A Frayed Notebook with Pages Missing

by Ezn

THB: Spirit of Magic Chapter One

Flickering light from a candle danced around the ancient, browned page that renowned adventurer-archaeologist Digging Doo stood hunched over. Her eyes squinted to make out what parts of the faint, hornwritten text remained legible.

I think I’ve made a real breakthrough here! For generations upon generations, the Princesses and their greatest scholars have studied magic and laboured to create a definitive set of rules for its workings, but with every new revision of the laws of magic, another spell would soon come along and make all of their hard work obsolete.

I think I know why.

An Argument for Magic as a Living Being
by Professor T Sparkle

Uurgh, no, that’s a terrible name for an essay! Note to self: come up with a better one later.

Anyway, my argument:
Since my birth, Equestrian technology has progressed in leaps and bounds. We now have machines to do all kinds of things that our parents had to do by hoof – machines to buck apples, machines to do mathematics, and even machines to move us around at great speeds. All of these machines are powered by a pure, unmanipulated form of magic that can be created by any unicorn. Rather than molding the magic to its purpose, ponykind has become more and more accustomed to just pouring some magic into a device and letting it do all the work.

While this does have its advantages, it means that the more complex forms of magic - levitating magic, growing magic and cutting magic, to name a few - are becoming less and less commonly used. Ponykind is coming to understand magic not by seeking out knowledge of all its forms, but by using only its simplest forms and rejecting all mutations. Ponykind is robbing magic of its soul.

When a pony teleports, she faces no danger of teleporting into a wall. When a pony lifts an object, she does not have to perform mental calculations regarding its weight to avoid lifting it too forcefully. These things just work. When a pony changes one object into another object, she needs only visualise both objects in her mind, without worrying about individual atoms becoming scrambled. When a pony shrinks or grows an object, she need not even know about the square-cube rule.

From this, I conclude that magic is not a rigid or mechanical force, nor is it a system governed by specific rules. Magic exhibits judgement. It will not harm its user without its user intending to harm herself. It will not interpret mental commands literally, but perform them in spirit. Magic can infer meanings and ignore details that are prudently ignored. Magic grows more powerful when bolstered by “friendship” – an intangible bond between beings. Magic is a thinking – and maybe feeling – entity.

[Too dramatic. Reword a lot.]

Digging Doo scoffed. Her experiences with magic had painted it as anything but thoughtful and benevolent. The uncomfortable way her wings were plastered to her sides by tight swaths of bandages served as a reminder of the most recent one.

As if the universe had just then chosen to play a cruel prank on Ms Doo, the candle on her desk was blown out by a sharp gust of wind, plunging the room into darkness.

The darkness lasted only a few moments, as three unicorn horns soon lit up to bathe the room in an eerie multi-coloured glow. Digging struck a match on the table and relit her candle before turning to face her assailants – ponies who wore dark glasses and stony expressions.

“Well,” she greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, gentlecolts? It was my understanding that we would only be completing this transaction in the morning.”

“Our bosses are not accustomed to waiting for what they want,” replied the biggest unicorn, who was obviously the leader of the group. His friends growled menacingly to back him up.

“Wellll...” Digging said, slowly elongating her speech while she stealthily used her tail to hide the professor’s notes under her pith helmet – an invaluable skill she’d learnt at a Sun-worshipper monastery. “I’m afraid that... sometimes... good things come to those who wait!”

Punctuating the end of her sentence with a few more exclamation marks, she smacked the candle off her desk with a foreleg. It landed on a pile of newspaper, which caught fire instantly. Doo had to jump back to avoid singing her coat – and to mount the windowsill.

“Better luck next time, Ahu – uh, unicorns!” she shouted into the smoke-filled room.

A crouch followed by a daring leap landed her on the windowsill of a neighbouring building. A few more swift hops found her on its roof, and soon she was hopping from rooftop to rooftop, speeding across the Manehattan skyline in a dirty pink blur.

Once she felt she was far enough away, she looked back and sighed deeply at the trail of smoke she saw wafting into the grey sky above. It’s a shame about that hotel, she thought. Wherever am I going to find another one that still offers room-service?

---

THE HUMANIFICATION BUREAU:

Spirit of Magic

by Ezn

Set in the Humanification Bureau universe | Inspired by Blaze's The Conversion Bureau

---

Chapter One: Another Day, Another Dungeon

Digging Doo looked at her reflection in a cracked mirror.

At birth, her coat had been a pastel pink colour, but her latest escapades, piled on top of years of rough and dirty living, made it look like a patchwork of mud, dust, soot and that original pink colour, but faded. Her mane and tail were black striped with two different shades of grey, but this had been an intentional dye job, carried out by the last hairdresser in Fillydelphia.

Her white pith helmet was scratched and dented, and her brown shirt had patches and stitches running all over its surface, but both were still in one piece. Considering Digging had found them in an abandoned Nightmare Night costume shop, it was pretty surprising.

A pile of dirty bandages lay at the bottom of Digging’s reflection. Tentatively, she stretched out her wings. Okay so far, she thought. I’ll try flying in the morning.

Digging turned around a few times, checking her reflections for cuts and burn-marks. When she didn’t find any, she smiled confidently to her reflection and trotted away from the mirror.

The only other room of Digging’s secret headquarters contained a ratty old bed with tattered sheets and a crudely-constructed bookcase. Twelve brown-paged, dog-eared books were neatly arranged on the middle shelf. Digging’s eyes lit up as he pulled one out with a forehoof, not even needing to look at it to know that it was Daring Do and the Griffon Goblet – appropriate reading material for an adventurer-archaeologist with recently-healed wings.

Digging placed her helmet on the top shelf of the bookcase and folded her shirt carefully before placing it on the bottom one. She sighed happily as she lay down on her bed with the Griffon Goblet clutched between her hooves. Her head was already reciting the opening paragraph...

Digging stopped. A rolled-up piece of parchment lay on the floor between the bed and her bookcase. In all the excitement, she’d forgotten about the important document she’d been keeping under her hat. Scolding herself, she swiftly scooped it up with her mouth. She was about to put it back under her hat when she realised what a good bookmark it would make.

An hour later, Digging put her book back on its shelf, with Professor Sparkle’s notes sandwiched between page fifty-six and fifty-seven.

***

It had been a year since the opening of the first Humanification Bureaus. Those of ponykind who still remained had fled the open fields and small towns for urban ruins and secluded mountain hideouts. For the most part, the weak-willed and soft-minded had undergone the conversion process. None had the resources or the inclination to conduct a study of how many had been converted and how many remained as their birth-species, but anypony could see that their population was dwindling.

Those who remained ponies where either too stubborn and proud to abandon their kind, too worldly to trust the humans’ stated good intentions, or savvy enough to squeeze some personal gain out of the new balance of society.

The Manehattan Central Park marketplace attracted the third type of pony in droves. From one dirty brick building to another, the city block was covered by hastily-set-up canvas awnings and ramshackle wooden display counters, adorned with all manner of goods and all manner of excited mouth-painted signs proclaiming their quality.

An array of torches set up all around the marketplace made a valiant effort at simulating the light of the sun, but the flickering firelight ultimately failed to make the scene any less shadowy.

Annoyance written on her face, Digging Doo jostled her way past milling customers and eager vendors. Stupid wings, she thought. Two more days and I could have been flying over this...

Digging ducked into an alley, exhaling in relief. She trotted over to a rusty old fire-escape and swiftly climbed its creaky stairs. At the top of the stairs was a worn door painted in a red that had mostly flaked off.

"Knock, knock!" announced Digging as she rapped a forehoof against it. "Anypony home?"

A rattling and three distinct crashes were poorly muffled by thin wood, and the door was yanked ajar. A pair of spectacled eyes peered out from above the door's chain, suspiciously at first, but then calmed by a light of recognition.

"Ah, Ms Doo, my favourite scavenger!" said the pony behind the door. "I didn't expect you back so soon! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Got some more business to conduct with you, Hoard."

The chain was released from its hook to allow Digging a swift admittance into the room before the door slammed shut. She blinked as stepped into the bright room from the dark alley.

"Well, Ms Doo?" asked Hoard.

Hoard was a brown-and-white-coated paint pony with a darker brown mane. He claimed to be the last living member of a wealthy and powerful family from Trottingham. Digging wasn't sure about any of that, but he certainly spoke like he was from Trottingham.

He wore a small pair of spectacles on the end of his snout and a dusty old creme dress shirt with a black bowtie and waistcoat. Digging imagined he did so to look sophisticated. She didn't know much about optometry, but felt that surely his glasses were too small to be of any real use to impaired vision.

It was with this thought in mind that Digging applied a swift right hook to Hoard's snout, knocking his tiny spectacles across the room.

Hoard was knocked onto his side with a bloody nose.

"OW! What'd you do that for?" he demanded, stopping the bleeding with his left forehoof.

Digging looked down at him with hard eyes. "When I ask for a buyer, I want a buyer, not a murderous cult. Try to keep them straight."

"Oh, that. Sorry. I didn't know, honest!"

"Well maybe you should be more careful about who you associate yourself with!" spat Digging. "I managed to get out of it this time, but I may not always be so lucky! What would you do if your biggest supplier suddenly turned up dead, Hoard?"

Hoard sheepishly raised himself to his hooves and produced a spare pair of tiny spectacles from a waistcoat pocket, which he used to examine the carpet while muttering.

"Yeah, you'd be dead," Digging said indignantly. "If I'm dead, you're dead – keep that in mind. And while you're keeping it in mind, find me another buyer!"

Wordlessly nodding, Hoard trotted across the room to a battered filing cabinet next to a scratched-up desk. He pulled open the top drawer and grabbed a few folders in his mouth before trotting to his desk and fanning them out in front of him.

As he pored over his documents, Digging looked about the room idly. It was cluttered, she noted. Curios and bits of debris littered every available surface, including the floor. Books were piled haphazardly onto shelves and shared space with everything from wooden zebra sculptures to bits of jewellery (ones that Hoard would no doubt claim belonged to the bearers of the Elements of Harmony at some stage).

"Aha!" Hoard exclaimed, prompting Digging to turn to look at him. "I've found a buyer, Ms Doo. Not a buyer I think you're going to like much, but a trustworthy one that pays well nonetheless."

"I like anypony who can pay me for my services and isn't out to kill me, Hoard," Digging replied.

Hoard smiled nervously. "That's just it, Ms Doo: this particular buyer isn't a pony."

"Not like I have a problem with griffons or zebras, Hoard."

"It's a human, Digging – well, a group of humans."

Digging Doo's mouth clamped shut and she stared blankly at Hoard.

"They call themselves the 'Pony Appreciation Society'," he continued, " or 'PAS' for short. Basically, they study our history and collect artefacts of significance with the hope of preserving the memory of ponykind for future generations... they're good clients, Digging."

"I'm sure you'd say the same of Nightmare Moon if she paid on time," Digging hissed, eye narrowed.

Hoard glanced at the ceiling in momentary thought. "Well, yes, I probably would do that. These are hard times, Ms Doo, and we must place our survival above all other concerns. A customer who pays is worth more than Princess Celestia resurrected at this point."

"That's blasphemy."

"Does it matter?"

There was a tense silence in the room as Digging fought to stop herself from slapping Hoard again. Fortunately for him, a low rumbling from her stomach managed to cool her anger before her restraint could falter. Her mind involuntarily returned to the empty larder in her hideout. I'm hungry...

"I believe we both know what the most prudent course of action is right now, Ms Doo," Hoard said, smiling as his ears perked up to take in the sound of her hunger. "The fastest way for you to make the money you need to survive is to sell that manuscript to the PAS. We both know that you don't have the energy or the resources to mount another expedition right now, and that you need to get rid of that manuscript as soon as possible – don't think that those crazy cultists are just going to let you keep it..."

Digging frowned; he was right. Hating the necessary sincerity in each word, she said, "Alright, fine. I'll do it. Just point me in the direction of these PAS guys and I'll sell them a priceless pony artefact in order to feed myself."

"Excellent!" Hoard said, grinning as he grabbed a map from one of the files in his mouth and offered it to Digging. "Jfhust fogglow ghis."
Digging took the map from him and turned to leave with a curt nod.

***

Two days later, Digging's wings were ready to fly and she set out on her journey.

Following Hoard's map took her a good deal further from the city than she usually went. While her idol had spent her time raiding ancient tombs and traversing dense jungles, she had managed to conduct most of her expeditions inside the more dangerous areas of Manehattan. Navigating old, unstable buildings and maliciously enchanted streets was not the easiest or safest way to make a living, even in modern Equestria, but for an agile, quick-thinking daredevil like Digging Doo, it was a thrill and a healthy paycheck – most of the time.

Digging beat her wings against the cold air, looking down occasionally. The countryside that spread out below her was nothing like the lovingly preserved photos of rolling green hills and fluffy white clouds her mother had shown her as a child, and only similar to the grainy films of centuries past in their monotone colouring. The grass was dead, the trees were dead, and the whole expanse was coloured grey by the everpresent twilight in the sunless land.

Straight ahead of her, a tall ivory-white column cut through the middle of the grey horizon. That must be their outpost, she thought.

Before long, Digging touched down on the dusty ground in front of the column, and confirmed her assumption with a glance at the sign above its ground-level door, which read "Pony Appreciation Society Central Hub".

Digging cast her eyes around the area. No humans, she noted. Big surprise there. Guess even the ones who are supposed to like ponies are too scared to leave their disinfected little towers.

Grunting with disapproval, Digging trotted up to the ground-level door. She rapped her forehoof against it as hard as she could, trying not to wince in pain. "Open up!"

A camera on a stalk extended out from a compartment above the door and swivelled around briefly before retracting back into the column. To her great surprise, Digging heard a lock disengage in the door.

"ACCESS GRANTED," said a mechanical voice.

The heavy steel door slid open in front of Digging, revealing a clean white lobby with no furniture except for the smooth-surfaced desk in a corner at the back. She stepped inside, and the door closed quietly behind her.

Digging bit her lip and trotted to the desk. As she stepped near it, she heard the tinny tinkle of a recording of a bell. Within moments, a mop of frizzy brown hair shot up behind the counter and reached out for her with a bony pink hand on a long, fuzzy green stalk.

"Hello, ma'am, how are you today?" asked the mouth beneath the frizzy brown mop. "My name's Heather Watts, and I'm very happy to see you here!"

"Digging Doo," said Digging, extending a tentative forehoof for the creature to wrap her bony pink fingers. "I used to know somepony named Heather."

"Really? How interesting! Goes to show that we humans and ponies do have an awful lot more in common than you might think."

"Yes, you could say that."

Heather smiled and chuckled lightly. "Now, what can I do for you?" she asked.

"I need to talk to whoever's in charge here, Ms Watts." Digging patted her left saddlebag with a forehoof. "I have an item in my possession that sources tell me would be of value to your organisation."

On her way there, Digging had worried about how well she would be received by the humans, should she have the misfortune of dealing with a gruff guard or a bureaucratic stickler to get what she wanted. Looking into Heather's uncertain green eyes, pale beneath spectacles, she knew that this human was neither.

"Oh! Um, alright, let's go then!" said Heather, bringing a small, sly smile to Digging's face. "Just come around behind this desk and I'll take you to see the boss."

Digging was only too happy to comply, and swiftly trotted behind the desk, where Heather bade her to stand still and adopted a rigid, upright stance herself.

"What now?" asked Digging.

The words had barely left her mouth when she heard a whooshing sound from above, and a wide glass cylinder descended from the ceiling, swiftly encasing her and Heather behind the desk. Then, before she could implore Heather to tell her what was going on, the floor lifted, and her stomach lurched towards it. "Ulp!"

Heather chuckled warmly. "Never been in an elevator before, I take it?"

The small lobby receded from sight below the ascending floor, and was replaced by a wide, open space that extended in a circle around Digging's glass tube. Built into the walls were metal platforms surrounded by railings, on which Digging could see humans in long white coats scurrying around, pushing carts and carrying clipboards. Here and there, she'd catch sight of a tree, or a potplant, or – as she got higher – paintings, sculptures and pottery.

"Impressive, isn't it?" asked Heather. "All of the artefacts you see around you have been scavenged from your world's ruins. Your civilisation has a great and long legacy, and it is the hope of myself and this organisation that we can learn about and preserve it... even beyond its demise."

"Demise?" asked Digging, narrowing her eyes at Heather.

"Well, err, uh, you see... Oh, here we are!"

Heather had ummed and ahhed at Digging's questions just long enough for the elevator to finish its ascent and arrive in a small room similar in appearance to the lobby they had just left, but with a number of doors set into its circular walls. Digging noticed that each door had a nameplate, and assumed that this was the organisation's administrative section.

"Welcome to the PAS organisational hub!" Heather proclaimed, getting a twinkle in her pale eyes. "It may not look as exciting as down below, but this is where the real groundbreaking work gets done!"

The glass tube lifted and disappeared into the ceiling, and Heather led Digging to the door immediately opposite them. Although it had the appearance of a normal painted wooden door that Digging might have expected to see in any Manehattan building, rather than needing to be opened, it slid into the wall as they stepped in front of it.

Behind the door was a great big hairless ape in a black business suit, sitting behind a desk that Digging thought far too small for him. He smiled a great big toothy smile, which made his eyes squint a little. Digging gave a half-hearted grin back.

"Afternoon – or is it morning, so hard to tell – Mr Jameson," Heather said. "This is Ms Digging Doo, and she's here to speak with you about an artefact that she feels will be of value to the organisation."

"Excellent!" the ape boomed. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Doo."

"Likewise," Digging replied, already digging through her saddlebag.

"Please, sit down, and then we can discuss this... item of yours."

Digging sat on the floor in front of the desk, ignoring the chairs on either side of her. She heard the door click closed behind her, and then the soft noise of Heather returning to the elevator. "I'll cut right to the case," Digging said. "I've got a page from the journal of Professor Twilight Sparkle, and reliable sources have informed me that that's useful to you. Now, I don't usually like to do business with humans, but a girl's gotta eat, so if you can come up with the bits, I'm happy to sell this old scrap."

Mr Jameson's eyes widened and he smiled broadly. "The journal of Professor Sparkle, eh? That's certainly something worth preserving. I'm hardly the foremost expert on your history – I handle the business side of things, really – but I know enough to see the value of that. How does –"

There was a loud noise from the hallway.

CRACK! Digging dived down just in time to avoid being impaled by a giant wooden splinter as the door burst open behind them. Digging panicked. This was a trap! An evil trap, perpetrated by evil humans!

Fuming with anger, Digging lifted herself up and spun around to face the remains of the wooden door. Her ears flattened against her head, and she blew a puff of breath out of her nostrils before charging into action, head down. No human was going to get the better of Digging Doo.

Digging galloped out of the office and into the hall, her head jerking from side to side. Her heart was pumping, and the unfamiliar feeling of the soft carpeting beneath her hooves put her on edge.

Before she could catch sight of her attackers, Digging felt herself lift off the ground. Her wings flared out, but not quickly enough to stop her from being flung into the hallway's hard metal wall. She slammed into it with a sickening crunch.

Digging slid down and landed in a slumping pile on the floor, her pith helmet falling over her eyes. As soon as she pushed it up to see what was going on, she wished she hadn't.

The three unicorns from the Manehattan hotel room were there, grinning at her. Or, at least, it felt like they were grinning at her; they were wearing gas masks, so she couldn't be sure. And beyond that, her vision was getting kinda fuzzy.

***

Not humans.

Digging Doo opened her eyes and stared up at a cracked stone ceiling crawling with ivy. Her head hurt and her saddlebags were missing. The sound of soft sobbing reached her twitching ears.

"Hello?" Her voice was cracked and her throat dry. "Is somepony there? Are you okay?"

The sobbing turned into a loud wail, and Digging sighed inwardly. Overcoming the pain in her aching legs and back, she swung herself over to the side and pulled herself up. She noticed a few fresh tears in her shirt and smiled weakly at the sight of her battered pith helmet, which she swiftly scooped up and placed on her head.

Digging stepped towards the sobbing, which was coming from a dark corner. Digging squinted to make out a fuzzy, balled-up lump of hair, convulsing as it sobbed.

"H-Hello?" she repeated. "What's the matter? You can tell me... I won't hurt you."

The fuzzy lump sniffed a few times as its sobs dried up. Digging stepped closer, and a head slowly lifted out of the lump, staring at her with big, sad green eyes. The grey fur on the pony's face was damp and matted, and her brown mane fell about it in frizzy disarray.

"Y-Yes," she stammered, fighting back a fresh onslaught of tears. "Somepony's here."

Digging looked from the pony's pale green eyes to her grey-coated frame, but instead of a grey coat, she saw a dark green jersey. It was loose on the pony's frame, and its long arms dangled off the ends of her forelegs.

Digging gasped and put a forehoof to her mouth. "It's not possible!"

Heather nodded sadly.