the colt, "an' make sure it's a good one."
"An ear of corn?" Feather looked up at the stalks surrounding them. "How am I supposed to know what's good or not? They all look the same."
"Just grab a big one," Mac answered.
Feather shrugged and grabbed the nearest ear he could find. So, now they had two sticks, a box, and an ear of corn, and somehow this was supposed to be relaxing. ‘Confusing’ was more like it. And where were they going?
Feather followed Mac silently for a few minutes. They left the corn patch behind pretty quickly, and most of the walking was through the hills of the orchard. At one point, he even saw the clubhouse in the distance.
"Um..." Feather wanted to break the silence, but wasn't sure what to say. He could just ask where the stallion was going, or even why, but that brought the colt to another question: Why was he following? Sure, the farmer told him to follow; but why should he listen to him?
Mac's ear twitched. He heard the colt start to say something, but it seemed he changed his mind. Glancing back, he saw the little pegasus lost in thought, staring at the ground as he tagged along a ways back. "How d'ya like Ponyville so far?" Mac broke the silence. "Seems like yer makin' friends easy enough."
"Yeah," Feather muttered, keeping his voice low so the stallion wouldn't hear him. "A little too easy."
"Eeyup." Mac chuckled, hearing the the words he wasn't supposed to. "In a small town like this, everypony goes out of their way to be nice. Yer stuck with yer neighbors, after all; it's easier ta be friends, too."
The colt rolled his eyes. "What if I don't want friends?"
"Let me tell ya, kid," the stallion looked back for the first time in the conversation, shaking his head, "nopony's gonna ask." He stepped on to a sturdy wooden platform and motioned with his head for the colt to join him. "Sometimes ya just want ta be alone, but that don't happen in this town. When Ah feel that way, Ah come here."
Feather walked over, realizing that that he had been staring at the ground for most of the walk. The scenery got boring after the third hill or so, and the hill they were on was no different. He sighed again, and started the trudge to where Mac sat down a short ways up.
Mac watched the colt climb the hill, suppressing his smile until Feather made it up. He lost it when the colt finally reached the top, and his little mouth fell open in confusion. With a deep laugh, he asked, "D'ya like it?"
Feather didn't answer right away. He was too stunned at the sudden change in the landscape. The hillside he just climbed was plain and boring in every way, but this side just sort of fell away into a small, sparkling lake. The sun was still high enough to dance on every splash and ripple, but low enough that the display wasn't harsh on the eyes.
Feather stepped onto the dock with Mac. Even with the top of the hill, the platform held the two ponies only a hoof or two above the water. Looking down, he could see his reflection on the calm, smooth surface. Minnows darted beneath, and water striders skidded above, and past both of them, he could see straight to the mud and pebble bottom of the lake.
"This here is mah quiet place." Mac moved the poles and his box to the end of the dock, setting the poles through a pair of rings bolted to the posts at the very end. "Pa and Ah built this before..." Mac stared at the two rings. On was set at the right height for him, and the other would be about right for Feather. Even the two cane poles were perfectly sized. One for a colt, the other for an oversized stallion. "Before I got too big to go fishin' with him."
"Fishing? That's what we're doing?" Feather groaned quietly. He had seen gryphons fishing before, but they always used nets, or poles with string and hooks. How do you fish with sticks? "How big do you have to be to stop fishing?"
Mac ran his hoof along the smaller and more worn of the two rings, flaking some of the old paint off. The other, larger ring was in perfect condition. No rust, no scratches in the paint, no years of use wearing character into it. "Not big enough," Mac answered quietly. With a shake of his head, he moved over to that side of the dock, sitting beside the taller ring and fishing pole. This left his usual pole and holder open for Feather, and the tackle box in between them. "Bring the corn over here, and let's get our lines in the water."
The colt took up a position opposite Mac and dropped the ear of corn next to the box. "We don't have to eat what we catch, do we?"
Mac's eyebrows pulled together for a moment, before he remembered. "Oh, yeah, Ah forgot... Pegasi eat fish, don't they?"
"They do?" Feather cleared his throat. "They do, but, um, I'm not really hungry right now." He quickly added, "and I never really liked fish anyway."
"Really?" Mac chuckled in relief. "Good thing. 'Cause Ah didn't even bring hooks."
"Wait, what?" Feather opened the tackle box. Inside were two small spools of string, a larger spool, a small knife, and about two dozen safety pins. "How do we fish without hooks?"
Mac took one of the small spools of string from the tackle box. The loose end was tied to one of the safety pins, and Mac pulled his cane pole down enough to thread the string through the loop at the end. "Ya put the corn on the safety pin," Mac said like it was the most obvious thing in Equestria. Feather had to admit, an open safety pin might make a pretty good hook. But Mac continued, " then ya close it up, toss it in, and wait for fish ta bite."
A closed safety pin? Feather looked down at the ear of corn he had carried over the hills and fields of sweet apple acres, then back up at the stallion that made him to do it. "So, we're just feeding the fish then?"
Scratching his neck, Mac shrugged. "Kinda... But we're gonna see who gets to feed the biggest fish." He kicked the ear towards Feather and tapped the knife. "Open that. Ah'll cut it up and get it on yer line."
With a sigh, Feather stepped on the ear of corn, and chomped down on the outer leaves. The sooner they fed the fish the sooner he could get back to... whatever he was supposed to be doing. He pulled the first few leaves back. After everything that happened today, he had forgotten what it was he wanted to get done.
He pulled a few more leaves off. Between his first day of school, getting hurt, tutoring, and his first day of work, he had been at the mercy of random ponies all day. At least Mac didn't seem to be planning out all the things he wanted Feather to do over the next few days. And it was unlikely he would assign homework. All in all, he was the least annoying of the adults so far.
Feather tore the last leaf off the ear of corn, then picked it up to give to Mac. Held tight in his teeth, the ear of corn did something unexpected.
It wriggled.
Something moved against his tongue, and it wasn't a corn kernel.
He dunked his head towards the dock, spitting the corn out against the weathered wood. It hit with a thud, and the caterpillar clinging to it moved around in protest. "Gyah!" Feather shrieked in disgust and scrambled back, kicking the ear of corn away from him. "What is that?!"
"Wait, the corn!" Mac dove for it as it sailed over weather wood and off into the water. The hunk of grain hit the surface with a small plop, floating to a stop just beyond hoof's reach. "Ah, shoot." Mac saw the little wriggler that caused the current situation and sighed. "Yeah, Ah don't like 'em caterpillars either."
Spitting and sputtering, Feather moved to the edge of the dock with Mac. "Sorry about that... I guess." Little minnows were already schooling around the corn, a brave few inching past the others to peck lightly at it. "At least the fish are happy."
Feather leaned a little closer. The caterpillar was still latched to the top of the ear of corn, safe and dry, out of the minnows reach. It waved furiously, reared up like an angry snake, making itself larger. With an angry snort, Feather stuck his tongue out at it.
"Eeyup." Mac chuckled. "It's good ta look at the bright side a' things, but now we ain't gonna see any a' the bigger fish. They won't come this close to the surface." Mac looked at the post next to him before grabbing it in his hoof. An experimental shake showed it to be solid, so he looked back at the corn floating just out of reach. "Ya know... Ah might be able ta reach it."
"You sure?" Feather asked quietly as the Mac started to lean over the water. The farm pony was supporting his weight on post that was thinner than his leg. Every little squeak made Feather wince, awaiting the snap and splash that would surely follow. "Be careful."
"Don't, ugh, worry," the stallion grunted. His hoof was hairs shy of his yellow quarry, and he stretched his shoulders as far as he could to try and reach it. Failing that, he paddled lightly at the water in front of the corn, scaring the minnows away and trying to create a current for the ear to follow. "Almost... Got it..."
A shadow from deep within the lake darted through the water. Mac watched as it zipped under him, and Feather ran to the other side of the dock as it looped beneath the sun-greyed boards.
"What is that?!" The colt asked as he spied the shadow from the gaps between boards. "It's huge."
Mac let out a low, hushed, "Um..."
The shadow shot out from under the dock, zipping straight to the center of the lake. And there, it turned around. Skimming the surface of the water, scales flashed bronze in the sunlight as a wake formed around them. The wake charged for Mac, dipping below the surface less than a meter away from his outstretched hoof.
For a moment...
Silence...
Feather moved to the edge of the dock, next to Mac. In the clear water, it should have been impossible for something so large to hide. Where is it?
In an instant, that question was answered. A large, speckled trout, half again as long as Feather was tall, twisted in midair, ear of corn in his mouth. Mac and Feather stared as the second stretched on. Glittering scales fought sparkling water droplets for the sun's favor as the fish twined a graceful arc. A hundred black spots, maybe more dotted the creature's side, breaking up the gentle transition from bronze back to silver belly.
But, as long as the moment lasted, it had to end. And the fish ended it in spectacular fashion, slapping the water with all its strength and drenching both ponies to the core. Mac suffered the worst of it, perched out over the water as he was; but Feather only fared slightly better.
The colt groaned and pulled his thoroughly soaked mane out of his eyes, grateful that his hat kept the water out of his ears. "Well, we saw the fish."
Mac didn't move. He sat there, suspended over the water, letting his mane cover his face like a wet rag dropped on his head. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath, readying a sigh, but blew upwards at the last moment, forcing air towards his soggy forelock with a huff. The unruly hairs lifted away, but slapped back down like seaweed once the puff of air was exhausted. With a sigh, the stallion let his head droop, and uttered a single, solitary word of defeat.
"Eeyup."