• Published 26th Jan 2014
  • 48,011 Views, 6,080 Comments

Bad Mondays - Handyman



A particularly stubborn human is lost in Equestria and is trying his damnedest to find a way out, while surviving the surprisingly difficult rigours of life in a land filled with cute talking animals. Hilarity ensues.

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Chapter 44 - Ticket to Ride

He kicked the door open and dragged Thunder in. The pony landed on the ground, sobbing and in pain.

"Is it here? Are you sure?" Handy hissed. The moonlight spilled into the dank cellar from behind him, causing his helmet to gleam and sparkle, almost giving it a halo. The effect was spoiled as its front was cast into shadow, serving only to emphasize the sharper angles of the helmet all the more. He cast the expensive brick about at full luminosity. He didn’t have time to fiddle around lighting his witch torch and deal with his pyrophobia.

"Yes… I… I think…" Thunder managed between sobs.

"What do you mean you think!?" Handy demanded, dragging him up, the pitiful creature clutching his broken jaw in his forehooves.

"I don't kn-ho-hooow… Please, I… I can't re—"

"Do not pull that amnesia shit with me again." Handy dropped him as he stomped forth, throwing over a table along with the tools and accoutrements on it to see the boxes underneath. The unnatural silence, which prevented him from making any sound he didn't consciously choose to, was spoiled only when the table hit the ground. He rummaged through one box, put it aside, opened the top of another, and rummaged through that one. There were plenty of parchments with that strange, wavy script that was characteristic of old magic, but it was not what he was looking for. He saw Thunder slowly crawling his way over to some discarded sheets. He snarled at him, stomped over, and kicked his hooves away, causing him to shrink on himself and cower. The pony’s breath hitched as he sobbed to himself, his previous arrogance and pretentiousness all but dissipated in the face of his tormentor.

'He really is nothing without that magic,' Handy thought, sneering down at the pathetic sight. He fumed and reached under his breast plate, drawing out the pendant. Even if Chrysalis could talk to Thorax through it, she couldn't talk to him, and that genuinely seemed like an inconvenience for once.

"Are you there?" he asked it. Nothing. "Don't play games with me, Queen. Wake up! Are you listening?" He shook it impotently.

A single pulse. He held the pendant in one hand and his brick in another, illuminating the crypt and its secrets for the pendant to see.

"Do you see it? Is it here?" he asked, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. The unicorn blood made him utterly silent unless he wanted to be heard; unnoticeable unless he was being foolish or wanted to be noticed. It allowed him to see beyond sight at the thin, infinitesimal, ethereal threads and waves that connected the world, like the harp strings of some heavenly instrument. It had taken him a while to realise that what he had seen was magic itself, and he had no idea what to feel about that. For all the good that did him, he was still trapped on the waterfront and the ponies would be closing in soon. He would have to sacrifice Thunder and all the questions the pony could answer if he wanted to slip by unmolested. He should be able to distract the ponies long enough for him to figure something out.

But not before he got what he came for.

There were scrolls, manuscripts, blank books with hastily written notes in English and other languages he didn’t recognise, along with scribblings and simpler renditions of old magic symbols. There were other things as well: documents, strange objects, and statuettes. Some were old, some worn, and several he was pretty sure were the kinds of things you found being hawked to gormless out-of-towners by the local market shysters. Or he would be if they weren’t radiating particularly intimidating-looking magical auras.

The pendant began flashing rapidly when he held it over a bench in a dark corner. He held it closer to the bench, waiting for it to pulse faster the closer he got to what she wanted. Handy reached in and grabbed a sheet of paper. It was little more than a sliver of a sheet, barely a quarter of a full sized parchment. It was ancient, yet pliant and moist despite being kept in such a dry area. It didn’t… feel like paper either. Strange. He studied it closer in the insufficient light the room contained. The ink drawing depicted… something. Was it a map? A design? Part of a blueprint? Could someone place it up against a rock wall and rub charcoal against it for the surface shape? He couldn't make it out.

"Is this what you want?" He held the paper to the pendant. It pulsed. "One for no, two for yes."

It pulsed twice. Handy paused and his expression darkened.

"Tell me truthfully, Queen. Is this, though it appears to be torn from something else, the object you desire, the object you wish for me to retrieve, the object for which you have placed a geas upon my shoulders to bring to you?" The pendant was dark for a moment before it flashed three times. "One for no, two for yes, Chrysalis. If no, I will just leave it here. Which is it? Do not play games with me now."

The pendant flashed twice. Handy smiled.

He pocketed the map, wrapping it around the pendant and stuffing both in the small pack by his side. He turned to walk back over to the pathetic remnants of the pony that had once been a living terror. He stopped and eyed all the documents around him. The artefacts would be too big, but the parchments… Crimson could use those. All that power.

He hurriedly searched, finding a burlap sack and tossing in every scrap of paper he could find. As he did so, he felt something strange, a tingling in the back of his mind about… something he couldn't quite place. He heard a sob and saw a pony lying on the floor near the door. Strange, what was he— Oh right!

He dropped the bag and walked back over to the crying stallion.

"What’s wrong now? Is this it? Is this everything?"

"I-Is… Is what everything?"

"You know what I mean." He heard footsteps, lots of them, drawing near, wing beats from two dozen metres off. It was the living bodies of the guards closing in from afar. He turned back to the pony in his hands and looked down at him in confusion. The tingling in his brain increased in intensity for a brief moment. He knew this pony… somehow. Yes, had he not just been... Yes, that’s right. He was the one behind the old magic, the one who just tore up half a city block, but why was he down here? "What are you doing down here, pony?"

"What?" he asked, desperation in his voice, mewling in pain from his broken jaw. "Wh-Where am I?" He looked around, confused and scared. "Wh-Who are you?"

"Who am I!?" Handy exclaimed, utterly incredulous. The prickling sensation dancing over his scalp intensified enormously. "Who are you!?"

"I… I don't…" The stallion looked down searchingly, confusion and fear in his eyes. The life seemed to drain out of him, his fur turning a more grey shade in the moonlight, the light of his eyes dimming. "I… I don't recall…"

Wings swished through the air while armoured hooves stomped the ground, Handy was running out of time. The tingling finally stopped, whatever it was. He dropped the pony on the ground, picked up his sack of gatherings, and looked back over the small cellar once more. The pages of old magic scrawls remained, but the sheets were blank where they ought to have words. Strange – he could have sworn they were full of written notes just... It would have to do. Had he been braver, he'd make the effort to burn it all.

Instead he simply left, sneering at the wretch he hated on the ground, though he wasn't sure why he hated him. And when the ponies of the city watch finally reached the open cellar, having found the dead end of the street with the stairs leading down to it, they found the pony who they had only ever known as the terrible warlock who tore apart a section of their city.

Even though they knew not his name.

--=--

Midnight Blossom scowled. She hated scowling but scowling was what she continued to do, for it was a situation worthy of a scowl. Her face, thusly bandaged, only allowed her to see with one eye. An entire wing was dressed and splinted. She was pretty sure each of the individual hairs on her tail hurt as much as the rest of her body, and she was still finding spines and needles in places all over her body. Some ponies had gotten blasted through a wall or something ridiculous like that. Her? Oh no, not her – she got an easy landing after being thrown through a window and falling several stories.

Right onto the briariest of briar patches that ever patched their briars.

She didn’t know who the gardener was, but they probably should have been fired and made to work in a sewer for the rest of their life. They clearly didn’t know their arse from their cannon and could evidently use an abject lesson. Who in Tartarus planted briars in their gardens?

Cloud, having gotten battered, bruised, and merely having a sprained wing, was in a much better state of affairs than his partner. That was not what bothered him. What bothered him was that he had never seen Midnight this upset. He had never seen her scowl. That was his thing. She was always the one who smirked, gave the cocky jibes, and constantly gave him little slices of hell for his own embarrassments.

So his internal conflict right now was whether or not to, for once in his life, respond in kind.

It didn’t really take him long at all to decide. He cleared his throat, lowered his head slightly, and muttered: “You’re looking well today.” For his troubles, Midnight’s one good wing shot out and hit Cloud’s bad wing with enough force to elicit a short, pained grunt.

“If you two are done fooling around,” Marquis Short Swipe de la Mané admonished, casting a glower over the two royal guard sergeants, “we have an inquiry to finish.”

“I still protest,” Midnight said from her seat at the table. “This is a royal matter, and we must take it up with Princesses Luna and Celestia post-haste as a matter of course.”

“With all due respect to their Highnesses,” the elderly pony began through a set jaw. His mane was silvered from age and had long since lost its black luster, completing his stately appearance. “I was well informed that a dangerous individual would be trafficked through my city and lands. That I was to trust my guard, the city watch, and to allow the goldcloak garrison access and mutual co-operation. I readily agreed, trusting my princesses in good faith. And now I have that very same individual at large in the finest city in the entirety of Earth Splitter Bay. Scores of ponies are now left homeless and their businesses eviscerated, and my waterfront is little more than a blasted battleground.”

"Which is precisely why we shouldn't be wasting further time on this matter. Every moment we spend here risks further panic," Midnight countered.

“I have hundreds of thousands of ponies, right here on this island, panicking and afraid as we speak. The city is locked down as if under siege. There are soldiers everywhere on the streets while the harbours and ports are emptying by the hour. My son is on his way to the Black Isles Enclave to fix whatever mess you’ve already made over there and to placate the Viceroy on the princesses’ behalf, putting his reputation and that of my family’s name on the line. And to top it all off, the only good to come of it is that we have the very culprit responsible, one of them anyway. He is little more than a blithering idiot unable to recall his own blasted name, never mind his own bladder, and unbelievably, nopony else can recall anything about him other than he was the cause of the destruction. So yes, Sergeant, I will have my answers and perform my inquiry before the princess has her answers. Somepony has to look after the interests of my ponies after all.” His voice was calm, measured, and cultured, but Midnight did not care for the subtle tone his words carried. He was angry, furious, and had every right to be. Still...

“Alright,” she conceded, turning back to look upon the pony standing before the hastily assembled inquiry. She studied her face. Her eyes were forward facing, her face expressionless, her scars healed, and her armour… in an absolutely unacceptable state of affairs. Given the circumstances, that could be overlooked. "Private, you were the one who was contacted, correct?"

"Yes ma'am," Stellar replied dutifully, her voice kept to a dull, respectful monotone.

"And I am led to believe that you took the word of this… human, on face value?" the Marquis asked, lifting a sheet of parchment and adjusting the spectacles on his face.

"Not at first, Your Grace."

"Then why take it at all?"

"Because the potential threat was too great to ignore. And as it would appear, the threat was real."

"Evidently," Short Swipe said, though his tone indicated he was unconvinced of something. "And you are certain he was not the initial cause of the threat?"

"No."

"Then why did you not immediately attempt to subdue the human or seek reinforcements?"

"I sought to get reinforcements immediately but was prevented."

"How?"

"Handy said that if I left, Manehatten would burn," Stellar said frankly. The Marquis' expression did not change. "I take it, in hindsight, that meant he would have simply fled without informing us of the threat."

"And you do not presume he was working with this… threat, seeing as for some stars blasted reason nopony knows his name?"

"We're simply referring to him as the prisoner for now," Cloud interjected.

"Yes, well, answer the question, Private." Short Swipe turned back to the mare.

"No, I do not."

"And why do you presume that?"

"Because, Your Grace, the human used us in order to weaken him."

"Explain." And on it went for an hour. And then another. The marquis utterly exhausted every inquiry he could, routing out any possible negligence on the part of the royal guard, anything at all he could salvage and use to calm his citizens. Unfortunately, he found nought more than what he had to begin with: that the human had turned up, his waterfront had blown up, dozens of ponies had been left injured and dozens more homeless, and the same human had made off with the culprit, who was now little more than a drooling imbecile afraid of his own shadow.

"And these reports I hear of one of your soldiers using some kind of 'battle magic?' I did not know your contingent brought battle mages."

"A state secret," Midnight spoke up. Cloud glanced at her while Short Swipe raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

"It is. It was a potential countermeasure for use on Handy had he proven aggressive. Turned out it had to be activated in defence of Manehatten." Short Swipe clucked his tongue on the top of his mouth, clearly not buying it. He hummed contemplatively.

"Very well. Be that as it may, I formally request you stay within the island's boundaries until this… Handy was his name? Until this Handy is found and brought to account," he said unnecessarily. Good portions of the injured were royal guards who couldn't go anywhere in any case.

"You can rest assured we'll find him," Cloud declared confidently.

"It’s been two days so far," the deep voice of the earth pony in their midst rumbled. The Manehatten sheriff was a mountain of a pony, dark-furred with an eye patch and wearing an azure cloak. He had been quiet throughout the inquiry, but no less attentive for his silence. One did not rise through the ranks of the city watch by skimping on the small details. "We have found nothing as my ponies combed the city. How can you be so sure of where he is?"

"Because I know exactly where he is." Stellar looked down at the floor, her burned and charred helmet partially melted away from the magical blast that should have rent the flesh from her skull like warm butter. Her dreams had not been her own since that night. Her Princess had taken special notice of her, having known the human's whereabouts. That was, once she had gotten over her… moderate shock that the ship the human was on sailing to Manehatten had been the very same one her guards were on.

It was imperfect. Luna had no way of knowing the human wasn't in their captivity until she actually asked somepony in their dreams. She had felt no need to do that until she woke up that night and noticed the human running wild and free around the city. So it was that Stellar became her personal contact while the debacle continued. She had been none too pleased to learn about what had occurred, and Stellar dared not refuse her anything. Stellar looked back up at the ponies gathered before her.

"We have a magical tracer applied under his skin. With time and patience, we can deduce his exact location."

"And how do you know this?" the Marquis demanded, casting a glare at the surprised-looking sergeants. Stellar resisted the urge to grimace. It had been a royal secret she was privy too, and it probably would have done well to forewarn her immediate superiors. However, such was the problem of receiving orders in your dreams and having to face the third degree at first light.

"Because I was the one who placed it on him."

--=--

His breath frosted on air as he worked the latch, shaking it and kicking the door once in desperate frustration. He needed to get inside; he needed to get out of the cold; he needed to rest. Good God, he needed to just rest.

The door gave way, and he all but fell inside. The howling wind and driving snow billowed in after him, winter’s icy claws reluctant to let him go. He slammed the door shut and fell against it, sliding to the ground and coughing.

The sections of Manehatten, the little blocks of buildings from ten storeys tall to the humble and small that sat in between the spider web of roads that made up the city, were like little towns themselves. Streets, alleys, parks, gardens, and sheds, each were a little maze, a paradoxical warren that was nonetheless neatly kept.

He thought he could lose them in there, lose them long enough to figure out a way off of this damn island.

He figured wrong.

He had spent too long in the waterfront chasing that slip of paper Chrysalis wanted, far, far too long. Between fighting… whatever his name was, going from door to door, raiding each of the little bolt holes filled with weird magical paraphernalia and scripts, and then trying to find his way out of the waterfront undetected, hours had passed. Even with the unicorn blood making him unnaturally silent in all his movements, and his changeling sense allowing him to feel where people were long before he fell into their line of sight, he couldn't cross.

The Marquis had spent hours shutting the city down, restoring order to the streets, and calming the panicked civilians. Manehatten Bridge was shut down, pegasi above and below it, guards on the train. The harbour and the shipyard were locked up tight, and any ship coming or going didn't so much as shed a splinter without being combed by guards first. Every fisherman's wharf had someone watching over it, just in case.

Manehatten even had an airship dockyard, a spiralling tower with platforms. There was no way he was getting up there unmolested. Trying to get to the other small towns on the island would involve traveling over open ground and looking very much like a human doing so, and that would be asking to get caught. Manehatten was on a manhunt; they had him cornered and knew it.

It still didn't explain the almost preternatural accuracy some of the guards had when they were searching for him.

He coughed once more, breathing heavily. His face was flushed; his head was fuzzy. He was pretty sure he was coming down with some sort of fever. Winter had finally struck, and it struck hard. It was almost as if there were a switch, and someone had turned it on full throttle. His clothes were ruined, he couldn't find any steady shelter, and food was becoming an issue. It was now several days since the waterfront incident, and Handy was not doing so well.

He pushed up, his chainmail clacking and clinking. His plates had been removed and stored, for it was easier to keep running without them. He had hidden them away, along with his packs, in a clever place on the corner of Fleet and Horn Street in the Temple District where he could find and retrieve them.

Just as soon as he figured a way out of this damn city.

He pulled his deer cloak close, huddling in it, revelling in its warmth and ability to insulate from the cold, the parts that weren't ripped and torn at least. Pushing himself to his feet, he soldiered on. He was in a dark and cold tunnel, the street above him partially visible through grates that let in flakes of snow and frost. The cold light of the evening coloured the tunnel a cold and deathly pale blue where it was not covered in shadow.

"Spread out – she said he'd be here."

Ah good, he could hear his pursuers now. How nice. He drew to a complete stop, stepping out of the light spilling from a grate above and into the shadows. He watched as the dark image of a pony crossed the ground before him, its iron shod hooves resounding on the grates. It stopped for a moment before continuing on. As he and his comrades went on their way above, Handy moved another way below.

These kinds of tunnels were old, from back when Manehatten was still a walled city, and there weren't many of them left. There might not even have another exit that remained unblocked, but Handy was desperate. Navigating was a bitch but he managed it, trying to avoid going down as much as could be helped. He saw one stairway descend into solid ice. If it turned out there was a lower level, it was likely going to be even more inhospitable than the surface.

He found his way into a cloistered chamber, riddled with alcoves, half walls, pillars, and side tunnels. Some were collapsed, though most were bricked over. That was when he sensed them coming: three ponies from another tunnel on the far side. He was about to turn around when he sensed two more on the periphery of his senses.

Shit. Well, at least he had gotten ample warning. He picked the darkest alcove he possibly could and put as much distance between him and the main room as possible. These old siege stores thankfully still had innumerable crap in them even after all this time.

"He's down here," a masculine voice ordered. He saw the flickering orange glow of firelight, and a tingle or trepidation crept up his spine as a surge of panic rose in his breast. Torches, they had torches.

'It’s okay. Calm down, they don't know. They don't know. They won't use them like that. It’s fine, it’s fine. Think of them like the witch torch. They won't burn, they won't burn. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.'

"Where?"

"Somewhere, he can't have gone far." He pressed closer into his hiding place, squeezing into the shadows as he saw the firelight draw closer to the wall beside him. He clamped his teeth shut and clapped his hand over his mouth, trying desperately to silence his breathing. His lungs burned; it was hard to breathe; his head felt light; he needed to cough; phlegm was catching in his throat. He needed to get away from the fire.

"Well, let’s get started. Night Sight?"

"Yeah?"

"Check over here for a minute. Can you see anything through this hole?" The fire got closer, the clippity-clop of hooves louder. The crates that made up his cramped hiding place began to shake as a pony started moving them to see what was behind.

He needed to get away from the fire.

He saw the peak of a black hat above him as the pony tried to climb above, having given up on moving all of the crates out of the way and opting to see what was behind him.

And he was bringing his fire with him.

"What in Tartarus is that?" one of the other ponies from the far side of the room muttered.

He needed to get away from the fire.

The pony misplaced a hoof and almost fell back, letting out a yelp, nearly dropping his fire and causing Handy to scream in feral panic. He could see the torch now, the tips of its flickering flame as the pony climbed his way back up.

He needed to get away, he needed to get away, he needed to get away, heneededtogetawayheneededtogetaway, away, Away, Away, AWAY, AWAY, AWAY!

"Hey, I think we found something!" Handy blinked. The torch-wielding pony hovered where he was, just over the cusp of his hiding place before climbing back down. He heard a number of hooves carry off into the distance, most of the light fading barring one small flame still flickering by its lonesome as silence returned to the room. He breathed, his chest convulsing as it threatened to give way to a wracking cough from being suppressed so long. He pushed it down a bit more as he struggled to lift himself from the ground. He had pressed against the cold stone, his hands clasped over his cloak and his hammer in a death grip.

The ponies had left, and there was only one left guarding the partially bricked tunnel entrance the others had apparently gone down. He held a torch aloft in the crook of his hoof where it met the rest of his foreleg in the curious manner ponies held things. Most importantly, he was facing away from Handy.

Getting out was going to be harder than getting in.

The pony wore a dark grey cloak. Handy couldn't see a weapon, so he wasn't a guard. City watch perhaps? Pegasus too. It could handle this cold better than Handy could. Handy was no sheltered daisy and Ireland was hardly mild in the winters, but when it got down to it, guy with the fur coat was going to handle the weather better than the naked ape in rags. Handy's chain rattled against the wood.

The pony's ear twitched and it glanced over in Handy's general direction, its eyes looking back and forth along the wall before he turned his attention back to the tunnel. Handy nearly had a heart attack as he was part way climbing over the crates. The stallion had been looking straight at him and didn't seem to see anything. His forehead had hurt as the pony had looked over. Handy's eyes had locked with his in the manner of a thief caught red-handed, and the pony just looked about and went back to his business as if he had seen nothing. What even in the hell, it wasn't that dark in this alcove, was it?

Well, terrible puns aside, never look a gift horse in the mouth. If God felt fit to have him stuck here with a near-sighted pony, Handy was all too ready to take the lucky break for what it was. He pulled himself over. Quietly, so very quietly, he hugged the dark shadows of the walls, watchful of the dancing light cast by the pony's torch on the other side of the room. His boots had cloth wrapped around them to help soften his footfalls and limit the amount of snow that would be caught on his soles. It certainly helped him now, as it mitigated the noise that would have been made, crunching centuries old brick, dust, and dirt underfoot.

'Just need to get out; just a little farther. Don't draw any attention to yourself.' Inch by inch, he came closer to the exit tunnel, the very same one the three ponies had come down. His heart pounded in his chest as he warily watched the pony guarding the partially bricked over tunnel, every twitch of its ear a potential sign that he was discovered, that some noise he had made was heard. Once he was around the corner and out of sight, he hurried his pace while looking back carefully, his unease never lessening even in spite of putting further distance between himself and the ponies with their damned torches. How did they keep finding him? They kept getting so unnaturally close. With the city on lockdown, soldiers in the streets, and most people staying inside when they could thanks to the weather, one would think Handy could manage to find some place to lay low, if only for a day.

He couldn't. Any time he lingered somewhere too long, they were upon him. He had taken to resting for an hour, maybe two. No real sleep at all before he was forced on the move again. They had to be tracking him somehow, but he had no idea how. Was it Stellar? He hadn't seen her since that night. Could she somehow pick him out in a city now? Was that a thing thestrals could do if they had enough of someone's blood? He didn't know. In a fit of paranoia, he wrapped Chrysalis' pendant in cloth and hid it away in another location, just in case they were somehow using that to track him. They weren't – he knew that much now.

He stopped as he began coughing explosively, grabbing the wall for support as his lungs felt like they were trying to jump up through his throat.

"Hey, I hear somepony down this way!"

"Shit!" he cursed and ran again. He heard the hooves thundering up the ancient stonework behind him and felt the presence of the guards hot on his trail, the life energies of the ones on the surface moving to and fro. He felt his chest convulse as another series of coughs wracked him. He pushed on an ancient wooden door that wouldn't budge.

'God damn it, come on!' he swore internally before taking his boot to the handle and splintering the ancient, rotted wood underfoot. The rusted, worthless metal of the catch split under the force, and Handy pushed on into the darkness beyond. The noise had alerted his pursuers and there was more shouting. He felt more of the guards above start mobilising, leaving the surface and heading for entrances underground. Apprehension danced across his skin as the adrenaline started to give further impetus to his flight.

He ran and he ran, and he ran. He did not know how much further he could go on now. He turned one corner in the darkness, floor illuminated by irregular shafts of light from above, then turned up another flight of stairs. Then he went into a room, forced to dodge the sources of life he sensed coming his way, letting them pass before continuing onwards, moving in the opposite direction of the guards, trying to feel out where others were in relation to him as he backtracked. He coughed, his head burning. His legs ached; he couldn't feel his left arm. He was tired, so very tired.

So tired, in fact, that when he stumbled through a door and burst his way back onto the surface, it took him a minute to stop his momentum before running headlong into the wall of a high road. Dazed, he stumbled back, struggling to get his bearings, coughing and blinking blearily as he looked one way and then another.

'Where am I?' he asked himself, blinking. Turning around, he tried to see anything that could be used as a landmark. 'Where the hell am I now?'

He caught himself on the wall as he lurched over, coughing up his lungs again as the snow continued to fall. He needed to get out of the light, he needed shelter from the cold, but most importantly he needed to not be seen. He didn't want to be seen; he couldn't afford to be. He desperately needed not to be seen. He had to get out; he had to get away. It would be only a matter of time before someone came upon him! He turned to leave the short, empty street he was on…

And froze when he saw a pony turn the corner of a street towards him.

--=--

Tinker Tailor whistled while he worked, he whistled while he walked, and he whistled as he whiled away the whole day, stopping only as he talked.

He was whistling to himself, content with a fine day's trade and a good trade's work, as he walked the whole way home. He drew his scarf closer about his neck, the wooden crates that held his tools rattling from their perch on a working saddle. Despite everything, he was rather carefree. He didn't mind all the soldiers on the streets as much as other ponies did; never bothered him none. Streets sure were quieter though. He turned a corner at Fifth and Mayhew, down a street between the wall of a high road and the dilapidated facades of lower apartments that had seen the winter come and go over ten times since they last housed a living pony. The upper apartments were still lively though, as they were accessed from the high roads.

Tinker liked to take this route home, as it was shorter that way, and it was not as if anypony would mind. But on this day, much to his surprise, he met a pony. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he nodded a greeting.

"Afternoon, friend!" The stallion just stared at him, dead-set eyes wide with intensity, and his face expressionless. Tinker Tailor slowed down as he drew nearer to him. He was brown in colour with small patches of white in places, his mane a slightly darker shade of brown, dull blue eyes and, most curiously of all, a white square for a cutie mark. "You uh… You okay there?"

"…Fine." The pony’s voice sounded strange, strained, as if the word was unfamiliar coming from his lips. His accent was odd, an out-of-towner definitely, but he couldn't quite place it. He continued staring unblinkingly into Tinker's eyes. Feeling apprehensive, Tinker looked behind him and then back again as the snow started to ease off.

"Anything I could help you with? Are you lost?"

"No…" the pony said quickly, sounding pained. "I'm… I'm uh, fine thank you."

Tinker felt there was something very off about this pony, but he couldn’t put his hoof on it. Something about the eyes, and the way they looked at him. He felt the fur along his withers raise, a subconscious feeling that something wasn't right here. He wanted to avoid the eyes, for something about the way he looked at him felt… he didn't know. He just didn't like it. He tapped his hoof in slight agitation.

"Well uh, take care of yourself then," Tinker said, tipping his hat before walking around the strange pony and moving on, whistling nervously. He looked back. The pony was turned around, staring right at him as he left. He turned to look where he was going, whistling louder and clearer, trying not to hurry his pace too noticeably. He turned to look back, and once more the pony remained where he was. Once Tinker rounded the corner, he took in a deep gasp of breath before resolving to never take that street home ever again.

--=--

Handy collapsed against the wall when the pony had gone.

What was that!? What the hell was that!? He had looked straight at him, spoke to him. The pony had barely even so much as blinked, walked right up to him bold as brass. Sure, he had been speaking to Handy's waistline as if that was where his face had been, but what in the hell? His forehead ached terribly—must be the fever getting worse.

He couldn't hang around and wonder any more on the matter. For all he knew, that pony was now on his way to get the guards.

With a groan of exhaustion, he looked around him once more, feeling along the wall and searching for an alcove that would let him into a hollow interior.

And from there, maybe he could find somewhere to sit down. At least for a while.

--=--

Night fell. Life had returned to the city. Even though the curfew was still in effect, ponies had to go back to work, the train still needed to run, and the mills still had to produce goods. They couldn't keep ponies off the streets forever. And they still hadn't found him.

Stellar glided on the air currents above Manehatten, the cold winds brushing against her outstretched wings as she glided, flapping only on occasion to maintain her lift. The city was beautiful in the snow, very much like a snowflake when seen from above. The lights along the roads made it shimmer like a web of starlight amidst the white expanse.

She had spent the first two days relaying commands from the princess, something that took quite a bit of explaining to her superiors before her Highness herself paid them little visits of their own. Now the ponies worked on rotation, somepony always on call and ready to receive the latest update on the human's location. The Marquis was still making demands to meet the 'battle mage' they had invented out of thin air to justify how they were magically tracking the human, but he could wait until the human was actually caught and out of his city.

Somewhere down there he was hiding, and they were going to find him. The latest update had him hiding somewhere in the north of the city, in the Temple District. She didn't bother following her comrades as they rushed there, knowing full well they were going to receive another update soon about how he had moved on. Then she'd be there and catch him personally.

Her ears twitched and rotated around, and she turned to see Shimmer fly up to meet her, somewhat clumsily.

"You shouldn't be flying with that wing," Stellar commented dryly, her concern for her friend masked under a façade of professionalism.

"Hehe yeah, you know, you're right," Shimmer replied. Her characteristic bright, smiling face, wide pink eyes, and muted sea-green mane was almost always a welcome sight for anypony who was feeling down. That was what made it so worrying when she flew up to Stellar, frowning heavily. To her surprise, Shimmer flew up to Stellar, grabbed her by the shoulder guard, and spun her around to face her, putting a hoof on both withers and shaking her friend. "Are you bucking out of your flipping mind!?"

"Shimmer, what—?"

"I saw the whole thing!" Shimmer hissed. "I was playing timberwolf when you fed. Are you crazy?! Again?! After last time?! Do you want to throw away your commission!?"

"Shimmer, let go!"

"No!" She did, however, stop shaking her. "Stellar, you are incredibly lucky only I saw what you did. You are lucky the sergeants put the bridle on the others so that they don't go blabbing after we saw you zip about like that. We're lucky the pegasi under Cloud aren't entirely sure what happened. We are all incredibly lucky the locals are buying that whole battle mage story that leaked out."

"What was I supposed to do?!”

"Say no?! That's a crazy idea, isn't it?! You were injured and in no condition to do anything. Why would you even trust him?"

"It all worked out, I just…"

"Didn't expect him to turn on us and run off?" Stellar was incredibly taken aback. This was not like Shimmer at all; she was never this serious about anything. "I just… Stellar, the guys have been talking. They think you're going to be tried."

"What?!”

"I mean… after the princess reacted the last time, we just…" Shimmer suddenly withdrew into herself, letting go of Stellar. She hovered, rubbing one foreleg guiltily, her helmet hanging by her side tied to her barding. "Look, how long have we known each other?"

"Five years."

"Yeah, you're my best friend, Stell. I just… I don't want to see you throw everything away like this. I mean, the others are going to pressure Midnight to report to the P—"

"Yeah, she already knows." Shimmer blinked in shock. "I… told her myself, gave her a field report. Remember when I disappeared from the barracks after the waterfront? I was there communing with Luna and giving the sergeants directions to find the target."

Shimmer just hovered there, staring blankly at Stellar. Stellar looked away in shame before speaking with a huff.

"You know I'm sorry, right? I mean, all the trouble I caused just because I went off my potions for a while. It’s my fault, I just… No, I don't really have an excuse." She looked back. Shimmer seemed to be shaking, and Stellar grimaced. She never wanted to have Shimmer be angry with her. "I mean, Luna, she… Well, I need to work under her directly for a while, so… Are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry but…" Shimmer tried to keep her muzzle tightly shut and the smile away from her face, and failed utterly. "But did you just tell me you've been, literally, sleeping on the job?"

Stellar's mouth opened and closed like a fish as she struggled for words.

"Of all the— That’s the part you're hanging up on now!?" Stellar exclaimed. Shimmer just guffawed. "It’s not that funny!"

"I'm sorry, it's just… I don't know, it was really funny to me," she said, calming down. There she was, good old Shimmer, laughing at the stupidest and most inane things. Just like that, the smile faded and the worry returned. "So… what’s going to happen?"

"I don't know, but you can tell the guys they'll be alright. I am pretty sure the news of… whatever happened on the waterfront will overshadow anything I'm doing. I'll be okay." 'I hope.' Shimmer smiled encouragingly, but Stellar could tell her heart was not in it. She turned and the pair flew along above the clouds, spotting other winged guards above the city. "So uh, for a change of topic, did you… sort out things with Fleethoof?"

Shimmer didn't answer, and Stellar saw the pain in her eyes. 'Way to go, Stell.'

"He's… afraid of me,” she said at last. They flew in silence for a bit after that. Stellar turned to say something, anything to console her friend, when apparently all Tartarus broke loose down below. Ponies were scrambling, flying down towards a park on a high road. "What’s going on?"

"I dunno, let’s find out!" she shouted, diving towards the heart of the commotion, grateful for the distraction. As it turned out, it was a pegasi shopkeeper and his family. Two foals were crying in their mother's embrace as a disorientated elder sibling and a confused earth pony still wearing his workshop apron stumbled around. "What’s going on!?"

"Just got here," a solar stallion replied, "I'm as in the dark as you are." More guards were arriving: city watch, goldcloaks, militia. Doubtless a few were hanging tight, waiting for word to get back to them.

"It was horrible!" the erratic mare screeched, shushed by her balding, bespectacled husband.

"We were sitting down for dinner, r-right?" the husband began. "We live just over my shop, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere…"

--=--

The window was smashed, and the family screamed. The father left the table, horn glowing and grabbing a large broom. They were in the kitchen at the back of the house, while the sound had come from the front room. He pushed open the door slightly with his magic and peeked into the hallway beyond before advancing forth. From there, he made his way to the front room, listening carefully. He heard something on the other side of the door. Bracing himself, he threw open the door and with a shout, closed his eyes and swung the broom as hard as he could... only for it to stop suddenly.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring into intricate silver metal work, marred and pockmarked, worn from travel and use. His gaze slowly drew upwards until he was gazing into a pitiless black T that glared down at him. The broom was caught in the giant's left hand before it had a chance to come down on its shoulder.

"I really recommend that you don't try that again."

--=--

"Wait, you saw him!? He was in your house!?" Stellar pushed her way through the throng of guards. "Where is it? Tell us!"

"He's not there!" the eldest son spoke up, an earth pony going through the worst that puberty had to offer him. "He's already gone!"

"Well where did he go?" Cloud Skipper demanded as the sergeants finally landed. The father fixed the spectacles resting on his muzzle with a nervously shaking hoof, before swallowing and answering.

--=--

Handy put the spoon down into the bowl.

It was stew made from turnip, onion, cauliflower, and at least five other vegetables Handy didn't recognise, and at least two he was sure didn't exist on Earth. He did not give a tinker's damn though. It was warm, it was filling, and it tasted heavenly. Hunger was a great seasoning, as well as desperation. Also, this was easily the warmest place he'd managed to stay in all week.

"You're an excellent cook, Mrs…"

"…S-Sunflower," said the light pinkish mare with the honey bees on her flank. Handy did not know much about cutie marks, but it didn't take a genius to make the connection between pony names and their respective symbols. Little Miss Horsey here was quick on her hooves and supplied a false name to the dangerous individual holding her family hostage and eating their food. He could respect that. He nodded.

"Right, just what I needed after a rather… harrowing tour of your fine Temple District, I must admit. Now, I'm terribly sorry about all this, but I'm going to need to split you up."

"W-What!? Why!?" the brown stallion demanded, drawing his little colt close. His older son just glowered at Handy dangerously with all the righteous, impotent fury of a teenager.

"Largely because I can, and also because I am going to rob you."

"J-Just take what you want and leave us alone!"

"Sorry, no can do," Handy said, standing up. "Needs, must and all that, and I am in great need. Oh, don't worry, I'll pay you back… one of these days. I am frightfully sorry it has come to this, but you see, some nasty business has come about and, well, here we all are."

"Wait, please just…"

"I really do apologize. You, Smiles n’ Rainbows," Handy said, pointing at the glowering teen who blinked awake upon being addressed. "Over there in the pantry."

"You can't tell me what to d—" Handy lifted his hammer and let it drop on the table in warning. "…I'll… just go stand in the pantry then."

"Good lad." Handy coughed. "Alright, Sunflower, you're next. Back kitchen with you."

"I will not leave my children here alone."

"Of course not; take them with you." Handy gestured to the foals. She and her husband shared a worried look. Handy was pretty sure he began to see tears in Sunflower's eyes. He kept his peace however. The two shared a quick word and the father pushed the little colt and filly to their mother, much to their protests. Sunflower shepherded them both to the back kitchen, though not before the blue colt stopped and gave Handy a rather mean look.

"You're a bad pony, Mister."

"Duly noted. Now off with you." The door to the back kitchen closed. Handy placed chairs against both door handles and turned to face the father. "And now for you, Broomstick."

--=--

"And then what?"

"We're wasting time. Where did he go!?" Stellar interrupted.

"He said he was going to the train," the older colt added.

"He said something about the harbour, about getting on a ship," the young colt spoke up, his mother nodding, the young filly saying nothing.

"He was asking about fishing boats and the nearest wharf," the father added.

"Wait, what? Hold on," Midnight interjected. "He spoke to each of you?"

"Well yeah," the teen replied.

--=--

The pantry door opened up suddenly, and Bright Spark jumped.

"You, lad, know anything about steam engines?"

"Wh-What? Why would you think that?"

"Your arse tattoo is of a steaming engine block and a wrench. I take it that’s what you're into," Handy said dryly. Bright Spark glanced down and slumped.

"Y-Yeah, I suppose so. W-Why?"

"I need you to explain to me in brief how and what kind of crystals are used to make the water in the steam process magical and speed up the engine without breaking it, and what kind of pressures I'd need to worry about in the air. In simple Equestrian please. And while you're at it, at what time does the train next leave?"

--=--

The father was tossed into the bathroom.

"Stay here until I'm no longer a problem. Oh, and one more thing," Handy said, before closing the door. 'Broomstick' picked his glasses up off of the ground. "Have you ever gone fishing?"

"Y-Y-Yeah, I suppose, once or twice j-just for the sport of it. I don't like fish."

"Shame, you're missing out. Anyway, say you started now and rowed full tilt. How long would it take you to cross the bay?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"No reason. Oh, and know anything about ballasts?"

--=--

"Evening, Missus Sunflower."

"Just leave us be," she hissed at him, cuddling her children to her barrel.

"Just want to ask some questions."

"We aren't telling you anything, Mister," the colt stated defiantly.

"My name is Handy."

"Your name is stupid."

"You're stupid."

"I'm not as stupid as you!"

"You, sir, are a child. You are stupid by default."

"Yeah, and you're the one stupid enough to argue with a child," the colt riposted. Handy paused for a moment and bent over, hands on knees.

"Oh I like you, boy. You're going places. Word to the wise: in the future, don't give lip to something way more than twice your size. It doesn't end well for you."

"Just what do you want already!?" Sunflower demanded, drawing her colt back to her. The filly was still silent, peeking out at him from under her mother's foreleg.

"Your husband runs a machinist shop. Do you ever help out?" Handy asked.

"Wh-What? Yes, of course. Why would you want to know that?"

"Just curious, did you ever do work for merchants?"

"Of course, airships and the like."

"Interesting, but what I really want to know about is the harbour. Any of those merchants in town with a sea vessel at the moment? Come on, you have to have your ear to the ground as to what the guilds are up to. Who's leaving tonight?"

--=--

"He's heading to the harbour," one of the guards said, hopping into the air, wings outstretched. "You heard the lady, move it! He's heading for the ships; this was a distraction!"

"Hold it, soldier!" Midnight rebutted. "Weren't you listening? He's heading to the train: it’s the closest. It makes the most sense."

"No, he'd slip out on a fishing boat while we're all running around the city. He'll slip by almost undetected. The wharves are the least patrolled out of all the exits!" Cloud Skipper objected. What followed were the senior officers all arguing over where to start placing the troops en masse, ready to catch Handy. Some inevitably advocated splitting all their forces and concentrating in those three areas. Stellar was… confused. Something wasn't right about what she had heard.

"Why would he ask about ballasts if he was going on a boat or on the train? And air pressure? It doesn't make any… any se—" She was muttering to herself, thinking back over the other seemingly odd and out of place questions. Those same thoughts were eventually vocalized by somepony else.

"Wait wait, this is a trick! What about the airships?" one pony pointed out.

"Yeah, he was asking all those weird questions but never anything about the aerodrome tower! Why is that?"

"You, how did you escape?" Cloud Skipper suddenly asked the shopkeeper, who blinked several times before answering.

"I-I got out. He had forgotten to lock me in the bathroom. I let my family go and we came straight to find the guards."

"He didn't bother locking you in?" Midnight asked incredulously, before groaning and putting her hoof to her face and rubbing it down. "He wanted you to escape and come and get us!"

"It’s all a distraction…" Cloud Skipper said, eyes studying the ground as he started piecing it together. "He wasn't asking about trains or boats; he was trying to get information on how to run an airship engine while making ponies think he was heading somewhere else!"

"Wait—" Stellar began before being shouted over.

"Did you see which way he went?" Midnight asked the traumatised family.

"N-No, he was already gone when we got out," the stallion said.

"We've wasted enough time. Everypony to the aerodrome!"

"Wait, stop, something's not right!" Stellar's pleas fell on deaf ears as her companions all made fast to the aerodrome, taking to the air, with the goldcloaks following them on the ground while the city watch ponies tended to the family. The rest generally scattered to spread the word. Stellar stomped a hoof. "It can't be right…"

"What's wrong?" Shimmer asked, hovering, having been ready to shoot off with the others but held back with her friend. Stellar's ear flicked, and she pawed at the ground with a hoof in thought.

"…Nothing, just… just a hunch. Who's on duty back at the barracks for the Princess?"

"What? Uhm, Lance I think."

"Then come on!" Stellar shot up into the air.

"Hey, what about the others!?"

"If I'm wrong, they won't need me there: they’ve got him outnumbered. But if I'm right, then we need to find out where he really is, now."

--=--

The bellicose roar of the train engine echoed through the night.

On alert or no, industry couldn't be shut down forever, and once several days had passed without incident, they had to allow the workers to return to their jobs at the workhouses and mills. Ponies vomited forth from the doors of the many carriages of the train. It was a simple utilitarian affair, still shiny with a coat of black paint over its hull, yet for all its rugged practicality, the pony touch was ever present, such as the windows frosted with designs cut out of them in clear glass. The fearsome façade of the wrought, unfeeling iron of the great metal beast at its head was softened with hearts, stars, suns, and moons indented across its surface. The interior was comfortable if pragmatic, and its warmth kept the winter's chill at bay. The streetlights carved a river of light along the darkness just east of the Manehatten Bridge, going down the golden mile where the city came to a stop and nightlife began.

The train station at Bridge's End would normally be surrounded by late night hawkers trying to sell wares to hungry and tired workponies. Most of the time they ran stalls selling food for them to take home. The more permanent buildings became small taverns that meant, if nothing else, wives would know exactly where their husbands would be when they were home late. It would be the first stop on the way home after leaving the train.

But that first stop was over an hour ago. The train had continued on to the harbour at the far side of the city's greatest extent, where it came to the far end of the island. There it gave off its load of whatever goods were required before returning on the way back, stopping at the bridge one more time before returning to the train yards for the night. A few late-nighters and ponies who needed to cross the bridge but were held back for one reason or another always showed up, so it was worth hanging around for a minute or two to top up the water one last time before continuing on to its nightly rest at the train yard.

Now, there was something to be said about the relationship between bravery and foolishness, and that of madness and genius, or rather stupidity and genius. It was easy to confuse either for madness depending on where you happened to be standing at the time. As Handy waited in a dead end street facing the Golden Mile Station, hiding underneath a board of composite wood, he couldn’t be sure which of these his little gambit would turn out to be. He lay still, catching his breath and trying not to cough his lungs out as the snow picked back up. He cursed the weather; he needed to at least partially see the sky to tell if his ruse had worked.

See, if the ponies could track him wherever he hid, then hiding was no longer an option, but running blind would just play into their ha— hooves. So, the only realistic option he had left was to force their hooves and hopefully force them in the wrong direction. He wasn't proud of scaring the hell out of an innocent family like that, or stealing their food. However, it was necessary—he needed patsies and fine patsies they were. It wasn't as if he was actually going to harm them. He just needed them to think he would. Hell, far from robbing them, he had dumped the very last dregs of his deer silver onto the hallway table on his way out. It was a good meal they had made after all. Then he had started to run hell for leather away from the shop, before Broomstick realised Handy hadn't locked him in the bathroom and he found he could walk out and free his family.

The timing left something to be desired, as he had barely made it to his hiding spot before the train came thundering up the rails back from the harbour before he got settled in. He was pretty sure someone might have seen him, but he didn't hear them shout. He counted on the snow screen helping him in that matter as the weather grew worse. Frankly, he was no longer in a mood to care. His head felt like it was on fire, and his body was becoming more sluggish and unresponsive. He needed to do something and do it now, or he just wouldn't be able to run anymore. The wooden board he was now holding above him was steadily gathering a layer of snow on it, so if someone had seen him and sent someone looking for him, they wouldn't immediately suspect the pile of snow in a corner.

"Come on... come on…" he begged the nothingness, his breath frosting on the air. He felt another cough building up but tried to suppress it. There, he saw it! Guards were leaving the train carriages, galloping away from the train, and he saw one pegasi swoop down out of the air. It was only visible because the billowing steam being blown from engine block in the station evaporated the snow before it could blind his sight. In truth, it was trading one obstruction for another, but it let him see what he needed. The ponies were leaving the train!

It might not have worked. It could have backfired spectacularly, but he had no other realistic options that didn't involve confrontation. He took the possibility the ponies would see through his supposed ruse and think he'd go to get an airship when Handy wanted anything but. When he was sure the last of them had left, he had bolted. His hands were on his packs, his hammer looped at his side. The snow was driving, the steam billowing off of the train in great white clouds. He really was only going to get one shot. He managed to make the distance from the dead end street, up across the road towards the tracks. The station still had too many ponies in it, so Handy bolted for the caboose, now emptied of the soldiers who had commandeered it. He climbed up the steps, hurriedly fumbled at the rear door, and tossed his belongings inside.

He did it. He was on. Now he just had to make sure he—

Fell flat on his face. The train shunted forth as the engine came to life, causing Handy to hit the floor. He really needed to stop that from happening, for it was getting on his nerves. He groaned and scrambled back, closing the door of the caboose before anything else happened. He stopped and caught his breath, his head woozy as he stared at the metal door from his oh so glorious vantage point of… half a foot off the floor? Yeah that sounds about right.

He just wanted to lie there, lie there and just… rest. Just for a moment. He had made it. He had gotten out. The train was moving and he was getting out. He had won. He deserved that much at least, right? No rest for the wicked, however, as he knew his troubles had only started. He was in the caboose, which housed train workers and their tools during long journeys. After they crossed the bridge, he had no idea how long it would be before they reached the train yard. The potential for one stray train worker, or God forbid, a guard he hadn't accounted for, coming to the caboose and finding him there was unacceptable.

However, to move from the caboose into the cars further ahead was to invite disaster, so he had to wait until he was sure the train had crossed the bridge, out of sight of whatever pegasi guards were on duty over it. Then he could find a place to hide for however long was necessary. Sighing, he pushed himself off from the ground with shaky arms and got back to his feet. Careful to avoid the window at the back of the caboose, he went forward to the door that would take him to the next car in the train.

--=--

Eventually he had settled on hiding in the staff compartment near the caboose. He had moved beyond it of course, once he had mastered the subtle art of crossing the short distance of open space from the caboose to the next car and not falling off from blustering winds. Good news: there were no pegasi on patrol that he could see outside. Either his ruse had worked better than he had thought or he had lucked out on the snow storm. The staff compartment was small, consisting mostly of bunk beds that were bolted to the walls, a cupboard with some food, a barrel of water, and a closet full of green uniforms.

Everything beyond it was passenger cars, with what looked to be a storage car beyond it. He didn't feel like being exposed by sitting in a passenger car and letting any old bastard wander in or fly by and see him through a window. He also was not in the mood for breaking into the storage car and living amongst even more crates like so much perishable goods. If he found one that he could fit inside, he did not know whether he would feel relieved or want to scream. He simply closed both doors to the staff car, using his hammer and an iron rod from the caboose to lock the doors in place. He'd stay right the fuck where he was until the train stopped. No windows, it was nice and warm and not full of fucking ponies to ruin his day. He liked that just fine.

He had sat down for a time, enjoying the moment's rest and shelter from the snow and the cold. The staff compartment on the train had some food and a barrel of fresh water. He drank his fill greedily, uncaring of the cold. His skin was already on fire as it was; his fever worsening and he needed to lie down, badly. Despite that, he made himself stay awake and upright, no matter how inviting the small, hard beds looked, until the train had eventually rumbled to a stop.

He heard shouts coming from outside and sat where he was for another while. He waited until he could hear nothing else and was sure the workers had left the train alone in the yard. The longer he sat, the more his thoughts wandered. His fever was getting worse—he could feel it as he started to sweat despite the cold. He rubbed his forehead; the pain was different from what it had been back when he had ran into that pony out in the open. What the hell had that even been? Did that guy seriously just walk right up to him, nonchalant as you'd like, and ask him a how do you do? Handy couldn't wrap his head around it.

He was jolted from his thoughts when he heard a train whistle howl in the distance. It didn't sound like it came from somewhere within the train yard itself. There were no windows, so he had to leave the car to see where it might come from. Outside, to the south, were the great mill house, workshops, and refineries of Manehatten. Of course, that was just what he could see over the various cars, engines great and small, outhouses and work sheds of the train yard. He could make out the lights of Manehatten, barely back east, but only just barely through the falling snow.

He heard the train whistle again and had to clamber back into the car and out the door on the far side. He could make out lights nearby, just beyond the stone wall of the trainyard. That must have been the station proper. If there was a train there at this time of night and it wasn't in the train yard, that meant it was going to be leaving, and soon. He didn't know where, and he didn't care, but he needed to be on it.

He went back, his armour clinking with each step as he went for the closet. He reached up into the upper shelves and pulled out towels, cloth, uniforms, and several other things before he got to his packs. He got his travel pack and looped it over his shoulders before affixing it to the belts at his waist so that it lay on his side. Next was the considerably lighter burlap sack containing his prize: the pendant and the old magic script he had looted. That he was going to hold onto personally. Last was another sack that contained the parts of his armour he wasn't wearing. It was an additional weight, but he needed mobility more than protection right now.

Paranoia struck him as soon as he was outside the train and into the cold. It was dark, the workers having left, but he was still worried he had missed something, that someone would swoop down on him from above at any moment. His hand never once left his hammer as he made his way to the gate.

Attempting to get through the great metal train gates was a fool's errand for a fool's time, and climbing the wall in his condition and in armour was just asking for trouble. Handy had a simple, more eloquent solution and just found the nearest worker's entrance and a nearby metal pole. He jammed it into the locking bar of the door and rigorously applied his hammer until something broke. One of these days, he was going to learn how to handle locked doors with subtlety and care. Today was not going to be that day. He had worked up a worse cough by the time he was done.

He was out. The short distance over flat land to the station was deserted. It was, to his surprise, little more than a small wooden shack and a long platform, but for once he was not in the mood to judge. He snuck up to the water tower to get a good look of the train. It was pretty big. Nice cars too—large and spacious, looked like a model with compartments rather than the traditional aisle and sets of seats that was common to trains. The windows seemed operable as well.

The train whistled again. Someone shouted and he saw a blue uniformed pegasus run across the platform, heading for the engine. He tried to spy a window with no one in it. He found one, its curtains open unlike most of the others. It had a light within, but nobody was there and the window was a fraction open already. There was no one else on the platform. The shack was dark from within, and the engine began to howl. He was not going to get another shot at this.

It took a second to force the window open. They weren't really designed to be opened from the outside. He threw the sack in and was about to get to work on his travel pack when the train started moving.

"Nope! Not happening, get back here!" Handy grabbed onto the window as the train slowly began to move. Have you ever tried to grab onto a moving vehicle, even if it was going slow? Handy did not recommend it, for you will fuck up and it would hurt. Fortunately for him however, he didn't end up as grease for the wheels, as he still had plenty of platform to work with. He struggled to climb in through the window, cursing himself for putting his breastplate back on as he felt his feet leave the platform below despite not being fully inside. He was going either all in or out now, too late to go back.

For a brief terrifying moment, he felt himself slide back as the train picked up speed. Visions sprang to mind of falling back onto the ground from a moving train, his prize speeding on to destinations unknown, his legs broken and useless under him, easy prey for the Equestrians.

Frankly, it was the sheer insult of such an ignominious fate that proved enough to push Handy to avoid it. He snarled, planting his palms on the wall under the window and pushing himself in while angling down, kicking his legs up and forcing his armoured torso through the window. There was a horrible noise of scraping metal, but Handy did it and fell to the floor of the compartment. Head first of course, adding a seriously painful neck to his list of woes.

And yet he was alive. Sure, he was curled up on the floor, coughing, delirious, exhausted, and in pain, but he was alive, alive and free. His body begged him for rest, the warmth of the cabin embracing him and making his urge for sleep intensify. His fever was not getting any better from constant activity, but he knew he had to take care of one more thing.

He closed the window, banishing the cold to the outside. He then turned to the door, locking it and trying to find some way to jam his hammer in to keep it closed. Sadly, he found none. The compartment doors had no windows to the hallway of the train, for which he was grateful. He looked around. He tried to make out what the light above him was. It appeared to be built into the ceiling. His gut clenched at the possibility of a gas light that he couldn't turn off. If it was behind glass and not exposed to him, he could deal with it. A little.

He was as safe as he was going to be. He was out of Manehatten, he had his prize, and he was away from the ponies. The exhaustion hit him as another wave of coughing bowled him over. He sneezed explosively, letting out a pitiful whine of misery as he did so. He felt like he was burning up, now more than before as he sat there, resting. The energy was released from him, and he slumped in the seat, lying on his side. He fumbled with his helmet, taking it off and letting it fall to the ground from his clumsy, unresponsive fingers.

His eyes were drawn to his left arm. So numb after the cold, it was still as unhealthy-looking as it had been before he had let Stellar bite it. For all he knew, it was a quick, effective way of knowing what he was seeing was affecting the rest of his body, if it affected his blood in any way. Judging by the colour of his veins in his arm… He had to be sure, and he wasn't going to a pony doctor to find out. On the up and up, nothing too serious was wrong. On the other hand, if it was something terrible, hopefully it would fuck up Stellar as well. There was a bright side to everything after all. The train rumbled along, rocking him gently, the breastplate chafing against him. He probably should have taken that off. He coughed once more and then decided the effort wouldn't be worth it. His eyes grew heavy. He'd get right on that in a minute.

He just needed to lie down for a bit first.

--=--

“Keep looking!”

“He’s not here!”

“He has to be somewhere! He’s not that fast!” Stellar shouted back over the howl of the wind and the blinding snow. It had taken over an hour to get word out of Lance. The princess had been away, and when they had woken him, it took a few minutes to get back to sleep, even with medication. And when they had gotten word back, sure enough, the train had already left the city.

Stellar was not a happy pony.

She had sent somepony off to call back the guards as she and Shimmer stalked along the rail lines, flying low to the ground and diving out of the way of passing structures. They avoided the worst of the snow blindness but sacrificed aerial visibility in doing so.

They came upon the train yard, too late to catch the workers before they had left. They scoured the perimeter and the interior, train car to train car, outbuilding, warehouse, and storeroom. Her search became increasingly frantic the more and more evident it became he was no longer there.

Eventually she came to the door with the broken lock, the worker’s exit out of the train yard. She shoved the door open and stepped through the wall into the blustering winds and snow drifts, their fury no longer broken by the high walls. There were no footprints, no indication of where he might have gone, nothing nearby but a snow covered road, wooden shacks and…

A train station.

She beat her wings and flew over to the building. The lights were out and nopony stayed to watch the building amidst the snowstorm. Nonetheless she entered it, breathless and shivering from the cold under her armour. The station was lifeless, empty, and dark, and the human was nowhere to be found. She shouted something when she heard Shimmer land near, telling her to check the other exits. They needed to inform the other guards to spread out, to search the workhouses and mill houses, to send word back to the barracks, to find out from the princess where else he had slipped off to in the night.

Tired from the night’s events and those of the battle at the waterfront, and the failures in Blackport before that, she found herself simply walking to the edge of the platform, looking down at the now hidden tracks, the snow hiding the trail of iron and wood from sight. She looked one way and then another, breathing heavily as her body tried to adjust to the harsh cold and the exertion. She could not see further than a few hooves in any direction.

He was gone.

Author's Note:

And that's the end of the arc.

I learned alot.

Namely don't extend one arc's goal, getting the macguffin for Chryssi, over three arcs or you risk having to contract them and skip over alot of shit you wanted to write instead of having those arcs be on their own and have some room to breathe.

I'll learn one of these days.

Interlude is next, and then I will post the two timeskip chapters before moving the story along.

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