The Arbitrage of Moments

by GaPJaxie

Chapter 1

The front door of the Golden Oaks Library swung open, letting the light from the setting sun spill inside. It moved quietly, on well-oiled hinges, and for a moment, the candle carved into its outside face caught the sunlight such that its flame seemed to shine. Applejack’s hoof wavered in the air, where it had pushed on the handle. After a moment, Applejack lowered it, though she did not go inside. She wasn’t sure why she had expected the door to be locked. Perhaps, she briefly thought, it was simple optimism—a locked door might have served as a pretext to leave.

“Hello?” she called out, but there was no answer. She leaned her head forward and looked around, and after a moment, took a hesitant step into the doorway. The library looked just as she remembered it, with its oddly shaped shelves and windows and little nooks in the wall for reading. She stopped there for a moment, to consider all the changes that had occurred over the last two years. There were doors between the main room and living spaces now, so that the library could be made more open to the public. There were more tables, a book drop in one of the inner doors, and a rolling cart in the corner dedicated to foals’ books.

The main table in the center was still there, though the pegasus bust that had once decorated it had been replaced by a carving of Princess Luna. At the moment, it held a small book, a pen, and a sign made from folded paper, on which were written big, friendly characters. “Hello!” the sign read. “I will be in Canterlot on royal business until Friday. After-school classes are canceled until I return, but feel free to use the library in the meantime. Be neat, and if you check anything out, please note it in the log next to the sign. I would really appreciate it if you could be respectful of the library, and also, if you aren’t, I’ll vaporize you with my princess powers.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Applejack’s face as she read the note, but it didn’t extend to the rest of her face. If anything, it made the lines there show more—the crease along her temple, the tired sag under her eyes. The bottom of the page was dedicated to a lighthearted cartoon of a pony with a book-theft cutie mark being sucked into a vortex and letting out a comic “Oh noooo!” as he vanished. Applejack opened the log and found it full, every page covered in scribbles and the margins filled as well. That made her glance at the book drop, and on a second inspection, she found it so full that it was jammed, books left in neat stacks beside it.

Applejack let out a quiet breath, and after a few moments’ contemplation, decided that seemed as good a place to start as any.

She retrieved the spare key from behind the main shelf and opened the door to the back of the library, an avalanche of books spilling out around her hooves. After taking a moment to consider the pile, she made her way to the basement, and from there retrieved a number of boxes. She didn’t know how a proper library organized its collection, but decided that boxing them up was probably sufficient for now.

The main room of the library went quickly enough—she put away the new books and the rolling shelf, returned the extra tables to the basement, and replaced the statue of Luna with the old pegasus bust. She did the kitchen next, throwing away all the food that had gone bad and boxing up all the new, fancy cutlery. Not much of the old stuff was left, but she decided she could bring some things by from the farm later.

The other common rooms of the library went quickly. The den was pretty much the same. The basement looked totally different, but Applejack didn’t feel it would be a good idea for her to tamper with equipment she didn’t understand, and so she left it be. She entered the bedroom last of all, a strange sense of foreboding making her limbs go stiff—but it was the same room it always was, bright and friendly, full of flowering plants and reference guides and Twilight’s private book collection. It had a lower area with shelves and a desk, and a higher loft that held the bed, accessible by a long stair that twisted around the edge of the room.

Applejack knew that a lot had changed here, but she hesitated in the doorway. She didn’t clearly remember what was new and what was old, and beyond that, the room felt like a private space—like she was intruding simply by being here. It made her skin crawl—left her a constant need to look over her shoulder, as though Twilight might jump out at any moment. After a moment though, she forced herself to walk into the room, slowly looking over the items inside.

The books, she was sure, were old. Some of the volumes might be new, but Twilight had always kept a few references here. The glass cabinet full of little mechanical devices was new—too modern a thing compared to the old, classical decorations. The telescope belonged here, even if its position had changed. The phonograph she was less certain about—it seemed familiar, but she was sure that it had not always had its prominent position by the head of the bed.

It was the dresser that gave her the most trouble, covered in pictures and little personal items. Some of the photographs were clearly old—Twilight and Shining Armor as foals, or her and her parents. Others were clearly new, like the photo of the six of them in Saddle Arabia, all posing in front of the Great White Palace. Most of them, though, she could not place. Which one of their trips to Canterlot had that picture of them and the Princess come from? Or the one with her and Twilight at Sweet Apple Acres?

One picture caught her attention particularly, and she picked it up from where it rested. She knew exactly when this one was taken, shot by Pinkie Pie in a moment of ambush photography. It showed Twilight and Rainbow Dash, curled up together by the watering hole. They’d been asleep, tucked in against each other in a moment too perfect for Pinkie Pie to resist. The picture made it seem so peaceful and delicate, but Applejack remembered them stumbling away from the flash, rapidly disentangling themselves and swearing they’d just nodded off. Rainbow Dash had been so embarrassed she couldn't look Applejack in the eye for a week.

As Applejack stared at the picture, she neither smiled nor frowned, her expression flat. That was wrong, she supposed—there were so many feelings that picture should have evoked. None of them would come to her however, leaving her with a strange dull sensation, and a sense of hollowness.

Behind her, Applejack heard a distinctive bang—the library window crashing open. Quickly, she turned in place, holding the picture flat against her chest. Rainbow Dash was there, standing in the open window frame above the bed, her face tight and strained. “Hey there, RD,” Applejack said, trying to keep her voice casual and quickly realizing she was not succeeding. “Didn’t think you’d be here today.”

“I’m here to get my stuff. What are you doing here?” Rainbow Dash demanded, sharp and abrasive. She leaned forward, wings spread slightly to her side as tight expression quickly turned into an open frown and then into a glare.

“Ah’m jus’... cleanin’ up. I thought it would be better if things were just the way Twilight left ’em. You know—so she don’t feel like a stranger,” Applejack said, trying to lift the mood with a positive tone and a smile. Rainbow Dash showed no response, continuing to glare into the silence. “This is all gonna be hard enough on her as it is.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rainbow Dash answered sharply, turning without another word to go rummage through the closet. She soon found her saddlebags, haphazardly stuffing loose items into them. Applejack said nothing, but she bit her lower lip and discreetly looked down at the picture before putting it back on the dresser.

“So, uh... how you holdin’ up?” Applejack finally spoke, after what felt to her like an eternity. Rainbow Dash did not turn around, continuing her task. If she showed any reaction, it was to pick up her pace, grabbing items by the heap and shoving them into her pack. They were mostly little things, though Applejack winced when she saw Rainbow’s gala dress get jammed in like it was a pile of rags. “Not great then, I take it.”

“I’m fine,” Rainbow Dash snapped, apparently done, moving to clasp her saddlebags closed. Applejack wasn’t sure if she was leaving early to avoid the conversation, or if all of Rainbow Dash’s possessions could fit into one set of saddlebags—she traveled light enough that both seemed likely.

“Now, Ah know that ain't true,” Applejack said, stepping up towards Rainbow Dash. She didn’t reply, closing her saddlebag’s second clasp and taking off, hovering over the floor. “This has been a real shock fer all of us, Rainbow. Ya don’t need to deal with it on your own. Why don’t we—”

Rainbow Dash turned in the air and lashed out with her hind legs, delivering a powerful kick to the cabinet behind her. The blow hit the case’s wooden sides, smashing them in, shattering the glass, and sending the entire cabinet flying off the bedroom’s landing and down to the floor below. Applejack didn’t see it hit, but she heard the thunderous sound—felt the weight of the impact as the cabinet shattered and took all the delicate mechanisms inside with it. Metal and crystal and wood and glass flew in all directions, forming a glittering mess on the floor below.

Rainbow Dash drew three quick breaths—her muzzle twisted back like a snarling animal. She screamed at the top of her lungs, driving another kick back into the closet door and smashing it nearly in half, a sharp swipe of her forehoof knocking over the end table by the bed off the ledge and sending the phonograph atop it to a similar demise.

“Rainbow!” Applejack shouted, rushing towards her. “Get a...” Before Applejack could finish, Rainbow Dash bolted out the open window and fled into the sky. Applejack rushed to the window after her, but could chase her no further, and it was only after she was long gone that Applejack finished. “...hold of yerself.”

Applejack sighed, but shook her head and returned to her work. She removed the damaged closet door, and resolved to bring a new set along with the plates and cutlery from the farm. She sorted the mess Rainbow had left in the closet as best she could and boxed those things she thought didn’t belong. She threw away the broken phonograph and dragged the cabinet out to the street. She swept up the broken glass.

Eventually, all that was left was to see to the dresser and the pictures there. Try as she might, though, she could not sort all of them in her mind. After some hesitation, she decided it was better that a few be missing than any get improperly sorted, and she boxed away all those of which she was uncertain.

Finally, she opened the dresser itself, halfheartedly rummaging through the contents. Clothes, pens, ink bottles, nothing for her to bother with. She almost missed the journal entirely, hidden away as it was under two layers of towels. She felt it first as a strange obstruction, something that thumped against the corner of the drawer when she touched it. She quickly uncovered it, pushing the towels away and lifting it up out of its hiding place.

It looked like an old book—heavy cover, thick bindings, yellowing paper—though Applejack wasn’t sure if it was actually ancient or simply made in the traditional way. It didn’t smell old—no scent of dust or drying paper—but it was certainly well worn, cracks visible at the edges of the cover and along the binding. When Applejack flipped through it, she found the pages filled with lines of elegant calligraphy, as well as beautiful illustrations of ponies, animals, and mechanical devices. Each entry had a date at the top that advanced like a flipbook as the pages turned.

For a moment, she considered putting it back—even if she knew she had the right, it was not in her nature to snoop into other ponies’ private affairs. That moment passed however, and she hesitantly opened it to the first entry. The date there was more than fifty years past, the paper fragile and stiff.

April 3, 953

Flash Dance gave me this journal today. It’s an amazing book. She said she made it for me herself as a birthday gift, since she would be at school in Canterlot during my actual birthday, but I think she wanted to show off how much she’s learned. When she first gave it to me, it appeared to be a single page nestled between the covers. I thought it was some kind of prank, but she marked the corner with a pen, and suddenly there was a second page behind it.

Applejack glanced at the upper right corner of the first page, and found that there was an odd slash of ink there that she had previously overlooked.

I marked the second page immediately, and a third appeared. This persisted up until at least the fifteenth page, after which Flash Dance laughed and told me I could stop. She says that the book will keep generating new pages as long as I keep writing in it. Of course, I had a thousand questions as to just how that worked, which Flash Dance answered with only three points. First, there is no upper limit. As long as I keep writing, the book will generate pages forever. Second, that no matter how many pages the book has, it will never become thicker or heavier than a mid-length novel. Third, every entry must start with a date—any page that does not have a date at the top will vanish when the book is closed. She also said that the book may have other properties, but that I’d have to find those on my own.

Naturally, my next question was how such a thing is possible, but she only laughed again and told me to figure it out. Mother was quite cross at that and told her it wasn’t fair to tease me for being an earth pony, but I don’t think she meant it that way at all. She’s not teasing me for being an earth pony, she’s teasing me for being her little brother. Besides, she knows I like puzzles, and it would hardly be the first time I have shown an interest in her schoolwork despite not being able to use it myself.

Still, I do think that Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns has left her slightly too full of herself, and have decided to make good on her challenge. I expect she thinks I will just tinker around with it for a few weeks and discover whatever little features she’s left for me, but I intend to one-up her. I am going to figure out how this works, and next she visits home, present her with a superior version of the same gift—let her figure out how I did it. I’ll have to get a unicorn to do the actual enchanting of course, but I’m sure I can persuade somepony when the time comes.

The first step will be figuring out where to look. Flash Dance’s cutie mark is not related to enchanting, so I suspect that this book was made only with techniques that are considered a matter of general study, possibly even as a class project. However, I’ve never heard of a book like this before, and they would surely be available in quantity if they were easy to produce. That suggests that she’s utilized some resource available at the school which is not commonly accessible.

I see three possibilities: that the book is made from rare and expensive materials, that it was made in some kind of specialized workshop, or that she exaggerated when she said she made it herself and has received direct help from one of her teachers. Examination of the book under a magnifying glass does not reveal any uncommon materials, but I have made a list of every substance used in its creation, as well as taking a sample of the paper. Finding a reference guide will be—

Applejack flipped through the next several pages in the hope of finding something more relevant, but there was only further analysis of the book, talk of libraries, and a list of all the unicorns in town. What town she was not sure—the journal didn’t say. She was not sure what she’d been looking for, but that was not it. Her head hung, her shoulder slumped, and again she turned to leave.

And again she hesitated.

Back and forth she went like that, four times stepping towards the book, and then away from it. She stared at it each time, steeling herself and resisting the urge to take it—only for that urge to tug on her all the harder as she tried to step away. On the fourth time, she bit her lower lip, and after a long moment, surrendered to temptation, taking it in her teeth.

She locked the front door to the library on her way out.

Comments

[Lordmiak]

What does a "book-theft cutie mark" look like ? My imagination is stumped...
My interest, on the other side, is critically piqued.

[Bronetheus]

'...a lighthearted cartoon of a pony with a book-theft cutie mark being sucked into a vortex and letting out a comic “Oh noooo!” as he vanished.'

This is a thing of beauty. If I had any artistic talent, I would already be drawing it. Onward to the next chapter!

[FinalFan]

Oh, Applejack ... you didn't sign out the book. Prepare to be vaporized.

[InMyMind]

This story has been in my reading list for way too long. Let's fix that.