Chapter 6: In Which The Secret to Really Keeping a Secret in the Equestrian Government is Discussed, and the Plot Thickens.
Fudged Numbers found herself slightly confused. The last thing she remembered, she had been drifting off to sleep in her own bed, with visions of embezzlement dancing in her head.(18) She had found herself walking down an infinitely-long corridor, and then in a waiting room. A handsomely-dressed minotaur in a bespoke suit, a clown wig, and juggling, walked in. “Miss Numbers? Her Highness, Princess of the Night, will see you presently.”
This was strange.
It wasn't that Fudged Numbers never dreampt of work – indeed, with the recent budgetary crisis, she had frequently been beset with nightmares, whatever her benefits package had promised. Despite this, she was quite certain that the circumstances in which she found herself were indeed odd. Firstly, because she had recognized her dream as such – Fudged Numbers had heard of such things as 'lucid dreamers', but had never encountered the state herself – but secondly and with equal weight, because whereas her dreams had a tendency toward the absurd, this had a strange clarity to it. Equally bemused and curious, and bracing herself for the strange and unnerving sights that would surely await her, the chairpony of the finance committee of Equestria found her way into the indicated doorway.
Within, it could safely be said, Fudged Numbers' expectations of grandeur and sublime absurdity were not met. It was a normal-looking conference room, with a hoofful of ponies that she had met upon occasion and vaguely recognized as other head of committees seated around a long table. Sitting at the end of it, and wearing a tastefully tailored suit, was Princess Luna. “Welcome, Chairpony Numbers. Please, have a seat, we're about to begin.”
Ancestors. Fudged Numbers found herself sweating. It's that dream again. I'm naked at work! There was a pause. Wait. I'm almost always naked at work. Clothing was a 'special occasions' conceit for Numbers, as with most of the ponies in the ministry. Embarrassed, she found a seat in the 'sweet spot' of conference chairs – sufficiently close to the heart of the gathered ponies to be able to clearly hear all speakers, far enough from the princess that she could rely upon at least a little privacy if her mind started to wander, and adjacent to a heaping pile of doughnuts.
Paper Weight, the princess' personal secretary called the meeting to order with a quick rap of a convenient gavel upon the table. “Let's come to order and get down to business, shall we? Some of us have other plans this evening. Yes, Chairpony Numbers?” Fudged Numbers realized, to her horror, that she had raised a hoof. Thus called upon, she felt compelled to speak.
“Ah... I seem to have missed the notice about this meeting? What's going on? I thought that I was asleep.”
Princess Luna's much put-upon secretary pushed her spectacles up her nose, and gave a soft sigh. “Miss Numbers, upon signing the Official Secrets Act, you initialled a clause that allowed for mystical means of conference to be used for the discussion of issues deemed to be Quite Secret Indeed or higher. Did you not wonder about the phrasing of a clause that officially gave the Equestrian government full authority over your very dreams?”
Fudged Numbers paused to give that a moment's consideration. She did seem to recall wondering about that phrasing... “I had sort of assumed it was meant in a more figurative sense, like when I signed up for my student loans. The wording was almost identical.”
The meeting came to order, and it was immediately clear why the topic of conversation had been deemed sensitive enough to warrant dream obfuscation. A member of the Quality – a term that Fudged Numbers had always hated, but had grudgingly come to internalize – was under suspicion for a rather lengthy laundry list of offences. The Celestial Diarchy was willing to forgive many a sin, but treason, the harbouring of dark artifacts, and a number of other transgressions against crown law had formed a noose too tight for even a peer to slip. Fudged Numbers looked a little shocked as she realized that the group of misfits that she had helped to sign into a position as law keepers had contributed to the investigation that had discovered such malfeasance.
The law of unintended consequences, rearing its ugly head. Numbers carefully partitioned 'embezzle enough bits to retire to the Bahayman Islands' into the portion of her brain dedicated solely to dreams.
“But what's this all about?” Numbers furrowed her brow. She had learned, in a roundabout way, to 'follow the money' when investigating fiscal ne'er-do-wells; she could certainly believe that a chain of connections strong enough to warrant investigation had been found, but couldn't figure what the possible motive might be. “Why would Lord Clearing House risk his title, his reputation, and his family name with such incaution? You've all clearly laid out means, opportunity – and indeed, some very minor evidence of his direct action... but why?”
Princess Luna frowned slightly. “That... is something that my agents are still investigating. You've all been called together because you are experts in your particular fields. Your jobs are to track down the evidence that has been mentioned tonight, and see to it that it is solid enough that we could bring a peer to task with it. In the meantime, if the Night Watch comes across data pertinent to your investigations, I shall see to it that it is shared with you.
“Needless to say, we would not be taking such extraordinary measures in regards to security if this investigation were prepared to go public. By the geas of public office under which you all labour, I bind all present to operational security on this matter. One of my hoofmaidens will be by tomorrow with affidavits confirming that this was not simply a dream. I expect the best of work from all of you.” That had a note of finality to it, and such an invocation was not lightly taken, so Fudged Numbers supposed that was that.
Paper Weight managed a somewhat fixed smile. “If you'll all please exit out of the door through which you entered, you'll find yourselves back in your regular, unaltered dreamscapes – whatever you were going to dream before the meeting. Please begin your investigations at soonest convenience upon waking, thank you.” One or two at a time, the various gathered ponies made their way out the door, with the mien of those finishing a task that was, while not unpleasant, thankfully complete.
Finally, only Fudged Numbers was left. She hesitated, but then turned to Paper Weight. “Ah... how bad is it going to be?”
Paper Weight gave the budgetary chairpony a humourless smile. “Bad enough.”
* * *
“This is awful!”
The declaration had come from a hooded pony with a better-than-average understanding of awfulness. He had, in his time, committed some reasonably heinous acts, and in doing so, acquired an enviable(19) appreciation for awful things transpiring – albeit usually by his hoof, rather than committed against his interests. Nevertheless, for all of his vaunted understanding of all things awful, the hooded pony did not seem to have his audience in full agreement. This was the cause of some mild consternation for him, and the author invites all readers to take this opportunity to express sympathy ranging from 'mild' to 'insincere' for this clearly bad pony.
Are we finished? Good. Moving on.
A rather more grounded pony, also hooded, but by her voice clearly female, tilted her head. “Come now, don't you think that you're overreacting a little bit?”
The first pony, who at least fancied himself the group's leader, shook his head. “The interlopers have broken into our warehouse and seized all of our precious artifacts from within! A full third of what he have spent months collecting, gone in an instant! Clearly, this is awful!”
There was murmuring around the room, ponies, all hooded, exchanging knowing looks and nodding. They hadn't been sure before, but this did indeed sound rather awful.
The second pony was having none of it however. “Come now. You've said yourself on multiple occasions that we only need half of what we had collected, and while I count my wasted days as a young schoolfilly among my favourite to recollect, I do seem to recall a lesson in arithmetic in which it was patiently explained to us that 'two thirds' – that is, the amount we have remaining of our magical cache – is well in excess of of 'one half' – which, in your own words, is the total of our requirements. Let's have no more of this 'awful' talk. Honestly, I had no idea you were so prone to defeatism.”
The leader felt a tension headache coming on. “Nor had I an idea you were such a pollyanna!” He paused. “I suppose the smiling faces and sunbeam in your cutie mark might have been a clue, actually.” The stallion rallied gamely. “Regardless, it must concern even you that we seem to have drawn the attention of the Equestrian government! This is a crisis!”
This was a mistake. The murmuring around the room changed timbre in a way detectable only by the skilled observer, and one hooded pony, distinct from the first two, raised her hoof.
The leader glowered. “Yes, sister Doorkeeper?”
The titled pony hemmed nervously a moment before putting herself forward. “Um. Well, I was just reading this book, and it said that the Camelean word for 'crisis' is made up of syllables meaning 'problem' and 'opportunity'!”
Another pony, less inclined toward hoof raising, snorted. “So? The Equestrian word for 'sandwich' is made up of syllables meaning 'coarse particulate grainy soil', and 'negatively-viewed female spell caster'. What, was your book titled 'relevant-seeming but pointless etymological facts from around the world'?”
The would-be leader sighed as Sister Doorkeeper rebutted the comment with a mean left hook, and all possible discussion was briefly put on hold as the scrap between the two was resolved, with other members of the group alternately placing bets or preparing first-aid for the wounded. That was the problem with recruiting just anyone, really. If he'd had his way, the organization would be filled purely from the finest stock of the Equestrian peerage. Instead, he'd had to rely on those somewhat less satisfied with their lots in life, and, well... twits.(20)
The fight resolved with neither winners nor serious injuries. The interlude had dome some good however, as a plan began to hatch in the leader's mind. Sure, the idea had come from Sister Doorkeeper – and as such was at least mildly suspect – but it could genuinely work! “Brothers and sisters, I have a plan!” The congregation looked to him, and the leader felt a swell of pride setting his chest fit to burst. “We shall use our remaining mystical resources to call forth the being, foretold in the prophecy! With the tablet and the rest of our magical goods in the hooves of those... interlopers, it should be drawn right to them!”
There was a pause. A hoof went up.
The leader massaged his temples. “Yes. Sister Doorkeeper.”
“Um. Well, how really... does that... help?”
It was true that there was frustration in the self-styled leader at this point – he had never liked to repeat what had already been said – but there was little he liked more than a straight line, particularly one that fed into his ability to listen to the sound of his own voice. On the balance of things, pride outweighed annoyance, at least for now. “Those incompetents over at Princess Luna's 'Night Watch' will never be able to anchor a being like the one we could conjure forth! They will be swiftly routed, and the princesses will have no choice but to bring forth their ultimate weapon!”
There was a pause as those gathered considered this. While, true, none of them were the world's most brilliant thinkers, the idea of raising an enormously powerful creature of darkness that was next to impossible to bind anywhere in the vicinity of themselves, caused some consternation. Further consternation arising from the notion of seriously pissed-off diarchs seeking to utilize an 'ultimate weapon' on those ultimately responsible caused a susurration of unrest to once again stir the gathered cultists.
A hoof went up again.
“Yes Sister Doorkeeper?”
“Um. And, ah... how does that help?”
The leader ground his teeth. True, the summoning ritual didn't call for a pony sacrifice, but he was growing increasingly certain that cause for one could be manufactured. “Because our entire goal, as has been explained several times is based around it.” He paused. It was possible, perhaps, that he was overestimating his audience. What really seemed to help was the rallying cry. “All in service to the Golden Scoop, my dear.”
There was a cheer as uncertainty melted away, like butter in front of a blast furnace. “ALL HAIL THE GOLDEN SCOOP!”
* * *
The good news had been that after much hemming and hawing, it had been decided that the spare supplies cupboard in the basement of the palace of Canterlot was not suitable for the Night Watch's headquarters. The cramped spaces, the occasional visitors in the form of janitorial staff, and the fact that it had actually turned out to be haunted(21) had not proven sufficient reason to find them new accommodation. Rather, the Canterlotian Historical Society had turned up the Lost Treasures of Celestia(22) in the supplies cupboard, behind some mops that hadn't been touched in what looked to be centuries, and declared the office to be an official part of the tour.
The occasional intrusion on the part of the custodial department had been bad enough. It was impossible, Sharp Salute had said flat-out, to maintain operational security on their surprisingly delicate case, when they were just three stops before the gift shop. And thus, as quick as a flash, new quarters had been found. It had not been an improvement.
The broom cupboard had been cramped. The broom cupboard had possessed fossilized spiders and industrial solvents that had bleached a strange pattern into Sticky's coat. The broom closet had been utterly inappropriate as quarters for even a second or third-tier appendage of the Equestrian justice system.
The furnace room was worse.
In truth, it was more spacious. Visits from the custodial staff had dropped off to next to zero, with the janitors deciding that the new residents of the furnace room were well-capable of performing the minor adjustments that were requested of them. But the furnace would turn on at odd times, flooding the room with heat, and while there was more room, an errant misstep could lead to a nasty burn on one of the pipes that tangled the room in a confounding knot. Somepony a while back had evidently decided that this would be an appropriate place to dump old magical rubbish, and there was something scuttling in the walls that made Gawain wonder if perhaps not all of the arcana had entirely drained from the refuse before it had been dumped.
That having been said, it wasn't all bad. Zorada had taken advantage of the boiler in the middle of the room to set up a field alchemy lab, and Hot Streak had taken to practising her power control by adjusting the heating of the boiler mystically, when it got too hot. Given that the boiler had, rumour had it, originally been designed to be powered by dragon's breath, the fire adept's occasional blunders hadn't caused the catastrophic structural damage here that it might have elsewhere.
Right now, it was lunch time, and Ice Pick had his dander up. “Look, all I'm saying is, from the perspective of the Equestrian military, having what amounts to a magical superweapon embodied in the form of six ponies that have to work in conjunction or nothing happens – it's insane! Particularly since the House of Lords has used it as an excuse to slash military funding while Equestria has been going through one of the longest runs of crises in centuries.”
Sharp Salute shook his head. “Look son, you might have an outsider's perspective on such things, but trust me. The Equestrian military has almost nothing that could have withstood most of the threats that came our way over the last couple of years. If we're lucky, we'll have time to get our hooves back under us before the next crisis hits.”
Sticky Wings was taking inventory of the seized goods, but took the opportunity to chime in her own opinion. “Icepick is just jealous because he ended up at the bottom of his class, while Princess Twilight Sparkle was top. Crown envy, Icy?”
Ice Pick glowered at the pegasus. “As it happens, no. Rather than spending years studying the 'magic of friendship', I decided to just have a healthy social life and a postgraduate education. Besides, there's something creepy about the idea of 'magicking ponies good'.” He shook his head, and took a bite out of his hayburger. “What are you brewing up anyway, Zorada? It smells like something that grew in my gym bag one time when my washer was on the fritz. Not quite enough to put me off my lunch, but...” Faint vapours were escaping the zebra's thrown-together fume hood, and perfumed the air with a malodorous cloud.
The zebra looked up. “I have been studying the tablet that Gawain took to have analyzed by the Changeling. The translations we worked up were not specifically helpful, but did remind me of something that I had read in one of my Alchemist's Primers back when I undertook my apprenticeship. I am attempting to brew up a reagent that will dampen dark magics such as those that would be employed by a creature fitting the description that the tablet fragment gives.” She paused, considering. “And certain moulds were used in the ingredient list. While not pleasantly perfumed, I suspect that the smell will be much less pronounced when the formula is bottled.”
Icepick sighed. “About as good as one might expect, I suppose. Any luck working through those dossiers, Gawain?” Technically, working through the suspect files was Ice Pick's job, but he had seconded it to the gryphon when Gawain had expressed an interest. In truth, while Ice Pick had been qualified enough for the job, he had been happy to give it to Gawain, whose legal experience had given him a much more discerning eye in such matters.
The gryphon nodded, only half acknowledging the question. “Hrm? Oh, yes, yes...” He looked up. “There are a few references I don't quite get, but it looks like there's enough here to provide the grounding for a motive at least.” The team had taken a fair amount of time chasing down leads, including finding the pony that had hired Gawain, and from descriptions and truth compelling spells, they had managed to form a small list of likely culprits.
Sharp Salute arched a brow at that. “Give us the facts of the matter, then?” The old pony was finished lunch, and had taken up a perch near the boiler, which he occasionally tossed a ladle full of water onto. He claimed that the steam helped with his arthritis, but Gawain was modestly certain that the veteran really just fancied the idea of having his own personal sauna.
“Right.” The Gawain rubbed his brow with a claw. “Well, most of the suspects are a member of a group called the 'Reformed Orthodox Breakfasters, which gives us a good point of meeting for them.” There was a groan from around the room, and the gryphon arched an eyebrow. “Clearly I'm missing something?”
Hot Streak tilted her head. “Well, the Breakfasters are a religious group of Celestia worshippers who claimed that Celestia's commandment that 'it's important to start the day with a good breakfast' has the strength of holy law. Mostly they run soup kitchens, but like a lot of Diarch worshippers, there are some really wacky variant groups and cults. There's no telling what one of those groups could want. I swear, pegasi or not, they've all got some loon blood in them.”
Sticky Wings protested. “Oi! Tribalist!”
Hot Streak apologized, and Gawain continued. “Well, that doesn't have to be the motive in itself – it just provides a pretty good place in their past to have met up, maybe begun to plan all of this. More than anything else, it looks like this is more a case of political ambition and greed than anything stemming from religious convictions. In addition to having considerable holdings in the warehouses down in the docks district, Lord Clearing House has purchased or started up a sizable percentage of the research and development firms intended to create more magical defences and combat evil magic. Most of it hasn't done too well on its own, but there's been sizable support, particularly from the peerage, for these privatized measures.
“Most of the other members are also members from the minor aristocracy – ponies unlikely to inherit directly, but who stand a chance of earning their own titles if they were involved in a positive defence of Canterlot, say. And Golden Fortune, the businesspony who recently got off on those embezzlement charges – his personal portfolio shows a lot of investment in the companies owned by Clearing House. All together, I'd say that in the event that there were some kind of invasion of monsters, of the sort described by the tablet, these ponies would be well positioned to do something about it- and in so doing, enrich or otherwise better their own positions, simply by virtue of being well-equipped and on the spot to do so.” The gryphon shrugged, expressively. “Put simply, it looks like a rather sordid but mostly cut-and-dry tale of overweening ambition and dangerous greed.”
Sticky Wings frowned. “I think you may have the general shape of things, but we can't take this to the princesses. It's too speculative – we'd need a lot more in terms of hard evidence in order to secure a conviction against somepony without the connections that Golden Fortune clearly has, to say nothing of the peerage. Even minor nobility can hide behind the aegis of their connections.”
It was true. Technically, by-the-books, all of the aristocracy fell under the common law that applied to all ponies. Every schoolcolt learned at a young age that Princesses Luna and Celestia had forced a reluctant aristocracy into the signing of the Manegna Carta, and had even agreed to abide by it themselves, well over a thousand years prior(23). That said, how the system had been intended and ow it had actually turned out were horses of entirely different colours. The judges of Equestria were generally even-hooved in their judgements, and actively corrupt officials were gaoled in short order, but a regional judge might bear in mind the fact that their salaries, as well as their appointments, were under the mandates of the Equestrian peerage.
Sharp Salute straightened up a bit, tossing the litter from his lunch into a nearby wastebin. “Right. We need to collect some more solid evidence before we can take this investigation anywhere. We have some fresh information now – connections, names, even some neighbourhoods to start looking for additional hard evidence in. Against all likelihood, we've found something in the wheelhouse of why the Night Watch was formed, and by the Ancestors, I am going to see to it that we fulfil our mandate and make Princess Luna proud of us.” The senior guard smiled, but it was a hungry smile that would have put a timber wolf to shame. “Let's be about it, people.”
* * *
In the space-between-spaces, there existed beings that defied description. Alien intelligences that existed simply because, sooner or later, they would be brought into some reality or another, fully formed as something – and since something could not be created from nothing, not even with magic, it was here that the potential-somethings existed prior to their calling. To say that they lay in wait would be erroneous, as waiting implied anticipation. Rather, the simply were, and the multiverse was the worse for it.
One of the numberless horde had little time left before it would be called into Equestria. Already, the first of the callings had begun. It would not be long now.
18: Some ponies dreamed of candy. Numbers dreamed of ledgers so complicated that she could hide entire defence budgets in the rounding errors. When it came down to it, the difference between Numbers and Sticky Wings was pretty much just a matter of scale and success.
19: Well, enviable for some. If you like that sort of thing.
20: Of which, at least, there had been plenty. And usually in positions which granted them more authority or power than they should rightly have, but rather less than they dreamed of having. Hope and ambition were powerful recruiting tools, for the cultist in the know... if one didn't mind drawing from the shallow end of the think tank.
21: By one of the aforesaid janitorial staff wearing a bedsheet with eyes cut out, looking to scare away tourists so that he could look for the lost treasures of Celestia. He was later caught by four ponies and a dog in an improbable trap after a long chase down one of the palace's many corridors. Some things really are universal.
22: And he would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling historians and their stupid dog.
23: Or rather, until quite recently, that Princess Celestia had. Textbooks including Princess Luna's involvement in statecraft were only now coming off of the presses.
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Yay! More please.
6341928
Not true! I get it's terrifying implications! Please tell me that's just a normal cloud in the sky and not an evil space cloud coming for us all!
....Wait a second.
The whole cultist scene feels like it came from the first Prachett Watch novel Guards, Guards!.
I'm on to you, mister/missus.
Also, summoning an elderitch abomination for the express purpose of defeating it to make yourself look good rarely works out well.
6535210 You've said the secret woid! [/groucho]
But seriously, yes, there was a shoutout to Guards Guards! in this chapter. The original edit wasn't quite so overt, but reading what I'd written, Sister Doorkeeper got a name.
I think the cult leader is with a plan that is missing some of it's phases.
6535293 It's possible. Of course, what -exactly- his plan is has yet to be revealed. [/vetinari]
Next time someone uses the Crisis analogy.. I will follow up with the sandwich one
That name!
6535210
So i'm not the only one who saw it!
From that space, Alondro waves.
Can I really only upvote this once?
The whole setup for the Night Watch's section almost caused me to wake people up, since I was laughing so much.
But in an attempt to sound like I have something intelligent to contribute, I'll say that I think your ability to set a scene is your strongest point. The characters' actions are the meat of any story. However, a good background makes it feel like you're watching their story unfold around them, instead of watching actors on a set.
AAAANND now I'm thinking of an ice-cream cult
"they weren't even supposed to be here today," Is that a Reference to what I think it is....................
The previous chapter ended with Sticky Wings and Hot Streak in jail. They were absent for over half of this chapter...and then suddenly turn up with no explanation of how they arranged release or why they were attacked by their assailants. A dozen assorted diamong dogs and unicorns with magic suppression and nets hardly sounds like a random mugging. But you entirely dropped that plot thread.
What happened?
6592596 I suspect it was little more than having to spend a night in jail for the incident, which wouldn't really deserve much more than a passing mention at best.